76

RIYADH, SAUDI ARABIA

Prince Abdullah picked up the phone.

“Agent Ryker, to what do I owe this honor?”

“Prince Abdullah, I’m sorry for calling so early and breaking the chain of command.”

“Not at all. We owe you a great debt. You may call me anytime.”

“You’re most kind,” Marcus said, then got to the point. “We’ve identified the bombers in London. They were Chechens, a brother and sister: Maxim and Amina Sheripov. I’m hoping you could run their names through your system and let me know whatever you can find on them.”

“Absolutely. What else?”

“Have you ever heard of a BCB?”

“A body cavity bomb?” the prince asked.

“Exactly,” said a surprised Marcus. “So MI5 and the FBI are now convinced that Amina Sheripov was the bomber and that Maxim pulled the trigger, as it were.”

“And someone surgically implanted the bomb inside Amina?”

“Correct.”

“Who?”

“A Pakistani by the name of Dr. Ali Haqqani.”

“One q or two?”

“Two, we think. Would you run his name as well?”

“Of course.”

“We can’t say whether that’s his real name or an alias, but that’s the name he was using in London. MI5 and the FBI are tearing apart the medical clinic where he worked. We already have security footage from inside the clinic proving the Sheripovs came there and interacted with Haqqani.”

“But you don’t have him?”

“No. We’re about to put out a warrant for his arrest.”

“Don’t —not yet,” said the prince.

“Why not?”

“There’s no way he’s using the same name,” said Rashid. “And you’ll never find him in the U.K. He’s gone. The question is what alias he’s using now. If you put out an APB on him, the media will broadcast it across the world, and he’ll go to ground. We don’t have time for that. We need him in the open. We need him moving. That’s the only way we’ll spot him.”

“The feeling here is different,” Marcus said. “The more people who see his face, the more tips we’ll get that can lead us to him.”

“You’ll be flooded with false leads. Again, we don’t have time for that.”

“Well, it’s going to happen within the hour. The only way to stop it is if the king calls the president. I’m not sure that’s the right call, but it’s up to you.”

“Listen, there’s something I need to tell you, Agent Ryker.”

“What’s that?”

“Have you ever heard the name Abdullah Hassan Tali al-Asiri?”

“No —why?”

“Of course not,” said the prince. “It’s highly classified here in the kingdom. But I’m telling you so you understand how serious this threat is.”

“Go on.”

“Al-Asiri was a Saudi national. A terrorist. A member of al Qaeda. A real monster. Anyway, we were hunting him. You Americans were hunting him too. Turns out, he was hiding in the caves of Yemen. But in August of 2009, al-Asiri contacts Saudi intelligence. Says he wants to come in. Wants to see his family. Wants asylum in return for the names and exact locations of scores of other al Qaeda operatives. The man in my job at the time was Prince Mohammed bin Nayef. He’s thrilled about the chance to bring in al-Asiri, so he approves the plan. But at the last minute, al-Asiri adds a condition.”

“What?”

“He says he’s filled with remorse and wants to repent to Nayef in person. Nayef agrees. He even sends his private jet to Yemen to bring al-Asiri back. They meet in the prince’s home in Jeddah, on the Red Sea. Al-Asiri passes through two metal detectors. He’s frisked —thoroughly —by the prince’s security detail. He’s declared clean, so he’s brought to meet with the prince, face-to-face. That’s when it happens.”

“What happens?”

“Al-Asiri explodes right there in the parlor.”

“A body cavity bomb.”

“Precisely,” said the prince. “It turns out al-Asiri had inserted the bomb in his —forgive me —his rectum. Most of the explosive force was focused downward. It created a huge crater in the floor. We found one of the man’s arms in the ceiling. But Nayef, praise Allah, was not badly injured. Shaken, as it were, but not stirred.”

“I’ve never heard that story.”

“Few have. It was embarrassing to the Saudi intelligence and security services that we’d been duped by al-Asiri. Moreover, we wanted al Qaeda to think we still had him, that we’d detected his bomb and defused it. But you can understand why your news will be so disturbing to His Majesty the king, especially on the eve of the most politically difficult trip of his life. He’s under enormous pressure not to go to Jerusalem, not to meet the Israelis. And this isn’t going to help.”

“Sorry to be the bearer of such news.”

“Better now than later.”

“True, which means I have to give the photo to the Israelis. We may not have a real name yet, but the Israelis have state-of-the-art facial recognition software. If Haqqani tries to enter Israel, you and I will both know why. We can keep it out of the media for now, but we need the Israelis to stop and interrogate him so he can lead us to the rest of Kairos.”

“Very well,” said the prince. “I will speak to the king. You must call Asher Gilad right now. Do you have his private number?”

“I do.”

“Good —I’ll call you the minute we run these names.”