“Where have you been?”
Brad Winters dismissed the menace in the question. It had been only twenty-three hours since the robbery. He had traveled halfway around the world. What did the prince expect? “It’s important not to seem impatient,” he said casually.
“Why?”
“Because I’m here, officially, to fight Iranian-backed Houthi rebels in Yemen on your behalf, a battle that is timely but not urgent. And you’re being tracked.”
“By whom?”
“The CIA. I have it directly from government sources.”
“It’s not a matter of international politics for a man to avenge his sons. And it’s not suspicious.”
“Not yet,” Winters agreed.
Abdulaziz sighed. “Ten billion dollars,” he said absently, “and a lifetime’s work.”
“Ten billion is nothing. You’ll lose your head for this.”
“I’m not going to lose my head. I’m going to be a national hero.”
“If you let me do my job.”
Winters raised the leg rest in Abdulaziz’s Rolls-Royce Phantom and stared out the window at the sunset over Riyadh. Lovely Riyadh. Sleek and curved like an unveiled woman, and hot as hell.
“If Farhan has gone back to ISIS . . .” Winters said smoothly, knowing the words were knives.
“Farhan escaped assassination by my enemies. Farhan is smart. He’s laying low.”
“Don’t be proud. He was running. If he rejoins ISIS . . .”
“Then I’ll find him again.”
“I hear Baghdadi is headed to northern Iraq.”
“That’s only rumor.”
“They say he’ll be in Mosul tomorrow.”
Abdulaziz laughed harshly. “If a man like you or me knew where the leader of ISIS was going to be tomorrow, he’d be dead already.”
“This is serious, Abdulaziz. There is more at stake than just your son. Much more. Let me help you.”
“I’ll find my son,” the man barked. “You focus on Yemen. That’s all I should have ever hired you for.”
You hired me, Winters thought, you don’t own me. But he kept his mouth shut and his eyes on Riyadh, all the way to his hotel. After all, this was the hard part, and it was only beginning.