The Prince and the Terrorist
Tim dropped me off at the Hertz 24/7 car rental building in Park City. I tried to say thank you, but as soon as I was out of the car, he was gone, singing and muttering to himself. I wondered if and when he would notice that I had stolen his phone. My plan had been to stop at a convenience store to buy a prepaid unit, but I was kind of in a hurry, and Tim was kind of a jerk. Besides, he’d said a number of times that he wanted to disconnect from the outside world. I’d left a granola bar and twenty bucks where the phone had been sitting in the glove box. I guessed he would think it was a fair trade. And I planned on returning the phone to him when I was through with it—if I was still alive.
I asked for a compact car with good gas mileage, but for some reason, the rental car employee kept trying to upgrade me to an SUV. After saying “No, thank you” several times, I finally discovered that the reason he wanted to upgrade me was because SUVs were the only cars they had left. I drove away in a dark-red Chevy Tahoe with leather seats. It was shiny and new and would be easy to spot, but I wasn’t trying to hide my identity. I’d used a credit card and flashed my driver’s license liberally while renting the car. If Dempsey’s people or the Feds had their feelers out for me, I wouldn’t be hard to find.
Despite what Demetrius had said about traffic cameras in Heber, I decided it would be better not to meet with him in person. He and Chico were some of my only advantages in this game, and I wasn’t going to give them up.
I connected Tim’s phone to the Bluetooth in the Tahoe, dialed Demetrius, and began driving.
“If it isn’t my pasty-white friend Tim,” Demetrius said when he answered.
“I think I want to talk to Chico.”
“Chico doesn’t talk much.”
“That’s why I want to talk to him.”
“Ahh, that hurts, man. You almost to Heber? I can be there in ten minutes. I bet I can jump in the backseat of your car without you even knowing it.”
“Demetrius?”
“Yeah.”
“How many people that look and talk like you have you seen in Midway and Heber?”
“I think I might have caught a glimpse of one the other day.”
“I’ve got people watching me. My guess is they’ve got access to rental car computers. I just used my credit card to rent a car, and I’m driving a shiny red SUV. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to jump into my car at a stoplight.”
“Hey, man, you’re ruining my fun.”
“Let’s just do this over the phone. I don’t think anyone’s listening in on Tim—he’s not the most engaging conversationalist—and I’m assuming this last number you gave me is untraceable.”
“Tim must be a nice guy to lend you his phone like that.”
“He’s a sweetheart. Have you got anything for me?”
“Oh yeah, you won’t believe what I’ve got. Ever hear the name Prince Abdullah bin Sayami?”
“It sounds vaguely familiar. But after a while, all those bin’s and ibn’s start to sound the same.”
“Racist.”
“No. I’m just really bad at Arab names. I’m assuming, however, that since you used prince in front of the name, we are speaking of someone from the Saud family?” In Saudi Arabia, they took their royalty seriously, and only a select group of people would have the title of prince.
“Now you’re getting it. A distant cousin to the current rulers, but one who seems to have his fingers on the pulse of the people and his pockets in the hands of the terrorists. Some say that if it came to a popular vote, he would be the clear winner out of all the Sauds.”
“I didn’t realize they were a democracy.”
“They’re not. But we tend to forget that the current stretch of stability is an anomaly where the Saudi state is concerned. Some experts seem to think the country is ripe for a revolution, and Saudi succession may be one of the pivotal questions not only for the Middle East but for the whole world too. We get the wrong guy at the top over there and everything changes. Not that it’s great right now. But at least our relations with Saudi Arabia are fairly stable when compared to the rest of the Middle East.”
“And this bin Salami guy figures into the mix.” I was picturing a large salami wearing a keffiyeh headdress to help me to remember his name.
“It’s Sayami, with a Y. And yes, he could figure in big-time. He’s got lots of friends with lots of money, and not all of them live in the Middle East. Some think his frequent visits to the United States are more than just spending sprees in Vegas. He’s been meeting with some pretty powerful people.”
“So what does this guy have to do with me and my family?”
“That’s the real question, isn’t it? Lucky for you, I think I might have found the answer. Do you remember the Yehudi brothers?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I remember them.” I couldn’t help but swallow hard when I heard the name. I’d infiltrated the Yehudis in Miami. My cover had been blown, and they were getting ready to take my head off when my friend Robbie arrived with the cavalry. One of the brothers was killed trying to resist. The other was executed a few months later.
“Well, it seems the two you sent to Allah aren’t the only ones in the family. They have a fanatical mother and a little brother who was barely fifteen when his older siblings went to meet their God. The mother put the younger brother under the keeping of one of her distant cousins and closest friends.”
“Let me guess, Prince Sayami.”
“You got it.”
“So you think Sayami’s doing a favor for a family friend, exacting revenge on the western dog responsible for killing his brothers?”
“That’s the way I read it.”
“And this same Sayami has influential friends on our side of the pond?”
“Let’s just say our government has a history of building relationships with those who might end up becoming leaders of powerful and influential countries. If there is even a slight possibility that he could become the Saudi successor—even if it is through revolution—you can be sure our guys are talking to him.”
It made sense that the attack on my family was instigated by the Yehudis—I had put a serious dent in that family’s terrorist reputation. It appeared they were using the diplomatic privileges of their friend the prince to get to me.
“What about Dempsey?” I asked.
“That’s the weird part.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’d think the CIA wouldn’t want a known assassin like Dempsey anywhere near an asset like the prince. You’d think they’d be happy to pay for information about a confirmed Dempsey sighting on US soil. But when I started to raise the issue with an old colleague, he told me point blank that the CIA already knew Dempsey was here and that if I knew what was good for me, I would stay out of it.”
“Did you tell them Dempsey had kidnapped an innocent woman and child?”
“I tried, but the conversation never got that far. It appears that the name Dempsey is on the do-not-talk-about list. He told me that if I brought up Dempsey again he would be obligated to report me.”
“Why would the CIA be protecting Dempsey?”
“Maybe they want to get to him first.”
“I don’t know . . .” Something wasn’t right about this, but I needed more time to think—time I didn’t have. “Looks like no additional help is on the way. It’s just us.”
“You really going to just turn yourself in to them?” Demetrius asked. “If Yehudi gets off that plane and sees you, the first thing he’s going to do is put a bullet between your eyes.”
“They have my family,” I said. “I have no choice. Besides, you’re going to be there to make sure nothing happens to me.”
“You don’t make it easy on Chico and me.”
“No, but at least I keep it exciting. You said you wanted action. I’m giving you some.”
“I’d forgotten what action looked like when you were involved.”
“Dempsey told me to get to Salt Lake and wait near the airport for further instructions,” I said. “My guess is they will tell me to come to the airfield in Wendover either in the middle of the night or tomorrow morning. You think you can set up a perimeter without being spotted?”
“Don’t worry, man. We got this.”
Demetrius was confident, but as I hung up the phone, I was hit with a wave of anxiety. The Yehudi brothers were not only terrorists, but they were also fanatics, and their mother was reputed to be the craziest of them all. If there was a little brother who had been raised as an instrument of revenge, I had no illusions for the safety of my family. What Demetrius had said was true. If Yehudi stepped off a plane and saw my family and me, the first thing he would do would be to start shooting.