Chapter Six

 

 

Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

September 13, 6:45 p.m.

 

Carrie and Justin had landed in Riyadh about an hour ago. After clearing immigration and customs, they were picked up by two aides and two security guards of Prince Fouad bin al-Farhan. All four of them were young men in their thirties, tall and muscular, and carried sub-machine guns in holsters underneath their white thobes. But they were well-mannered as they escorted Justin and Carrie to two silver Mercedes SUVs. One of the aides and one of the guards took the driver’s and the front passenger’s seat in the lead vehicle, with Justin and Carrie sitting in the backseats.

The ride to the offices of Prince al-Farhan was uneventful. The aide talked mostly about the prince’s booming business and the general state of the economy in the Kingdom. The global recession had not hit Saudi Arabia as hard as the rest of the world. The country had invested a large stake of its surplus petrodollars abroad, from Afghanistan to Zimbabwe. Saudi Arabia’s net foreign assets exceeded 1.3 trillion dollars, and were increasing by a return of only nine percent each year. And, according to the aide, the Saudi central bank, Saudi Arabian Monetary Agency, was looking into changing its tactics and investing in more aggressive, higher-risk ventures, which, of course, offered higher returns.

Justin was really not interested in a crash course in investing billions of dollars in a volatile market. He wanted to know about the state of affairs within the society of Saudi Arabia. But he doubted the aide would provide him with genuine answers about the struggles among princes and the larger conflict simmering just beneath the surface.

Saudi Arabia was a country mired in controversy. Regardless of the country’s fabulous riches, most of the population lived in the deepest imaginable levels of poverty. Over a quarter of the population—about five million—lived on less than seventeen dollars a day. For years, the government denied the existence of the poor in the kingdom, despite a number of slums only a few miles south of Riyadh. The wealth was heavily concentrated in the hands of the ruling family, the House of Saud, which had reigned in Saudi Arabia since 1925. At that time, Abdul Aziz, also known as Ibn Saud, or “Son of Saud,” had finished bringing together the tribes of Arabia, and called the new country by the name of the Saudi Arab Kingdom.

The king’s personal fortune was estimated at over twenty billion dollars. The five richest members of the House of Saud were worth over eighty billion dollars and owned everything, from luxurious palaces to private jets, to mega yachts. Oil flowed through the veins of Saudi’s economy and fueled the royals’ riches. Saudi Arabia still had the largest oil reserve in the world, with over 250 billion barrels. This mind-blowing figure made the country the largest producer and exporter of oil, accounting for over ten percent of the entire world’s supply. Oil revenues provided three quarters of the kingdom’s forty-billion-dollar annual budget. Over two billion of that money went to finance the lavish lifestyle of more than 15,000 princes and princesses of the House of Saud family tree with its roots reaching far back to the eighteenth century.

And then, there was the sharp struggle within the royal house itself. A number of princes had felt marginalized by the political maneuvering of the new king, who had sacked a number of ministers and high-level officials from lucrative positions at the helm of investment funds and oil and gas enterprises.

Finally, and to worsen the situation, was the threat of ISIS and the spilling-over of violence from neighboring Yemen. The Saudi Air Force had pounded ISIS-held towns and positions in northern and southern Yemen, but the flow of terrorists and weapons across the border was far from being contained. There were daily reports of border guards clashing with jihadists, and Saudi authorities had arrested hordes of ISIS supporters throughout the Kingdom. The terrorist threat was one of the issues in the agenda of today’s meeting of Justin and Carrie with Prince al-Farhan.

Justin glanced at Carrie, who arranged a few of the auburn hair strands that had escaped her black hijab, the headscarf. She had covered her entire body in a black abaya, the robe that was the cloak of modesty for women as prescribed in all versions of Islam. Saudi Arabia was known for the strictest interpretation of the Muslim religion, known as Wahhabism, and religious police enforced dress codes with fervent zeal. While make-up was allowed, Carrie almost never wore anything more than a pink lip gloss and thin brown eyeliner. Her green-blue eyes were concentrated on the skyscrapers outside, as the SUV was crossing through Riyadh’s downtown area. “Yes, Justin, what do you need?” she said.

Justin smiled. Carrie had used his reflection in the window’s glass and had listened to his body shifting in his seat to figure out what he was doing. “Nothing, just checking the city.”

“The prince is investing in a complex of office buildings,” the aide said, gesturing to a couple of cranes towering over a half-complete structure. It soared fifty or so stories high on the left side of King Fahd Road.

Carrie nodded. “When do they expect to finish it?”

The aide shrugged. “I’m not sure. Maybe early next year.”

Justin drew in a deep breath, then looked through his window. His eyes found the pyramid-shaped Faisaliah Tower, stabbing at the sky at over 850 feet, near the southern part of Olaya, the prominent business district of Riyadh. Prince al-Farhan was meeting them in his office at the tower.

Ten minutes later, the Mercedes peeled off King Fahd Road and entered into the tower’s parking lot. They waited until the second SUV joined them and the group took the elevator to the prince’s offices on the twenty-third floor. The aides led Justin and Carrie through the hall, while the two bodyguards brought up the rear. As they reached the gold-plated mahogany door of the office, two men stepped outside into the hall. One was as tall and muscular as the foursome escort, while the second was an older man, perhaps in his fifties, with a round belly that even his loose gray thobe could not hide. He said, “We’ll take over from here,” and dismissed the four men with a head nod.

They bowed respectfully and backtracked in silence.

The man said, “As salaam alaykum.” Peace be upon you. “My name is Bander al-Yami. I will take you to the prince.” He did not introduce the other man, who was standing back and near the wall. Al-Yami gestured toward the office door, but his small gray eyes rested on Justin’s face.

Justin gave al-Yami the customary reply, “Alaykum as salaam.” Peace be on you. Then he continued in Arabic, “I’m Justin Hall. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Al-Yami blinked and cocked his head in surprise. “Mr. Hall, you speak my language. I’m very impressed.” He stretched out his hand.

They exchanged a strong handshake.

Justin said, “And this is my partner, Carrie O’Connor.”

“My pleasure,” al-Yami said, but did not offer his hand.

Carrie nodded and avoided looking al-Yami in the eyes.

Al-Yami said, “This way.”

He led them through the door, and they came to a huge office. The floor was white-and-black marble, but mostly covered with a carpet that had a zigzagging beige-and-black motif. Large portraits of Saudi royals hung along the beige walls. The centerpiece of the office was a circle of seven oversized golden armchairs that resembled kingly thrones. They were set around a large coffee table, which was also gold with brown accents. Prince Fouad al-Farhan was dressed in a brown, gold-rimmed thobe and a white headdress, and he was sitting in the middle throne with his gaze focused on his guests. A man Justin had not seen before and whom he pegged in his forties was sitting to the prince’s right side. He was dressed in a white thobe, the same as another two men that Justin knew were al-Farhan’s most trusted bodyguards. They were flanking the prince, standing about three feet behind him. Justin remembered them from a previous meeting with the prince in Klosters, Switzerland last May. At that time, like this time, the main reason for their meeting had been one of the House of Saud’s black sheep.

“As salaam alaykum,” the prince greeted them and stood up.

The man to his left side also jumped to his feet.

Justin replied, “Alaykum as salaam.”

“Welcome to my home,” the prince said in Arabic. He walked around the thrones and shook Justin’s hand. Then he patted Justin on his shoulder, as if meeting an old friend.

Justin returned the gesture and tried to look as enthusiastic as Prince al-Farhan. “I’m glad we finally got the opportunity to meet again.”

“Yes, time is so precious these days.” The prince said in a flat cold voice. “I want you to meet Ismael bin Mohammed al-Reshedi, the Chief of the Ri’asat Al-Istikhbarat Al-’Amah, or the General Intelligence Directorate in English.”

Justin greeted al-Reshedi and shook his hand. He had a strong handshake and a stern look on his face. Unlike the prince, he was not happy to see the foreigners and did not try to mask his feelings. Al-Reshedi’s face was clean-shaven but for a small moustache underneath his long broad nose. His large black eyes measured up Justin, who felt the intelligence chief was trying to peer deep into his heart and discover his true intentions of this meeting.

“This is Carrie O’Connor, my partner in the agency,” Justin said in English.

The prince nodded at Carrie, who returned the nod.

Al-Reshedi turned his head toward Carrie, his only gesture of acknowledging her presence.

“Everything went okay with your trip?” The prince switched to English as well, then gave al-Yami a quick glance as if he was expecting him to answer his question.

“Yes, it was perfect,” Justin replied. “Your aides and all your men were excellent in their service.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” The prince waved his hand toward the thrones. “We can make ourselves comfortable while my servant brings us tea.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Justin said.

Al-Yami gave a low bow and left the room.

The prince returned to his throne and gestured for Justin to come and sit across from him. Carrie sat next to Justin, and al-Reshedi took his seat as well, to the right of the prince. The prince had just asked about the preparations for the new federal elections in Canada when al-Yami came in with a golden tray. The tea kettle, the cups, the milk and sugar bowls, everything on the tray was also made of gold.

Justin waited until the prince had taken a sip from his teacup, then Justin picked up his cup. Its weight told him that the cup was not just gold-plated porcelain, but solid gold. He drew in a small breath, enjoying the sweet aroma of the tea, as its vapor rose from the cup. Then he brought it to his mouth. It was not too hot, so he took a generous sip. A trace of mint hit his palate. “Your Highness, this is outstanding,” Justin said as he raised his cup.

The prince did not react to Justin’s words, but said, “You were going to tell me about your country’s elections . . .”

“Yes, the Conservative Party’s hoping for a majority. It’s difficult to lead the country with a fragile minority coalition that can crumble at the whim of its smallest party.”

The prince nodded, but Justin wondered if he really appreciated the complexities of the democratic system of governance. Prince al-Farhan was an Oxford-educated man, who had a deep understanding of the Western world, its society and its operation. But Saudi Arabia was an absolute monarchy, with not even the faintest whisper about such a thing as a democracy. All infighting within the House of Saud centered on who could maneuver up the family tree to be the next in line to become the Crown Prince, and then the future King.

“Our problems are of a different kind,” the prince conceded after another small sip of tea. “Some fanatics, blinded by foreign ideology, believe they need to change our system through armed insurgency, violent attacks against guests in my country and my brothers. But they will not succeed in their foolish attempts. We’ll simply not allow them to wreak havoc in our country.” His voice turned strong with a hint of irritation. The prince’s fierce black eyes glinted from behind his rimless gunmetal glasses with zeal mixed with anger. He cocked his head toward al-Reshedi, who interpreted the gesture as his turn to speak.

Al-Reshedi leaned forward. “Thank you, Your Highness,” he said in a low yet firm voice and offered a small bow. He continued, “Ever since I assumed my responsibilities, three months ago, with the much-valuable, needed, and appreciated support of Prince Fouad bin al-Farhan, the situation has greatly improved. We have arrested over five hundred extremists. They were close associates of leaders of foreign fighting groups, like ISIS and al-Qaeda, and supporters of their cause. One group of extremists was planning a suicide bomb attack against the United States embassy. Two other groups were already fully engaged in setting up a training camp for foreign fighters in Iraq. They were in the process of gathering more funds for these planned camps.

“Some of these extremists have ties to individuals or groups who finance them from abroad, like the United States, Great Britain, or even Canada. For this reason, our focus is to improve the sharing of information with our foreign partners, our cooperation with Western intelligence agencies, like the Canadian Intelligence Service.” Al-Reshedi gestured politely with his hand toward Justin.

“Yes, we appreciate the exchange of intelligence as we fight our common enemy. These jihadists, these terrorists, they’re as great a threat to Canada as they are to your Kingdom,” Justin said.

Prince al-Farhan nodded. “We will continue to work together to intensify and strengthen our joint efforts to confront these rebels, who are tarnishing the true image of Islam. Our religion, our way of life, does not encourage violence against Muslims or peaceful believers of other religions. The King, the Custodian of the Two Holy Mosques, is very interested in discussing ways to combat all groups that threaten our country and our allies, and in expanding and enhancing the cooperation between our two countries.”

Al-Reshedi also offered a nod. “My agency has prepared new files on the extremists we have arrested and on many other suspects that we’ve interrogated. We’re assessing the information and, once we’re convinced of its accuracy, these files will be translated and shared with your agency, as soon as possible.”

Justin nodded and offered al-Reshedi and the prince a small smile. Now that the conversation had moved away from broad and vague political declarations of goodwill, they could talk about actual steps and measures to fight these terrorists. So Justin said, “I appreciate the fact that your agency’s taking these important steps. The intelligence provided by the GID is extremely valuable, because you have the knowledge, the resources, and the jurisdiction to hunt these people wherever they can try to hide in Saudi Arabia. We’re truly grateful for your assistance.”

The prince nodded, but there was no smile or any other sign of emotions on his face. He had stopped sipping his tea, was sitting back in his throne, and was listening attentively to Justin.

Al-Reshedi was leaning slightly to the left and forward. His eyes were focused on Justin, and a stern gaze and a frown had darkened the GID’s chief’s face. He seemed to be anticipating Justin’s train of thoughts and was preparing for the stab that sometimes came after such an amount of praise.

Justin continued, “And because of this great importance of your intelligence, when it’s unavailable or missing, there are major problems for our operations. We’re hamstrung and going after terrorists with limited information, hunting them as if we were blind, resulting in devastating consequences.”

Justin drew in a deep breath and tried to calm his firm voice, which had taken a sharp tense edge. “Our latest operation to uncover a terrorist plot against my homeland suffered a series of setbacks because we lacked crucial details about their safehouse locations and their movements. If we’d had that information, perhaps the course of events would have been different, very different.”

The prince peered over his glasses, which he had lowered to the tip of his nose. A frown began to form on his face. “I heard about your fiancée. I’m sorry about your loss,” he said in a warm voice.

Justin said nothing but kept his eyes locked onto those of the prince, who continued, “But your assessment of the intelligence provided by the GID and our envoy to your government officials is inaccurate. These allegations of yours of ‘unavailable’ or ‘missing’ intelligence, these are simply unfounded. The GID and all our officials involved in intelligence sharing worked diligently, to share all relevant information and names, in a timely fashion.” The prince’s voice had turned cold and sharp. “If there were delays or gaps in your communication with your supervisors, in interpreting the intelligence or determining your actions, you have no right to blame the GID and my country.”

One of the prince’s guards shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

The second guard took a step forward.

Justin raised an apologetic hand. “I had no intention to offend the prince or blame the GID or your country. My apologies. However, I would like to take this opportunity to bring to your attention some recent intelligence that has come into my possession. Perhaps it will help to shed light on how our communication and our joint efforts can improve in the future.” Justin cast a glance at al-Reshedi, then gestured to Carrie.

She reached into her briefcase, pulled out four white folders, and gave them to Justin.

He held them up for the prince’s guards to see they were only folders and nothing life-threatening to the prince. Then Justin stood up and handed a copy to Prince al-Farhan and another one to al-Reshedi. When Justin returned to his seat, he slid one of the two remaining folders to Carrie. “This is extremely confidential and sensitive intelligence. Would you prefer for your guards to step outside?” He gestured toward Prince al-Farhan and then to the two stern-faced guards.

Al-Reshedi’s face had begun to lose some of its color as he flipped through the pages.

The prince was still reading the first page, which contained the essence of the intelligence and a summary of the CIS’s claims. He shifted uncomfortably in his throne, coughed to clear his throat, and waved tersely at the guards. “Out! Now!”

The guards hurried out of the office without a word and without a glance back.

Once the door had clicked shut, Prince al-Farhan raised his eyes from the folder. He slammed it hard on the gold-plated coffee table, spilling some of the tea from his cup. His sizzling eyes were casting a piercing stare at Justin. “How dare you? How dare you come here, into my house, as an honored guest and wave such baseless, offensive, humiliating charges in my face! Do you even know what you’re doing, Hall?”

Justin remained calm in the face of the prince’s onslaught. “Yes, sir, I do,” he replied in a calm unwavering voice. “And these are not charges. This is accurate intelligence, as shown by phone transcripts from the NSA, photographs taken by the British intelligence service and Mossad—”

The prince cut him off. “Yes, Zionist sources are very credible, have always been credible. I don’t believe a word they say, for they’re all liars.”

Justin said, “Regardless of what you think of Mossad, there’s undeniable evidence that places your nephew Prince Ismail bin Saud at the same house and on the same day as terrorist Salem Atallah Saeed. Witnesses have confirmed the presence of bin Saud’s car at this location in Jeddah on July 30. And the NSA intercepts leave no doubts about seven conversations between the prince and the terrorist, one of which lasted over ten minutes.”

Prince al-Farhan’s lips quivered in a nervous twitch. He tightened his fists, then peered at Justin. The prince grunted, then reached for the folder and began to read beyond the first page.

Al-Reshedi said, “How do we know this isn’t a fabrication, some sort of scheming to make our country, our nation look bad in the eyes of the world? Why would a prince, an honorable prince like Ismail bin Saud keep company with such lowlifes as these rebels?”

Justin nodded. “Excellent question, sir. And that’s exactly what we want to know,” he said in a calm quiet voice. He waited a moment for the prince to speak, but he was immersed in browsing through the reports in the folder.

“We haven’t come here to accuse or condemn anyone, let alone a member of the royal family,” Carrie said in a soft voice, trying to defuse the situation. “We’re just looking for some explanations, some answers about these perceived connections.”

Prince al-Farhan looked up at her. His eyes still carried the earlier rage and the frown had not disappeared from his face. He leaned forward, flipped through the pages of one of the reports and said, “You want answers? Here are your answers: My nephew had numerous reasons to be in Jeddah at that time, and paramount among others was a business deal he was carrying out for Aramco. Your reports do not include that information, so there’s the first gap in your intelligence.” He stressed the word “gap” and uttered it as if it fouled his mouth. “He must have met with dozens of people that day, during the course of his official business. And, contrary to what you may believe or conclude, we don’t run background checks on our business partners, whom we treat as honorable guests.” He gestured toward Justin and Carrie.

Carrie leaned to her left, seemingly wanting to say something, but Justin stopped her with a hand gesture.

The prince continued, “The very same thing can be said about these phone calls. You have transcripts, but some of them are inaudible, according to your own analysts, as it’s written here. In the others, there’s nothing incriminating. If my nephew had no idea that the man he thought was a business partner in reality was a suspected terrorist, then he did nothing wrong.” The prince’s voice had become calm and steady. “There’s nothing here, nothing at all that would cast any doubt whatsoever on his behavior. It’s unfortunate, but sometimes we don’t really know the people we trust, the people we have relationships with, the people we do business with.”

Justin’s eyes never left the prince’s face. “Yes, bin Laden’s example clearly illustrates that sentiment.”

Prince al-Farhan’s eyes turned into small slits. “No reason to bring the long-gone past into this conversation, Hall. My country has shown with its long-proven record of fighting al-Qaeda that we in no way supported bin Laden or his ideology.”

Justin opened his mouth, but realized he would not be able to take back what he was about to say. And while it would make him feel good, it would not advance their intelligence-gathering mission. He looked at Carrie, who gave him a slight head tilt. “Yes, go ahead,” he said with a sigh.

She said, “Your Highness, what we’re asking for is an opportunity to investigate any potential link between bin Saud and Salem. Perhaps there’s some truth to these claims and—”

The prince waved his hand. “There’s nothing true in here.” He tapped the folder, then reached for a new teacup from the tray and filled it from the kettle. “And if this is all you have about my nephew’s supposed involvement with these terrorists, then you don’t have anything.” He brought his teacup to his lips and gave Carrie and Justin a shrug.

Justin drew in a deep breath and said, “I brought to your attention Ismail bin Saud’s involvement in obtaining stolen nuclear material and technology from Pakistan. That was only a few months ago. But nothing was done about that problem. And now this happened. Bin Saud is not being reined in by the House of Saud. Perhaps I should bring my concerns to someone else in the royal family.”

Prince al-Farhan locked eyes with Justin. “You’re free to do so, Hall. But do you think anyone among the princes or the king will give you the same attention and consideration that I have?” He shook his head and gave Justin a pitying gaze. “You’re mistaken, Hall. Gravely mistaken.”

Justin pursed his lips and returned the headshake. “I think the mistake is on your part, Your Highness.” He said the prince’s title without any hint of ridicule in his voice. He flipped to the second document on the folder and tipped the document over his lap. “The NSA, Mossad, and our other partner agencies gathered this accurate intelligence. They will not be seeking an audience with any of your princes or the king. They’ll act without any regard for the fact that bin Saud is an important member of the royal family.”

The prince leaned forward and waved his hand in front of his face. “Hall, are you threatening my nephew, my family?” His voice was harsh, with equal amounts of anger and disbelief.

“Absolutely not. Only informing you that bin Saud’s actions will have grave consequences. His cavorting with terrorists will not go unpunished.”

Prince al-Farhan jumped to his feet. “Get out of my house! And get out of my country before I completely lose my patience!” Spittle dropped from the corners of his lips as he blurted out the command, while his arm speared toward the door.

Al-Reshedi was also on his feet. He pulled out a cellphone and took a couple of steps toward Justin. “I’ll escort them to the airport.” His facial muscles were tight and there was a determined look in his eyes.

The office door was thrown open as Justin and Carrie got to their feet. They did not turn their head, for they knew it was the prince’s guards. Justin said, “Your Highness, I’m—”

“Just get out of my sight! Both of you.” The prince kept his right hand pointed at the door. “And don’t make the mistake of ever coming into my presence or my country.”

Justin shook his head. He turned around and faced the guards holding up their pistols, trained at Justin and Carrie. “That won’t be necessary, gentlemen,” Justin said with a shrug. “We came in peace, and we’ll leave in peace.”

Al-Reshedi reached, grabbed Justin by the arm, and pulled him toward the door.

Justin did not offer any resistance.

It was not over.

In fact, this was only the beginning.