The Phoenix Affair

  *****

  Khalid Shahrani was also having a good day, but he was cooler by far, in the dry interior of the Kingdom. He liked Riyadh: even at a hundred and twenty degrees, one never felt even damp, and the sky was a clear, piercing blue from one horizon to the other. Just now he was sitting in the central square within sight of the old fort which now served as a museum, on a rock under the sparse shade of a date palm. It was coming on toward dusk, trade and traffic in the shops nearby was brisk.

  The drive from Dhahran had taken only three hours. Since his arrival, he’d bought ten airline tickets from four different travel agencies, all on European flag carriers, changing in five European cities and all arriving at five different international airports in Canada. On different days. It was a good start. He had seventy five men to move, if they could all be counted upon, but the arrangements must not be made at too rapid a pace. Such a thing might raise suspicions. He glanced to the center of the square where the grating lay in a depressed spot in the pavement: there they took the heads of criminals in Riyadh. He squirmed a little, tried to relax, made a covert scan around the place to see if anyone was watching. No, there was not. In any case, he reflected, he’d made a good beginning with only half a day’s work. His first contingent would be on its way West in only five days, he’d purchase the rest of the tickets within the next seven or so, all his men would be deployed in two weeks, safely out of Saudi Arabia.

  His phone rang, not unexpectedly, and he answered, “Nam?”

  “The boy is not at his apartment,” his man said from the other end.

  “Odd,” Khalid said, and anyone watching would have seen his forehead wrinkle under the headdress. “What about his job? Have you checked there? Has anyone seen him?

  “No, emir,” said the man. “He has not been seen for two days, but nobody knows where he is. Shall we be more. . .” there was a pause “. . .direct?”

  “No, certainly not,” Khalid answered quickly, but he liked being called emir. “Go home now, stay out of trouble. Keep your phone nearby, I may need you.” He rung off and stowed the phone in his hip pocket.

  “Odd,” he thought again. “Where would he go?” And then it hit him. “Ahh, now it begins to fall into place. I was right to begin this morning.” He was suddenly certain he knew where the youth had gone. He produced the phone again and dialed Mohammed.

  “Yes?” came the answer, in English.

  “Mohammed, it’s me Khalid. How are you my friend? It’s so long since we’ve talked.”

  Driving his own car, Mohammed was entering the outskirts of Dhahran, but he caught the warning sign. They had, of course just been together this morning.

  “Yes, Khalid, my friend? How are you, and what can I do for you?” he said

  “Well, I thought I would tell you that my nephew, you know the one, from Riyadh, he’s come to Dhahran to visit my cousin. Isn’t that lucky? And we were just hoping to see him there in Dhahran? Will you give him my warmest regards when you see him, and say that I am sorry I missed him in Riyadh?

  Mohammed smoked it at once. “Yes, yes I will, but I will not be able to call on them tonight. My brother arrives tomorrow from Taif, and I must prepare his room for him tonight. You understand?”

  Khalid did understand, but the long pause told both men he was not pleased. “You cannot visit tonight, Mohammed? You are certain? I had very much hoped to send someone to pay my respects to my cousin tonight, it is his birthday, is it not, for the love of God?”

  Mohammed braked to a halt at the top of an exit ramp, sweating hard despite the air conditioning in the car. “No, no, Khalid, I cannot. My brother must come first, or my own mother, may God protect her, will flay me alive.”

  Another pause while Khalid thought, and both men were tense now. Finally Khalid said “Good enough then, Mohammed, but I am disappointed. It will certainly be tomorrow night, then? I count on you for that. My cousin must not be disappointed again, especially as my nephew has come all the way there for the occasion. You understand me, Mohammed?”

  “I understand,” he said. The line went dead, but he sat there at the traffic light, which was green, his legs trembling so hard he could not safely drive.

  Khalid snapped the phone shut and glanced again around the square. He was very angry, and the grating in the pavement only fifty yards away was suddenly more ominous than ever. He opened the phone again and dialed a number, a long number, and he waited.