She tried not to smile, but couldn’t help it. “Maybe.”
He leaned in and kissed her. “I love you, honey.”
“I love you too.” Anna got out of the car with her purse and shoulder bag. She walked around the front of the car and gave him a final wave and the million-dollar smile that made her so perfect for TV.
Rapp rolled down his window. “Be safe.”
“I will. You too.” She waved to the uniformed Secret Service officer behind the greenish bulletproof Plexiglas. She would have to show her credentials at the next checkpoint.
Rapp sat there, one hand on the gearshift, the other on the steering wheel, admiring the view of his wife’s slender yet curvaceous figure. She turned around and gave him one more smile. Rapp waved and yanked the gearshift into drive. He pulled away with a smile of absolute contentment on his face. Things just kept getting better between them. They were hitting their stride, and to be honest he’d never been happier.
19
RIYADH, SAUDI ARABIA
A bel stepped from the terminal and paused to take in a full breath of the hot dry air. He had mixed feelings about coming back to the Kingdom so soon and hoped the prince would not require more than a few days of his time. He understood, however, that the delicate nature of this business meant talking on the phone, no matter how secure they might think the line, was not wise. As much as he didn’t want to leave the Alps, he knew he must.
The fall colors would be blazing near his mountain retreat, and the air would grow crisper with each day. This was the best time of the year to hike. The summer months were still a bit too humid for his asthma, and heavy exercise could be a problem. Now that everything had been set in motion he had a second reason to long for his tiny Alpine village. His survival instincts were kicking in. Sequestered in his mountain retreat he could think clearly and plan for the proper contingencies should things go wrong. So, he would as politely as possible tell Prince Muhammad that he had pressing business to attend to in Zurich, and with any luck, the sociopath would grant him leave.
Prince Muhammad bin Rashid had sent his minions to whisk the German through customs. A white limousine was waiting for him just outside the door with a security detail of two. Another man was placing his carry-on bag in the trunk as if it was a fine piece of art. The fourth and final man was holding the door open for him, gesturing with an upturned palm for him to enter the air-conditioned chamber. For a fleeting moment Abel had the ominous feeling he was being invited to his own funeral. He hesitated briefly and then got in the vehicle.
Why he didn’t turn around and take the first plane back to Europe he did not know. It was not because he trusted Prince Muhammad. He did not. It probably had more to do with the difficulties that would have been caused by not getting in the car. It was quite possible he would have been forcibly removed from the airport. And there were also the inherent risks, occupational hazards if you will, that came with the territory. Things he had grown callous to after two decades of deceit, subterfuge, and murder. He doubted Rashid would kill him, but it was not out of the question. In Abel’s astute opinion the man was a narcissistic sociopath. He lived literally behind fortress walls, surrounded by bodyguards and the opulent wealth that his billions provided. His contact with the real world was severely limited. The royal family had a schism running through its heart. One side looked to the future while the other clung to the past. It was pitting brother against brother and before it was over there would be a bloodletting.
Rashid was a thorough man. A man who liked to cover his tracks. What was it that the assassin had said to Abel in Paris?
I am very aware of the kind of person who pays for this type of work. A few are practical, but many have serious psychological problems. They are often sociopaths who must have their way in everything they do in life. They like all the loose ends tied up and everything tucked away neatly in a box. And for some of them that means getting rid of the man who pulled the trigger.
That pretty much summed up Prince Muhammad. The assassin was a smart man. He still had been given no name by which to call him, but the woman had told him to call her Marie. She had done that right before she told him they were backing out of the deal unless he raised the fee from seven to an even ten million. Abel had begun to argue and she hung up on him without bothering to reply. He waited frantically for the next three hours for her to call back. When she finally did, he was forced to use every ounce of restraint he could muster to keep his cool. He’d never dealt with anyone like these two before. They were like a beautiful woman who told you no and slapped you in the face. For some inexplicable reason he kept coming back for more.
Rather than start the search over, he acquiesced to the new number, and just like that, three million dollars was yanked from his pocket. They had kept him off balance every step of the way and in the process had proven to him that they were more than up to the task. Now he just had to sit back, and let them do the heavy lifting. That was of course unless Rashid planned on having him killed. Abel looked out the heavily tinted window and decided he would have to subtly indicate to the prince that his death would be a mutually disastrous event.
The palace was massive and looked strikingly similar to a five-star resort Abel had once visited in Arizona. It occupied 225 acres and contained thoroughbred stables, six outdoor pools, three indoor pools, a nine-hole golf course, and a small amusement park. All four of Rashid’s wives lived on the property, in separate mansions, as well as many of his twenty-one children and his quickly growing brood of grandchildren. The large metal gate opened and the limousine rolled up the palm tree–lined cobblestone path past a colossal fountain and pulled under the huge portico of the main palace. It wasn’t always easy keeping Rashid’s dwellings straight. There was the one in Mecca, one in Jeddah on the Red Sea, a home in Zurich, and an amazing villa outside Granada, Spain.
The prince did not like to travel abroad very much, but his villa in Spain was his pride. It was one of his stated goals to see Islam once again take its rightful place on the shores of Spain. Abel was often amused by this. Spain was an overwhelmingly Catholic country, and Islam’s reign in the southern part of the country was very short lived by historical standards. Prince Muhammad and his cabal saw no inconsistency in their position on Spain and their desire that Israel be wiped off the map. Abel, being German, felt he was in a unique position to understand the Zionist movement and the desire of the Jewish people to have a state in their historic homeland. By any fair historical standard the Jews had a far better case in their quest for a secure homeland than the crazy Wahhabis had in their desire to reimport Islam to Spain. For obvious reasons, Abel chose to keep his mouth shut rather than point out this flawed line of thinking to Rashid.
PRINCE MUHAMMAD WAS waiting for him near his main pool which was built in the shape of a camel. Every time Abel came here he got the feeling that the place had been decorated by a ten-year-old boy. The prince was situated under a large khaki-colored tent dressed in full tribal regalia, which was his custom. Two of his ever present bodyguards hovered nearby.
Abel stepped under the tent and bent slightly at the waist. “Good afternoon, Prince Muhammad. How may I be of service to you?”
“Come sit, Erich. We have much to discuss. I hope you are hungry.”
“Yes, I am.”
A servant stepped forward and held a chair for Abel. The German noted the chair was situated right next to the prince, which was unusual. Rashid must be in an extraconspiratorial mood. They made small talk while they drank—Rashid coffee and Abel iced tea. After about five minutes the prince dismissed his bodyguards, and Abel immediately relaxed. If Rashid had any thought of killing him, he would never dismiss the two bookends.
Rashid offered his visitor a bowl of fruit. “How are things going with my old friend?”
Abel assumed he was talking about Saeed Ahmed Abdullah. “I met with him, as you asked, and I am in the process of helping him solve his problem.”
The prince nodded thoughtfully. “You u
nderstand he is not well?”
“In what way is he ill?”
“His heart aches for his son, and I’m afraid it has made him crazy.”
Abel nodded that he understood.
“My friend is not stable, but he is someone to whom I owe a great deal.”
Abel was at a loss for words.
“I appreciate you helping him with his problem,” continued Rashid. “I do not know who he wants killed, but I have my suspicions.”
“You know I will tell you if you’d like, Prince Muhammad.”
Rashid held up his hand and shook his head slowly. “No. I do not want to know such things.”
“I would agree that it is very important that as few people as possible know about this. I instructed your friend to speak to no one.”
“I stressed the same point with him, but still I worry.” The prince fingered a grape and regarded it while he tried to decide what to say next. “The man Abdullah wants you to kill…if it is who I am thinking of, you must be extremely careful. He is not just any man. If you fail, he will come after you, and he won’t stop until he has your head on a spit.”
Abel had considered this. “The person I have hired is exceptionally good.”
“You have seen him in action?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. He is very capable, and I suspect the perfect man for the job.”
The prince popped a grape into his mouth. “How well do you know this person?”
Abel regarded the question cautiously. “In my line of work, we try not to get to know each other too well.”
The prince stared off in the distance for a moment. “There is much at stake here. I cannot be associated with any of this, and neither can you. You are far too valuable to me.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I would like you to make sure there is no way you can be linked to any of this. If this man you have hired succeeds, there will be some very upset, very powerful people…and they will want to find out who was behind it.”
Abel considered himself an expert at risk assessment. “The man who your friend wants killed…he has many enemies. Without any hard evidence the U.S. will have a very hard time tracking down who was behind this.”
“And if they get evidence, if this man you have hired makes a mistake, or even worse, if he fails and gets captured…”
“There are no guarantees, Prince Muhammad. All of that is possible, but unlikely. The man I have hired is very good. The odds are in our favor that he will succeed, and no one will ever link him to us.” Abel noticed the doubtful look in Rashid’s eyes. In an effort to further assure him he said, “I have covered my tracks. Even if my man fails it would be exceptionally difficult for them to trace it back to me.”
“I do not share your confidence.”
Abel exhaled a tired sigh. He did not know what else to say.
“If the man you have hired is captured, the U.S. authorities will find out it was you who hired him.”
“The man has no idea who I am, other than a vague description of me and an alias I used.” Abel could tell where this was going and felt it necessary to lie to the prince.
“The U.S. has gotten much better with their interrogation techniques. I assume this man has a way of contacting you.”
Abel nodded.
“All they need is a phone number, an e-mail address. You have paid the man, undoubtedly through electronic transfer?”
“Yes.”
“They will get it out of him and they will trace the money all the way back to Abdullah.”
Abel disagreed. “I used a network of banks that are known for honoring the confidentiality of their clients. Even with the new terrorist banking laws I am protected.”
A cynical smile formed on Rashid’s lips. “I have heard rumors. The U.S. no longer bothers going through the Swiss courts. They simply hack into the banking networks and get the information they need. They come and go with impunity and the banks never even know they are there.”
“With all due respect, Prince Muhammad, those rumors are grossly exaggerated.”
“You have your sources, and I have mine,” the prince said with a mischievous smile.
They were at a stalemate. Abel did not know what else he could say to assuage the prince’s concerns so he gave in to the inevitable. “What would you like me to do?”
“I want you to cover your tracks.”
“I told you…I have already done that.”
Prince Muhammad looked at the German with the stern look of a wise father who had grown tired of debating a point. “I will say this only once more. I want you to make sure there is no possible way for the Americans to trace any of this back to you or Abdullah.”
Abel looked away from the prince and let his eyes settle on the shimmering surface of the ridiculous camel-shaped pool. He knew all too well that Prince Muhammad really meant he didn’t want the Americans tracing any of this back to him. Abel was in a tough position. If he continued to resist the prince on this issue he might find himself at the bottom of the camel-shaped pool staring up at the surface with a couple of lungs filled with heavily chlorinated water. There was no other option at the moment other than submitting. Once out of Saudi Arabia he would have to sort things out. For now he would have to make the best of a bad situation.
He looked back at the prince. “It can be done, but it will not be cheap.”
“How much?”
The truth was, he was not so sure it could be done, but Rashid would not be satisfied with that answer. He had no idea who the man was, and there was so little to go on where the girl was concerned. Add to that the explicit warning from the assassin that he would kill him in a second if he caught him trying to find out who they were. Maybe Petrov knew more about them. Maybe he could bribe the old communist into setting them up. Abel thought about what that would take and said, “Five million…maybe more.”
Rashid looked at him with his best poker face. Unlike Abdullah, whose judgment was clouded by the murder of his son, Rashid was not going to simply open the vault and hand him over a mound of cash. “Do you take me for a fool?”
“No.”
“Five million is far too much.”
“With all due respect, Prince Muhammad, it might not be enough. I will need to hire a small army to go after this man, and I will have to bribe many officials to get the information I need to find him. Five million is the minimum.”
Rashid did not speak for a long time. His brown, almost black eyes stayed locked on the German. Abel for his part held his ground. He did not look directly at the prince, for that would have only provoked him, but he kept his mouth shut, which was the number one rule of negotiating.
After a full minute Rashid relented. “Not a penny more.”
“I will do my best,” replied Abel in a voice void of any sign of victory.
“Yes, you will.” Rashid fingered another grape. “You always do.”
“I expect you wish me to get started on this immediately.”
“Yes. I have a plane waiting to take you wherever you need to go.”
Abel thought about it for a second and then said to the prince, “Moscow.”
The prince smiled cynically. “So you are working with your old friends the Russians? That is good. They will do anything for money. They are like whores that way.”
Abel decided not to comment. He wondered if Prince Muhammad had any idea how the Russians felt about the Saudis. It was tempting to tell him, but then again he had no desire to end up in the pool. He stood and gave the prince a curt bow. “Thank you for your hospitality, Prince Muhammad. I will keep you informed of my progress.”
“I will have your money waiting for you on the plane. No more wire transfers.”
“However you wish to handle it.”
A member of the prince’s vast staff appeared as if out of nowhere and gestured for Abel to follow him. As soon as the two were out of sight, a stern man dressed in white robes stepped from behind a curtain and joine
d Prince Muhammad. He remained standing with his arms folded across his broad chest.
“What do you think?” asked the prince.
The man sneered and said, “I do not trust him. I have never trusted him.”
The prince smiled. Colonel Nawaf Tayyib had served under Muhammad when he’d been the secretary of the interior. Tayyib worked for the Saudi Intelligence Service, and had been one of the prince’s most trusted officers. He was an extremely efficient man who was not afraid to use force to get results.
“What should I do with him?” asked Muhammad.
“I think you should let me deal with him.”
Muhammad nodded. This was the answer he had expected. “Keep a discreet eye on him. When the time is right you will know.”
20
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
R app pulled into the underground parking garage beneath the Old Headquarters building at Langley, and parked next to Kennedy’s armored Lincoln Town Car. The spaces in this relatively small underground garage were highly prized. One of the misfits in the Counterterrorism Center had informed Rapp of this a few years ago. Apparently there was some recently promoted deputy director over in Science and Technology who was furious that Rapp was using his executive parking spot. Rapp couldn’t care less—about the parking space or the upset bureaucrat for that matter. He did care, however, about the private elevator that allowed him to bypass the main lobby and people who might want to bend his ear. That was one of the first things Rapp had noticed when he was brought in from the field. People worked at a different pace at headquarters. They had a lot of time to talk, attend meetings, and surf the Internet. Rapp’s loner attitude was directly at odds with anything that involved socializing. He prided himself on spending as little time as possible at headquarters and when he was there he did his best to avoid conversation.
The private elevator that went directly from the garage to the director’s office suite helped significantly. Rapp got in and slid his ID into the card reader. No buttons needed to be pressed. The elevator either went all the way up to the seventh floor or all the way back down to the garage. The elevator started to move, and Rapp looked up at the tiny camera mounted in the corner. He held his right hand up in front of his face and flipped the bird. Just before the elevator stopped, Rapp stepped to one side and grabbed the butt of his shoulder-holstered pistol. The doors slid open and Rapp was confronted with a mirror image of what he might look like in another fifteen years. The man was even standing like him with one hand resting on his own holstered pistol. His name was Vince Delgado. He was the head of Kennedy’s security detail, and he and Rapp loved to give each other crap.