NanoStrike (7 page)

Scott terminated his examination of the window and focused on Abdul. “What do you think, Rafiq?”

“Depends on what we hope to gain.” Rafiq also faced his junior correspondent. “Do you want to do this, Abdul?”

“Yes, I think it could be important.”

Scott sat opposite them and folded his hands on the desk. Abdul received the stare again. The room went quiet for five beats. Throat tight with nerves, Abdul swallowed, twice.

Scott said, “You do understand the risks? You wouldn’t be the first journalist taken hostage.”

“I’ve thought of that, sir. They’re an unknown organization. They want publicity. Hamas or Al-Qaida can take hostages and use them as leverage. But if a new group shows bad faith at an initial meeting, no one will ever deal with them.”

“You still have family in Jerusalem, right?”

“Yes. My parents and siblings were the only family members to leave.”

“Okay, Rafiq, let’s set it up.” Scott scanned the letter. “They’re going to call him at the King David hotel in Jerusalem at 6:00 p.m. next Wednesday. Abdul, why don’t you go a few days early? Visit with your family. Adjust to the time zone and the language.”

“Thank you sir, I’d like that. It’s been many years since I was back.”

“No, thank you, young man, and good luck.” Scott stood and took a firm grip of Abdul’s hand across the desk. “Rafiq will set up a communications regimen. Don’t miss a scheduled call or you might find the cavalry smashing into your room and turning you out of bed.”

Scott’s mouth smiled, but his eyes did not.

Chapter 9

One week before the tube train massacre, Nazar Eudon stood stage center at a wooden lectern in the Hilton London Metropolis Hotel. Dressed in a seven-thousand-dollar charcoal-gray suit, power tie, and white shirt, he presented a carefully crafted look.

Nazar’s face, surgically tightened to wrinkle-free perfection, stared from two huge screens mounted at each side of the stage. Colored contact lenses transformed his brown eyes to a striking green; dark hair, supplemented with implants at the crown, graduated in tone so it blended into his trimmed, silver-gray beard.

Most of the audience at the International Alternative Energy Symposium was pro-renewables. Nazar’s selection as keynote speaker had met with resistance from members of the organizing committee. But after his marketing VP e-mailed Nazar’s speech to the chairman, Nazar had prevailed.

As he reached the conclusion of his twenty-minute talk, Nazar was about to drop a bomb.

“I am honored that in this room, with my competitors and peers in the energy business, sit Nobel-prize winning scientists, leaders of the world’s finest academic institutions, and political representatives from more than thirty nations.” As he referred to them, Nazar made eye contact with a few of the five hundred seated luminaries.

“I wish to apologize to you all.”

People fidgeted in their seats as he scanned the crowd and allowed his words to hang for a silent three-count.

“I am sixty-four-years old. It has taken me until now to understand that my life’s work has contributed more than most to the tragic despoiling of our fragile planet . . . obviously, I am a slow learner.” His wry smile triggered a smattering of laughter and eased the tension. “I plan to make amends. Today, I formally and publicly reject the business model that has made me a rich man.
Today, from this platform, I am announcing a new direction for Nazar Eudon.” Nazar bowed his head to emphasize contrition.

A hushed silence hung over the audience. These were extraordinary words coming from one of the world’s most hawkish oilmen.

“From now on, my life, energy, and resources will be dedicated to Eudon Alternative Energy, an organization committed to delivering only clean, renewable energy solutions. Naturally, I can no longer continue to serve the shareholders of Eudon Oil, so today I am resigning as their Chief Executive Officer.” Uncertain applause rippled through the meeting hall.

“Ladies and gentlemen, mark this day, a milestone in my life I am honored to have shared with you. I pray that in the eyes of Allah my achievements going forward will be sufficient reparation for the damage I have wreaked on His magnificent earthly creation. I look forward to working with you to make Eudon Alternative Energy’s bold vision a reality. Thank you for your time and attention.”

Right hand on his heart, Nazar stepped from behind the lectern and bowed. The audience applauded. A few people stood, then more. Shouts and whistles echoed across the auditorium and gradually became a raucous standing ovation. The chairman came from stage left, took Nazar’s hand in both of his, and shook with vigor.

With a final wave, Nazar left the stage. Behind him, he heard excited murmuring as the crowd discussed what a huge private initiative to accelerate the development and adoption of alternative energy solutions might mean. But what really had them buzzing was the announcement that the CEO of the fourth-largest oil company in the world planned to turn his back on the goose that laid his golden eggs.

Sandwiched between two burly security guards, he smiled as he strode through the dark backstage. Dropping the announcement on that group of self-serving crooks and charlatans had been a rush. Tonight, his business competitors would raise a glass to the crazy Arab who had committed financial suicide.

They’d be laughing from the other side of their faces when he started producing ethanol at a buck-fifty a barrel.

One of the suits held the elevator door, and Nazar joined six of his staff. They descended to the second floor where he and one bodyguard got out. The rest of the group continued to the ground floor. A second guard held the adjacent elevator for Nazar and they rode it to the roof where they climbed into a waiting helicopter. Less than ten minutes after leaving the stage, he was in the air.

Below him, on the street outside the auditorium, a crush of reporters pressed and jostled his staff as they protected a decoy Nazar Eudon and escorted him, dramatically, toward a waiting black SUV.

At Heathrow airport, a sedan collected him from the helipad and drove him to the steps of his private jet.

Keisha, her black hair pulled back in the tight bun he preferred, awaited him. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Eudon.”

“Thank you. I’m relieved to be back and, as always, delighted to see you.”

His personal assistant smiled and bowed, her delicate hands clasped in front. “I’ve laid out a change of clothes. We’re scheduled to depart in thirty minutes.”

In five paces, he passed through the plane’s passenger cabin and opened the door to his private apartment, which occupied half the plane. A black silk jumpsuit lay on top of the colorful, hand-stitched top-cover of his king-sized bed. Letting his clothes drop at his feet, he stripped, then stepped into the bathroom. A switch turned on the shower, the water adjusted to his preferred temperature.

Fabier Martain of Paris had handcrafted the mother-of-pearl-accented porcelain tiles that covered the bathroom walls, ceiling, and floor. The tiles served as a canvas for a hand-painted mural portraying
Hydrophis belcheri
—the most venomous snake in the world. Its vivid gold and dark-green striped scales coiled around the room and culminated on the rear wall of the shower stall where its mouth gaped, ready to strike.

As Nazar traced the snake’s fangs with his finger, a cocoon of water jets massaged his body.

He toweled off and, still naked, returned to the living room, slipped on the silk jumpsuit, and pressed the intercom.

“How about one of your special martinis, Keisha?”

Seconds later, the door opened. Nazar lounged on the bed. He admired her as she turned to place a tray of food on the cocktail bar. At first he had lusted after her, and now, ten years later, Keisha had become indispensable to him. She wore a simple black skirt, tiny and tight. Even in three-inch heels she was six inches shorter than he. She bent forward to hand him the drink, delivering the teasing glimpse of breast he so enjoyed. But only titillation; his sexual proclivities did not extend to mature women.

She said, “I have some wonderful sashimi, selected in person from Billingsgate market. Can I tempt you?”

“You constantly tempt me, Keisha, and I’m delighted you do. That sounds wonderful, and then I think I’ll catch up on my sleep. What is our flight time?”

“Five hours. We’re cleared to Aqaba.” She moved the tray of food to his bedside table. Colorful slices of fish, rice, and seaweed garnish were precisely positioned on the stark white plate as though she had painted the meal.

“Please, sit and join me for a few moments.”

Her slit skirt rode up her thigh as she perched on the edge of a leather executive chair. With a light touch of her index finger, she woke a computer monitor centered on the table next to her.

“How are the preparations for the press campaign proceeding?” Nazar asked.

“Releases have gone out worldwide. Today’s conference attendees received a package as they left. Martin is in Washington this weekend. He’s scheduled to do the rounds of the Sunday-morning talk shows. You have an option for
Sixty Minutes;
they’ve agreed to take it via satellite if you’re available.”

“What does Martin think?”

“He thinks you should delegate it to him. CBS probably won’t take a substitute, but he feels we have a better chance of going viral if we encourage the ‘billionaire’s epiphany’ positioning.”

Nazar smiled. Martin Spalling was an expert in manipulation, and his VP knew the savior-and-benefactor-to-the-world image played well to Nazar’s ego.

“Tell him to proceed as he thinks best. What about our friends in the Middle East?”

“They appreciated the prior notice. However, it will cause some strain. After all, you are proposing a shift away from their primary product, but there are no contract termination threats. Martin has arranged a press briefing in Eilat on Friday. He hopes you can attend. He has sent an invitation to the
Times of London
. He asks that you pay special attention to their delegate.”

“I understand. Eilat will be convenient. Also, message Beijing. Tell them to begin covering my short positions as soon as the markets open.”

She typed the message as he spoke.

“Exciting times, Keisha.”

“Yes, sir.” She stood, bent her knees, and in one graceful movement collected his discarded clothes. “Please, eat, then rest. You have a busy week ahead.” Almost imperceptibly, she brushed her hand against his bare arm as she straightened to leave.

With monogrammed ivory chopsticks, Nazar selected a sliver of ginger from the center of its rose-petal arrangement on his plate and slipped it onto his tongue.

His thoughts drifted to Aqaba, a city of whitewashed stone buildings at the southern tip of Jordan. A nugget nestling beneath towering purple mountains. Headquarters for his vast global oil enterprise, its deep-water port was strategically important to Jordan, and to much of the Arab world beyond.

But Nazar wasn’t interested in Aqaba because of its strategic location. In a city of one hundred thousand residents, Nazar’s dollar-heavy hand reached into every level of government and from there throughout the country of Jordan. A king ruled Jordan, but Nazar was its prince in all but name. He provided security and largesse to the bureaucrats, in particular to those managing the affairs of his beloved Aqaba. In return, he was above the law in this land of the easy bribe.

The reason for his bold announcement in London lay far from the idyllic presentation of a sudden personal epiphany.
Forbes
magazine ranked him 276
^th
in their list of the world’s richest people. They based his net worth of $4.6 billion on his seven-percent stake in Eudon Oil. But Nazar had leveraged his stock, risked everything on Dawud Ferran’s nanobots. On paper, he was a billionaire. In reality, he was closer to broke.

Since the Professor’s demonstration in Ohio, a Chinese investment house had accumulated a large short position in Eudon Oil shares on his behalf. Today’s announcement, made after the close of London’s stock exchange, would trigger a huge sell-off in Eudon Oil. As chief executive, he was legally bound to declare any trading in company stock, but China was a long way off, and the Chinese were discreet. He expected to clear five hundred million dollars by covering his positions, betting against his company.

Eudon Alternative Energy was a private company. Its progress and potential were not public record. Nazar owned it one hundred percent, and to date he’d invested two billion dollars to move his nanobot team from Ohio and build the refinery complex in the desert.

With the Chinese funds he could complete the plant. Once the ethanol began flowing and the news media realized he had a solution to the energy crisis, then shares of Eudon Alternative Energy would be offered to the public, and he would take his rightful place at the top of the
Forbes
Billionaires list.

Nazar Eudon was destined be the most powerful Arab in history, and the richest man in the world.

Chapter 10

When Abdul landed at Israel’s Ben Gurion International Airport a week after getting the Allah’s Revenge letter, nervous energy tingled through him. On his last visit to Israel at age fourteen, a grim-faced Israeli immigration official in a Plexiglas booth had stamped an entry-visa into his passport and glared at Abdul as if he were dirt on his shoe. Now he was returning, a junior correspondent for the
Times of London
, here to become Ghazi’s “messenger to the world.”

As Abdul strode past the baggage-claim carousels, he took journalistic note of the eclectic crowd. Stressed tourists and costumed nuns mingled with groups of black-suited, dreadlocked Hasidic Jews. Only in Israel.

Abdul walked through the neon-bright, modern airport and out the main exit into the long, broad, concrete arrivals tunnel. Ahead, hundreds of people crowded either side of the entrance, narrowing the corridor as they craned to catch the first glimpse of a son or daughter, aunt or mother. Fifty feet in front, apparently unable to restrain their joy, a half-dozen black-draped women ran forward and clustered around a frail old man, like iron filings latching to a magnet.