Wrath & Righteousnes Episodes 01 to 05 (3 page)

Al-Rahman shook his head uncertainly, then shot a quick look back at the resort. Three men stood at the top of the trail leading from the beach to the pool. Large men. Caucasian. Determined. Dark glasses and dark suit coats to hide their sidearms. None of the faces were familiar and he swore to himself. It was suddenly very quiet, as if the sound of the street traffic on the other side of the hotel had stopped. He glanced east, down the beach to a line of low trees and saw another stranger standing in shorts and an oversized shirt. An enormous beach towel was draped over his shoulders and al-Rahman knew where his pistol was concealed. Behind him, in the distance, barely a bird on the horizon, a gray helicopter hovered above the coastline.

He glanced left and right, feeling naked, his gut tied in knots and his underarms sweating. For the first time in his life, he knew he was alone.

Where had his men gone? Cowards! He would have them shot!

Al-Rahman glared at the stranger, then nodded toward the hotel. “Who are they?” he demanded.

The old man looked up and hesitated, as if he didn’t know.

Al-Rahman growled, “Come on, old man, tell me!”

The old man glanced at the bodyguards. “They work for me. That’s all you need to know.”

“Where are my people?”

“It seems they have left.”

Prince al-Rahman shook his head in disbelief. Could it be true? He
will
have them shot! The old man watched him, then reached down and adjusted his loose T-shirt, pulling it down over his bony hips. “Don’t blame your men,” he said softly. “They did their best. My people are better, that’s all.”

Al-Rahman felt the panic rising, a knot of fear growing tight in his throat. His eyes darted up and down the beach, thinking of how he might escape. Another man appeared near the tree line. Al-Rahman looked in the other direction where a small schooner had planted itself on the beach. The two men who worked the small anchor kept a focused eye on the intruder.

His mind began racing. Was this a kidnapping? A murder? One of his rival cousins? He swore and looked down at the sand, then glared at the old man.

The stranger read the look on his face. “No harm, no foul,” he said calmly. “You are not in danger. Your men are not far away. So relax and forgive me, but I wanted to speak with you alone.”

“Who are you?” al-Rahman demanded. “What do you want?”

The old man smiled, then reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a stick of chewing gum. He unwrapped it quickly and dropped the blue wrapper on the sand. “I want the same thing as you do,” he answered simply.

“How do you know what I want?”

The man smiled again, his glowing yellow eyes burning bright. “I know the hearts of most men. I know how they think and I know how they feel. I know what they desire and what they are willing to do. That’s what I know. And that’s what I know about you.”

Al-Rahman was quiet as the fear began to subside in his heart. He glanced past the old man. “How
did
you get past my bodyguards?” he asked. The old man dismissed the question, but waved a bony finger in front of his chest. “We need the royal family to hold on to power,” he said. “Your father, the monarch, must not go through with his plans. The last thing we need is another democracy in the Middle East. I’d say the filthy Jews are enough, don’t you agree?”

Al-Rahman certainly did, but he still didn’t answer, and the old man wet his dry lips again. “Your father will ruin everything unless we stop him,” he said.

Al-Rahman snorted in disgust. “My father is a fool,” he answered bitterly.

“No! You are wrong. You might as well say the sun comes up in the west as to call your father a fool. The king is a
visionary
! The most dangerous kind. But he is no fool, I promise, and until you understand that you will be useless to me.”

Al-Rahman stood silent. He wouldn’t quibble over words.
Fool
.
Visionary
. “Whatever,” he said.

The old man studied the prince, knowing he had not understood, but he also saw the fire of hatred and that was enough. “Your father isn’t the only enemy you have, Prince al-Rahman!” he continued. “You have more enemies than you know of, and I’m not talking about jealous brothers, bitter cousins or betrayed friends. I’m not talking about any man in the kingdom who could do you harm. I’m talking about the only real enemy you have, the only real force that could take from both of us what we most desire in this life.”

Al-Rahman stared at him. “What are you talking about?” he answered bitterly. Al-Rahman always spoke sharply—being raised as a prince made one prone to be rude—but his tone had changed now. His voice was soft and clearly interested.

“We can change things,” was all the old man said.

Simple words. Certainly not threatening. No indication of menace or obvious harm. But something inside the young prince trembled.
We can change things
. Yes, that was something he would like to see!

The prince thought a long moment, then pushed the trembling feeling aside. “Who are you?” he demanded in a demeaning sneer. “Who are you, old man, and what can you do?”

The man cocked his head toward his left shoulder. “Oh a few things,” he offered simply. “Like, I don’t know. For example, we caused the American invasion of Iraq. OK, I overstated. We didn’t cause it, at least not literally, but we certainly
facilitated
the natural progression of events. That’s no big thing, I suppose. Nothing, except for what did it lead to? Twenty
trillion
dollars of economic contraction. Governments toppled. Governments on the edge. People rethinking their expectations for the next entire generation. A reordering of the security relationship between citizens and governments all over the world. The U.S. government is certainly among those who have been affected, taking advantage of the crisis to reorder things, at least as much as they could, with the men that were in place.”

He paused, glancing toward al-Rahman. “Not bad, for a first step.” His voice was sarcastic and disdainful. “And we could do it again. In fact, there’s a chance that we will.”

Al-Rahman turned away when the old man looked at him.

“As to who we are,” the old one concluded, his dry spit bridging a white line between his lips. “Look where all the money goes today. Trillions of U.S. dollars being moved here and there. I know, I know, the saying is trite and overly simplified, but in this case it is at least partly true.
Follow the money, and the power.
That will tell you who we are.”

The prince didn’t move, the stiff breeze blowing back his hair. Although the fading sun shone upon him, he trembled again.

The old man turned to stare out on the water. “Now, do you want me to show you how to stop your old man?” he asked

Al-Rahman glanced around him, then was silent again.

The old man nodded. “Yes, I thought that you might. Now quickly. Come with me to the airport and I will show you a few things you need to know.”

* * *

A short flight later, the two men sat in a rented car parked on a side street, half a block from the American Embassy in Paris. It was dark and warm, and the Parisian streets were busy around them. Cement barricades blocked the street twenty yards in front of their black Mercedes-Benz SUV, and a contingent of
gendarmes
guarded the security booth near the barricades.

Prince al-Rahman shifted nervously in the back seat of the Mercedes Benz. A driver and another bodyguard sat in the front, but a dark, bulletproof glass separated the front and back seats. The old man sat beside him. Al-Rahman still did not yet know his name. The old man glanced at his watch, then began to explain. “The American ambassador is hosting a reception for the Saudi OPEC delegation,” he said. “You probably know that. It has been in the news. The public explanation for the reception is to strengthen the American ties to the lead OPEC nation, but the real reason for the meeting goes far beyond that.”

The prince shot a look toward his new friend. “What else?” he asked.

The old man shifted, moving himself forward in the seat. “The U.S. secretary of state will be at the meeting. They will sign a document that will guarantee the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia will not reduce its output of oil for at least the next five years. It will also guarantee Saudi Arabia will exert its influence to ensure that none of the other OPEC nations will reduce their production as well. In exchange, the U.S. military will reassign the First Marine Expeditionary Force to the military base outside Dhahran. See, your father, King Faysal, knows the transition to democracy may be difficult at times and having a U.S. military presence established again in the kingdom will likely reduce the threat of bloodshed and instability. So everyone gets what they want. The United States secures its desperate need for oil as well as a reestablished military presence in Saudi Arabia, and the king gets the stabilizing influence of U.S. forces for the next twenty years. That is the essence of the secret deal that will be signed here tonight. No one will ever know.”

Al-Rahman nodded gravely. He had already heard rumors and he wasn’t completely surprised.

The two men were silent and the night grew darker around them. The old man reached to the console between them and pulled out a package of cigarettes and lit up, the orange-yellow glow illuminating his scrawny face. He offered one to al-Rahman, who took it and lit up with his own silver lighter. The old man pointed to one of the
gendarmes
who stood near the cement barricades. “Do you see the young sergeant there?” he asked. “The one in the black hat?”

Al-Rahman moved forward on his seat and nodded.

“He has twenty pounds of plastic explosive strapped up and down his legs,” the old man explained.

Al-Rahman grunted. He didn’t believe it. The old man stared at him, reading the dull expression on his face. “You have a question?” he asked.

Al-Rahman grunted again. “Your guy does not have any explosives on him,” he said.

The old man looked hurt. “Why do you say that?” he asked.

Al-Rahman pointed to two guards with German shepherds standing at the barricade. “Sniff dogs. If your guy had explosives, they would be going crazy right now.”

“Hmmm, of course you’re right. But you see, Prince al-Rahman, earlier this evening the dogs were exposed to a 50 parts per million whiff of hydrogen sulfide, a strong enough dose to destroy their olfactory abilities for the next ten days or so. Truth is, you could throw those dogs a stick of dynamite and they would happily retrieve it and drop it at your feet. Those dogs couldn’t smell a skunk if it climbed on their faces and rolled on their noses.”

The old man took another drag then continued, “In five minutes, at exactly 9:15 p.m., the young sergeant, our man in the black hat, is going to walk toward the embassy and talk to the canine guards at the door. He will be cleared to enter the embassy to use the restroom, but he will have to use the service entrance on the south side of the building. It will take him just more than three minutes to get inside. Once inside the building, he will make his way through the kitchen, toward the service elevator. The reception for the OPEC delegation is being held on the second floor, just above the main reception hall. He can get to the main hallway from the service elevator. Once he is in the main reception hall, he will detonate the plastic explosives that are strapped to his legs. Most of the east side of the building will come down in a grand fireball.” The old man spoke as calmly as if he were announcing the future demise of rats. “We estimate forty or fifty casualties,” he concluded. “Most of them will be Americans, but there will be many Saudis as well.”

Al-Rahman turned toward him, his face stretched in surprise. “You’re going to kill them!” he cried.

“No, al-Rahman.
You’re
going to kill them. The decision is yours,” The old man answered calmly.

Al-Rahman shifted, his eyes wide with sickness and fear. “But why? What is the purpose? What do you hope to do?”

“Our only purpose, Prince al-Rahman, is to test you. We want to know who you are. We want to know what you value and how far you will go. That is the only reason we’re here. Now we have chosen to strike the Americans, but that hardly matters to us right now or at least in this case. Our only purpose in this exercise is to see if you will go along with us and find out who you really are.”

“But,” al-Rahman stammered, “if you kill the U.S. secretary of state . . . .”

“Relax,” the old man answered as he pulled another drag on his smoke. “The secretary of state isn’t scheduled to appear for another hour or so. He’s not a target. This is just our little test.”

Al-Rahman gasped, his heart slamming in his chest. “I don’t understand,” he sputtered.

“Oh come on, al-Rahman, it’s not that difficult. Say the word, say one simple word, and the entire operation is called off. One word from you and
poof
, not a thing happens here. Say the word and that’s it, we call the entire thing off. You and I say goodbye. You’ll never see me again. I drop you off at a private airport where one of our executive jets is waiting to fly you back to the beach. You forget me. I forget you. This whole things becomes a strange dream, nothing more. Just say the word and you save the lives of your countrymen and some American civilians as well.

“But if you decide you want to join us, if you decide you want us to show you how to hold onto power, then don’t say anything and at 9:21 p.m., fifty people will die, many of them Saudis, your countrymen, even friends. Many more will be injured, but I can’t say how many for sure.”

Al-Rahman remained silent, his heart slamming his chest in shock and fear. “I don’t believe it,” he stammered.

The old man studied him by the glow of the street lights. “Have you ever seen the result of a suicide bomber?” he asked.

Al-Rahman shook his head.

“Hard to explain what it looks like. Bloody . . . really bloody . . . a horrible mess. Pieces of bodies, bowels, heads, and ears. I’ve seen the face of a child lying on the street. No head, no bone, just the face, as if it had been surgically removed from the skull. I’ve seen dead hands reaching for something that was no longer there. Teeth and burned toes scattered on the sidewalk. And the smell, oh the smell! Burning flesh and charred hair! Smoldering bones is a smell that you will never forget!”