Arab Summer Read online

“Impossible. No one has this level of detail. It’s never been produced before, and this mapping was only undertaken as part of the mosque expansion currently under way, to avoid any damage to the underground structures during the construction.”

  Tom pointed to a spot on the map with Arabic words and numerals next to it. “What’s this?”

  “That’s a gate, through which one can enter the tunnels of the catacombs from the outside.”

  Tom could hardly believe it. A perfect way to get inside the mosque undetected, and the Saudis knew all about it but still had insisted on making a frontal assault. He smiled, felt his pulse quicken. “Great. So can you see any reason we can’t put a team, or a few, inside the catacombs to sneak into the mosque and take out the rebel leadership?”

  Assad said, “As Minister Yassar and I said upstairs, our plan is to starve them before taking any action such as that.”

  “But we’ve only got three days left before they reveal the Mahdi and launch the full uprising. You aren’t gonna starve out anybody in three days. I already told you my director was working on getting a Special Ops team on site here. I assume you can field a few of your own teams, can’t you?”

  Assad nodded and smiled. “How many men do you think we’ll need?”

  “Let’s work that out once I learn more about what’s happening on my side.” Tom looked at Zac. “How about you get back in there and see if there’s anything new from Langley?”

  A minute later they all walked into the bedroom where Zac sat in front of his equipment. Zac pulled off his earphones. “Nothing from Langley.”

  “Okay, so anything new with your triangulation?”

  Zac smiled. “I’ve got a lock on at least a half dozen phones.”

  Tom stepped closer and sat down. “Do you think it’s significant?”

  “Yeah. Four of the phones get regular use, almost exclusively from the communications room. Mostly outbound, but some inbound calls. Whoever is using them is smart enough to turn the phones off when he isn’t making calls, but obviously doesn’t know we can zero in on them even if they’re turned off as long as the batteries are in them.”

  Tom said, “You have a look on your face like you’re awfully proud of yourself.”

  “I’d say so. I think it has to be Saif. He’s rotating phones, because he can’t throw them away and use new ones because doesn’t have any more.”

  “Can you tell when they’re switched on?”

  “Of course.”

  “So that means we can make an incoming call to him, right?”

  Zac nodded.

  Tom turned to Assad and said, “How about we get Yassar down here?”

  Saif walked across the courtyard toward the entrance to the main prayer hall. Spent shell casings crunched under his feet. He saw a few of his men using clothing lashed to their AK-47s to brush the cartridges into piles because they didn’t have any brooms. The sickeningly sweet smell of blood from this morning had given over to the stench of death. Even though his men had been dragging the corpses into the shade all morning, the temperature at noon was already over 100°, and it was no use; the bodies were decaying rapidly. As he approached the main prayer hall he heard moans, because they were using it as a field hospital. Sympathetic SANG troops had stashed a number of field medical kits in the provisions they hid inside the catacombs for his men, but the medical kits were insufficient to allow them to do more than stem some bleeding with compresses and bandages, or to inject the wounded with morphine or local anesthetic to make them as comfortable as possible.

  Saif had known it would be like this. Most of his men hadn’t. As he got closer to the entrance to the prayer hall, he looked into the faces of a few of them, crouched behind columns clutching their weapons, watching the skies anxiously. They look frightened and exhausted. The same men who had stood on top of the walls and raised their rifles as they shouted in victory after beating back the ground assault.

  Even though they’d successfully held against the aerial assault, the carnage had been so complete, the terror with the Black Hawks thundering overhead so consummate, that Saif knew it was futile to try to raise the men’s morale with a rousing victory speech. He increased his pace as he crossed through the prayer hall and climbed the steps to the communications room. Rashid, Amal and Zaki were already there. They huddled together in a corner.

  “I’ve made the rounds and seen most of it,” Saif said. “Have you got the details?”

  Rashid said, “Ninety-three Royal Army troops killed, 19 wounded, 8 surrendered and being held. Forty-seven pilgrims killed, 136 wounded.”

  Saif closed his eyes and pursed his lips, dreading the tally for his own men.

  “Sixty-two of our own men killed, 73 wounded.”

  Saif said, “How many of the wounded are serious?”

  Rashid looked at Amal. “About half,” Amal said. “Probably half of them will die within 48 hours without medical attention. May be a quarter of them will die anyhow.”

  “How many of those that will die anyhow are our men?”

  “Perhaps a dozen.”

  Saif felt a wave of dread. “I understand.” He took a breath and looked up at Rashid. “Munitions?”

  Rashid said, “Plenty of clips for the AK-47s, hand grenades, surface-to-air missiles, and anti-tank missiles.”

  “Food?”

  “Enough for a week for our men.”

  “How many pilgrims?”

  “About 100,000.”

  Saif felt it like a jab in the ribs. He’d planned this for the last day of the Hajj, with the hope that the number of pilgrims would be enough for the royals to worry about hostages, but few enough to be a burden. Now he had to deal with it, 100,000 times over.

  “Leave us,” Saif said to Amal and Zaki.

  They left.

  “What do you think?” Rashid asked Saif.

  “I think we’re exactly where we should have expected to be.”

  “And where is that?”

  “In a stalemate, with options, and probably in a stronger negotiating position than we deserve to be.”

  “How so?”

  “Because regardless of how you look at the last four days, they probably think we have more men than we do, and feel like we trounced them three times, because we did. They will take huge criticism for doing the damage they have done to this, the holiest of places in Islam, and will be reluctant to do any more. In addition, we have 100,000 people in here who will keep the royals from attacking too aggressively, even though I was surprised by their willingness to fire at us from the helicopters yesterday.”

  “So where does that leave us?” Rashid asked.

  “Time to go downstairs and talk to Qahtani. In three days we can reveal the Mahdi.”

  Saif had just stood up to walk downstairs when he heard one of the cell phones ring across the room. He walked over and answered it.

  “Hello. Am I speaking to Saif?”

  “Who is asking?”

  “This is Minister Yassar.”

  Saif inhaled sharply. “Yes, this is Saif.” He felt like he should have said something more, but he was so taken aback that he decided that less was more.

  “Very good. I am pleased I was able to reach you. I am nearby, in Mecca, and have witnessed the events of the last four days. I have been authorized to speak on behalf of the Council of Ministers. I regret the violence that has occurred, and am anxious to deal first with the unfortunate casualties, including the innocent pilgrims. I have a proposal for you.” Yassar paused.

  “I’m listening.” Saif tried to keep it low-key. He wondered how Rickman would have played it. But as what character? Henry V? Hans Gruber? Snape?

  “First, as a gesture of good faith, we are prepared to turn back on the electricity, gas and water, and—”

  “The emergency generators are running, with ample supplies of propane, and the Zamzam Well inside the mosque is an adequate supply of water, one that is even blessed by Allah.”

  Yassar took a moment to sta
rt up again. Saif imagined him stewing over the impudence of a commoner, and a Shiite at that, to interrupt him. Yassar said, “Nonetheless, we will do so. We also propose to provide ambulances, medical personnel and supplies to attend to the wounded and infirm. Further, we will provide body bags, means of transport and personnel to remove the deceased so that they may be appropriately buried according to Islamic religious tradition. Finally, we will provide transportation to remove all the pilgrims who you inadvertently trapped inside the mosque during your occupation of it.”

  Inadvertently trapped. Very clever. Saif realized Yassar thought he was trying to sell the concept to him. What a relief to get rid of that baggage. The mosque itself was the only hostage he needed.

  “That is a humane and generous offer. How could I refuse?”

  “I am pleased with your response. We are ready to proceed immediately.”

  “Minister Yassar, I mean no disrespect, but I will insist upon certain procedures to ensure there will be no additional hostilities.”

  “Of course. I understand completely.”

  Saif was now thinking on his feet, his mind catching up. “And we will require some additional elements to assure that things proceed smoothly.”

  “Such as?”

  Saif was pleased. Yassar had not hesitated at all, apparently expecting additional demands from Saif.

  “The pilgrims are hungry. They will need to eat before they leave the mosque. The first order of business should be delivery of food sufficient to feed 100,000. Consider that they have not eaten for three days, and that a single meal will not be adequate.”

  “I am not certain—”

  Saif cut in, not wanting to give Yassar a chance to push back. “I am certain your people can make the appropriate arrangements. Assurance of this is a condition to our willingness to proceed. Please contact me again once that has been arranged, and we can discuss the other details. Thank you, Minister Yassar,” Saif said, and hung up.

  Saif turned and smiled at Rashid. With that much food, his men could stay holed up in the mosque for as long as it took.

  Sasha was hanging on, her trips to the toilet and her caterpillar-walks back and forth to the walls providing enough stimulation to keep her from losing touch with reality. She figured now it was over a week, more like ten days she’d been here, although she wondered if that were the case, why she didn’t feel weaker. The hunger had passed after about the third day. So, on balance, she was doing fine. And yet she knew she couldn’t just sit back and wait for something to fall out of the sky. She needed to do something proactive to change her situation.

  Sasha wondered where all this back-and-forth with Saif was going. It wouldn’t be long before he’d take another run at her. Above all, she reminded herself to resist. Play ping-pong. Whatever he serves up to you, just hit it back, as hard as you can.

  Saif’s last shot at her had been, “Think about the direction of your life.” How she’d been used by the Americans and supported the Saudi royals in fleecing the average Saudi. Coming from a man who had murdered hundreds, if not thousands, and the head of an organization with the objective of multiplying that a millionfold as it took power and persecuted the royals, it rang hollow, even to a psyche enfeebled by captivity, starvation and deprivation. She almost looked forward to his next sortie.

  Saif, a man who, barely out of his teens, had loved her, and who seemed stuck in that phase of his life. He, with his preposterous dreams of the two of them having a future together in leading Saudi Arabia. She found it hard to believe that a man could become so puffed up with his own image-making that he actually believed it himself. Ludicrous.

  And yet, although he wasn’t getting to her, her own involuntary ruminations were. Maybe it had been a mistake to spend the six months after Daniel’s murder at Swami Kripananda’s ashram. For the last few days his message had made it more difficult for her to cling to her hatred of Saif over Daniel’s murder. Not that she could ever forgive Saif for it—there was no great rule book that said she had to, even according to Swami Kripananda—but that was part of Swami Kripananda’s subtlety. Convert you to the path, then force you to examine your prior actions, cause you to make the right decisions in the future.

  She could think about that more once she got out of this alive. No, she realized, she needed to get out of this with her soul, who she was at her core, uncompromised.

  She arched her neck back, stretching as much as she could, trying to get the blood flowing. That always helped clear her mind. Today—or was it tonight, she didn’t know—she was particularly foggy. She tipped her chair sideways onto the floor, rolled onto her forearms, lifted herself up on her toes, and then started caterpillar walking while the lights were still on.

  CHAPTER 18

  Day Six. Grand Mosque, Mecca.

  TOM SAT IN THE LIVING room of his hotel suite most of the next day, watching the evacuation at the mosque. The first wave was the medical teams, just after sunup. The rebels opened one of the eastern gates, surrounded on the outside by a construction site for the expansion of the mosque. They must have figured it would be harder for the Saudis to pull a fast one on them because of the wide expanse of open territory in front of the gate. About two dozen ambulances pulled in, followed by a dozen buses, and drove across the marble courtyard up to the main prayer hall. He saw white-suited teams pile out of all of them and hurry into the main prayer hall with their cases of equipment and rolling gurneys. They were obviously using field triage, because ten minutes later a half dozen medical evacuation choppers moved in and hovered over the mosque, dropping one by one into the courtyard, having wounded rolled up and loaded, then lifting off. Most of the wounded were evacuated afterward in the ambulances and buses.

  Next, flatbed semis drove in to remove the dead, which were laid out in lines on the flatbeds in body bags. Then came a non-stop convoy of buses for the pilgrims. A steady stream of pilgrims who didn’t want to wait for a bus started simply walking out the gate. An hour later the rebels opened two more gates to let the pilgrims walk out. It reminded Tom of FedExField after a Washington Redskins game. At 4:00 p.m., when Tom’s phone rang for his scheduled call with Ross at Langley, the buses were still coming and going, and the mosque was largely empty.

  “What’s the status?” Ross said.

  “The evacuation is moving according to plan. No hitches, except that at the last minute Saif told Yassar that ‘a few thousand’ pilgrims had elected to stay in the mosque.”

  He heard Ross sigh. “‘Elected.’”

  “Yeah, the way I figure it, that’s a little more than two body shields per rebel still left standing.”

  “What’s next?”

  “Some of that depends on what’s going on at your end.”

  “Eighteen Special Ops commandos are on the way.”

  Tom sighed with relief.

  “Rusty talked to Raven at Special Ops Command. Raven can’t very well say no to his boss, and the way we set it up, the president thinks it was his idea. I told them I was assigning you as case officer in the field to provide intel support. Rusty told the president he’d had Raven authorize a few team members to assist you with communications and logistics.”

  “Got it. When will they get here?”

  “Within 24 hours. You sure this will work?”

  Tom hesitated again, thinking, Are we ever sure? He said, “I think so.”

  Ross said, “Where do you stand on the oil deal with Yassar?”

  Tom’s mind went blank. He said, “I thought you were working out the details.”

  “You mean you haven’t moved it forward? I said I’d sort out the money and told you to go ahead and do the deal. Come on, man, you need to walk and chew gum at the same time. When we met in my office after Yassar pitched it to you, I told you welcome to the big leagues, and I meant it. Get it done.”

  “How? I mean, I’d be making it up as I go along.”

  “That’s exactly what I expect you to do.”

  “But I’m no economi
st or financial guy.”

  “You think I am? There’s no playbook here. It’s no different than the way you run a field op. Figure it out. You’ve got your $200 billion, plus another $100 billion if you need it for negotiating room. Try not to spend it unless you need to. Try to get a livable price escalation and enough oil to keep us driving Cadillacs and SUVs for the next 20 years. Get it done.” Ross clicked off.

  Tom swallowed hard, hung up, then picked up the receiver again to dial Yassar’s hotel suite.

  It was dusk as Saif watched his men close the three eastern gates behind the last of the pilgrims and buses to depart. He turned and walked down the stairs from his perch atop the roof over the main prayer hall, heading directly into the catacombs to the room where they held Sasha.

  The light in her room was off as a guard unlocked the door and showed him in. When he switched on the light she snapped her head up and blinked. He could see she had been asleep.

  Her jaw was slack, her hair stringy and oily, strands of it hanging in her face. Her eyes had no spark of energy, with dark circles beneath them. Worn down. He hoped it was a sign that today’s talk would go better than the others.

  “How are you doing?” he asked.

  “Not as well as I was, what, ten days ago?”

  Fishing. “More like two weeks.” He moved into the room and stood in front of her. He couldn’t imagine how she’d managed to get so filthy. There was dirt all over her hands, arms and her pants. He could now see cuts on her wrists from the police handcuffs.

  She looked up at him, her eyes glassy. “I hope we aren’t going to cover the same territory.”

  He thought momentarily of walking out, trying again tomorrow, but figured since he was here, he might as well talk to her. He turned, grabbed the other chair and sat down facing her, their knees about a foot apart.

  “No, but I realize there’s something, or someone, I’ve left out. Yassar.”

  He waited for a reaction from her, but she showed none.