Arab Summer Page 6

  And today? Here she was, coming to him, itching to get at Saif, including her having history with the guy who could put her inside, make it work. It was too perfect to pass up. Maybe this could work. She wasn’t some naive kid anymore; now she was a trained pro. A trained pro, yeah, and a woman acting irrationally out of grief over her husband’s murder, begging to let him take advantage of that fact.

  Talk about a grungy feeling. Man. The things you could rationalize doing in the name of preserving our way of life. What kind of scum am I?

  He picked up the phone, called Stewart in Security to get Sasha’s security clearance in motion. Then he sat back, thinking. He didn’t know how he could work it out, but if an operation with Sasha went forward, he’d run her himself, just like in the old days. No one else in between, and not for security reasons. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if somebody else screwed up and she got killed because of it. If he was gonna use her under these circumstances, she deserved at least that much.

  CHAPTER 5

  TOM DIDN’T REALLY THINK IT was necessary to meet in the Caymans, but Yassar insisted, so the next day he boarded one of the Agency’s Learjets out of Dulles and was at the Ritz-Carlton on Seven Mile Beach in Grand Cayman by 10:30 a.m. Must be nice to be king, Tom thought, or prince, walking through the lobby past rattan chairs, the sea breeze coming in through the open end of the lobby, the beach and the blue Caribbean shimmering beyond it fifty yards in the distance.

  Upstairs, one of Yassar’s entourage let Tom into Yassar’s suite, walked him past two bodyguards and sat him in one of two chairs parked on the balcony, angled toward each other and facing the ocean. The man offered Tom something to drink and he asked for a sparkling water with lime. Feeling that beautiful sun, the breeze coming off the ocean, Tom felt like asking for a gin and tonic, but knew with Yassar’s Muslim strictures against drinking that was out of the question. The man brought Tom’s drink and left.

  Five minutes later, Yassar came out, dressed in a Western business suit, tan, as casual as he got. He’d aged in the two years since Tom had seen him, deeper crow’s-feet around his eyes, the corners of his eyes drooping more, his jowls heavier. His goatee and mustache were still cropped, but speckled with more gray than before. And while he was still a vibrant, barrel-chested guy, Tom detected the beginnings of a stoop in his frame.

  After ten minutes of small talk, Tom started getting impatient. Normally, he’d have said something like, “So, you wanted to talk about ‘the simmering internal conflicts’ within Saudi Arabia?” but knew better than to push Yassar. As down-to-earth as Yassar seemed, he was still a royal.

  Finally, Yassar said, “Thank you for agreeing to meet on such short notice, and in this out-of-the-way place. A Saudi royal visiting the United States always has the potential to attract attention. A few days of vacation in the Cayman Islands are of little consequence to anyone.” He smiled and shrugged. His cool, blinking eyes were impassive. “So, let me tell you why I asked you here.” He crossed his legs and turned so he could face Tom. “I’m certain you are aware of the internal pressures we’ve recently been experiencing in Saudi Arabia.”

  “No one seems to be immune to the Arab Spring phenomenon.”

  “Tactfully phrased. But our situation goes well beyond that, has greater risks to the stability of our country, and to yours. My royal cousins are unwilling to adapt to some new realities. In fact, with Saudi Arabia and the United States’ mutually successful campaign against the al-Mujari two years ago, my cousins have become complacent.” He paused.

  Tom felt that Yassar expected a response, so he said, “How can we help?”

  “Our dialogue with the executive branch of your government is limited at this point.”

  Tom nodded.

  “Our two countries have always maintained a comfortable balance in our mutual best interests. I am afraid that, without some intervention, my cousins, including King Abdul, may veer from the spirit of that balance, and we collectively have very little knowledge of the United States’ current thinking about the informal agreements we’ve previously enjoyed. However, I fear your executive branch may be veering as well.”

  Why is he talking to me about this? Was it possible the Saudis didn’t have anyone else to talk to? Or was Yassar operating on his own?

  Yassar continued. “There are some things you can do to help our situation. Naturally, we would reciprocate.”

  Tom was out of his element, didn’t know how to play this. But he figured that fathead, Harmon, the secretary of state, would be about ready to pop the buttons off his vest right now if he were here. Tom couldn’t think of anything else to do so he said, “Please go on.”

  “You may be aware of our plans two years ago to acquire companies to expand Saudi Arabia’s interests in the downstream side of the oil and gas business—refineries, pipelines and marketing operations, including gas stations and the like—in an effort to diversify our holdings away from purely the production side—pumping our oil and gas out of the ground. That was the original reason for seeking Daniel Youngblood’s oil and gas mergers and acquisitions expertise. That plan was an attempt to increase our profits so that we could fund our social programs without continuing to run government deficits. Needless to say, those efforts were derailed by the al-Mujari’s attempts to sabotage the industry. It was a long-term project that would have taken years, perhaps even a decade, to produce tangible results. Based on our current internal situation, we don’t have time, and need to resort to bolder strokes. Therefore, I have a proposal for you today that I have vetted with King Abdul and a number of other senior members of the Council of Ministers. If your response is favorable, I believe I could, as you Americans say, ‘sell’ it within my government.”

  Tom nodded, thinking, Here we go.

  “A loan of, say, $200 billion from the United States would allow Saudi Arabia to repay all of our existing external debt and provide us with a fund to enhance our existing social programs over, say, the next ten years in such a way that we can assure the stability of Saudi Arabia’s domestic social order as well as maintain the royal family’s way of life.”

  Tom couldn’t help himself. “That’s a lot of money.”

  “Yes, but consider this. It is a fraction of the money your government extended to your financial institutions, and to your automobile industry, during the financial crisis.”

  Tom restrained a smile. Congress had a lot of fun with that one. They’d love this. “What’s the other side of the coin? And how would you propose to pay it back?”

  “We would give you something that you have never achieved on your own and couldn’t possibly expect to obtain any other way—a guaranteed supply of oil to meet all your needs at a fixed price. The price would escalate over time, but on a schedule you would know in advance, which would facilitate our repayment of the loan.”

  “And after that?”

  “After that the price would be sufficiently high that we should be able to sustain ourselves, or strike a similar arrangement with you going forward.” Yassar steepled his hands and smiled. “It’s elegantly simple, don’t you think?”

  Tom imagined repeating that line when debriefing with Ross and Baldridge, wondering if he could keep a straight face as he said it. He figured he’d have to rehearse “elegantly simple,” aloud a few times, letting it roll off his tongue with an affected accent to carry it off. He said, “What if we can’t sell the idea on our side? What are the alternatives?”

  “That would be unfortunate, but in that case I would bring the idea to the Chinese.”

  Tom felt a chill. “Understood.” Tom turned in his chair to look Yassar square in the eye. “I’m curious. Why bring the idea to me?”

  “Saudi Arabia has a long history with your CIA, going back to the days when Allen Dulles was head of the Agency and his brother, John Foster Dulles, was secretary of state. That intimate relationship continued once Saudi ARAMCO was founded. ARAMCO was full of CIA agents while it was owned by the US oil compa
nies, a situation we permitted, even encouraged.” Yassar smiled. “And as you know personally, representatives of your Agency continue to reside in our country, and enjoy the benefits of the best of what Saudi Arabia’s lifestyle offers. A relationship with your Agency underpins much of the policy between our two nations. And those policies extend beyond changes in presidential administrations.”

  “And why me personally? You know I’m an intelligence officer and this isn’t my specialty.”

  “I know I can trust you, Tom. I’m sure you can talk to the right people to get something done.”

  “I can.” Tom remembered his conversation with Ross. Ross obviously had had conversations with the Saudis like this himself. “I must ask, how would we go about memorializing our agreement without it surfacing publicly?”

  “These things are largely a matter of trust and continuity of leadership. It is Saudi Arabia who should be more concerned about an interruption in continuity of leadership in the United States than you should in ours. We don’t have elections every four years.”

  Tom nodded.

  “But if it is required, I am certain a sufficiently ambiguous ‘treaty’ or some such document could be created.”

  “I’ll take your concept back to Langley and respond.”

  Yassar smiled. “I propose a period of a week before I would pursue other discussions. Agreed?” Yassar raised his eyebrows.

  “Agreed,” Tom said. He waited a moment to see if that was the end of Yassar’s agenda.

  Yassar turned and looked out at the Caribbean. He said, “We have nothing like this in Saudi Arabia.” He turned back to look at Tom. “I would be a rude host if I didn’t offer you an early lunch before returning to the United States.”

  Yeah, he’s done. Now it’s my turn. “Thank you, I would enjoy that. First, I had something on my mind I’d like to raise with you. Something of mutual interest.”

  Yassar extended his arms, opened his giant hands as if to embrace the subject and said, “Of course. We can take as much time as you need.”

  “It’s about the al-Mujari. And two men we’re concerned about. Saif Ibn Mohammed al-Aziz and his brother-in-law, Qahtani Ibn Mohammed al-Najd.” Yassar’s face showed no hint of reaction. “I don’t know how much of this may have filtered up to your level, but our people on the ground in Saudi Arabia have been working with your field agents on it. In summary, Saif has sponsored an effort to convince a number of your clerics that Qahtani is the Mahdi, who the prophecies—”

  “I am familiar with the prophecies. Please go on.”

  “Our intelligence is that Saif has risen to the level to be the new head of the al-Mujari and positioned Qahtani as the Mahdi to inspire the faithful to enlist in an uprising. A move against the Saudi government may be imminent.” Tom stopped, looked at Yassar for a reaction. He got none.

  “Anything more?” Yassar said.

  Tom clasped his hands together in his lap. “I could elaborate, but that’s the succinct summary. That, and the fact that we’re concerned and would like to work jointly with you to intervene so any potential...” Tom paused, searching for the right word, “...disruptive internal conflict within Saudi Arabia could be avoided.”

  Yassar looked at Tom for a long moment before responding. Finally, he said, “This is a situation I hoped that our prior discussion could defuse.”

  This is bullshit. Tom didn’t think he was fully getting his point across by being delicate. “Throwing money at it isn’t going to work at this stage. We think you are months, maybe even weeks away from an all-out revolution. Think Tunisia, Egypt and Libya.”

  “I believe I am current with the state of our intelligence. If what you say is so, we are a step or two behind your efforts. My compliments. What do you propose?”

  Tom felt his juices start to flow. “The simplest thing would be to make Saif and Qahtani disappear.”

  “That presents certain problems for us.”

  “I’m aware of that, at least without a fatwa.”

  “Something we have considered. Understand the sensitivity about the prophecies, and the Mahdi. Perhaps with this new information, and some substantiation of it, it might make a difference, but I’m not hopeful.”

  Tom felt a flash of energy. Had Yassar tried? Nothing to lose by asking. “So you’ve tried to get one—a fatwa?”

  Yassar nodded. He said, “But our failure in that regard would not preclude me from sharing whatever information we have to support any effort you might undertake.”

  “It’s sensitive for us as well. You mentioned our executive branch earlier. Any operation we would run would need to be entirely covert, since our current administration wouldn’t support it. So we’d need complete deniability.”

  “You sound as if you have thought this through. Do you have a solution?”

  “Possibly. Someone with history with Saif who could get close to him.” Here goes. “When was the last time you talked to Sasha?”

  Yassar turned from Tom and looked out at the Caribbean. He said, “Does this have anything to do with Daniel?”

  “The shooter in Geneva told Sasha that Saif ordered the hit before she killed him. She’s had 18 months to think it over, and she wants to go in and get him.”

  “Was this your idea or hers?”

  “Hers. I can make it work. At least with your help.” Tom paused. “Or willingness to stand aside and let it happen.”

  Tom could see that Yassar had closed his eyes. Under other circumstances he would have believed him to be meditating, but understood his internal struggle. After a while, Yassar sighed, then said, “I will consider it,” almost inaudibly.

  “Welcome to the big leagues,” Ross said the next morning after Tom debriefed him on his meeting with Yassar. “Yassar must really trust you if he’s reaching out to you like this. You’re the new fair-haired boy. Don’t get hit by a truck.”

  Thanks.

  “How did you answer him?” Ross asked.

  “I said we’d get back to him. He wants an answer in a week or he’ll take the deal to the Chinese.”

  “The guy plays hardball. No matter, I’ll handle it.”

  “What’re you gonna do? He’s talking $200 billion.”

  “Don’t worry about it. That’s pocket change compared to the trillions the Federal Reserve loaned to banks here and around the world during the financial crisis. I’ll handle it.”

  “What should I tell Yassar if he calls and asks?”

  “Tell him the answer’s yes, and I’m working out getting the money. Let’s move on. Where’s his head on Saif?”

  Tom had to swallow hard. Two hundred billion just like that. He filled in Ross on the rest of his discussion with Yassar. Ross thought for a moment. He said, “Sasha’s security clearance came back. She’s good to go if you can put the operation together.”

  “That was fast.”

  “I muscled it through. The more I think about it, the more I like the idea about sending her in. It’s clean. She’s not one of ours, really. Rusty’s assigned a couple of guys to you—communications and weapons for starters. Other than that he’s staying out of it for now. We’ve agreed he doesn’t want to know any more than he needs to. Gives him deniability if it goes wrong. Get Sasha locked in, make sure Yassar’s fully on board, then put together a team. Let me know what resources you need.”

  Tom’s mind was racing. He hadn’t expected Ross to work this fast. “One other thing. I need to run Sasha myself, from over there.”

  “That’s crazy. For something like this I need you here, where I can put my hands on you in five minutes.”

  “Fleischer will back me up. He’s doing half my job now as it is.”

  “Forget it.”

  “I need to run Sasha or it won’t work.”

  “You overestimating yourself or thinking with your dick?”

  Gimme a break. “Think of her as a Thoroughbred racehorse. She’s high-strung. I’m telling you, if I hand her off to someone she doesn’t know or trust, I can’t gu
arantee results.”

  Ross stared him down. “You’re not making me feel all warm and fuzzy about your prize mare.”

  “She’s rock solid. She just needs to be handled right.”

  “Okay, but stay close. I’ll need you to talk to Yassar on this other deal. I’m sure there’ll be a lot of back-and-forth on it. That’s too big to screw up. It’s so big I don’t even know what to call it. Hell, it’s not big, it’s potentially life-transforming for us all. Remember what I said earlier.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t get hit by a truck.”

  Sasha sat in her hotel room at the Willard, waiting. Tom had called a half hour earlier and said he’d be driving directly from Langley. She tried to stay calm, but her heart was thumping in her chest.

  Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.

  She heard a knock on the door and felt a stab of nerves. She hurried to the door, saw Tom through the peephole and opened it. He smiled, a reserved one. Serious. She smiled back, her face feeling brittle, tense. They moved into the room and sat facing each other. He was back in his khakis and wrinkled sports jacket, the scruffy American again.

  She searched his face. He was watching her, his eyes not blinking. “Well,” he said finally, leaning forward, “I’ve got your security clearance. Let’s talk this through.” She liked the quiet way he said it. She sensed the Tom she knew, the gentleness beneath the rugged exterior. “Do you still want to do this?”

  “Yes.” She said it automatically, as if the words slipped past her brain without checking in. Do I? She felt her pulse rise.

  “You know you might get yourself killed, don’t you?”

  She nodded, now feeling detached from her body.

  “Have you consulted anyone about this?”