Keys to the Kingdom

by Bob Graham

  “And the monarchy is determined to proceed with a world-class university within the kingdom, probably on the Red Sea. For a couple of years there was resistance from the scholars they tried to recruit. The king has sweetened the pot and pledged to Western style inside the university community. They could never have attracted female faculty or spouses if what you saw here in Riyadh was to be the standard of living.”

  “Jonathan,” Tony interrupted, “isn’t this modernization exactly what we’ve been encouraging the kingdom to do?”

  “Could be. The stated reason for the university is to establish an intellectual underpinning for a post-oil society. That would be a good thing. But our sources are convinced it’s to support projects that will strengthen the Saudis’ military capabilities. One of the reasons I am here is to sniff out whether the Saudis are getting any help from the Pakistanis, like the North Koreans and Libya did. Finally, sources have told us that Saudi Arabia was somehow complicit in the Syrian nuclear site the Israelis took out a few years ago.”

  “Ambassador Talbott asked me to find what the king’s courtiers are saying about Afghanistan.”

  “This is highly sensitive, as you may have gathered from the reticence in my cables. But the Saudis are very concerned that the war is lost. When that happens it will have regional destabilizing consequences. I know a lot about their apprehension over the future of Pakistan. To say they are apoplectic is no exaggeration. They’re watching closely what NATO and we are doing. The king is astonished that we have been so slow to see the collapse and put more troops in.

  “You’ve read the cable traffic on Iran sending bags of money to Afghanistan. They are not the only ones. The king has directed the government to redouble support to the Karzai government, while the Golden Chain pours money into al-Qaeda. As seen from the palace, that’s how far conditions there have deteriorated. From the outside, it underscores just how conflicted the kingdom has become.”

  Jonathan rose and pulled on his suit coat. “Tomorrow, I’ll try to get appointments for you with al-Dossari and al-Harbi. Both have been mostly under the radar since their return to Saudi Arabia.”

  Still seated, Tony asked, “Thank you, but I have another request. After I finish tomorrow I want to go to Jeddah. Could you help make some introductions?”

  “Maybe; depends. But I thought you had to be in KL. Why are you staying around? Want to see more beheadings?”

  “No, but I do want to see if I can find out what’s going on in Jeddah, all the rumors about a secret science project. Maybe I can get something on the Golden Chain. If I go tomorrow, I can fly from Jeddah to Kuala Lumpur on Wednesday night and will only be a day behind on my schedule.”

  Jonathan shrugged. “Whatever you want. I’ll give you a call before nine in the morning.”

  Tony walked Jonathan to the elevator. They shook hands; the door closed and Jonathan departed.

  In ten minutes Tony was in a deep sleep.

  Tony took breakfast at 7:30 in the Golden Tulip coffee shop. The hotel had provided a courtesy copy of the English-language Arabian Post. Below the fold was a picture of Hassan al-Nami. His deep-set eyes peered above a flattened nose and trace of a smile. The accompanying story described his beheading at the provincial governor’s palace. The twenty-three-year-old had been executed for treasonous acts against the kingdom. Hassan was identified as the younger brother of Ahmad Abdullah al-Nami, one of the September 11 hijackers. Men who had witnessed the execution were quoted as praising the king and the executioner for their faithful discharge of the will and law of Allah.

  Tony returned to his room. At 8:30 Jonathan called. “You have a meeting with al-Dossari at ten at his office in the foreign ministry. And at one with al-Harbi at his flat in the new development west of the central district. That should give you enough time to catch the six o’clock flight to Jeddah. I’m working on the arrangements in Jeddah. Call after you finish with al-Harbi.”

  Jonathan paused for emphasis. “You have my number, if you need me please—and I mean this as an order—call.”

  SEPTEMBER 8

  Riyadh

  The foreign ministry was within walking distance of the Golden Tulip. A royal palace during the interwar period, it had retained its imperial appearance and dominated a courtyard square ten times the size of the site of the beheading. Three sides of the courtyard were devoted to commerce and culinary pleasures.

  Tony arrived precisely at 9:50. He was ushered into the office of the assistant to the deputy minister for consular affairs. The floor was covered with a dreary abrash-hue rug, upon which was placed a rectangular two-meter surya prayer rug. On the wall behind the credenza hung the only visual distraction, the shield of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.

  Tony was standing by the courtyard window when al-Dossari arrived. He had studied his résumé and photographs in the bureau’s files. He was taller than Tony had expected, an inch above himself. Al-Dossari showed the wear of the past few years. In the photo taken in 2001 at the King Fahad Mosque in Los Angeles, through his clerical robes and headdress he projected the solemn power and confidence of the mosque’s prayer leader. Now, in his business-casual white cotton garb, beneath his uncovered head, half-moons of flesh hung under his clouded eyes.

  Al-Dossari reached out for a Western handclasp. Amid these pedestrian surroundings, the jeweled golden ring he wore on his right middle finger, granted for distinguished service to the crown, bespoke a career of promise aborted.

  “I am honored by your visit. Please have a seat,” al-Dossari offered. “I must say I have been deficient of serious guests.”

  Tony had wondered why the meeting was held at the Foreign Ministry. Given Jonathan’s precautions, the openness was surprising. He soon learned the reason. Al-Dossari demonstrated no inclination to be forthcoming to Tony’s inquiries. To Billington’s questions on al-Dossari’s relationship with al-Harbi in January 2000, the answers were rote. “I was in the service of the king. His communications will be granted the necessary confidentiality.”

  When Tony transitioned to U.S. foreign policy in the Middle East al-Dossari was more open.

  “Your war in Iraq was seen here, in Cairo, and in Damascus as a war on Islam. Your incompetence has saved you from yourselves. If you had succeeded in your first attempt to establish a government in Baghdad that was truly representative of the people, it would surely have been extremist, even more closely lashed to Iran than what you have now. It would have had a cascading effect across the region, a wave of ayatollahs.” Al-Dossari’s face showed its first hint of expression, a lifted brow with three horizontal furrows. Leaning forward, “Is that what you want?”

  Tony said, “Of course not, but I will admit our actions in Iraq have not been characterized by strategic thought.”

  Tony recalled a speech Senator Billington had delivered to the Council on Foreign Relations shortly before his retirement. In the questionand-answer session, he was asked to explain his opposition to the Iraq war. Repeating much of what he had said in his Senate speech in October 2003, he elaborated:

  “In September, the Senate Intelligence Committee took a break from the 9/11 inquiry to drill down on the rationale for a war with Iraq. The administration had largely abandoned some of its previous justifications, like a close link between bin Laden and Saddam Hussein before 9/11, and was focused on Iraq’s weapons of mass destruction. The director of the CIA brought to a closed hearing several white-covered three-ring binders, each holding descriptions—ground-level and satellite photographs and even street addresses—of some 550 sites in Iraq where weapons of mass destruction were being produced or stored. It was pretty damn impressive ... until, until I asked the question, Where did you get all this detailed, highly specific information?

  “The director’s answer: ‘From the exiles.’

  “That sounded fishy to me. I knew that most of the exiles had been out of the country a decade or more. Beyond that, they had a clear conflict of interest. Their primary objective was to regain control of
Iraq, and the only way that was going to happen was if and when they could enter Baghdad following the exhaust fumes of an invading U.S. tank. The exiles had a vested interest in exciting America to war.

  “So I asked who has the United States had on the ground to verify the reports we were receiving from the exiles? Who was knocking on the door or looking through the window of those 550 buildings to determine if, in fact, they were harboring weapons of mass destruction?

  “The answer was zero.” Tony recalled that Billington held up his right hand, thumb to index finger forming an O, to drive the point home. He then continued, “No one with our interest as their principal concern had given a confirming second opinion. Nobody.

  “That’s when I concluded the White House was not adhering to a sound strategic policy in Iraq. Rather, we and the American people were being subjected to a massive con game with enormous adverse consequences. That was when, and why, I decided to vote no.”

  Al-Dossari’s chuckle snapped Tony out of his reverie. “Not in the least have your actions in Iraq been characterized by strategic thought. And it is even more empty and disastrous in Iran and Afghanistan. When you invaded Iraq, there was no nuclear program in Iran. Today, I’ve heard five thousand centrifuges are spinning. That’s what your stance of being too pure to talk to Tehran has achieved.”

  From his most recent briefing, Tony knew the number of Iranian centrifuges was considerably lower, either because of technical lapses on the part of the Iranians, effective reverse engineering by Western suppliers, or manipulation by intelligence hackers. He lowered his valuation of Saudi intelligence a notch.

  “We don’t believe even your belated recognition of the seriousness of the consequences in Afghanistan is going to avoid a defeat by a thousand cuts. May Allah help us when that occurs. You are fools, and unless His Highness acts to protect the kingdom, we will be the victims of your stupidity.”

  Tony realized that al-Dossari had essentially confirmed what Jonathan had represented as the projections of Saudi elites, only with a sharper point and a twist of the rhetorical sword.

  Tony glanced at his notes. A scribbling from the meeting with Professor Nasir caught his eye. “I have been curious about a Saudi organization known as the Golden Chain. Could you provide me with any information on its current status and activities?”

  Al-Dossari turned to the window and the crowds he could see in the courtyard below. He paused as if surprised by the question and unsure of the answer. “The Golden Chain has a history going back more than twenty years. It was originally founded in Jeddah by a group of wealthy men, many of whom, like the bin Laden family, had long ties with the kingdom. Its purpose was to preserve traditional religious and social norms.”

  “Could you elaborate?”

  “The original initiatives were to support institutions such as orthodox mosques and madrassas, to protect women, and to advocate within the monarchy for a less Westernized orientation. By the conclusion of the war you refer to as Persian Gulf, there was concern among the non–royal family members of the aristocracy that the king was becoming too compliant with the wishes of foreigners. Your country, Mr. Ramos, was at the top of the list.”

  “Excuse me but how did the Golden Chain become identified with bin Laden?”

  “Initially through the influence of his family. When he returned from the Sudan in 1993, Osama ingratiated himself with the founders of the Golden Chain and urged a more aggressive course of action. This led to the transition of an affiliate of the organization, al-Qaeda, which in English would be loosely translated as ‘the platform,’ from a financier of the terrorist plots of others into an active terrorist operator with the Chain’s support and financial backing. The increasingly violent acts of al-Qaeda caused it to be renounced by the king, forcing bin Laden to seek refuge in Afghanistan and ... and, you know the story from there.”

  Tony felt he was being detoured from his initial question. “But what is the current situation with the Golden Chain?”

  “It has been less visible. The perception is that the leadership has backed away from overt support of what might be considered activities hostile to the king and has sought opportunities to collaborate.”

  “Could you tell me what some of those forms of collaboration might be?”

  Al-Dossari lifted his shoulders as if relieving soreness in his upper back. “Of course, I cannot be too explicit, but I believe substantial financing has been directed toward the new university and the science programs it will undertake. Beyond that I am not sure.”

  Tony rose. It was his sense that he had gone as far as al-Dossari would allow.

  “Thank you for your courtesies and time. Should you return to the United States I hope I will have the opportunity to reciprocate.”

  Al-Dossari, now also standing, bowed before observing, “I doubt such an opportunity will become available to me. May I be of assistance to you during the balance of your stay in the kingdom?”

  “Thank you for your courtesy. My plans are to be in the kingdom only until Wednesday. Should the occasion arise, rest assured I will accept.”

  On the curbside, Tony observed one of the many anomalies of Riyadh. Directly across the street from the ministry was a Starbucks flanked by a rug merchant and a traditional coffee and smoke café. He chose the latter.

  He ordered the domestic coffee. It was heavier than the espresso served in Hialeah. Seated, he punched in Laura’s London apartment.

  “Laura, Tony. Are you ready to leave?”

  “No. I’ve had some complications here. One of my former clients, Alexandros Metaxas, now the prime minister of Greece, is in town and has asked me to lunch. He is such a dear it’s impossible to say no. I’ve secured the king’s consent to delay the shoot a day.”

  “Give the prime minister my best wishes. I’ll give you a call about eight London time tomorrow morning.”

  “OK, be safe.”

  “Same to you.”

  SEPTEMBER 8

  Riyadh

  Tony hailed a cab. He gave the driver al-Harbi’s address and settled into the backseat. It was a twenty-minute ride through the center of the city and into the northwestern suburbs. In contrast to the al-Dirah district surrounding the Golden Tulip, the suburbs were an arid version of those he had seen in Singapore—thirty-story apartment towers separated by open spaces where children were playing under their female protector’s attentive eyes. The apartment buildings, steel structures covered with stucco, appeared like thornless white cacti springing up from the sand.

  Al-Harbi’s flat was on the twenty-third floor, reached by exiting the elevator on the twenty-second and walking up a flight of concrete stairs. In San Diego, al-Harbi had the reputation of an outgoing, hospitable man with a penchant for videotaping all the guests at his frequent parties. He confirmed that promise with a warm welcome, introduction to his wife, and invitation to the balcony overlooking Riyadh. In passing through the living room with a television flickering in the far corner, Tony observed the expected Arabic furniture and floor coverings, but also walls filled with colorful photographs of the family in Southern California.

  Mrs. al-Harbi served the two men coffee, fruits, and meat wrapped in grape leaves. As they stood by the railing, al-Harbi reminisced about his experiences in San Diego, the story evolving from joy upon arrival to bitterness at his departure through Great Britain back here. He said he had been abused by the Americans who had sullied his name, but also by his own country, which had failed to shield him.

  Al-Harbi’s eyes misted as he recounted his experiences in Birmingham, England.

  “The days after September 11 were difficult for Saudis in the United Kingdom. Our family had been living in Birmingham since we left San Diego in June of 2001. Suddenly, you felt everyone was looking at you with suspicion. You can imagine how I felt when two men with Scotland Yard credentials confronted my wife, Manal, at the front door of our flat. They pushed by her, pulled me up from my kitchen chair, told me I was being detained, handcuffed me
behind my back, and with no further explanation to Manal, dragged me out.”

  Tony suggested the two of them sit. Al-Harbi declined and continued: “At the Scotland Yard jail I was told that the Americans, the FBI, had asked that I be held as a potential terrorist and under British law I could be detained for a week with no grounds for detention, no lawyer, no rights. Every day I expected the Americans to show up and begin the interrogation. Knowing what I do now about American interrogations I don’t know what they would have done with me. But they never came.”

  “Never came?” asked Tony.

  “Never. When the week was up, Scotland Yard drove me back to my place. No ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘ We apologize’; just a goodbye at my front door and they were gone. It had been an anxious week for me but nothing like what it had been for my wife and children. The kids had been taunted in school—Firas, our youngest, assaulted by a schoolyard bully. Manal was spit on in the grocery store, told ‘her kind’ had no home in England.”

  Al-Harbi’s eyes turned down. The embarrassment and shame of years earlier were still intense. He inhaled, raising his head as he released the air. “There was a chance to clear my name and the suspicion that entrapped Saudis living in the West. In July of 2003, long after I was back here in Saudi Arabia, a report was released on September 11. There was a section—sometimes it is referred to as the twenty-seven pages—purportedly on the complicity of the Saudis with bin Laden and the hijackers. Only a few people know its contents, because that part of the report was treated as a U.S. state secret. My government protested, urging that this section of the report be released as the only way our people and government could be cleared. Our foreign minister asked for a meeting with your president, and without waiting for a reply, he and a senior counselor to the king boarded a plane to Washington. Before the plane had landed, the president announced he would refuse to meet with them. The two men feigned outrage. Mahmood al-Rasheed, our ambassador, lamented the inability of the Saudis to defend the nation’s honor and drove the foreign minister and the king’s counselor back to Andrews Air Force Base.”