Spy Dance

by Allan Topol

  “But very conveniently, the French devil’s paying you money, too. Lots of money to lead this coup.”

  Khalid looked indignant. “I’ve accepted arms from her and money to pay operational expenses. Plus, there were certain officials who had to be paid to look the other way or to grant permits when we brought arms into the country. But not a cent of her money has or ever will land in my own pocket. Doing what’s best for my country is my sole motive.” He wiped beads of perspiration from his forehead and then continued earnestly, “You have to persuade the Israelis not to endanger my cause by reporting what you know to the Americans or doing anything else. They should sit on the sidelines and let events unfold.”

  “As long as you mentioned the Americans, I’ve got something to ask you.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “The first time I heard about your coup, I thought that the Americans were your real problem. Not the Israelis. I still think that the minute you fire your first shot, the king will call Washington and claim it’s the fundamentalists mounting an attack. The entire U.S. military will come to his aid—soldiers on the ground in Saudi Arabia, aircraft carriers, the whole works. Washington’s lost Iran and Iraq as reliable sources of oil, and they’re not about to repeat that mistake with the largest prize of all. Why are you so worried about the Israelis? Why not worry about the Americans?”

  Khalid responded hesitantly. “Madame Blanc has taken care of the risk of American intervention.”

  David mopped his face with a towel. “That’s what she told me, but how in the hell has she done that?”

  Before answering, the colonel sprang off the wooden bench, walked over to the door and opened it. He looked around, making certain it was deserted in the corridor. Then he returned to the bench next to David and said, “I’ll tell you all I know about the Americans if you promise that the Israelis won’t get involved once the coup starts.”

  “Why are you so worried about the Israelis’?”

  “Be serious, Greg. Next to the Americans, the Israelis are the most powerful military force in the region. They could decide to back their own puppet for Saudi ruler like they did with Bashir Gemayal in Lebanon.”

  “I’ll do my best to make sure that doesn’t happen. I promise you that.” David had said those words easily, making himself sound like a player in Jerusalem. What he was figuring was that Israel would be happy to be rid of the House of Saud—its avowed enemy—and would never do a thing unless the fundamentalists tried to seize control. Now tell me what you know about the Americans.”

  Khalid was satisfied. He leaned toward David and whispered, “General Chambers.”

  With a start, David pulled his head back at the mention of the name. “General Chambers what?”

  “She’s told him all about the coup. She’s gotten him to agree that there won’t be any American military intervention.”

  Does Khalid really believe this? David wondered, looking hard at the colonel. If Khalid had any doubts, David couldn’t see them. So David pressed on. “Be serious. Chambers is only the chairman of the Joint Chiefs. He’s not the President. He doesn’t have the authority to decide whether or not the United States will intervene.”

  “But he’s persuaded her that he’ll be able to convince the President not to intervene.”

  “Why would he do something like that?”

  Khalid shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe now that he’s back in Washington, he’s taking a broader view of things. He’s come to realize that U.S. interests in Saudi Arabia are doomed in the long run by an alliance with the House of Saud. Perhaps he now believes that the best way to assure the continued flow of Saudi oil is to let us work out our political problems ourselves.”

  David threw his hands up in the air, waving off the absurd proposition. “You’re talking nonsense. Fools don’t become wise men when they get to Washington. In fact, the opposite usually happens.”

  Khalid chuckled.

  David wasn’t laughing. “None of this makes any sense,” he said.

  “Maybe Chambers has already spoken to the President, and he has the President’s agreement that there won’t be any intervention. Perhaps the American government has already decided on its policy in advance of the coup.”

  “I don’t believe it,” David said, but he couldn’t tell Khalid why without giving away his own involvement with the Americans through Sagit’s trip to Washington and her discussions with Margaret Joyner. If the President and the other top officials in Washington were on board, they would never have authorized his mission and his immunity from prosecution, after a pitched battle as Sagit had reported. And, in fact, Margaret Joyner had specifically wanted him to find out why Madame Blanc was so confident that there wouldn’t be American intervention. No, Chambers was off on some venture of his own.

  That thought touched off a surge of adrenaline. If Chambers was exceeding his authority, out on a limb on his own, then dammit, David would make sure to cut it off. He’d get even with that bastard once and for all. He’d pay for everything that happened in Dhahran and for making David a fugitive for five years of his life.

  Totally deadpan, in a matter-of-fact voice, not wanting to make Khalid suspicious about what he was thinking, David asked, “Have you ever discussed the coup with General Chambers yourself? I mean apart from Madame Blanc.”

  “We’ve had two meetings so far. We have a final one set for next week on the 14th in Riyadh. I’m going to review with him where preparations stand for the attack.”

  A plan was forming in David’s mind. He said, “When Chambers visits next week, ask him directly about the possibility that the President will order military intervention on the side of the king, and see what he says.”

  When Khalid didn’t respond, David added, “Just to satisfy yourself that he really has this base covered.”

  Khalid paused to mull over David’s words. “That’s probably a good idea. Now tell me what you’ll do for me with the Israeli government.”

  “I promise you, Khalid, that I’ll do my best to get the Israelis to stay totally out of it, and I think I’ll be able to succeed. Intervention’s not in their best interest, and it appears not to be where Washington’s headed either. So I don’t think there should be a problem.”

  Suddenly, David had another thought. Perhaps his desire for revenge against Chambers was clouding his mind. “What about Bill Fox?” he asked. “My former assistant. I understand that he’s still the CIA station chief in Saudi Arabia.”

  “He is, but he has some personal problems.”

  “What’s happening?” David asked, feigning ignorance. He wanted to know how much had slipped out about Fox’s problem.

  “I don’t know all the details. I hear rumors that his personal life is messed up.”

  “What are the rumors?”

  “I better not say.”

  “Oh, come on, Khalid.”

  “His wife divorced him, and he’s getting it on with a Saudi princess.”

  “Jesus,” David said, acting shocked, “that’s like holding a loaded gun to his own head. Has he flipped out?”

  His ruse had worked. Khalid believed him. “It’s possible,” Khalid replied.

  “It is also possible that he’s in Madame Blanc’s pocket.” David’s words startled Khalid. He hadn’t figured on that. “Suppose she bought him somehow, maybe with a promise that he gets to keep his Saudi princess and receives a bundle of cash, millions of dollars, if he files misinformation reports once the coup starts. That would help deter American intervention, and Fox would need the money to keep his Saudi princess in style, maybe take her to live abroad after the coup. What do you think?”

  As Khalid pondered the question, David became more convinced that the Henri Napoleon payments had gone to Fox.

  Finally, Khalid shrugged. “Anything’s possible with Fox these days. Do you still have that remarkable memory for numbers?”

  “I sure do.”

  Khalid recited his private telephone number at home and his cell p
hone number. “Use these if you ever have to call me in an emergency.” He stood up. “Now that we’re finished, can we leave this room before I melt?”

  David replied, “As quickly as possible. I think I’m going to die from the heat. I just wanted you to be the first to say it.”

  * * *

  “You look like a soggy noodle,” Sagit said to David.

  They were in his hotel room at the Four Seasons. He had combed it for bugs and was satisfied it was clean. The curtains were drawn tight in case someone outside had a telephoto lens aimed at the room.

  “Thanks, that’s how I feel. Do you know how long I was in that steam room with him?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. I was getting ready to send in Murray.” She tossed him a large plastic bottle of Evian. “Drink up before I lose you.”

  He chugged down the whole bottle of water. Beads of perspiration still dotted his forehead, and he wiped them away with his hand.

  “Was it worth it?” she asked.

  “You bet.”

  He described the conversation for her, but left out his supposition that Fox was Henri Napoleon, because he wanted to bore in on General Chambers as Madame Blanc’s Washington card. As he spoke, Sagit listened, amazed, with eyes wide open.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” she said at the end. “We’re missing something.”

  “That’s what I keep thinking.”

  “If President Waltham and his top people were tuned in, then they would never have been so interested in what I had to say and in wanting you to find out the details of the coup in return for immunity.”

  David loved talking with her. She was smart, and they were usually on the same wave length. “Precisely, Dr. Watson.”

  “Which means that—”

  He completed the sentence for her: “General Chambers is flying solo on this.”

  “But why?”

  “That’s the question I can’t answer.”

  With a quizzical expression on her face, she pondered the question of what General Chambers’ game was. She, too, was stumped. “But somehow we have to find the answer. If I take what we have now back to Margaret Joyner in Washington, I suspect that General Chambers will deny everything, and she’ll be powerless to stop your extradition.”

  “I agree with you. What we need is concrete evidence against Chambers, and then we can nail him.” An eager glint came to his eyes, which she immediately caught.

  “I don’t want this to turn into a personal vendetta of yours against Chambers,” she said sharply. “There’s a lot more at stake here.”

  He was annoyed by her comment, but he decided he’d better conceal his reaction, or he’d never get her to go along with what he wanted to do. “I wouldn’t think of it. But back in the steam room, I had this idea that we should try to tape Chambers’ conversation with Colonel Khalid next week. That would give us the evidence we need. The trouble is, we would need Bill Fox’s help to do that, and as you heard, he’s not the most reliable. He never was, even in his good days, five years ago.”

  “Nothing you’ve told me about Fox inspires any confidence.”

  David walked over to the window and stared out, as if the answer could be discerned twelve stories below in Hyde Park. Finally, he turned around and said, “My feeling is that we have to go with Fox. He’s all we’ve got. What do you think, Sagit?”

  She gave a long sigh. “Bugging the chairman of the Joint Chiefs is a high-risk move. We could get hurt if this blows up on us. Israel would end up in a diplomatic nightmare with Washington, particularly if the press picked it up.”

  “That thought’s been running through my mind. For you, the price would be terrible. For me, it would mean extradition and a jail sentence. But I just don’t see anything else we can do.”

  Unhappily, she weighed the options. Finally, she said, “Okay, we’ll go for it. I think I can get Moshe on board, and hopefully he’ll persuade the prime minister.”

  Suddenly, David remembered the fax in his pocket, which he’d picked up from the concierge in the lobby on his way up to the room. “It’s from Batya at the kibbutz,” he said, bringing it over to her. “Victor faxed me. The information your Saudi captain friend passed to Victor at the Dorchester is now at PDF. They want me in Paris tomorrow. I’ve got to go there and finish up. I figure it’ll take me two days.”

  “Suppose Madame Blanc doesn’t let you leave Paris?”

  He hadn’t thought of that possibility. He stopped to ponder it for a few moments. “I’ll have to take my chances. If I don’t go now, that would set off alarms. All our work would go down the tubes, and they would probably kill Daphna. We have to get her out.” He looked at her accusingly. “Isn’t there anything else you can do?”

  “We’ve got plenty of people working on it.”

  “But where the hell are they?”

  “You don’t have to curse at me.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just frustrating.”

  “Well, it is for me, too. About an hour ago, my contact in the French secret police delivered a list of the phone calls in and out of Victor’s office during the month of September. It has phone numbers and addresses. We’re systematically plowing through that list.”

  David looked at her anxiously. “Just tell your people to work quietly. If Madame Blanc thinks I’m involved with the Mossad, she won’t hesitate to kill Daphna.”

  * * *

  From Charles De Gaulle Airport, David took a cab direct to the PDF headquarters. Colette Martique had the new information that Victor had brought from London waiting in the office he had used before. When he tried to banter with her, she looked away. He could feel the tension in the air. Maybe because it was that October 6 was a little more than two weeks away. Or had something else happened? Had Madame Blanc learned about his meeting with Khalid in London? Were they planning to kill him and Daphna after he completed his present project?

  He worked until midnight at the PC, until his tired eyes began blurring over. Then he went back to the Gironde for five hours of sleep. He started again at eight the next morning, absorbing all of the details and then typing a report with his plan of attack and information about the automated systems for the royal palace and the oil fields. He finished at noon and read each page carefully as the computer spat out his unsigned report. He felt as if he were back at the CIA. This was the coup he wanted to develop five years ago. Which side was he on now? He was preparing it, but he would also help to defeat it. He had lost any sense of perspective. He decided to turn off his mind and continue reading.

  Suddenly, Colette poked her head into his office. “Madame Blanc would like to know when you’ll be ready to meet with her.”

  He checked his watch. “Tell her two o’clock this afternoon.”

  He passed up lunch and continued refining what he’d written.

  When he was ushered into Madame Blanc’s office promptly at two, he handed her his report. Victor was sitting in a corner of the room. She leafed through the document and the maps in the back.

  “How many copies did you make?” she demanded to know.

  He stared at her calmly, unwilling to be intimidated, determined not to raise any apprehensions in her mind. “You have the only one.”

  From the corner of his eye he saw Victor looking at him suspiciously. He tossed his thin briefcase to the lawyer.

  “You’re welcome to search my bag,” he volunteered.

  Victor blushed.

  “That won’t be necessary,” she said. “What about the computer disc you used to prepare the report?”

  His face was set in stone. “Erased. No other record exists.”

  “Good. Give me an oral summary, then.”

  He preceded to explain to her the most efficient way for her Saudi ally to seize control of the palace and the oil fields. He told her where the king’s strongest defenses were focused and how those could be overcome. He gave her specific numbers and types of military forces.

  Then he continued: “Now let’s talk about
the automated systems I installed and how they can be neutralized.” He saw he had her on the edge of her chair.

  “Around the Saudi royal palace, land mines have been planted three feet deep into the ground, twenty yards away from the walls, at four-foot intervals. When a five-digit code is entered on a control pad located behind a picture of the Al Aksa Mosque in the king’s bedroom, the mines will rise in metal casings to the surface, where they can be individually or collectively detonated by remote control. A system of automated heat-seeking rockets has been built into the palace walls and roof. When activated by a second five-digit code on a panel in the same location, they will strike any attackers shooting at the palace from the ground or from planes overhead. This automated hardware is in addition to fifty of the most experienced crack troops of the National Guard, composed of members of Bedouin tribes, whose loyalty to the king is strongest and who are housed at all times in the palace. They are billeted in the west palace wing, but are constantly in a state of readiness. Both of the automated systems can be deactivated by entering a different five-digit code on a control pad behind a painting in the office of the Minister of Defense in Riyadh.”

  She was impressed with what she had heard. He was good, this fugitive CIA agent. “What about the system to blow up the oil fields?”

  “At the back of my report is a map of the Saudi oil fields. I’ve marked the appropriate locations at which underground bombs are planted which can be exploded by a remote control device that the Saudi king carries with him at all times.”

  She unfolded the map and studied it for a few minutes.

  “Assuming these are substantial bombs, which I imagine they are, the oil fields would be out of action for a long time.”

  “That’s precisely the point.” He was getting to the punch line. Watching her, he could see that she was engrossed in his presentation.

  “So how do we deactivate the system?” she asked impatiently.

  “The Saudi Oil Ministry has a regional headquarters building in Ras Tannarah. In the director’s office on the third floor, there’s a control pad with nine numbers. Again, punching in a five-digit code will deactivate the system of explosives for the oil fields. The Saudi king doesn’t know we installed the means to deactivate these three systems. It was my idea. The only one who knew about it was the top CIA brass in Washington.”