by Seeley James
“I thought you would feel more comfortable in the Emirates.”
“I’ve visited Saudi Arabia a few times,” Pia said, “but I must admit, I was dying to drive a car.”
“Just because our customs are different doesn’t mean women don’t enjoy life. Fifty-seven percent of Saudi women are college educated compared, to just 32% of Americans. Our women control their inheritance and dowry, and we don’t take our husband’s name.” Samira smiled. “Why not make men do the driving?”
Pia conceded Samira’s point with a small dip of her head.
Samira nodded to a man in a pristine white thobe and traditional red-checked keffiyeh who stood by the door. He bowed and exited to the hall. She then turned her gaze to Pia’s butler.
Pia turned to him. “Tea in the sitting room, please. And then some privacy.”
He nodded and left.
“Was it a difficult journey from Jeddah?” Pia led the way to the living room and offered her guest a seat on the U-shaped couch festooned with pillows.
“Not at all.” Samira dropped her Birkin purse on the coffee table, removed several excess cushions, and sat diagonally from Pia. “But let’s dispense with the Arabic custom of lengthy personal discussions before business. I prefer the American method of getting straight to the point.”
Pia gave her a polite smile. “Do you work with Lars Müller or Prince Taimur?”
“Those names are vaguely familiar.”
“I understand from Daryl Koven that you have some interests in the US and may need help.”
“That’s a dangerous statement.”
It was her best, most practiced line. Pia expected the Saudi to tell her everything but now that she’d met the woman, she needed a more patient line of questioning. Again her father’s advice rang true, wait until your opponent has played her hand. So, Pia waited.
“I’ve worked with Duncan and Hyde, DHK, for many years,” Samira said. “They’ve buffered the dangerous territory of international politics for my late husband and now they work for me.”
The butler arrived with a tea service. He set out two china cups and poured. Samira held her cup in one hand and her saucer in the other and blew across the top. The butler offered sugar and milk and was politely turned down. He bowed and left.
“I’ve been told my youth shows,” Pia said. “Perhaps I’ve chosen my words poorly.”
Samira sipped her tea, her intense gaze never leaving Pia. “If you were to rephrase your statement, what words would you choose?”
Pia picked up her tea cup and blew across it. “Allow me to think out loud. I implied that you needed help, which implies vulnerability. That was wrong of me. Mr. Koven let me know that several people have goals they would like to accomplish in the next election cycle and that I could give them an assist.”
“Assist?” Samira said as much as asked. “Is that a soccer reference?”
“Assists are more important than goals. The player with the ball intentionally draws the defenders toward her, giving her very little chance to score. She then passes to a teammate who was left open. That’s called an assist.”
Samira laughed. “You fool your opponents intentionally?”
“It’s an important element of the game.”
“That is necessary for international business as well, is it not?” Samira asked.
Pia shrugged. The comparison to soccer techniques spiked her anger. She saw no comparison between outwitting people in sport and fooling people in business.
“We are alike in some ways.” Samira clattered her cup in the saucer and leaned over to set it down, then stopped. She looked at Pia. “I hope you understand my lack of football knowledge. I could be arrested for attending a match in my country.”
“You lived in England for several years. You must have seen at least one game.”
“I did.” Samira laughed and her eyes sparkled just a little. “I saw you play in the Olympic final. You were brilliant—or so my more knowledgeable friends told me.”
“Thank you.”
“DHK is brilliant in these matters.” Samira’s eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you leave it to them?”
“Why did you come here alone?”
“You are a clever woman.” Samira wagged a finger with a light laugh. “You’re right. I came here because I thought you were someone I could deal with. Someone who would understand things.”
They sipped their tea for a moment.
Samira leaned back on the pillows. “What kind of goals do you imagine a businesswoman in Saudi Arabia would have?”
“Now I’m the one with a lack of knowledge.” Pia sipped her tea. “You know my culture far better than I know yours.”
Samira pursed her lips and considered her words. “Saudi Arabia is on pace to behead 200 people this year. Everything is a capital crime, even apostasy.”
“Are you going to renounce your faith?”
“Another dangerous question.” Samira scowled. “Like you, I am a woman of faith. I believe in charities and spend much of my time helping the less fortunate. Because I distribute food, clothes, and medicine for victims in war-torn regions like Serbia, Yemen, Kabul, and Bosnia, I’ve been banned from international travel. I can go to a few sympathetic countries in the Middle East, no farther. My trip to the Olympics reduced me to using a friend’s passport. Restricted travel makes an already difficult business environment all the harder.”
Again the woman’s words made her tense with anger. There was no comparison between Suliman’s charities and Pia’s. She drank some tea and counted to three to calm her voice before continuing. “That’s terrible. Perhaps I could talk to someone at the State Department.”
“The most efficient way to reach the State Department is through Congress.”
Pia nodded. “And that’s where you need my help?”
“Representatives answer to big donors, and when big donors want an old friend to come for tea…” Samira raised her cup and sipped.
Pia held her cup, inhaled the aroma and savored the taste.
“I’m not clear on how everything works,” Pia said. “Do you know how much I’d need to spend in order to have the right politicians listen to me?”
Samira clicked her cup and saucer delicately on the table. “It’s refreshing to work with you. Making plans with too many people involved can be expensive. DHK requires so much money it worries me.”
“They provide a certain amount of expertise.”
“That’s true, but at a tremendous price.” Samira leaned forward as if to whisper. “Twice they’ve charged me $10 million and only put the money in two of the races they promised.” She waved a dismissive hand. “And their politicians wouldn’t even talk to my emissary after the election.”
“That’s unreliable.” Pia picked up the teapot and offered more with a gesture. When Samira nodded, she poured. “Do you have to spend more? Or can you talk to the candidates before you give them your money?”
“That is the problem.” Samira winked over her teacup. “I have many friends in business who are too content with the way things are. Mostly Arab men who don’t want me to travel anyway. It’s terrible. I need a new partner, one who appreciates my predicament.”
“What kind of business do you run?”
“Tankers, it’s boring.” Samira let out a little laugh. “We’re about to overhaul our computer systems. Project management is the key to making money in shipping.”
“One of the Sabel Industries divisions does project management, I think.”
“I know.” Samira sighed. “We’ve been talking to IBM and Hewlett Packard for ages. They’re so old fashioned. My people should be talking to your people.”
“Yes! They should.” Pia bounced in her seat. “I’m not sure how that side of the company works. I’ve only been involved in Sabel Security so far. But I can make some calls and arrange whatever we need. Oh, that would be great.”
“Would your father allow you to assist a friend?”
“He does any
thing I ask.”
“What a wonderful father.”
“How does it work in the end? I mean, what do I do?” Pia asked.
“You bid the project and we create an incentive paid in advance. You use the advance for the congressional races. We’ll still need a lobbyist—”
The distinct pop-pop of suppressed automatic weapons fire erupted in the hallway followed by a thump. To Pia’s trained ears, the thump indicated one casualty outside the suite’s door.
Pia leaped across the coffee table to the archway, drew her gun, and peered into the foyer. In her peripheral vision, Samira cowered in fear at the sight of the gun. Across it, Tania descended the sweeping staircase, leaped over the banister, and backed to the wall. The butler stood in the entryway, staring at Tania with his mouth open. He slowly faced Pia, his face turning ghostly white.
“You and Samira hide behind the couch,” Pia said.
He nodded, trembling, and forced himself to move.
“What is it?” Samira asked, a quiver in her voice. “Who is after you?”
Pia pressed her back to the wall and faced the woman. In a strong whisper, she said, “They’re after you.”
“Me? They couldn’t—”
“Your bodyguard is dead. Hide now and don’t make a sound.”
Pia waved Samira over the couch and down. Samira complied with a yelp. The butler joined her in the narrow space between the couch and the wall.
Pia turned back and connected with Tania, who held up four fingers, indicating her estimate of hostiles outside. Then she pointed to the door handle. It jiggled partially down and came back up. A clacking sound came from the electronic lock. The handle came partway down again, then back to level. Another clack of the lock and this time the handle came all the way down.
Pia joined the telepathic grid that connected her veterans in battle, wordlessly working in unison like a choreographed and deadly dance troupe.
Two men scuttled into the room like cockroaches, one left, and the other right. Both wore black body armor and helmets.
Pia aimed for the small patch of flesh on the cheek. It would be her best shot ever if she made it, possibly her last if she didn’t.
Neither man looked up to see Tania. The man on the left swept the room, leading with his rifle. Just as he found Pia in the shadow, she pulled her trigger. The dart bounced off his helmet.
He dropped to the floor in a prone firing position and fired a three-round burst. Marble splintered around her, scratching her cheek. He lowered his weapon to see if he’d hit her, giving her a crucial second chance.
She sprinted four steps toward him, hampered by her suit skirt, slid across the marble, and pounded his face with her heels. His head snapped back with so much violence he was knocked out before he dropped his firearm.
The other man, unfamiliar with the floor plan, ran forward, looking for cover from Pia’s assault.
Tania darted him in the butt. She ran out, grabbed his assault rifle and magazines.
Pia tucked her pistol under her suit jacket and grabbed the other weapon.
Both women retreated to their previous positions and covered the front door with their stolen weapons.
Pia sensed someone behind her. She spun, aimed, and found Samira in her sights, peeking over the couch. Pia considered shooting the woman to get it over with, but waved her back into hiding.
Samira dropped back.
A third man ducked in the entrance and pulled back when Tania unloaded half a mag on him.
Pia aimed down her weapon’s iron sights, dropped the selector to “3” for full-auto, and waited.
After a moment, a smartphone extended around the door jamb. A clever maneuver to look around corners.
She blew it out of his hand.
Feet pounded away down the short hallway to the service elevator. Pia and Tania exchanged a glance of temporary relief: the assassins were in retreat.
Tania cleared the foyer, then the open area outside the room, a small space at the top of the hotel’s atrium shared by two other suites. “There’s a dead Arab out here.”
“Two Emiratis out cold in here,” Pia said. “No ID and empty pockets. Is the phone out there?”
“All three pieces of it.”
Samira’s trembling voice came from the living room. “Is it OK to come out?”
“Are you ready for martyrdom?” Pia asked.
The butler poked his head up and looked around. He’d been ill. He was going to be ill again.
“What are you talking about?” Samira asked.
Pia texted the helicopter pilot as she spoke. “Why are these guys trying to kill you?”
“Kill me? They were after you!”
“Whoever killed Lars Müller is going to kill you for the same reason. Any idea what it is?”
Samira shook her head. “Lars is dead?”
On a first name basis with a man she pretended was only ‘vaguely familiar’. Pia thought again about shooting the woman herself and saving the assassins the trouble.
“There have to be four more,” Tania said. “We need to get out of here. Now.”
Pia and Tania stripped ammo from their attackers and rounded the entryway into the hall. Pia texted the Major about their situation, requesting money, guns, and lawyers.
“You’re leaving me?” Samira said.
“Yes, I am,” Pia said. “Are you afraid?”
“You have to take me with you.” Samira followed them to the doorway.
“Before I take a meeting with someone, I do extensive research.” Pia shoved her against the wall and held her by the throat with one hand. “Who wants you dead besides me?”
Samira began to cry. “I thought we were friends.”
“I hope they make it as slow and painful for you as your ‘charity’ made it for others.” Pia saw the recognition in Samira’s eyes. “I know about al-Haramain Islamic Foundation. Your husband set that up twenty years ago and funded al-Qaeda with it. The UN shut it down in 2004 so you opened another one. When your husband died, you kept it going. And now you’re funding Daesh, otherwise known as ISIL. Did you really think I would help you buy elections in the United States of America?”
“Why not? Everyone else does.”
Pia grabbed the woman by the back of her head, pulled her down hard, and pounded her knee into Samira’s face. The Saudi slipped to the floor, unconscious. Pia propped her in the hallway where the assassins would have no trouble finding her.
“Get the others,” Pia called to the butler. “We need to move them out of danger.”
He nodded vigorously and called out in Arabic. Five uniformed women ran down the stairs to the foyer. They gawked at the bodies for a moment before following Pia’s gestures and filed into the hall. They each gasped as they rounded the corner and found the dead Arab, his red-checkered headdress covered in dark red blood.
Pia and Tania covered each other to the stairwell. She covered the hall while Tania cleared the first flight of stairs. She then ushered the staff up a flight behind Tania. The stairwell was a typical fire escape, surrounded by thick walls of fireproof concrete, with cement stairs leading to a landing halfway between floors. The perfect place for an ambush from above. Tania crept around one more landing, daring their adversaries to appear.
Pia followed the last servant into the stairwell and watched the hall as the door closed. That’s when she saw them.
Five men charged toward her, guns blazing.
CHAPTER 22
From high in the castle battlement, Daryl Koven watched the luxury bus crunch across the gravel and up the Reichsburg Cochem’s concentric portals with an excitement he hadn’t experienced since childhood. His designer topcoat flapped as he ran through the castle’s arterial gate, the shortcut used for centuries by defending knights. Finger-combing his hair, he waited at the entrance to the citadel, the inner sanctum of the thousand-year-old fortress perched 300 feet above the Moselle River in western Germany. Above him, the massive keep loomed more than eight storie
s high, each of its four two-story turrets perched on the corners of its black slate roof.
Koven took a moment to admire the keep. Marthe had outdone herself this time. This castle was significantly larger and more imposing that the château in France. And the river view much more breathtaking.
He took up his position near the old well, the point of the outer defensive ring where the bus would unload his guests. Castle staff lined up by the wall, ready to whisk luggage to each executive’s room. Behind him, an array of heaters blasted warmth into the Rhineland winter. He patted his coat with his gloved hands and hoped his guests would be as warmly dressed.
It didn’t matter—he wouldn’t take long.
It was a short ride from the private airport where all the corporate jets landed in rapid succession, still, he worried that his guests might expect a line of limos. The bus was all Marthe could find in the rural towns nearby.
First off were Paul and Olga Benning. He greeted them.
“Marthe handled Tom’s funeral with beauty and grace,” Paul said. “That was an amazing party. I hope she’ll take care of my arrangements when the time comes. And this castle is even better than the last. How does she do it?”
“With an unlimited budget, that’s how!”
The two men laughed. Olga curled a lip.
Koven sent them to the inner courtyard and greeted the next guests to troop off the bus.
Fifth in line was Alan Sabel.
“Alan, so good to see you. Where is that wonderful daughter of yours?”
“She had pressing matters elsewhere.”
“Is that right?” Koven leaned back with surprise. “I thought she and I would finish some business this trip.”
“Don’t worry.” Alan walked away. “She’s not finished with you.”
Koven felt his face drain and his heart beat pick up. He couldn’t let Sabel intimidate him like that. He had to ignore the doubters and forge ahead. He took a deep breath and continued greeting everyone, then circled around to his small stage. Overhead, a raven gave a scratchy caw and the clouds lowered the midday light to a dusky hue. A clean, cold breeze dried his skin. He sniffled and smelled baking bread.