Arabian Deception

by James Lawrence

  They sat in silence for a few moments as the sleek hull carved away the miles. The sun was starting to set on the port side, and the orange-and-purple light against the blue sea horizon was captivating.

  “You need to look at this from their perspective. The US made a commitment to defend Saudi Arabia in exchange for an uninterrupted supply of oil back in the 1970s after the oil embargo. In 2012, we withdrew all of our forces out of Iraq and left the ground to the Saudi’s biggest enemies, the Iranians. This cabal of Rasheed, Meshal and Bandar did what they did to provide a counter to the Iranian influence in Iraq and Syria. Bandar views himself as a patriot. He has support not just from the Wahabis, but also from the member of the Saudi government, who believe the US betrayed them when we turned their northern neighbor Iraq over to their worst enemy.”

  Pat walked back to the fridge in the galley and returned with two more open bottles. He gave one to Mike and sat back down behind the wheel.

  “Prince Bandar is going to die; I owe that to Jenny Lyn and to my guys. His death may not stop Saudi funding of genocide and terrorism, but I’ll do my best to make sure Bandar’s demise sends a message.”

  They moved up to the flydeck. Pat found it easier to dock from the helm because it gave him a 360-degree view of the yacht. The thrusters made it possible for the boat to reverse and pivot, so the docking procedure, even in the tight confines of the marina, was easy. Once the lines were tied down, Pat handed off the cooler with the seven yellowfin tuna to a couple of Bangladeshi laborers who worked at the marina. Tonight’s special at the Blue Marlin was going to be today’s catch, blackened tuna, and Pat was looking forward to it.

  Chapter 23

  Abu Dhabi, UAE

  Pat sailed to Abu Dhabi the next morning. It was Saturday, and Mike had arranged a meeting for him with the crown prince the next day. He wasn’t sure what the reception was going to be like when he arrived in Abu Dhabi, but he knew he’d find out soon enough. At three o’clock, he backed his yacht stern-first into the slip. He skipped the customs process, because he’d never officially cleared Abu Dhabi when he’d left for Oman more than a week earlier. If he tried to check in, he was afraid it would raise an alarm.

  Once he had everything tied down and hooked up, Pat spent a couple of hours cleaning and conducting maintenance and then went to the hotel gym. He had a lot of nervous energy to burn off. After the gym, he went next door to the Belgium Café. He was a huge fan of the exotic beer menu they had, and the pork spare ribs were flavored with Leffe blond beer, which was pretty awesome.

  Pat woke up the next morning and went for a run along the Corniche. The weather was perfect; at seven o’clock it was seventy degrees, dry, and cool. The Corniche running and bike trail was a beautifully maintained tree-lined ten-kilometer route that extended the full length of the beach. A big event in Abu Dhabi every November was the Formula One Grand Prix event. Each year the festivities included a series of concerts with a wide range of acts, from current superstars to the lesser-knowns and has-beens. This year the headliner was Rihanna. Hard to believe she was a headliner in a Muslim country, but UAE was not your typical Islamic republic.

  After a quick breakfast, Pat put on a suit, found where he’d parked the Explorer, and left for the Falcon office. He arrived a little after eight and spent some time with the admin staff. He could tell by the warmth of the reception that none of his recent exploits had reached the Falcon team, and for that he was grateful. He spent two hours with Shihab, the finance manager, reconciling the accounts between Trident and Falcon. Shihab thought Pat was the greatest. The UAE government took six to twelve months to pay Falcon for equipment deliveries. The deliveries to Trident were always paid within thirty days, which made Pat a hero in Shihab’s book. One of the payments was for a delivery from Airbus-UK to Pat’s hangar in Al Dhafra Air Force Base.

  The UAE had a nascent space program. They’d already launched a couple of commercial satellites and had big ambitions. What they were lacking was military reconnaissance satellites. The conflict in Yemen had brought this shortcoming into focus for the UAE armed forces, because a lot of the reconnaissance for targeting had to be done by fighter jets, which were expensive to run and had a limited loiter time. Pat had learned of a quick-fix solution a year earlier, and he was still working on getting the UAE Air Force to buy it. He thought if he went ahead and bought a demonstrator system and showed them what it could do, they’d purchase a bunch of systems.

  Six months ago, he had gone ahead and dropped five million dollars for the aircraft, plus an additional one point five million for a ground control team. His plan was to provide the service to the UAE Air Force for free for three months with the offer to buy or lease it long-term after the trial period. Pat was that sure they’d buy it. Fighter jets with intel payloads cost over twenty grand per flight hour, so the system paid for itself.

  The quick fix was called the Zephyr HAPS (high-altitude pseudo-satellite). Sitting in his hangar at Al Dhafra AFB, Pat had an aircraft and a ground control team capable of launching a UAV with an operating altitude of seventy-five thousand feet and the ability to fly nonstop for ninety days. The payload on the fully solar-powered aircraft with twenty-five-meter wingspan weighed twenty kilograms and included an amazing optical and IR package with a ten-centimeter resolution, which was as good as the best intelligence satellite systems. The aircraft had the ability to stream real-time video or provide still shots. The Zephyr had a maximum speed of only forty knots, but the key feature was that it ran on electricity. Air-breathing engines found on most military fast jets were not designed to operate above fifty to fifty-five thousand feet. The lack of oxygen at altitude caused the jet turbines to flame out. The solar-powered electrically driven Zephyr had no such problem. Because there was not usually a threat above fifty-five thousand feet, very few countries had air-defense systems set up to counter aircraft at that high altitude. The Zephyr had carte blanche to roam freely over the Middle East. If Sheik MBZ decided not to send Pat to the gallows after their meeting this afternoon, his plan was to launch his new toy to Riyadh posthaste.

  Pat arrived at the entrance gate of the sheik’s palace at twelve thirty. He was asked to step out of his vehicle while it was thoroughly inspected, then directed down a long mangrove-lined trail, where he encountered another security gate. He was told where to park and was escorted into a side entrance of the main palace building. He didn’t have much time to gawk, but it was a stunning view, the huge expanse of green lawn leading into the lush green mangrove trees with the Gulf visible between breaks in the mangroves.

  Pat was asked to wait by a soldier in full desert camouflage uniform carrying a rifle. He could see several other armed soldiers within the same area. He was in a sitting area that was modestly decorated with floral patterns and gold accents. No one asked him if he wanted anything to drink, which was highly unusual. After a forty-five-minute wait, a short heavyset guy asked Pat to follow him. When Pat passed through the double doors, he was amazed at the expansiveness and elaborate décor of the sheik’s office. The waiting area they’d warehoused him in was obviously not the VIP waiting room. This must be the crown prince’s ceremonial office, designed to intimidate, and it was making an impression.

  The sheik remained seated behind an enormous ornate lacquered desk. The assistant gestured for Pat to take one of the two seats directly in front of the desk. The office had seating along the wall for at least thirty. Pat saw two local gentlemen he didn’t recognize and one he did: Major General Juma, the crown prince’s military aide. Once Pat sat down, there was an uncomfortable silence for what seemed like several minutes.

  Finally, Pat broke the silence. “Your Highness, thank you for inviting me.”

  “I’m a little surprised you came, considering your recent crimes,” said the crown prince.

  “Your Highness, my activities in Iraq have your support. When my men were killed, I naturally assumed the persons responsible were defying your will and didn’t enjoy your protection.” />
  His brow furrowed, and Pat saw an increased intensity to his eyes.

  “You should’ve brought this situation to me to decide what needed to be done. We have laws in this country. You shouldn’t have taken matters into your own hands.”

  “I was careful to avoid collateral damage. I apologize if I have caused offense.”

  “What about Sheik Meshal? Were you also responsible for his death?”

  “Yes.”

  “That was a very complex operation. It’s difficult to accept that you were working alone,” said the crown prince.

  “It’s impossible to prove. You’ll have to accept my word on it. Although I think you know the current American leadership well enough to believe it’s true.”

  For the first time, Pat detected a positive response from the crown prince. “Why did you return to the UAE?”

  “I met with Mike Guthrie over the weekend, and he told me you requested a meeting.”

  “You had no concerns?” said the crown prince.

  Pat touched his heart with the palm of his right hand and spoke. “Your Highness, I know you could easily imprison me if you so desired. I think you also understand my motivations were not to harm the UAE or you or anyone who was innocent. They were the exact opposite. I’ve lived in the UAE for four years. I have many friends in this country, and I have a great respect for you. I took a risk coming here because I thought it was worth taking.”

  “What are your intentions regarding Prince Bandar?”

  “I’m going to kill him.”

  A look of surprise showed on his face. Pat didn’t think the sheik was expecting him to be so direct.

  “Does the US government know of your plans?” asked the sheik.

  “No, I don’t think they do—at least not at the top level.”

  “How do you think the United States will respond after he’s killed?”

  “If he dies the way Sheik Meshal did, the Saudi government will protest, and the US government will hunt me down and lock me up. However, if he dies after making a full confession on video, where he outlines in detail his involvement in starting and supporting Daesh and the killing of American citizens in Iraq, I don’t think anyone will come to his defense.”

  “Your plan is to capture him, force a confession, and then kill him?” asked the crown prince. “That’s a very difficult task.”

  “It is.”

  “Are you here to ask for assistance?”

  “Sir, no, I’m not. Unlike in UAE and Kuwait, where I’m positive Rasheed and Meshal were bad actors operating outside of the wishes of their governments, I’m not sure that’s the case with Bandar. If things go wrong and I’m captured, I’ll talk. Everybody talks eventually, and I don’t want a trail leading back to you or anyone else in the UAE. This is a personal matter, and I intend to deal with it on a personal level.”

  “I know the king of Saudi Arabia very well, and I am certain he doesn’t support Bandar’s actions, but I respect your consideration,” replied the sheik.

  The crown prince pressed a button on his desk and a tea boy arrived with Arabic coffee. The sheik changed the subject, and they talked for another forty-five minutes about a wide range of topics, from military training to fishing. The crown prince was a truly impressive guy. Pat had come into the meeting with a great respect for the man, and his assessment had only increased. The only point of substance mentioned during the end was an invitation by the crown prince for Pat to return Trident operations to Al Dhafra Air Force Base, an invitation Pat accepted.

  As he entered his SUV and began the drive off the palace grounds, Pat felt elated, that same sensation of relief he felt after surviving a firefight. He’d just dodged a bullet. The outcome of the meeting was better than even his most optimistic expectations. He would love to have accepted direct assistance on this next mission, but the unpredictable political ramifications were too risky. Being able to operate out of Al Dhafra Air Force Base and stage out of UAE was as much as he could ask for. Now he just needed to figure out how to find and capture Bandar.

  Pat arrived at the Trident hangar in Al Dhafra Air Force Base in the early afternoon. There were a couple of cars parked outside, hinting at activity within. The main hangar door was closed, so Pat entered through a regular-sized door on the side. The Zephyr was fully assembled; the Airbus engineers were conducting systems checks.

  Pat found the lead engineer and introduced himself. The man was a German with a no-nonsense attitude and a strong accent that made his English difficult to understand. The gist of it was that the aircraft would be available for launch within the next forty-eight hours. Part of the system was a twenty-foot container that had an external plug connected to the hangar’s power. The container was a ground control station (GCS). Communication from the GCS to the UAV was via satellite. The Airbus crew had mounted a satellite dish outside in a trailer. The fragile aircraft consisted mostly of a twenty-five-meter-wide solar-panel-covered wing with two wing-mounted electric propellers and a fuselage that was little more than an aluminum tube. The tail wing spanned a good ten meters, and it too was covered with solar panels. The payload was housed in the bottom center of the wing with the batteries. Beneath the Zephyr HAPS was a thin-framed carriage on wheels that was used to keep it stable and off the ground when not in flight.

  The plan was to launch the Zephyr as soon as it was ready. The Airbus crew would be responsible for positioning the aircraft seventy-five thousand feet above Riyadh and for recovering the aircraft once the battery power reached the bingo level. Especially during the shortest days of the year, the deficit between the solar charge and energy consumption was going to limit the time on station to seventy to seventy-five days, according to the engineers. The aircraft would remain in UAE airspace until it reached seventy thousand feet, and then it would pass into Saudi Arabia. In the unlikely event the Saudis could pick the UAV up on radar, they didn’t have any air-defense weapons that could engage at that altitude.

  Once on station over Riyadh, the Zephyr would be placed in a racetrack pattern circling the city, and payload control would transfer to another control station located in Edinburgh, Scotland. The GCS in Edinburgh would be manned by a company Pat had contracted to perform intelligence analysis, a company calling itself Global Strategic Solutions. GSS was a private company associated with the University of Edinburgh. It was a trailblazer in the application of artificial intelligence with satellite imagery.

  Most of the applications for this cutting-edge technology were commercial. The convergence of computing power, machine learning, and satellite imagery had been called a perfect storm that was just beginning to peak. The questions that could be answered using geospatial data and AI software were limitless and could benefit a wide variety of fields, including agriculture, mining, meteorology, environmental science, and defense.

  The problem Pat had given to David Forrest, the CEO of GSS was difficult. He had given him a picture of Prince Bandar and asked if he could locate him in Riyadh using the Zephyr imagery and the GSS capabilities. He’d asked for, and Pat had provided, some background on the prince, including details about his position in the hierarchy, wealth, and looks. His looks were a big enabler, because Prince Bandar had a unique visage. He was a five-foot-ten-inch Ewok. A dead ringer for the fat lovable bearlike creatures from Star Wars—same bushy gray beard, same fat face, nose, and eyes, same portly body, and even the same undersized limbs. He was unmistakable.

  The cover story Pat had given to convince GSS to take the job was that he was trying to sell the Zephyr to the UAE. He wanted to demonstrate how the system could find a needle in a haystack when combined with modern analytical tools. Professor Forrest was a math genius, a quant jock who double-hatted as the head of the computer science department at the University of Edinburgh. He was a portly, affable man with the stereotypical absentminded professor dishevelment. The UK armed forces these days were slightly larger than the New York City Police Department. Because of a lack of funding, sensitive intelligence p
rograms were sometimes forced to be combined with commercial and academic applications to survive. If a program like GSS’s existed in the United States, and it probably did, it would be so heavily funded and so secret, Pat would probably never be made aware of its existence. Professor Forrest was not able to separate GSS from the university because the system relied on the university’s supercomputer. The seventy-five thousand pounds per day Pat offered to pay for the service had gone a long way to helping Professor Forrest accept Pat’s lame reasons for requesting the service. He’d agreed to take on the task as soon as the Zephyr HAPS was on station.

  After Pat conferred with the Airbus personnel, it was agreed that tomorrow they would do final systems checks, and if no faults were detected, they would launch early the next morning. Satisfied with the progress, Pat returned to the Intercontinental Marina and the Sam Houston.

  He was back on his perch on the flydeck by five that afternoon. He called Jessica and gave instructions for movement of operations from Cyprus back to Abu Dhabi. It was seven in the morning in the Bahamas, and she was very upbeat. Jessica was a morning person, and the company cash situation had improved since their last meeting. That was the kind of thing that made Jessica happy. Pat told her he would be sending an e-mail with a list of sample equipment he needed shipped on the next cargo shipment from the United States to Abu Dhabi.

  Chapter 24

  Edinburgh, Scotland

  Twenty days after the Zephyr launched from Al Dhafra Air Force Base, Pat received a call from Professor Forrest, informing him that Prince Bandar had been found. Pat caught the next flight to Scotland. He decided to walk from his hotel to the GSS offices on Southbridge Street near the university. It was a brisk thirty-five degrees as he cut across the Princess Gardens to make his eight o’clock appointment. Old Town Edinburgh was dotted with medieval fortresses on hilltops, gray-stoned behemoths complete with towers and battlements. Pat arrived outside the brick three-story office exactly on time and was buzzed in by security after he pressed the outer door buzzer.