“Nice,” she replied, taking her seat and opening her laptop. She looked at Dex, who gestured for her to begin her briefing. Kim began typing and opened up a map of the Middle East. “Your team is cleared for confidential and secret clearances. The two of you are cleared for Top Secret. This briefing is more informational in nature, but it does contain some confidential information.”
“In other words, it’s like everything else around here—keep your mouths shut,” said Dex with a smile. “It’s okay, Kim, I’ve already read them the riot act about secrecy.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied curtly. She was just reciting the required rigmarole. “In your original briefing, you had been told that the money you intercepted was heading to Iraq. We now believe that was incorrect. Today’s focus in on Qatar. We’ve been getting some chatter and, on more than one occasion, Doha came up.”
“Been there,” said Cascaes. “The naval base.”
“Naval base and a large air base. The Air Force runs a ton of missions to Afghanistan from Doha. The Al Udeid Air Base is home to both the US and Air Force Central Command and the 379th Air Expeditionary Wing. Plenty of F16s, J-Stars, KC tankers, and the Moon Dogs run electronic warfare from Al Udeid, as well. We’re worried that it may be a terrorist target.”
“I’m pretty sure the whole Middle East is a target,” said Mackey.
“No doubt, there are plenty of targets. But Doha was specifically mentioned. We just don’t know what or when. The security details on both bases have been notified, and blast walls are being constructed at Al Udeid. We believe the fifty million you intercepted was part of this.”
“So if we got the money, doesn’t that screw up their plans?” asked Cascaes.
“Fifty million is a lot of money in almost every part of the world except the Middle East. I’m sure you disrupted their plans, but if the money did, in fact, come from Prince Abdul bin-Mustafa Awadi, he’ll have another fifty million tomorrow.”
“So the prince is involved in all this? Why didn’t we just cap him when we were there?” asked Cascaes, visibly annoyed.
“Assassinating foreign princes is frowned upon,” said Dex quietly. “Unless we have absolute proof of his involvement, there’s no touching him.”
“Have the higher-ups talked to the Qataris?” asked Mackey.
Kim smiled and sat back, folding her arms. “Well, this brings us to the interesting part of the briefing. Qatar has a new emir. Sheikh Tamim bin Hamad Al Bahani—youngest leader in the Middle East. And he’s a total contradiction, just like Prince Awadi, but we’ll come back to Awadi in a second.”
Kim keyed her computer and brought up a photograph of the emir. “Sheikh Bahani took over for his father last year. He’s a very pragmatic businessman, and deals with the US, France, and Great Britain like an old friend. Qatar has a huge natural gas reserve as well as oil, and the highest per capita income in the world. He gives us the air base for free and loves having our forces there for his country’s own security. Up until recently, they didn’t even have their own air force. Anyway, this emir talks the talk and openly courts western business. He’s also a huge soccer fan and had a huge stadium built for world soccer events.”
“So we got a prince that loves baseball and an emir that digs soccer. Any Pashas over there like football? I’d like some seats on the fifty if you can work it out,” mumbled Mackey.
Cascaes ignored him. “So this emir, he’s one of the good guys?” asked Cascaes.
“I’m not finished,” she said with a smile. “So, while he’s being Mr. Friendly Businessman, he’s also openly supporting the Muslim Brotherhood, Hamas, and Hezbollah. We believe he funnels money to all of them. He also tells his own people that he supports Sharia Law, but it’s one of the only countries in the Middle East that allows pork and alcohol in designated areas. I’d bet a hundred bucks he drinks the world’s best wine and champagne in his palace with his two wives when no one’s looking. Now, while he’s telling his clerics he’s old school, he also changed the law and allowed women the right to vote and hold public office. Except, no woman holds public office because he appoints everyone, usually his family members. And, while he keeps talking about open elections and a new system of lawmaking, everything has to be approved directly by him, anyway. Basically, he tries to sound like his country is making progress, but he is very happy to live in a medieval society where the king makes all the rules, women are property, and he answers to no one.”
“You weren’t kidding about the contradiction part,” said Cascaes.
“No, and Awadi is cut from the same cloth. Prince Abdul went to Princeton University to get his western education ten years ago. He becomes a huge baseball fan, and being the zillionaire that he is, he buys box seats to the Mets for his four years at college. You’ve played in his personal domed stadium—you see how fanatical he is about the game. Anyway, when he was in college, he’d take his new buddies to all the games by stretch limo. He totally loved being surrounded by the celebrities that have those kind of seats. He’s drinking beer, eating hotdogs that he knows aren’t one hundred percent beef, getting laid—a regular westerner. Except then he goes home, goes full-blown Sharia Law on everyone and marries three wives, pumps out nine kids that he doesn’t see because he has the boys in the madras and the girls home in burqas. He’s just like the emir—do as I say, not as I do. So while he’s selling oil and gas to the Americans and talking baseball, he’s also very content to see America and Israel annihilated.”
“I think I’m noticing a pattern,” said Cascaes sarcastically.
“Ya think?” added Mackey.
Kim continued, “So, we believe that the prince is financing operations with various terrorist groups, possibly with the knowledge of the emir. We don’t think the emir would be happy about an attack on the air base, but if it did happen and killed some Americans, he wouldn’t lose sleep over it either.”
“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” said Cascaes.
“Yeah?” asked Dex.
“How about we use our planes at the airbase there and carpet bomb the whole fucking country.”
“I do not believe that would be considered good foreign policy by the current administration,” said Dex.
“It’s ridiculous,” said Cascaes.
“Typical Middle Eastern mentality, I’m afraid,” said Kim. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend. And they all change friends and enemies pretty routinely. We’re there because of three reasons: location, location, location. We like the base on the Gulf. We do business with them because we need the gas and oil. But we’re also well aware that their banking system is allowing money to be funneled to terrorist organizations and they won’t make any attempts to stop it. We use them, they use us. It is what it is.”
“Yeah, well, it’s bullshit is what it is,” said Cascaes. “Pardon my French.”
“I speak French. I don’t believe I recognized your dialect,” said Kim with a smile. “Anyway, welcome to the Middle East. Nothing is as it appears. And in the case of these two, I’m not sure they even know when they’re lying.”
“When their mouths are moving,” replied Mackey.
“Pretty much,” said Dex. “I just wanted to give you an idea of what you’re dealing with.”
“Yeah, well that cleared it right up, thanks,” said Cascaes. He thought for a moment. “Awadi’s in Saudi. You said the Qatari Sheikh knows that the prince is funding terrorists, but he’s in Qatar? What’s the connection between these two?”
“Money,” said Kim. The Saudis and Qataris share some of the oil and gas fields along their mutual border. They’re both basically drilling down into the same giant pocket of gas. It’s sensitive, so they play nice together. Prince Awadi owns thousands of acres of desert along the Qatar border. He and the emir have regular communication, and there’s been money exchanged between the two of them for many years, although it isn’t clear why. Most likely, just
land leases.”
“I still don’t get it. How does their mutual oil business have anything to do with the prince’s interest in funding terrorists?” asked Chris.
“My guess is, they have an arrangement to make sure they don’t have any conflicts. If the prince funds an attack that hits a gas pipeline or blows up some petro facility, it better not be the emir’s property that gets hit.”
“That’s nice,” said Mackey. “You can blow up whatever you want—just make sure it isn’t my stuff.”
“Sounds just about right,” replied Kim. “It’s also about keeping their governments stable so they can pump oil unmolested. When the hard liners get strong, then they have to allow some Anti-Western muscle flexing. When the moderates are strong, they have to look very professional and first world. The mood changes with the prevailing wind over there. To stay in power, the government has to play to a lot of different factions at the same time.”
Chapter 15
From Riyadh to Paradise
Tariq walked through the loud, crowded market street in an ancient section of the city, south west of Riyadh. The dusty streets were packed with merchants and their customers, children and beggars, goats and dogs. He pushed his way through the hot, narrow street towards the address he had been given. Crates of chickens were stacked six feet high, and they squawked and clucked incessantly. Spice merchants mixed their secret concoctions and swapped brown bags of spices and herbs for cash with women in burqas. The spices, chickens, goats, and sweaty people combined to create a very special local perfume. It was a busy day.
He stopped and looked up at a building, wondering if he was at the correct address. The buildings and streets were all almost the same color, blending into an endless maze of non-descript light brown that was only broken up by an occasional painted door or sign. A large hand squeezed his bicep and a gruff voice said, “Come.” Tariq was then guided through the crowd with a large man on each side of him, moving him quickly down small side alleys. There was another man behind them, and they walked faster than was comfortable through the crowd. Tariq was again pulled down a side alleyway where a small car was waiting. The car took up almost the entire width of the street, and Tariq was told to get into the back seat. The other three men got in and started the car with a cough of black smoke, and then began moving through the labyrinth of streets as they headed out of the city.
“Where are we going?” asked Tariq.
His question was met with a hood being pulled over his head and instructions to shut up. Tariq was terrified, but he tried his best to show courage. This was most likely just standard operating procedure when dealing with powerful men who had huge bounties on their heads. The car jostled and whined as it worked its way out of the old section of the city to a highway. Tariq didn’t know where he was, but when he felt the car hit smooth pavement and pick up speed, he knew he was on one of the major highways. Headed to where, he had no idea.
After an hour and a half of silence, one of the men up front instructed the man next to Tariq to remove the hood. Tariq blinked a few times and glanced around. He was on a major highway, which most likely meant Route 10. The highway cut through the orange desert like a road on Mars. As far as Tariq could see, there was nothing but wasteland and occasional steel towers from which hung heavy voltage wires. They allowed him to see, because there was nothing to be seen.
After another hour had passed, the men spoke in whispers up front, and the car slowed and made a right turn onto a smaller roadway. They snaked along a narrower two lane road, through rocky ravines and scrub grasses with herds of camels roaming freely through the desert. Tariq tried his best to get his bearings, knowing they had been heading east by the morning sun in his face. It had to be either Highway 10 or 40; they were the only major highways from Riyadh through the desert. Now that they had turned off, he was truly lost.
The car began bouncing again on squeaky shocks as the road became more primitive. As they came over a rise, a few farms with circular irrigation systems came into view—green circles on a Martian landscape. They drove off another road, and as they reached the area of irrigation, the wasteland came to life. Fields of crops appeared next to fields of solar panels. Barbed wire fences enclosed herds of cattle and sheep that roamed through fields of grass planted just for them. A large, well-maintained house appeared, and the car drove past it to another smaller house in the rear. They stopped, and Tariq and the others got out of the car.
There was no reason to speak. Tariq followed the men to the house, and they let themselves in. It was neat and comfortable inside, but they walked through the house and out the back door. Tariq found himself in the rear yard, which was enclosed by six foot stone walls. Dozens of sheep carcasses hung from a wire strung between two poles, the bloody sheepskins in a pile nearby. Alone at a small table sat Abu Mohamed, sipping tea under the shade of an awning.
He motioned for Tariq to sit with him, which he did. The men that had brought him stood silently nearby, out of the way.
Abu leaned forward and spoke quietly. “Fifty million dollars is quite a promise. What you asked for was also quite a large undertaking. I laid out millions to acquire your shipment. Millions of my own, as well as associates—investors, if you will. And now everyone needs to be paid. There was to be a truck.”
“Of course. The truck was sent. The fifty million is yours,” said Tariq nervously.
Abu leaned back and stroked the small chin beard. “The time and place was quite specific, Tariq. That was two days ago.”
Tariq felt his mouth go dry. “The truck was sent. I don’t understand?”
Abu looked over at his men, who immediately grabbed Tariq and had him up on his toes, one large man holding each arm very tightly. Abu walked over to the pile of sheep skins and picked up a long bloody knife.
He walked over to Tariq with the blade in his hands. “I’m only going to ask you one time. Where’s the money?”
Tariq’s face had turned white. “It was sent! Let me make a call!”
Abu studied him for a moment, and then spoke to his men. “Let him make his call.”
Tariq pulled a cell phone from his pocket with a shaking hand. He had been given a number to call in case of emergency, but only in case of emergency. Tariq stared at the knife and dialed.
A gruff voice said, “Who is this?”
“It’s Tariq. I came to pick up the shipment, but there’s a problem.”
A pause. “What problem?”
“The money. It never arrived.”
“Of course it arrived! Don’t let them double-cross us!”
“They say it didn’t, and he has a knife,” said Tariq, his voice trembling.
“I’ll call you back in one minute,” said the voice, which hung up before Tariq could protest.
Tariq relayed that back to Abu, who walked over to the skins and picked up a sharpening stone. He eyed Tariq and tossed the stone back in the dirt. “No, a dull blade will be better.”
Tariq’s eyes flooded with tears. He considered himself a brave Jihadist, prepared to die for Allah, but not like this. He had a mission to carry out.
An eternity went by, and the cell phone rang. Tariq answered.
A serious voice said, “The driver doesn’t pick up.”
“What do you mean?” stuttered Tariq.
“We’ll get more money. Two days.”
Tariq looked at Abu with pleading eyes. He managed to say, “Two days.”
Abu Mohamed took the phone from Tariq’s hand and spoke to the man on the other end. “You will call me about the money in two days. But you won’t speak to Tariq. I want you to listen carefully now.” He handed the phone to one of his men, and the two other men grabbed Tariq by the arms, holding him so tightly he couldn’t move. The man with the phone held it towards Tariq and began shooting video. Abu grabbed Tariq’s hair with one hand and began cutting his throat with the othe
r. Tariq managed a long scream before he gurgled and blood squirted all over everyone. Abu kept cutting and sawing with the dull blade until he eventually severed Tariq’s head. He dropped it on the ground and walked back to the table to pick up a cloth to wipe off his hands.
“Send the video to that number. Tell them two days, or I’ll find every single one of them.”
“What about him?” asked one of Abu’s men.
“Bury it in the desert,” sneered Abu Mohamed, and he walked back into the house.
Chapter 16
Palace of Prince Abdul bin-Mustafa Awadi
The prince was just back from racing in the desert. He had taken his 3.9 million dollar Lamborghini Veneno out for some fun. He had topped out at three hundred kilometers per hour and enjoyed quite a thrill. Now he was back at his palace, ready for a swim in one of his pools before his afternoon massage.
One of his assistants walked out of the house when he heard the Veneno roar up the circular driveway towards the fifty-car garage. He walked very quickly to the prince, his face showing his concern. The prince had enjoyed his morning, and he was angry before the man even spoke.
The assistant bowed slightly and showed Abdul a disposable cell phone. “There’s been a serious problem,” he said quietly. “The truck never arrived.”
Abdul’s face went pale. “What do you mean? That was two days ago. We’re just hearing about this now?”
“The driver was told to deliver the truck and return home. He was only to call if there was an emergency. He never called, so it was assumed everything was fine. Just now, Tariq called. He was at the exchange.”
“And?” asked Abdul.
“Abu Mohamed believed he had been double crossed. The money never arrived. He took it out on Tariq.” He showed Abdul a picture on the cell phone from Tariq’s number. It was Tariq’s head on the ground near a pile of bloody sheep skins.
The Team Page 6