When al Hez is president of Ahman I will take his place as general of the Army, Sayyid thought, envisioning the palace he would build with his share of the oil revenues.
Mentally he reviewed the plan. The tour bus would appear to break down three kilometres from Silver Mountain. It would be surrounded by men on horseback who would subdue the six passengers. They would be held in one of the mountain caves two ranges away from Silver Mountain and ransom demands would be made.
Bin Sayyid smiled coldly. Winston Andrews controlled TV network and cable channels, newspapers, and radio stations around the world. When word was released that his wife and daughter were being held prisoner by a band of rogue Bedouins, the media would screech the story. Add to that the powerful business connections of the Camerons, which would raise vociferous protests for the illustrious couple.
From within Ahman the revolution would start. The sultan would be denounced as a corrupt leader, a despot who could not maintain law and order.
When the bodies are found, General al Hez will be welcomed by the world as a fearless warrior who avenged the deaths by finding and punishing the kidnapers and deposing the sultan, who will of course die attempting to escape.
A masterful plan, Sayyid thought. There was just one question. Was it worthwhile to bother with keeping the Potters alive at all? Wouldn’t it be better to simply dispatch them at once? Mr. Potter annoyed him intensely.
Regretfully, he shook his head. No, better to let the outside world hope and pray for all the captives. Better to let the sultan promise a swift and safe end to the ordeal, as he surely would. Then when hopes were dashed, he would be blamed.
The next morning Sunday was sure she wasn’t wrong. In the bus she could see contempt in the eyes of the guide when Henry asked him a question. But his answer was smooth enough.
“Oh, sir, you can understand. In any country there is a measure of political unrest. No matter how benevolent an absolute monarch may be, there are those who long to have a voice in their own governing. Your democracy has set an example, has it not?”
“He’s too oily for me,” Sunday whispered to Henry as the minibus drove slowly through the crowded streets of Acqiom.
“I agree,” Henry murmured in her ear. “But never mind him. I used to explore Silver Mountain with Mac during summer vacations. We can go off by ourselves when we get there. I’ll be your guide.”
If we get there, Sunday thought ruefully as the minibus began to make coughing sounds. For the past two hours they’d been riding on a seemingly endless road through the desert. Except for occasional clusters of small flat-roofed stone houses, it seemed to be virtually uninhabited, the only company the trucks and tour buses that whizzed past them on the two-lane road.
Several times Henry had commented on the leisurely pace the driver had set. “It’s not exactly the Amalfi coast, where the view is mind boggling,” he said. “The ship sails at seven. At this rate we’ll spend more time on the road than in one of the great wonders of antiquity.”
It was clear that the seventeen-year-old daughter of Winston Andrews was in absolute agreement. “Mom, this is so boring,” she commented a number of times, obviously not caring who heard her.
By the time the range that held the Silver Mountain loomed before them, there were no buses or trucks in either direction. The driver suddenly pulled off onto a road between two crevices. Almost hidden, it wound to the right. He stopped the minibus several hundred yards later.
The guide and he conferred, then Sayyid stood up. “Will everyone please leave the vehicle?” he asked courteously. “The driver must try to locate the trouble with the engine and feels it would be safer. He hopes it will not be too long.”
As he rose Henry said, “I’m a fairly good mechanic. I’d be happy to help locate the trouble.”
Sayyid looked at him dismissively. “The driver will not require assistance, Mr. Potter.”
“Nevertheless he’s going to get it if he doesn’t locate the trouble soon,” Henry said firmly when the passengers were gathered outside. They had all moved to stand in the shadow of an overhanging boulder, shielded from the now blazingly hot midday sun. The hood of the minibus was up. Both the driver and guide were bent over the engine.
“I don’t know why Daddy made us take this trip,” Muffie Andrews complained to her mother.
Pamela Andrews, stylishly thin with auburn hair, snapped, “Because he thought you might actually learn something about history and the way other people live.”
Lloyd and Audrey Cameron, silver haired and both somewhat frail, came over to Henry. “I don’t like either that driver or the guide, Mr. Potter,” Lloyd Cameron said quietly. “Do you think there’s any possibility that there’s more to this than a faulty engine?”
Sunday looked at Henry and realised that that was exactly what he was thinking. His eyes were narrowed and his forehead creased. “There’s something up,” he agreed. “I want everyone to get back in the bus. I’m going to tell that pair that I’m an engineer and insist on helping them. But I want all of you inside the bus when I do it.”
“But…” Sunday bit her lip on her protest. Henry had a black belt in karate. Even so, she found herself wishing that Jack Collins and the other guys in their Secret Service detail were around.
As Henry went to speak to the driver and guide, she took the lead in getting the others to slip quietly on the bus.
Muffie Andrews protested, “It’ll be hot in there.”
“You heard my husband. Get in,” Sunday told her sharply.
She realised that Lloyd Cameron was perspiring heavily. Reaching a hand under his arm, she helped him up. She noticed him wince in pain. “Are you all right?” she asked quickly.
“Nothing a nitroglycerin tablet won’t help,” Audrey Cameron said, the worry in her voice evident.
Outside Henry was arguing with the driver and guide. “How can you possibly tell what’s wrong without turning the engine over?” From the corner of his eye he could see that everyone was on the bus. He knew the key was in the ignition. These two were stalling, but for what? Waiting for accomplices? How much would they get if their purpose was robbery? Enough, he realised. Both Pamela Andrews and Audrey Cameron were wearing valuable diamond rings. Lloyd Cameron had a Rolex watch similar to the one he usually wore himself.
Then his blood froze. In Arabic the driver said to Sayyid, “Why wait to kill this one and his wife? Do it now.”
In two steps Henry had leapt on the bus, and slammed and locked the door. He turned the key, raced the engine, and jerked into reverse. He saw Sayyid and the driver reach into their pockets. “Duck,” he shouted. But before he could switch into drive, thundering hoofs signalled the arrival of a dozen armed men, attired in burnooses and robes, who surrounded the bus, their rifles pointing at the windows. Without being told, Henry stopped the bus and turned off the engine.
In New Jersey, Sims paced the library waiting and hoping for the phone listed in his name to ring. The call he expected was already hours late. His instructions were to open the sealed envelope with the travel itinerary and call the White House if a full twenty-four hours lapsed without phone contact.
Not twenty-four hours yet, Sims comforted himself. I am sure all is well.
The ringing of the phone was a symphony to his ears. With dignified haste he reached for it. “Mr. Potter, good morning.”
He was crushed when he heard the familiar voice of Jack Collins, the head Secret Service agent. Collins did not waste time. “Sims, I’ve got the willies sitting around doing nothing. Has Ranger been checking in on time?”
Sims’s fears crystallised. Something had gone wrong. Collins had sensed it too. “I’m afraid Mr… er, Potter is twelve hours behind schedule.”