"One way mirror," Lorsen jerked his thumb at the large pane of reflective glass to their left.
"Who's watching us?" Thorpe asked. He felt naked without his weapon and the elaborate security measures did nothing to ease that feeling.
"Mossad," Lorsen finally informed him.
Thorpe had suspected as much. If anyone would have tabs on Middle Eastern personnel, it was the Israeli security agency.
The wooden door swung open. A tall, thin man waited. His face was drawn, the bones tight under the skin. He had short dark hair, a generous portion of it turning gray. His eyes were deep-set and a very dark brown, almost black.
"My old friend Mr. Lorsen." The man waved them inside. "With friends. At least I assume they are friends, although they came to my door armed."
"Everyone comes to your door armed," Lorsen said. "It's a calling card of the trade."
The man led them down a corridor into a small room with a table and several chairs. The walls were an off-green color that had seen better days. A fan revolved very slowly above their heads.
The man perched himself on the edge of the table. Lorsen sank down gratefully into one of the chairs. Thorpe and King remained standing.
"This is Major Thorpe and Master Sergeant King," Lorsen said by way of introduction. "Can I tell them your name?" he asked the man who let them in.
The man nodded.
Lorsen gave a small bow. "And this, my friends, is Esdras. At least that's the name he is currently using with me. Whether it is his first or last name, I know not and care not to know."
Esdras smiled. "Always a joker, old man." The smile disappeared. "What do you want?"
Thorpe pulled the printout of the two pictures and names out of his pocket and placed it on the table. Esdras picked it up. His face grew even more taut, if that was possible.
"How do you know these men?"
"They attended some military schooling in the States," Thorpe said. "James and Alex Matin. Our records indicate they are officers in the Saudi Arabian army."
Esdras tossed the paper back onto the desk. "What about them?"
"We feel they might have a role to play in the disappearance of several American military dependent girls in this area," Lorsen said.
"That is not my concern," Esdras said.
"The Samson option," Thorpe said, catching everyone in the room off guard.
Esdras's head snapped around. "Mr. Lorsen, please take Sergeant King into the corridor." His eyes remained focused on Thorpe.
Lorsen and King left the room, the door swinging shut behind them.
"The Samson option is fiction," Esdras said.
"It is now," Thorpe agreed. "But a year ago it was fact. I suggest you call your superiors and tell them my name. And the name Colonel Parker. And you might want to mention the Omega Missile."
Esdras turned and left Thorpe alone in the room. The second hand on the plain clock on the wall slowly made its way around as he waited. After five minutes the door opened once more and Esdras came back in. He took a seat on one side of the table and Thorpe sat across from him.
"I am informed that the State of Israel owes you a great deal of gratitude," Esdras spoke without inflection, "and that I am to extend to you and Colonel Parker any courtesy short of compromising my nation's security."
Considering he and Parker had stopped a nuclear missile just seconds from making Tel Aviv a fused-glass parking lot, Thorpe thought that was most kind of the State of Israel.
"Tell me about them." Thorpe stabbed his finger at the pictures. "Jawhar and Akil. You have a file on them?"
"I have our file on them being copied," Esdras said, "but I am fully up to date, as they are on our Level A list."
"Level A?"
"People who are considered real threats to Israeli security and interests." Esdras picked up the pictures. "Jawhar Matin, a.k.a. the Jewel Man, and his brother Akil."
"Why is Jawhar called the Jewel Man?" Thorpe asked.
"He wears a ring on every finger. His hands are probably worth a half million dollars, given all the jewels on those rings."
"Does Akil have a nickname?" Thorpe asked.
"He doesn't need one," Esdras said. "He's a killer. Most of his training comes courtesy of your United States. But the instinct, the cold blood and lack of conscience, that he was born with. Their father is Prince Hakim Yasin. Have you ever heard that name?"
Thorpe shook his head.
"Hakim is one of the top three oilmen in Saudi Arabia. So rich you don't even bother putting numbers against his name. More powerful than most countries. Which explains why these two pigs" — Esdras indicated the pictures—"are on our Level A list yet are still breathing."
"They both went to some military schooling in America," Thorpe said. "At Fort Rucker and Fort Benning."
Esdras nodded. "Jawhar is a helicopter pilot — trained at your aviation center at Fort Rucker. Akil is the commando. A graduate of your Ranger School at Fort Benning and Special Forces school at Fort Bragg. They are both colonels in the Saudi army, but they report only to their father.
"They are twins. Not identical, as you can see. Akil is the elder, born two minutes before his brother, Jawhar."
"But they're known by the name Matin, not Yasin," Thorpe noted.
Esdras nodded. "That is so. They are Hakim's eldest sons but not his heirs. Their surname is Matin, which in Arabic, Abd al Matin, means 'servant of the strong.' Which is why they are in the army and not in the oil business."
"Why aren't they his heirs?"
"Because of their mother." The door Esdras had gone through opened. A young woman handed him a file without looking at Thorpe and just as quickly departed. Esdras flipped open the file as he answered Thorpe's last question.
"Their mother was neither Yasin's wife nor Arab. Either one of those facts would have been enough to rule them out — both, well, it's surprising Hakim didn't kill them at birth. It would have been better for many people if he had."
"Here." Esdras slid a pair of color photos across. "Note their eyes, which you can't really see in your black and white image."
Both men had surprisingly blue eyes in their dark faces. Thorpe looked up from the photos.
"Their mother was American."
"Who was she?" Thorpe asked. "And how did she hook up with Yasin?"
Esdras rubbed his chin as he searched for words. "You might not technically call her a prostitute. I suppose that would be too harsh a term. But do you know anything about what goes on inside these rich Saudi families?"
Thorpe shook his head.
"Well, you do know that women do not exactly hold the greatest place in that society. The wives are veiled in public and strictly quarantined in private. The men, however are very much free to do what they wish and those with the money do exactly what they desire. Those that are not strict believers in the word of the Koran, that is."
"There is a very strong trade in women — almost a slave trade — except the women are usually paid off quite well for a year or so of, shall we say, work? If they are beautiful and any good at what they do, I understand the current payoff after a year's service is easily in the mid-six figures, U.S. money."
"Jawhar and Akil's mother was one such woman. Their father was apparently very fond of her. Normally if such a woman becomes pregnant, there is no question about it — an abortion is immediate. But Hakim Yasin is a strange man. Rather paranoid, actually, with good reason. Our theory is that he allowed this woman — Naomi Matherson was her name, by the way — to give birth once he found out that not only were they twins, but they were to be boys."
"He apparently felt that such boys could be raised to be loyal to him — Arabs are very big about blood ties and all that good stuff. Who knows? He couldn't raise them or even keep them in his immediate household — that would be a disgrace and embarrassment to his household and his wife. So he let their mother raise them."