Apparently not.
SIXTY-THREE
It was ten o’clock in the evening in Riyadh when McGarvey reached the direct line to Prince Muhamed bin Abdul Aziz, head of the Saudi Secret Intelligence Service. The number was known to only a few members of the Royal family as well as the heads of a number of friendly intelligence agencies around the world. The CIA was one of them.
“This cannot be Richard Adkins calling from Amsterdam. So it must be Kirk McGarvey calling from a redialer service,” Prince Muhamed said. “Good evening.”
“I’ll get right to the point,” McGarvey said. “You have a lot of trouble heading your way that can be avoided if we can come to an understanding.” He had worked with the prince on several occasions, but he’d never been able to read the man behind the dark glasses and flowing robes.
“Yes, the situation is very delicate,” Prince Muhamed replied. He sounded like a man without a care in the world, but it was the attitude he always projected. No one in the West had ever witnessed his anger. “But under the circumstances I have nothing to gain by talking with you.”
“Are you aware of the present situation here in Washington?” McGarvey asked.
“I am aware of many situations.”
“Let’s cut the bullshit, Muhamed,” McGarvey shot back. “You know we’re facing another attack, and it’s due to happen in less than forty-eight hours. You also know that I resigned as DCI, and I’m on my own. So I’m not going to screw around with you. I called you merely as a courtesy. Maybe you and I can avoid a serious amount of bloodshed. If you’ll cooperate this time.”
The line was silent for a moment.
By now McGarvey figured that the prince had rolled the call over to his technical services to try to identify the redialer server so that they could pinpoint McGarvey’s location. But Rencke had set it up so Saudi intelligence was wasting its time and resources.
“I’m listening, Mr. McGarvey,” Prince Muhamed said.
“The CIA has gathered a reasonable amount of evidence to suggest that Prince Abdul Salman and the al-Quaida terrorist Khalil are the same man.”
Prince Muhamed laughed softly “Yes, I understand that may have precipitated your resignation, and was the reason you drove the poor man out of Monaco. But you are wrong, of course.”
McGarvey hadn’t expected any other answer at this point. “It’s what you would have to say out of loyalty to the family. But there’s more.”
“Of course there is.”
“The prince is here in Washington,” McGarvey said.
“He thought it would provide him a safe haven, being close to President Haynes, two men with mutual respect and admiration for each other.”
“Khalil is here as well.”
“If he is, then it must be a coincidence,” Prince Muhamed said. “We have no connection with al-Quaida, a fact that must be apparent. Goodness, we have suffered our share of casualties. Their attacks are not confined to your country.” The prince’s voice had not risen at all, though McGarvey could hear his anger. “How much blood must we shed, and how much oil must we pump to supply your love of SUVs, for you to finally understand that Saudi Arabia is a friend to the U.S. and always has been? Without our oil your country would be nothing.”
“Without our money, you would all go back to living on the desert in tents. Without our technical help even your water would stop flowing. And without our military you would have been invaded years ago by the Soviets, or maybe Saddam Hussein would have gone directly from Kuwait City to Riyadh.”
The prince was silent again.
“Was it also a coincidence that when Khalil was attempting to kidnap our former secretary of defense from a cruise ship in Canadian waters that Prince Salman was in Canada? The west coast of Canada?”
“I know the prince personally,” Prince Muhamed said. “In fact, we are related. Distantly. He is a deal maker and a playboy, arrogant and headstrong, a gambler and a womanizer. But he is not a terrorist. I give you my word, Mr. McGarvey.”
“He has kidnapped my wife, and I have arranged the kidnapping of his family in Switzerland. Right now they’re being held as hostages.”
“It was you,” the prince said, and this time he sounded shook. “What are you trying to do, get an innocent woman and her children harmed? Prince Salman’s chief of security called me from Lucerne with the wild story that a Swiss Federal Police officer barged in, gun drawn, and took Princess Sofia and her four children.”
“I believe you call such acts collateral damage,” McGarvey said, coldly.
“This is monstrous—”
“So were the 9/11 attacks on our people,” McGarvey interrupted.
“Tell your friend to walk away from the prince’s home without causing any harm to the princess and her children, and she will be allowed to leave the compound alive,” Prince Muhamed said. “Otherwise I will authorize the use of deadly force. The women and her children are innocents—”
“There are no innocents,” McGarvey interrupted again, coming down hard on the prince. “I got that directly from bin Laden himself.”
“We are not involved with al-Quaida,” the prince shouted.
“Bullshit!” McGarvey shouted back. “Pure, unadulterated bullshit. Now, you listen to me, Muhamed. You’re a bright man, and you have connections and influence. One, I want the immediate withdrawal of the terrorists here in my country. Two, I want an immediate exchange of hostages, my wife for Prince Salman’s wife and children.”
“Do you actually believe that your wife is being held at our embassy? Is that why it’s under siege?”
“Do it now, Muhamed, and no one need get hurt. Except for Khalil. He’s mine,” McGarvey said. “I want your word.”
“I cannot give my word for something outside my abilities,” Prince Muhamed replied, heavily. “This is a very bad business between us. Your attack on our embassy will not be perceived well in the Arab world. And should some harm come to a member of the royal family, relations between our two countries will be strained even further. Perhaps to the breaking point.”
“Where was the outrage in the Arab world over 9/11?” McGarvey asked. He had hoped to gain something from the prince, but he wasn’t surprised that he’d been stonewalled. “The princess and her children will be released in two hours. Tell the security people there not to do anything foolish in the meantime.”
“It is you who is being the fool,” Prince Muhamed said.
“Continue to attack us and we will strike back,” McGarvey said. “Afghanistan and Iraq were just the first.” He broke the connection.
Pocketing his cell phone, McGarvey hoped he had at least bought Liese some time. Prince Muhamed was a powerful man within the royal family, and he would have a great deal of influence on the security people at Salman’s Lucerne compound. McGarvey got up, holstered his pistol, and checked out the window. There was no activity across the street, and only the occasional car driving past.
He checked the blocks of Semtex and fuses, pulled on his jacket, and left the apartment, taking the elevator all the way down to the basement where he could leave the building from the loading area in the rear.
If he could reach the back entrance to Yarnell’s old house without being detected, he would have the advantage of surprise for the first several seconds. Enough, he thought, to get him inside.