Jack Du Brul - Charon's landing

Khalid had tried to interrupt the Prince but was waved down with a sweep of the ruler’s bony hand.

“I know you felt justified. The evidence you’ve gathered against Rufti points to some sort of attempt on my life. But we can’t lower ourselves to his standard and break the sovereignty laws of our neighbors. Colonel Bigelow’s complicity in this act is something I will deal with at a later time. He is old and wise enough to know better than to follow a young man on such a quest.”

Khalid had to speak on his mentor’s behalf. “Colonel Bigelow isn’t responsible for his actions. Although I have no authority to give him a direct order, he agreed to come with me after a great deal of personal coercion.”

The Crown Prince smiled for the first time that morning. “If I know Bigelow, he volunteered as soon as he heard what you had planned, but your loyalty to him is laudable. Listen to me, Khalid. I realize that what you’ve done, you did for me. But you have to understand that there is more at stake than you realize.

“Hasaan bin-Rufti is only the latest incarnation of an old threat that goes back to the time when man first decided he needed leaders. There is always someone ready to question and to eventually try to seize what is not rightfully his. While Rufti may be more potentially dangerous given his timing, he is no more or less of a threat than I have faced before. I have known of his intentions for several months, almost a year really, ever since he went to Istanbul last winter.

“However, I cannot make a move until he does. I am bound by my office to remain on the defensive. I can’t authorize any offensive action without incurring the wrath of the other members of the Supreme Council.”

“You will do nothing?”

“If I have him arrested, the Sheik of Ajman will denounce me immediately, and I fear that he will garner the sympathy of Dubai and several other Emirates. Such a coalition would be powerful enough to oust me as head of the Council.

“We are facing a crisis right now, not only within the UAE but throughout the Gulf, and most people don’t even realize it. For fifty years we have had the power to grind the West to a halt by shutting off the flow of oil. The embargo in the 1970s was just a reminder that we here in the Gulf cannot be ignored. The President of the United States has taken away the one trump card they feared we would play again. When America stops importing oil and turns to alternative fuels, Europe and Asia won’t be far behind. And where will that leave us? We will be like saddlemakers after the invention of the automobile. Oil will be a quaint curiosity used by only a few diehards.

“The sole reason the UAE exists as a nation is our possession of one of the world’s largest oil reserves. When that no longer has meaning, when oil has been replaced, our country will crumble, as will much of the region. Do you think if Kuwait didn’t have oil, President Bush would have sent a half million men to defend her?”

Khalid was quiet as he absorbed this. He realized that despite his age, the Crown Prince could still see the world through very keen eyes. However, Khuddari was dubious of the Americans. “Do you really believe that they can live without oil?”

“I learned to never underestimate the United States. They swagger through the world like an overeager child, touching everything they come into contact with. But like a child, they possess a resolve that goes beyond reasonable understanding. They are a clever people, and if they say that they will find an alternate source of energy, you’d best believe it.”

Khalid was doubtful of the Prince’s estimation of America. Returning to the original subject, he asked, “So what do you want me to do about Rufti?”

“You are expected at the OPEC meeting in London. I want you there. You are the Petroleum Minister, not my bodyguard. You must be in England, looking after the best interests of the country, not here wet-nursing an old man.”

“But the training facility we saw?”

“There are still ten years before the Americans stop buying our oil. In that time we will face a great many challenges, but the deadline is too far off to think that Rufti is a threat quite yet. The presence of that training ground is disturbing. However, I don’t believe Rufti will make an attempt on my life in the near future. In the decade before the American moratorium, he will continue to grow fat on the profits our oil brings into his coffers, both as a citizen of the Emirates and as Ajman’s Petroleum Minister.”

“The British thought they had time when they signed a ninety-nine-year lease for Hong Kong. They have now lost the lease and you can ask anyone involved, the last ten years were the quickest,” Khalid said sharply and immediately realized that he’d overstepped his bounds. He stood quickly to cover his embarrassment. “If I am to go to the OPEC meeting, I must take your leave.”

The Crown Prince was ready to dismiss Khalid, but he stopped the younger man with a question. “Do you read much detective fiction?”

“No, sir. I rarely find time for pleasure reading.”

“Too bad,” the Prince said. “There seems to be an axiom among investigators that I always found interesting. When you don’t know someone’s motivation, look to the money.”

“I don’t understand,” Khalid replied.

“Just because I told you to forget Rufti doesn’t mean I expect that you’ll obey. When you continue your research, remember those words.” The old man’s eyes glinted with fondness as he spoke.

Now, back at his office, Khalid shed his suit coat. Though many businessmen in the Arab world wore the traditional flowing wraps of white cotton, he preferred Western-style suits. His were not the overpriced boxy Italian suits favored by the Saudis and Kuwaitis, but a conservative English cut of superior cloth. Siri came from behind her expansive desk to hang the jacket properly on an ornate stand. Khalid stalked into his office beyond the antechamber, closing the door behind him as if that simple act would shut out the problems he was facing.

Siri entered a moment later, her body moving with a rhythm all its own. Khalid paid no attention to her as she took a seat before his desk.

His office was large, much too large for his austere tastes. The walls were richly carved panels of cherry, oiled daily so that they glowed with the light beaming through the tall windows behind the neatly kept desk. The floor was also wood, most of it covered by an intricate rug of either Afghani or Uzbeki origin. There were only a few pictures on the walls, one an official reproduction portrait of the Crown Prince and the others original paintings of the native landscape, each scene seeming to capture the essence of the open desert lurking just beyond the glass and steel confines of the city.

“Has Trevor James-Price phoned yet?” Khalid asked, absently shuffling through the papers Siri had set on the blotter during his meeting with the Crown Prince.

“No, the phone’s been quiet all morning.” It was odd for his phone to be silent for five seconds let alone an entire morning. But most people probably thought he was already in London. “Are you going to the OPEC meeting?”

Khalid looked up tiredly. “I have no choice. You might as well book me on the next available flight. And keep it quiet, no official reception at the airport and no bodyguards either.”

“You could take one of the corporate jets.”

As Petroleum Minister, Khalid ranked a board seat on AD-NOC, the Abu Dhabi National Oil Company, and thus was allowed many of the perks that went with the position. Yet for some reason that Siri couldn’t figure, but which endeared him even more to her, Khalid refused many of the benefits, preferring to use commercial flights and dispensing with the usual retinue that went with his position.