Brad Thor - Blowback

In customary desert tradition, he asked them if they cared for any refreshments before getting down to business. All three politely declined. “Okay, then,” said Abdullah as he fixed his gaze on Reynolds. “Let’s talk about this plot against my life.”

Once again, Harvath interrupted. “There is no attempt on your life, Your Highness, at least not directly.”

“But Mr. Reynolds said-”

“Exactly what I told him to say.”

The defense minister reached for his radio and said in Arabic, “This is preposterous. This meeting is over.”

“Not so fast,” replied Harvath in perfect Arabic, before switching back to English. “Your Highness, there is a plot to remove you from power, and that is why we’re here. Mr. Reynolds cooperated because he believed he was acting in your best interest.”

Abdullah raised his hand and motioned for his defense minister to stand down. “I’m listening.”

When Harvath had finished explaining, the Crown Prince asked, “Do you have evidence that would support this?”

“Yes we do, Your Highness,” said Jillian as she handed Harvath a manila envelope to give to Abdullah. “Tests are ongoing, but this is a summary of what we’ve been able to gather so far.”

“Which is nothing more than sheer conjecture, from what I have heard,” replied the minister of state intelligence. “I’ll admit, I am not very fond of Faruq, but he has been an unquestionable asset to our organization.”

“And the meeting I witnessed with soldiers of the Royal Land Forces, the National Guard, and known militants?” replied Reynolds.

“For all we know,” said the defense minister, “they were informants. America isn’t the only country that pays for information, you know.”

Reynolds conceded the point. “That’s true, but what about the faked surveillance reports?”

Now it was the intelligence minister’s turn to jump back in. “To tell you the truth, I am more concerned with how you were able to get your hands on classified state information.”

“If that’s what you are more concerned with, then maybe I should be looking for a new minister of intelligence,” interjected Abdullah. “Are you or are you not familiar with the militants Mr. Reynolds is referring to?”

“Of course I am, Your Highness.”

“And is there any truth to what he’s saying about their surveillance reports being falsified?”

“I couldn’t say,” stammered the minister. “I do not personally review such matters.”

“That’s not the answer I expected to hear, Nawaf.”

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, I-”

Abdullah held up his hand for the man to be silent. “Where is Faruq now?”

“Your Highness, I do not think it is prudent to discuss state intelliegnece matters in front of-”

“Answer the question,” demanded the Crown Prince.

“Sa’dah.”

“ Yemen? With everything that is going on in our country, all the trouble in Riyadh, what is your deputy minister doing in Sa’dah?”

“The trip was planned some time ago, Your Highness.”

“I’m sure it was,” said Abdullah, and he looked at his visitors. “Do you have any further questions for either of these men?”

“Just one,” replied Harvath as he removed the pictures Reynolds had printed at his house. “We have reason to believe these men are going to try to or may have already infiltrated the ranks of your National Guard here at the palace. Their goal is to kill the Wahhabi leadership and make it look like the Royal Family was responsible. Have any of you seen these men since you’ve been here?”

Both the defense and intelligence ministers looked at the photos and then shook their heads.

“I would like to circulate these and have every National Guard member at the palace accounted for,” said Harvath.

“But the meeting is almost over. If things continue going well, we should have a consensus within a matter of hours and the Wahhabi leadership will be on its way home. Don’t you think if these men were going to try something, they would have already done so?” asked the intelligence minister, pressing his luck.

“Do what he asks,” commanded Abdullah as he handed the photos to his ministers and then dismissed them from the room.

After taking a minute to collect his thoughts, the Crown Prince turned back to Harvath and said, “Now that we’re alone, we must discuss the involvement in all of this by Prince Hamal.”

“We know that will be difficult, Your Highness,” said Harvath.

“More difficult than you can imagine,” replied Abdullah wearily. “Prince Hamal is my son.”

Hamal is your son?” repeated Harvath.

“The result of an indiscretion in my youth of which I certainly am not proud,” said Abdullah, looking away.

“While I have been largely successful in keeping his lineage quiet, the boy has been nothing but a source of constant distress for me.”

“You’ll forgive me for asking, Your Highness, but why have you let him live here? Why not banish him? Send him to Europe or America, anywhere but here where he has been making so much trouble for you?” said Reynolds.

“You don’t have children, do you, Mr. Reynolds?” replied the Crown Prince.

Reynolds shook his head.

Abdullah smiled the smile not of an all-powerful ruler but of a father. “If you did, you would understand that I would rather cut off my own arm than to see my son forced from the land of his birth. That’s not to say that I didn’t try. I thought that if he had someone to travel with, another worldly young man, a young man of Arab birth, but of a second cultural influence, he might open up and decide life outside this kingdom was more to his liking.”

Harvath didn’t know why, but suddenly there was that ping from a remote corner of his mind as connection of some sort was made. “Who was this traveling companion you selected for your son, Your Highness?”

“His family was from Abha, a small city in the southern province of Asir. The family’s name was-”

“Alomari,” said Harvath, putting it all together and finishing Abdullah’s sentence for him. “You entrusted your son to the companionship of Khalid Sheik Alomari.”

It was the first time Harvath had ever seen a major head of state lose his composure. “I didn’t know how evil he was. How could I?”

“You are the ruler of the Saudi Arabian Kingdom,” replied Harvath. “You have amazing resources at your disposal. Why didn’t you use them?”

“I did!” he asserted. “I was too embarrassed to air my dirty laundry to my minister, so I asked his second in command to do the checking for me.”

“You asked Faruq,” said Harvath.

Abdullah, his head hung low, responded, “Yes. It was Faruq, and along with the Wahhabis, they succeeded in turning my son against me.”

There was still a piece of the puzzle Harvath felt he was missing-a piece that was the key to helping all of the others floating around in his mind to fall into place. “I know this is a delicate question, and please forgive me, Your Highness, but it is something I have to ask.”

“What is your question?”

“From you, your son can claim direct descent from the Prophet Muhammad.”

“This is correct.”

“Hamal’s mother. You said she was a foreigner. What country was she from?”

For a moment, the Crown Prince seemed to be at peace, as if he was reliving happier memories from long ago. “We met in Cyprus. A man who had been involved in selling weapons to my brother, King Fahad, for our army introduced me to her. I was a young man filled with the world and forgetful of my responsibilities. She was the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. I was completely captivated by her.”