Vince Flynn - Executive Power

Yes, the Iraqis could provide money to the cause, but nothing compared to the Saudis. If the grand plan did not go as he hoped, David wanted to be able to point the Israelis and the Americans and anyone else who cared in the direction of Saddam Hussein. He did not want them to go looking in the kingdom of Saudi Arabia for him.

The green Range Rover snaked its way up Al Ameer Mohammed Street toward one of Amman 's famous seven hills. Night had fallen on the city and they were headed for the Intercontinental Hotel. It was Amman 's finest hotel, and the arrogant man David was going to meet would stay nowhere else. David sat in the backseat and went over the plan one more time. He had carefully applied a black beard flecked with gray to his face and had added a touch of gray to his eyebrows.

Over his hair he was wearing the black-and-white keffiyeh of a Palestinian.

As they neared the hotel he put on a pair of dark-rimmed glasses and checked his disguise with a small mirror. He looked a good fifteen years older. He had met with the Iraqi on six previous occasions and he had worn the same disguise each time.

David trusted very few people, and none of them were Iraqis. He had caught them in many lies during his business dealings with them, but in truth he had expected nothing less. They were the bullies of the neighborhood, and in the Middle East there was no shortage of bullies.

The Iraqis made up the rules and then changed them again when they didn't like the way things were going. David despised them for the way they feigned concern over the Palestinian plight. The truth was that there wasn't a single Iraqi who truly cared for the Palestinians. To Saddam and his henchmen the Palestinians were nothing more than a lightning rod to attract anti-Semitism and hatred for America.

As the Range Rover pulled up to the front of the hotel, David was focused on the task at hand. Tonight the blood bath would begin. If things went right it would be the first step in a long odyssey that would change the face of Middle East politics. It takes war to make peace and tonight would be the first shot in David's war.

He stepped from the vehicle and buttoned the jacket of his double-breasted blue suit. His posture slouched and his stride shortened, he moved toward the door of the hotel playing the role of an older man. The doors were opened by two bellmen who greeted David warmly. They knew him only as Mohammed Rashid, a Palestinian businessman who had strong ties to the PLO. David continued through the lobby, his Prada loafers clicking on the marble floor. He entered the bar and peered through the smoke-filled haze. The man he was looking for was seated in the far corner, his back to the wall like he was some cowboy in an American film. Two of his bodyguards were seated at the adjacent table and were eyeing the rest of the patrons, their menacing stares reminding everyone to mind their own business.

All three men had bushy black mustaches, a prerequisite for anyone in Saddam's inner circle.

David approached the table with feigned enthusiasm.

"General Hamza, it is so good to see you again."

Hamza did not offer his hand. He simply looked at the chair opposite him and nodded for his guest to sit. The Iraqi general took a drag from his unfiltered cigarette and said, "You are late."

"I am sorry," David lied, "but I had a hard time getting through the checkpoints."

Looking down at the two attachИ cases on the floor next to him, Hamza replied, "You'd better have a better plan for getting back with these. If you lose them, I will have your head."

David nodded effusively.

"General, I will not allow your money to fall into the hands of the Zionist pigs."

The general reached for his drink with the same hand that held the cigarette. Never taking his eyes off the Palestinian he said, "For your own good, you'd better make sure you do not allow that to happen."

David again nodded and eagerly assured the general that no such thing could ever possibly occur. The two attachИ cases contained a million dollars apiece in U.S. hundred-dollar bills. It was money for Hamas and Hezbollah to continue their terrorist insurgency into Israel.

General Hamza was not a man to be taken lightly, but David was far from intimidated. The head of Saddam's Amn al Khas, or Special Security Service, was a brute, and brutes were easy to trick.

Hamza's thuggish behavior was legendary. In Iraq his name was spoken in whispers. He was responsible for entire families disappearing in the middle of the night, never to be seen or heard from again. On his orders, men and women were tortured and beaten for months simply because they knew someone who had been deemed a traitor to Saddam. Often, Hamza allowed those physically and mentally scarred subjects to live so that they could return to their communities and serve as living, walking, horrific, disfigured proof of what happened to people who went against Saddam. In any civilized society Hamza's behavior and tactics would be deemed inhumane at the least, but what made his actions all the more reprehensible was that the overwhelming majority of the people he had tortured and killed had done nothing wrong. In the twisted world Saddam had created for himself, he was convinced there were spies everywhere, traitors lurking in every city and every part of his government. There was a purge at least once a year and if the SSS didn't come up with bodies Saddam would turn his paranoid rage on the SSS instead. To avoid having his own head put on the chopping block, Hamza made sure his people found traitors.

Guilty or not, they found them, they tortured them until they would say anything to stop the pain, and then they executed them.

It wasn't as if the Arab world was blameless when it came to such thuggery, it was just the brazen way Iraq went about it and the sheer volume of intimidation and torture that occurred. David could deal with brutality. He didn't like it but he could handle it. There was something else about the general, something that really turned his stomach, and it was for that reason alone that he would enjoy killing him.

A waiter approached and placed a napkin and a fresh drink on the table for Hamza. The man then asked David if he'd like something to drink. The general nodded his consent and David ordered a scotch and soda.

Hamza polished off the last few sips of his drink and then wiped several droplets of whiskey from his mustache.

"I've decided to cut your fee. We're spending a lot of money on you and not getting enough back. You need to step up the bombing against Israel."

The fee the general was referring to had already been cut once. It had started at ten percent and dropped to five. It was David's cut for acting as an intermediary. David feigned concern. He had no personal use for counterfeit U.S. money, but he had to at least play the part.

"But I have already cut my fee once."

"And you will cut it again." Hamza leaned back confidently and sucked on his cigarette until the end glowed a bright orange. After he'd exhaled the smoke in David's direction he smiled and said, "You are doing your people a service. The honorable thing to do would be to take no fee at all."

Honor had nothing to do with it. When David's fee was reduced the money was not passed along to Hamas and Hezbollah. It was pocketed by the general. David was tempted to point out that they were in this together. Arab brothers arm in arm doing battle against the Israelis, but he decided to leave the general's hypocrisy unchallenged. He needed the money for the next part of his plan and the fact that it was counterfeit was all the better.

His drink arrived and in a defensive tone he said, "But General, the cost of doing business in my land is very expensive. Many people need to be paid to assure the safe transfer of your very much appreciated funds."