Vince Flynn - Consent To Kill

He didn't sleep that night. He tried, but he couldn't. Two scenarios kept playing on a loop in his brain. In the first Castillo and his men took the $500,000 they already had and were out having the time of their lives laughing at the stupid foreigner who had handed them such a large amount of money. The second scenario was that they had gone to the safe house and failed. The more he thought about it, the more he hoped they had taken the money and flown to Las Vegas. If they had been caught trying to kill Mitch Rapp, it might create some problems. Tayyib doubted Castillo or any of his men knew he was a Saudi, but they might be able to make a link with the witness he'd had them kill the year before.

The Sunday morning newspapers were delivered to the embassy at 5:00 a.m. There was no mention of anything happening in Virginia. Tayyib supposed they'd had to go to press before the story could be written. He turned to the TV to see if he could learn anything. At 7:00 a.m. one of the local affiliates led with the story of the explosions in Leesburg. There were reporters on site giving live updates, and there was an announcement that the sheriff would hold a press conference at 12:00 noon. Tayyib checked the twenty-four-hour news channels. Fox mentioned the explosions on the crawl at the bottom of the screen, but that was it. Tayyib got on the Internet to see if he could learn more. There was nothing. The press was not equipped to handle stories that broke late on a Saturday night, but by the time the sheriff held his press conference three of the twenty-four-hour news outlets and all of the local affiliates were covering the story.

Tayyib watched the press conference in his room, sitting on the edge of his bed. He listened intently to everything that was said. At no time did anyone mention an attack on a federal facility in conjunction with the attacks in Leesburg. Tayyib spent the afternoon trying to learn something, anything. He drove by the garage three times, half expecting to see police cruisers and yellow crime scene tape, but there was nothing. He took this as a bad sign. A very bad sign. Tayyib jumped on the last nonstop flight of the day from Washington, DC, to Riyadh.

He had a first class ticket so he was able to sleep through most of the flight. He landed in Riyadh a little before 1:00 p.m. He did not want to face Rashid, but he knew he must. Tayyib wasn't a man to shake responsibility or blame. A car and driver were waiting for him. As soon as he'd settled into the backseat of the Mercedes sedan he called his office to get an update on what was going on with the Leesburg story. Nothing had changed since he'd left Washington. Something else had happened, though. Tayyib listened carefully and then asked the man on the other end if he was certain. He said he was. Tayyib hung up, looked out the window of the Mercedes sedan, and closed his eyes. He had been back in the country for a little more than thirty minutes and the situation had gone from bad to disastrous. The car pulled up in front of the Ministry of Islamic Affairs. Tayyib got out and put on a white robe over his suit.

He took the elevator up to the top floor and stepped into a wide hall with Carrara marble floors and alabaster stone columns every twenty feet on the right and the left. Deep burgundy fabric hung on each side of the columns, creating semi-intimate nooks. There were eight of them. Four on the left and four on the right. Each nook contained a desk. Behind each desk sat a man. No women worked in the building. The hall served as the outer office for the Minister of Islamic Affairs.

Tayyib marched down the hall, his gaze straight ahead, more intent than usual. He did not bother to look at any of the gatekeepers and they did not bother to stop him. He stopped in front of the last desk on the right and said, "Is the minister alone?"

"No."

"Clear the office." It was a command.

The administrative assistant looked at an appointment book on his desk and hesitated.

Tayyib leaned his six-foot-four-inch frame forward and placed his large hands on the man's desk. "It is not a request. It is an order. Unless the king is in there, I suggest you clear the office or you will be out of a job."

The man jumped to his feet and scurried into the office. Tayyib followed.

The office was eighty feet long by fifty feet wide. There was no desk anywhere in sight, just clusters of chairs, couches, and pillows. Rashid was at the far end of the room sitting on an oversized chair that was almost, but not quite, a throne. Five men, well into their seventies, were gathered around Rashid on a group of three couches. The assistant scurried ahead at a pace just short of an all-out run. Tayyib made him nervous.

He approached Rashid and whispered in his ear. Rashid nodded and then informed his guests that he was most sorry, but he would have to cut their meeting short. The men got up and filed out of the room at a snail's pace. Tayyib stood off to the side clenching and unclenching his fists.

When they were finally gone and the door was closed, Tayyib bowed at the waist and said, "My prince, I apologize for the intrusion."

Rashid stared down at him with his slightly hooded eyes. He'd known Tayyib for eleven years now, since the man's early days at the Saudi Intelligence Service. Tayyib built a reputation as someone who got things done and kept his mouth shut as well. There were plenty of men who got things done, but few knew how to keep quiet about it. Tayyib was not a lighthearted individual, but neither was he someone prone to melancholy, fits of rage, or any other outward expression of emotion. He was serious and steady, and that was why Rashid liked him. That was also why the look on Tayyib's face gave the prince cause for concern. "I assume things did not go well in America."

Tayyib blinked, his business in America already a distant memory. He dropped to a knee. His bad one. He lowered his head and said, "Prince Muhammad, I am sorry, but I have some terrible news."

Rashid exhaled through his nostrils and nodded for the man to continue.

"On my way here from the airport I received a call from my office." Tayyib lifted his head and glanced up at the prince. "There was an explosion in Riyadh just a short while ago."

"Where?" Rashid asked in a guarded tone.

"In front of the headquarters of Abdullah Telecommunications."

"Abdullah Telecommunications," Rashid said absolutely shocked. "What kind of explosion?"

"A suicide bomber."

"A suicide bomber," repeated a confused Rashid. The Kingdom was very good at exporting suicide bombers. Occasionally one would strike within the Kingdom itself, but it was always against Western targets, usually the Americans. "Was anyone killed?"

"I'm afraid so." Tayyib looked down. "Saeed Ahmed Abdullah."

Upon hearing the name of his childhood friend, Rashid was speechless. After a moment he regained his composure and asked, "How did this happen?"

"Witnesses say that Saeed was leaving noontime prayer and was walking across the street to his office. The man was waiting for him. He came up and hugged Saeed and then blew himself up."

Rashid was dumbstruck. "Who was the bomber?"

"We don't know yet."

"Why would a suicide bomber want to kill Saeed?"

Tayyib had been wrestling with this same question.

The prince stood and gathered his robes, one folded over each arm. "Rise," he said as he stepped down from the platform. His mind had stumbled upon a horrible possibility. "And what of our business in America?"

Tayyib stood and said, "I have failed you, my prince." He had thought about his answer on the long flight. The truth was he didn't know what had gone wrong, but that in and of itself was proof of failure. "The men I sent to take care of the job never returned."

"What happened to them?"

"I do not know."