didn’t understand why Ibrahim wouldn’t have chosen to go more than once.
Of course, Ibrahim was far busier than Bakr. And every Muslim slipped up and broke the ritual laws once in a while. But Ibrahim lacked something deeper. In his heart, Bakr felt the destiny that Allah had chosen for him. He felt Allah’s power. Praying was an honor and a pleasure, not a duty. The thought of God warmed him like the sun. He felt the same spirit in other true believers. But not in Ibrahim. Ibrahim spoke the words, but he never sounded convinced. If Bakr hadn’t believed so fervently, he might not have noticed. But he did. And so he did.
Bakr knew he might be wrong. Only Allah could know Ibrahim’s heart, the ripeness of his faith. But what if he was right? Why then had Ibrahim spared him, instead of arresting him when Gamal betrayed him years earlier? The answer must be that Ibrahim had always planned to use Bakr to seize power. Bakr imagined how Ibrahim saw him. A zealot from the most religious region of the Kingdom. A rabid dog to be unleashed when Ibrahim saw fit. Then tossed aside.
But if that was Ibrahim’s plan, the general had miscalculated, Bakr thought. With Allah’s guidance, Bakr had devised his own plan. He would use the soldiers that he had trained in a way that neither Ibrahim nor the men behind him would ever expect. He would do more than trade one branch of the Kingdom’s ruling family for another. He would free Arabia entirely from the tyranny of the Sauds. And if the strategy worked as Bakr intended — as
BEFORE THAT BATTLE COULD take place, Bakr faced a thousand obstacles. But as he sped north through the Bekaa to his camp, he felt confident, almost serene. For as the Prophet Muhammad — peace be upon Him — had said, “Whoever fights so that the Word of Allah is held high, he is in the way of Allah.” Yes, Bakr’s enemies were mighty. But Allah was mightier. And as he had since that day on the dune, Bakr knew beyond doubt that Allah was with him.
CHAPTER 9
THE VILLA WAS AS RIDICULOUS AS WELLS EXPECTED, WITH A PRIVATE pool and a balcony overlooking the Mediterranean. Wells decided to swim, then realized he didn’t have a bathing suit. Or a change of clothes. He called the concierge.
“Give me your measurements. One of my men will pick up what you need.” Wells did.
“And how much would you like to spend, monsieur?”
“For a shirt and pants and a shaving kit? A hundred euros, I guess.”
A faint throat-clearing told Wells that he had guessed wrong.
“Five hundred?”
More throat clearing.
“Up to you, then. Just put it on the room.” Wells hung up, reached for his cell, remembered that the battery was dead. He picked up the room phone again, called New Hampshire. Long distance at the Hotel du Cap-Eden-Roc. Another couple barrels of Saudi crude down the drain.
“John?”
“None other.”
“I tried to call. Your phone was off.”
“I didn’t have it for a while.”
“But you’re okay.”
On the slopes below the villa, the cypress trees glowed in the sun like a dream by van Gogh. “Could say that.”
“Why are you laughing?”
“I’m in the south of France. The biggest risk I’m running is that I’ll slip getting into the pool. And I think I just spent two thousand dollars on a shirt and pants.”
“I hope they’re nice. The shirt and pants, I mean.”
“I expect they will be. I’ll take a picture for you.”
“Can you tell me who they are, the people you’re with? Or what they want?”
Wells looked at the phone. Open line. He ought to keep operational security. “Wish I could, but not now. I’m not sure you’d believe it anyway. I’m not sure I do. How are you? How’s Tonka?”
“You put me first. That’s sweet. We’re both fine.”
“Anything happening?”
“I did arrest a couple of drunks on Main Street last night, but I know that doesn’t count for much.”
Wells supposed he had that coming. “Anne. I promise. We’ll come here one day. You’d like it.”
“That would be nice.” Though she didn’t sound convinced. “Be careful in the pool, okay? Those things can be deadly.”
“Noted.”
THE CLOTHES ARRIVED AN hour later, linen pants and a blue silk shirt and pure white swim trunks. They didn’t have labels. But they looked expensive. They felt expensive. They even smelled expensive. Wells tried them on and hardly recognized himself. The man in the mirror looked as sleek and shiny as a peacock looking for a mate.
The trunks were even worse. They fit tighter than boxers. When Wells cinched them, he had the odd sensation that he was molesting himself.
The phone trilled. “Are your clothes pleasing, monsieur?”
“Pleasing? They’re—” Wells wanted to say
“Can I help you with anything else?”
“Actually, yes. A laptop.”
“I’m sorry, sir. We have an executive center in the hotel, but we don’t keep laptops for guests—”
“Then buy one.”
“Yes, sir. Shall I put that purchase on the room also?”
“You shall.”
The Saudi soldiers Wells had met in Afghanistan were undisciplined and lazy, quick to boast but slow to the front lines. Wells had rarely talked to them, and he realized now how little he knew about Saudi Arabia. Before his next meeting with Abdullah, he wanted to learn. If he were still in the agency, he could have gone to the analysts at the Near East Desk or even called to the frontline operatives in Riyadh. Instead he would be reduced to Googling. Like the civilian that he was.
The laptop arrived just as he finished his swim. It didn’t come with a receipt, and he didn’t ask what it had cost. Heads of state and billionaires must live this way. They never paid for anything. Their accountants settled up later.
Wells booted up, got online. He expected to read for only a couple hours, but the more he learned, the more fascinated he became.
ABDULLAH’S LINEAGE DATED BACK to 1744, when a fundamentalist cleric named Abdul Wahhab allied with a minor Arabian ruler named Muhammad ibn Saud. At the time, Islam had become an almost polytheistic religion. Many Muslims prayed to spirits, a practice that the prophet Muhammad had banned a thousand years before.
Wahhab demanded that Muslims follow the Quran literally and that lawbreakers face harsh penalties. Around 1743, he ordered an adulterous woman stoned to death. Because of his strict views, Wahhab was forced from his hometown of Uyayna. Looking for protection, he asked Saud if he could live in Diriyah, the village that Saud ruled.
Saud agreed to shelter Wahhab to write and preach. Over time, Wahhab’s sermons attracted a growing audience, who called themselves Wahhabis. They pledged allegiance to Saud, forming a potent army. They fought under Saud’s flag: a green cloth with the
