The Secret Soldier

“We don’t believe any Saudi would commit such a vile act. Of course, we’re examining our files, comparing the photograph with known terrorists and criminals, to be certain. But we haven’t found anything yet. And if such treason occurred, we’re certain that the evildoer’s family would come forward.”

“That’s reassuring.” Kurland wondered if Saeed and Mansour would pick up the irony in his voice. If they did, they ignored it.

“Meanwhile, we’ve sent a dozen agents to Amman,” Mansour said. “And I’ve told Prince Nayef that if he needs help, he’s not to hesitate to ask.”

“That’s a great relief. And when you speak to Abdullah, please tell him I’m sorry I haven’t been able to express my condolences to him personally.”

“Of course you know he hasn’t been well.”

Kurland wondered why Saeed had brought up the king’s health, a taboo subject in Saudi Arabia.

“It may be nothing to worry about. Abdullah is a lion. But what happened to Alia upset him terribly. She was his favorite.”

“She sounds like she was a wonderful woman.”

“Certainly,” Saeed said indifferently. “Though not everyone agreed with her views.”

Sounds like you’d care more if your favorite pet camel died, Kurland wanted to say. He settled for: “The United States did. And does. We believe that Saudi Arabia needs a full dialogue on women’s rights.”

“Unfortunately, what you believe is irrelevant. The laws pertaining to women, what they can and can’t do, Allah has given those to us. Our kingdom is guided by the Quran.”

“The Quran has many verses. And even your brother doesn’t necessarily agree with the strictest interpretations.”

Rana looked at Kurland, silently cautioning him against arguing about Islam with Saeed. Kurland didn’t appreciate the warning. He would have to remind Rana that Rana’s job was to translate. Not to second-guess him in front of the other side. But the lesson would wait until the ride back to the embassy.

After an awkward few seconds, Rana went ahead. When he was done, Saeed waved a hand dismissively, as much as saying: Save your opinions about women’s rights for Hillary Clinton. I couldn’t care less. “Abdullah has his views, you have yours, I have mine,” Saeed said. “These issues, let’s not let them sidetrack us. I won’t say they aren’t important. But I hope you remember that our kingdom has always been a partner to America.”

“And vice versa.”

“We do everything we can to keep oil at a reasonable price. We know what that means to your economy.”

Kurland hid his irritation at this lecture. “Of course, Prince.”

“Abdullah and I want you to know that our family will always be a friend.”

“You and Abdullah.”

“And those who will follow us. Just as Abdullah followed Fahad, and Fahad followed Khalid. All along, the oil flowed. One day, my brother won’t be here. It’s foolish to pretend otherwise. One day I won’t be, either. But whoever’s king, the House of Saud will always be loyal to America. And the oil will still flow.”

At least now I know why I’m here, Kurland thought. “I wish I didn’t have to be so blunt, Prince, but is Abdullah seriously ill?”

“There are many kinds of illness. Some more obvious than others.”

Was Saeed saying that his brother was losing his mind and could no longer govern? Abdullah hadn’t struck Kurland as demented when they’d last met. Kurland didn’t see how he could ask, and anyway, he wasn’t sure he could trust Saeed’s answer. Instead he stalled. “Abdullah’s been a great friend to the United States. As you say.”

“Of course. But whatever happens, I want to reassure you that our oil will always be our gift to the world.”

Ambassadors were supposed to be diplomats. Even so, Kurland couldn’t let that last sentence pass. “Not exactly a gift, though, is it, Prince?”

WHEN THEY’D LEFT, SAEED looked at Mansour.

“Do you think they understood?”

“Yes.”

“They’ll reach out to Abdullah.”

“They already have,” Mansour said. “We’ve logged the calls. But he’s not talking to them right now. Or anyone. He’s too angry.”

Or he’s planning a counterattack, Saeed thought. “Sooner or later, he’ll talk.”

“If he raises his suspicions without any evidence, the Americans will think him a rambling old fool. Especially after the hints you’ve given them. There’s no need to worry, father.”

Mansour’s reassurances grated on Saeed. His son increasingly treated him as a nervous old man who needed to be managed rather than obeyed. In truth, Saeed was already Abdullah’s equal. Besides the Defense Ministry, he oversaw the Ministry of Transport, which distributed tens of billions of dollars in contracts every year, and headed the Supreme Hajj Committee, a job that kept him close to the Kingdom’s senior clerics. Only Abdullah’s control of the National Guard kept Saeed from dominating Saudi Arabia. The Guard, and the genuine affection that tribal chiefs and ordinary Saudis felt for Abdullah. Saeed knew that he and Mansour would never generate such feelings. He didn’t care. Better to be feared than loved.

But still he wanted the throne, for the power and the title both. When Abdullah took power in 2005, Saeed knew he was next in line. He imagined his brother would last only a couple years. Age and time had visibly worn on Abdullah. Saeed didn’t like waiting, but he was a decade younger than Abdullah, and orderly successions were the Saudi way.

But Abdullah had proven stronger than Saeed expected. And last year he had told the senior princes that he wanted his own son, Khalid, to be the next king. Foolish old man. Saeed and Abdullah rarely spoke anymore, but when he learned of the plan, Saeed called Abdullah himself. The conversation was short and blunt.

“You can’t do this.”

“You think our family wants you in power, my brother? Now that they see an alternative? You know what they call you? A scorpion.”

In the weeks that followed, Saeed waited for his brothers and nephews to tell him that they were against the plan. Some had. But not enough. Most, including Nayef, the third most powerful prince, had remained silent. They were canny, too cautious to choose a side until they knew the winner, Saeed thought. But he was realistic enough to admit other possibilities. Maybe the other princes disliked him too much to give him more power. Maybe they believed that as king he would install his sons as heirs. Maybe they simply were showing their love for Abdullah.

Saeed knew that he shouldn’t have cared. All his life, his ability to control his emotions had served him. But age seemed to have softened his iron will. An unceasing rage overtook him when he realized that his brother might keep him from his prize. The sun boiled his blood. I will be king. By right and custom. And even more elementally: Mine. Mine. Mine. A bell rang in his head morning until night. Even his ultimate relaxation, swimming laps in the Olympic-sized pool in his palace, failed to calm him.

Saeed believed he’d hidden his anger. But Mansour knew. A few weeks after Abdullah revealed his plan, Mansour arrived at Saeed’s palace. “This won’t stand, father.”

“Nothing’s certain yet.”

“I can stop him.”

“How?”

Mansour explained. For a moment, Saeed was almost frightened of his son. Of the vision that had led Mansour to create this private squad of killers. And then Saeed realized: This is how the world sees me.

“You’ve been building this for years, and you never said?”

“Putting the pieces in place. I wasn’t sure I’d ever use it.”

“What if the Americans found it?”