The Secret Soldier

difference. He closed his eyes and saw his wife playing tennis, her long brown legs under her skirt. She smiled sideways at him as he walked across the court for a kiss and a coffee. If he could keep her beside him, he’d be all right, whatever they did to him.

ABDULLAH RESTED ON HIS bed, propped up against overstuffed pillows, his swollen stomach ballooning out of a white silk robe. He couldn’t keep his temperature right anymore. Hour by hour, his flesh was ignoring his protests and leading him away.

But not yet. Not until this abomination was settled.

The Bedouin were renowned for their hospitality. The desert was a foe more lethal than any man. So a tribesman’s tent was a place of peace, an escape from the sands. Centuries of custom dictated that hosts treat visitors with honor. Only a dog snarls at a guest, the tribesmen said. The fact that Kurland had been taken while traveling back from Abdullah’s palace made matters worse. When Miteb gave Abdullah the news, the king’s face flushed with shame.

Abdullah had spoken briefly to the president early that afternoon, expressing his condolences, promising that he and his men would do whatever they could to find Kurland. The two men agreed that the kidnappers’ demands didn’t bear discussion. But the conversation was strained. “Terrorism is a scourge of us all,” Abdullah said.

“Yes,” the president said, speaking through a translator. “Especially state-sponsored terrorism.” A warning, deliberately vague.

Neither man mentioned the camp in Lebanon. John Wells must have told the Americans about it, Abdullah thought. But he didn’t know if they’d raided the camp, or what evidence they’d found, if they’d tied the kidnappers to Saeed and Mansour. Abdullah couldn’t ask, and the president had no reason to say. No doubt he wanted to reveal as little as possible, keep his options open.

“The FBI director tells me that visas for all our agents will reach Dubai within the hour,” the president said.

“Yes. Dubai’s only two hours by air from Riyadh. They’ll be here before sunset.”

“As far as I’m concerned, it’s already taken too long. There can’t be any more delays. We’ll need full access to any evidence you develop. And we want the right to interrogate witnesses on our own if necessary.”

“I understand.”

“So can I count on your cooperation?”

“Yes.” Under other circumstances, Abdullah might have objected. But he was done helping Saeed and Mansour defend themselves from the Americans. If Saeed didn’t want these agents poking around on their own, he would have to tell the president himself. Most likely, Saeed would offer his full cooperation and then Mansour would make sure that the agents saw only what he wanted.

“Good. Please understand, whether you cooperate with us or not, we’re going to find the truth.”

“We have nothing to hide.” The king couldn’t remember the last time he’d told such an obvious lie. But it was for his country. He didn’t know what else to do.

“And when we capture these men, we intend to try them in the United States.”

Now Abdullah had to object. “If they’re Saudi citizens and they’re arrested here, they’re subject to our justice system. My own people died in these attacks, too. And believe me, we’re perfectly capable of enforcing our laws against these men.”

The president was silent for few seconds. “Let’s say that the issue of trials can wait until we capture these men.”

“Agreed. And now I have a request for you. Can you promise me that these soldiers in Kuwait and Turkey won’t be used in my nation?”

“They won’t be used against you, King. I can’t promise they won’t be used against the kidnappers.”

“That’s what those men want, Mr. President. For the world to see American soldiers marching through our cities, blowing up houses with tanks and helicopters.”

“It’ll be our last alternative.”

“At least tell me you won’t send them to Mecca or Medina. You must know—”

“I understand the sensitivities. So do our generals. We’ll do our very best to avoid unnecessary provocation.” The president had gone out of his way not to make any promises, Abdullah thought. “But you must know that we will do everything necessary to bring this man home alive.”

“So will we.”

“Good. Then we agree. I hope the next time we speak, the circumstances are happier.” Without waiting to hear Abdullah’s answer, the president hung up.

* * *

SINCE THEN, THE HOURS had dragged interminably. Miteb reported that the muk had found two abandoned Chevy Tahoes painted with police logos northwest of here. They had traced the vehicles to a giant auto auction held east of Riyadh three months before. The name on their registrations corresponded to a man who had died a year before. Another dead end, for now.

Tomorrow the Guard would begin patrolling Riyadh and other major cities. But Abdullah knew better than to expect a miracle. The Guard was an army, not a police force. Unless its soldiers happened to see something unusual at a checkpoint or on patrol, they wouldn’t find Kurland on their own. So once again, Abdullah found himself dependent on Saeed and Mansour and the mukhabarat. He still hadn’t spoken with Saeed since the ambush. He dreaded the idea.

And as if Saeed were monitoring his very thoughts, at that moment his phone rang. “It’s time for us to talk. Alone.”

The brothers hadn’t been alone in the same room for eight years, since the other princes anointed Abdullah as King Fahad’s successor. Even two years ago, Abdullah would have relished this confrontation. But he was no longer sure he had the strength. “What do you want?”

“Not on this phone.”

“Come to my palace, then.”

Abdullah wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and sleep. Instead he called Hamoud and asked for a pot of strong black coffee and his robes.

AN HOUR LATER, THEY stood face-to-face in Abdullah’s study. Saeed and Abdullah, Abdullah and Saeed, the twin foundations of the House of Saud. The king forswore the kisses and hugs and greetings: “What have you done?”

“I didn’t order this, Abdullah.”

“These men belong to you.” Abdullah sat down heavily.

“I tell you I don’t know the men who did this. Attacking Americans, it’s suicide.”

“Mansour, then.”

“Mansour wants to be king. Not to live in a cave with Osama bin Laden.”

“Then who?”

“They acted on their own. But I have good news. Progress. We’ve found the name of the man in charge —”

“Of course you’ve found it. You were behind him all along.”

Saeed laughed, the sound tight and gravelly. As if the laugh had reminded him of his habits, he pulled a shiny red packet of Dunhills and a gold lighter from his pocket. He lit up a dose of cancer and sucked in deep.

“Don’t you know we’re the same, Abdullah?”

“Not even the same blood.”

“Fool yourself, then. Two old men who can never give way. If you hadn’t been so pigheaded, demanded Khalid as king, this would never have happened.”

“Is this why you came here? To blame me?”

“Don’t you want to hear where the investigation stands?”

“I want to hear that you’ve found this ambassador alive. Then we’ll figure out how to deal with the men who kidnapped him.”

“It’s not so simple.”