return to Germany and lay low for a while. Maybe next year, I will start shopping for another lucrative mission. Give up the nuclear missile idea, Juba. Trying to take it now would be suicide.”
“Dieter, I simply don’t care.” Juba tilted his cognac snifter and emptied it, then placed the fragile glass on another small table.
Nesch kept a steady gaze on the battered man. “You don’t care?”
“I’ll take a cigar after all.” It took a moment for it to respond to the lighter. “Have you asked yourself why I have not killed you today?”
“Yes. The thought crossed my mind.”
“There are three reasons, perhaps chief among them was that you did not try to use that gun in the humidor. That would have forced my hand.”
“What else?” The banker’s throat was dry. The only noise in the room seeped in from the outside, where the rowdy demonstration was still in the street.
“Second, I still need your help.”
Nesch smiled broadly and his eyes closed as relief flooded through him. “Anything. Name it.”
Juba absently rubbed the patch that covered his destroyed eye. He exhaled loudly. “You probably will not understand this. I don’t really care about that missile at all, but it has created an opportunity that I had worried might never come. You will recall when I told you about Kyle Swanson, the American sniper?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“I know in my bones that Swanson made that shot. No evidence, but every wound in my body, the wounds he gave me when he left me for dead, is itching madly, screaming his name at me. If I can get that nuclear warhead, he will come after it. Revenge, Dieter. I have to do this. When he comes snooping after the missile, I will kill him. Your contacts, money, and influence are needed to help set this up.”
“Whatever I can do, Juba, I will.” Nesch had never made a more sincere promise. “You mentioned three reasons. What is the last one?”
“Dieter, I don’t need to kill you. We are both already dead men. Once you make that telephone call, the Russian president will have SVR hit squads coming to eliminate both of us. My professional advice is that you get out of Saudi Arabia tonight when we finish making our new arrangements. Then run fast and run far.”
46
AL-TAIF
JAMAL AND KYLE SHOWED their credentials at a bunkered entrance gate and were allowed to park inside the perimeter of the big base to await an escort. Swanson had heard of this place, but this was his first visit. He let out a low whistle. “Look at all the fuckin’ Americans,” he said. “How could the Saudis keep a nuke here without some homeboy from Los Angeles tripping over it?”
Jamal removed his dark aviator sunglasses. Although he had been driving away from the sun, his eyes were feeling the strain of the glare after the long drive into the mountains. “They’re smarter than the average bears,” he said. “A missile from here could easily protect the port and Jeddah. Lots of places for something to be stashed on a huge facility like this. If the L.A. homeboy wasn’t looking for it, he probably wouldn’t even see it. He wouldn’t recognize what it was.”
“Busy day,” Swanson agreed, looking at his watch. “This should go quickly if Prince Mishaal is already on deck. The C-130 is only about a hundred miles out. Afterward, we can grab some chow.”
“Look at all the fuckin’ Americans,” Jamal said, moving his seat back to be more comfortable.
A U.S. Army military policeman wearing an arm brassard and a shiny helmet approached, accompanied by a Saudi counterpart. They also checked the credentials. “Prince Mishaal is expecting you. Please follow our Humvee and we’ll take you over to the flight line.”
“Got it,” said Jamal. “Lead on.” When the two MPs walked away to get into their vehicle, he said to Kyle, “Look behind us.”
Swanson adjusted the side mirror on the Mercedes. An armored Humvee with a soldier in the turret behind a.50 caliber machine gun had swung into position on the rear bumper. “Gunship,” he said. The MP sedan moved out, with red and blue lights flashing on its roof. “Nothing like a subtle arrival.”
Al-Taif was crowded. It was home to the four light infantry battalions of the Saudi National Guard Omar bin Kattab Brigade, and also hundreds of Americans who were part of an ongoing U.S. Military Training Mission. This was the base through which American senior advisors were funneled into the Saudi armed forces’ command structure, which meant there was a large U.S. support staff and all the trimmings. The curiosity factor about the handover was going to be high.
Their little convoy ripped through the base without incident, and angled toward a large aircraft hangar at the end of a runway, where the large sliding doors had been opened. The nuke was already secured inside, waiting for them. Machine gun emplacements bristled at the corners of the building, snipers were up top, and patrols ranged in a far circle. The three vehicles drove inside and stopped.
Prince Colonel Mishaal bin Khalid waved from his own Humvee. Kyle got out of the Mercedes, walked over, and snapped a salute. Mishaal looked exhausted. “Good evening, Gunny.”
“Hello, sir. Did you get things settled down in Ash Mutayr?”
The prince made a sardonic laugh. “Yeah. New commander is in place and everything is calm. Place needs some rebuilding.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So now I come up here and find that Jeddah is in turmoil.” Mishaal stared at Kyle. “Trouble seems to follow you.”
“I wouldn’t know about any trouble, sir. Everything seemed fine when we left there a few hours ago.”
“Gunny, do you remember the name of Mohammed Abu Ebara? The head of the Religious Police?”
Kyle looked lost for a few moments. “Right. I believe His Majesty, King Abdullah, may have mentioned the name to me.”
The prince took Swanson by the elbow and guided him to a space where they could speak in private. “Somebody killed him today. Apparently a sniper.” He arched an eyebrow.
Swanson held up both hands. “Don’t look at me,” he protested. “I was on the road coming up here. But is that a bad thing?”
They were interrupted by the approaching roar of a C-130 coming off the taxiway and approaching the hangar.
“No, Gunny, it was not a bad thing. The demonstrations about Ebara being a martyr are already calming down. His removal takes a lot of steam out of the coup.”
“
“
“Is he changing my instructions?”
“No. Just being cautious and careful.” The roar of the propellers dropped in volume as the plane spun about so that the ramp was in line with the hangar doors.
“Please let His Majesty know that I appreciate his concern. And that there is nothing that can connect me to the death of Ebara. You remember that gun case I brought in aboard the first C-130? Well, I am going to put that same weapon on the plane right over there. It soon will be out of the country.”
“Let’s get to this new job, then.”
Staff Sergeant Joe Tipp was playing the major in command on this trip, and approached with the clipboard and the papers for the transfer. Mishaal held up his hand and said, “Please wait one more moment, Major.” Tipp stopped, puzzled, looking at Kyle.
Swanson asked the prince, “What?”
“His Majesty is also curious about something else, Gunny Swanson. He spoke with President Tracy today and
