The door was opened by a slim young Syrian dressed in the customary long white robe. He bowed his head slightly and said quietly, “General Rashood is awaiting you.” They were led down a long, bright, stone-floored corridor to a tall pair of dark wood doors. The Syrian opened one of them and motioned the Frenchmen through. Their two bodyguards, provided by the government, took up positions outside.
The room was not large, and General Rashood was alone, as agreed. He sat at a wide antique desk with a green leather top. To his left was a silver tea service, which had been brought in as the government car arrived. To his right a service revolver was placed on the desk, symbolically next to a leather-bound copy of the Koran.
Ravi Rashood rose and walked around the desk to greet his visitors. A thick-set man, with short dark hair and an unmistakable spring to his step, he wore faded light blue jeans and a loose white shirt.
The two Frenchmen offered a couple of sharp “
“It’s not much different in Paris,” said the French Secret Service Chief. “But Paris is bigger, and thus more confusing.”
General Rashood smiled and offered his guests sugar, saying quietly, “I have of course been briefed very carefully about your plan. I have studied it in all its aspects. And I believe every Arab of the Islamic faith would welcome it. The antics of the Saudi royal family really are too excessive, and as you know, there can be no real prospect for a great Islamic state so long as Riyadh allows itself to be ruled by Washington.”
“We understand that only too well,” said General Jobert. “And the months go by, and the situation grows worse. The King, it seems, will tolerate anything from the younger members of his family. I expect you read of that appalling accident involving the passenger liner off Monaco. The King simply refuses to discuss it. According to our sources, the Crown Prince, Nasir, is the only hope that country has of growing up and taking its place at the center of the Islamic world, where it belongs.”
“Of course I have not been briefed about the precise requirements of your plan,” said Rashood. “But I understand we are looking at the destruction of the oil industry, followed by a military attack on one of the Saudi military bases, and then the capture of Riyadh and the overthrow of the royal family.”
“In the broadest terms, correct,” said Michel Jobert. “The main thing is to take the oil industry off the map for maybe two years. Because as soon as that is achieved the King will automatically be weakened badly. In Riyadh the mob is almost at the gates right now. The looming bankruptcy of the nation should be sufficient for them to herald a new regime.”
“I don’t think we can attack one of those military cities,” said General Rashood. “They are too big, too solidly built, and too well defended. Have you thought about the air bases?”
“Exactly so,” replied General Jobert. “We think the King Khalid Air Base, at Khamis Mushayt, is the one for us. If we can hit and destroy the aircraft on the ground, and achieve the surrender of the base, I think we could launch a separate squad at the command headquarters of the main base and demand their surrender.
“Remember, they will already know we’ve hit and crippled the oil industry, and they’ll know we’ve hit and destroyed a large part of the Saudi Air Force. I think they might be ready to surrender. And if Khamis Mushayt surrendered, that would probably cause a total cave-in of the Army, especially as the television station will by now be appealing for loyalty to the incoming new King.”
“Yes, I think all that follows,” said General Rashood. “But what precisely is it you wish me to do?”
“I would like you to train and command the force that will assault the bases at Khamis Mushayt. And we would like you to be in constant communication with the commander in charge of the attack in Riyadh, and to move in to assist him in the final stages of the coup d’etat in the capital.”
“And where do I get the force to attack Khamis Mushayt? I would need specialists.”
“French Army Special Forces,” said General Jobert. “Well-trained, experienced fighters with expert skills in critical areas. We would also expect you to bring perhaps a dozen of your most trusted men. Your guides inside Saudi Arabia will all be al-Qaeda, who will provide backup fighters if required.”
“We’ll need several months for training and coordination,” said General Rashood. “Where will we train?”
“France. Inside the classified areas where we prepare all our Special Forces. Top secret,” replied General Jobert. “Most of it inside the barracks of the First Marine Parachute Infantry.”
“And then?”
“Final training will be at a secret camp in Djibouti. From there you move into Saudi Arabia.”
“How?”
“We thought that would be a problem best left to your good self.”
General Rashood nodded gravely. “I imagine there will be no budget restrictions.”
“Absolutely not. What you need, you get.”
“And for myself? Do you have a figure in mind for my services?”
“In such a patriotic mission for the Islamic cause, we wondered if you might consider doing this for nothing.”
“Wrong.”
“You wouldn’t? Not for the ultimate creation of an Islamic state?”
“No.”
“A shame, General. I was led to be believe you were an idealist.”
“I am, in some ways. But if I manage to achieve our objectives, I imagine there will be literally billions of petro-dollars flying around in favor of France. Otherwise you would not be here. You are not idealists. You are in it for gain. And I do not work as an unpaid executive for greedy Western states, although I appreciate the philanthropic nature of your request.”
“Then do you have a figure in mind?”
“A figure on the value of my life? Yes, a lot.”
“How much?” asked Savary.
“I would not get out of this chair to embark on such a mission for one cent under ten million dollars. And if it works I want a bonus.”
General Jobert nodded. “I think that could be arranged.”
“And, in addition, there would need to be a substantial payment to a Hamas account, since we need to pay perhaps twenty men perhaps a hundred thousand dollars each.
“What do you think Hamas would require?” asked Savary.
“For the loss of their Commander in Chief? For maybe six months? I’d think another ten million.”
“That’s a great deal of money,” said General Jobert.
“Not to the Saudis,” said General Rashood. “And don’t bother telling me France is paying, because I know that could not be true.”
General Jobert smiled, as if to confirm he might have known what to expect from this Middle Eastern hard man who had defected from the SAS to follow his heart back to the desert lands of his birth.
“And your bonus?”
“If we take the southern bases, and I successfully help your commander in Riyadh, putting a new king on the throne of Saudi Arabia — I think another five million dollars would be fair.”
“I think that, too, could be arranged,” said General Jobert. But this will take some months to put into practice…Perhaps you could make a very short trip to Paris in the next few weeks, to meet our Riyadh commander. You will be working closely together in the coming months.”
“That would be my pleasure,” said General Rashood. “But now you must go. We will continue to communicate through the Syrian embassy in Paris. And I will confirm the agreement of my masters in the Hamas council.”
The Frenchmen shook hands with the General on the agreement. And they hurried from the house and into the waiting car, which would speed directly to the airport and the waiting French Air Force jet, bound for Paris.
Daniel Mostel, age twenty-four, was one of a few thousand Jewish residents of Damascus. His well-
