“Am I glad to see you.”
“Yes, I expect so,” replied Rashood, in that clipped British accent of his, honed in the portals of a distant Harrow School. “But I owe you one. And I’d never say you weren’t damned useful in a French bistro. Me, I tend to excel in royal palaces.”
And with that he hurled his arms around his fellow commander. Between them, they had, after all, just conquered the largest country on the Arabian Peninsula.
Prince Nasir stood before the cameras and made his inaugural broadcast to the people of Saudia Arabia from one of the smaller palaces a mile from the former royal residence. He described the death of the King, which had occurred during the People’s Revolution, which had been so long in coming.
And he stressed that the late King and his enormous family had done nothing but plunder and spend the vast treasure beneath the sands — the treasure that belonged to everyone, not just to members of one family.
He railed against the closeness of the King and his immediate family to the United States, and how it was so much more natural for Saudi Arabia to forge alliances with closer and more traditional allies like France.
He pointed out the long history of cooperation between the two countries, and told the nation that he was already speaking to the French President in order to formulate a plan to rebuild the oil industry, which he deeply regretted had been the first casualty of the popular uprising. It was indeed a consequence of years of reckless living and massive incompetence by the royal family.
Where was the King when our great industries came under attack? The Crown Prince spread his arms apart in a gesture of mock confusion.
But throughout the broadcast, Nasir gave a message of hope and optimism. He swore to help Saudi Arabia regain its former position of wealth and influence, with a fair share of that wealth for every Saudi family. Not just one family.
He at last came to the words that everyone wanted to hear:
CHAPTER NINE
Kathy Morgan, sitting at the wheel of their new Hummer, swung the civilian version of the U.S. Army’s fabled Humvee straight into the West Wing entrance to the White House. Next to her sat her husband, Admiral Morgan, whom the guards saluted. Whenever the great man visited Pennsylvania Avenue it was like General Eisenhower returning to the beaches of Normandy. No one caused quite the same ripple of admiration.
He said good-bye to Kathy, who was having breakfast with her mother at the Ritz-Carlton, and headed toward the main West Wing entrance. The Marine guard stared at the enormous bunch of daffodils, saluted Morgan, and held open the door to the West Wing, inside which the Secret Service detail, on direct orders from the President, dispensed with the requirement for a visitor’s pass and escorted the Admiral straight to the Oval Office.
Admiral Morgan, as he had done for so many years, walked briskly past the President’s secretary, tapped on the door, and walked straight in.
The President stood and gaped at the daffodils. “Morning, Arnie,” he said, smiling. “Hey, you got the blossoms. And you’re right on time, as ever.”
“End of the morning watch, eh?” replied the Admiral, mindful of the fact that the former Lt. Paul Bedford was immensely proud of having once served as navigation officer in a U.S. Navy guided-missile frigate.
The President chuckled. But his smile did not last for long. He buzzed his secretary and asked her to find someone to put his daffodils in a vase.
Then he said, “Sit down, Arnie. I’ve sent for some coffee. You want anything to eat?”
“No, thanks, sir. Coffee’s fine. Guess we’re talking about this Saudi Arabian bullshit, right?”
“We sure are. Just this morning the goddamned phone has never stopped ringing. Things are moving real fast. You heard any of the latest news?”
“Not as much as you have,” replied Morgan. “Last thing I picked up on the radio was extreme fighting at the Saudi military city of Khamis Mushayt, and that the people of Riyadh appeared to be marching on the royal palace.”
“Both correct,” said the President. “But I hear now that the Khamis Mushayt Air Base has fallen, and so has the big Air Force station right next to it.”
“Anyone say to whom it fell?” asked the Admiral.
“Ask not to whom the base fell,” quipped the President. “Because we don’t know. And neither do they. But the sucker fell, all right. Our air attache in Riyadh reckons they lost half the Saudi Air Force.”
“We got one shred of evidence of an outside foe?” asked Morgan.
“Nothing,” said Paul Bedford. “If this is some kind of a war, it’s one of the most secretive ever conducted. No one has the remotest idea who’s doing the attacking.”
“Guess someone does,” mused the Admiral.
“And whoever that might be,” replied the President, “they sure as hell know what they’re doing. I’ve been looking at the stats on Khamis Mushayt. It’s a huge and remote place. And no one even knows what happened. But they all say one thing…it’s a one hundred percent Arab matter…conducted from inside the country.”
Morgan nodded. “It just may be a little more complicated than that,” he said. “Any news from Riyadh? I heard on the radio the Saudi Army may have turned on the King.”
“Well, there’s some rumor the aiport’s fallen to an armed assault force,” said the President.
“Do we know where the King is right now?”
“No one seems to know. But I have spoken to him. And he was not under attack at the time.”
“Is he in the royal palace?”
“I don’t know that. I guess he doesn’t want anyone to know where he is.”
“‘Specially not the guys who just blew up his oil fields and his Air Force, eh?” replied Morgan.
“Right,” agreed the President. “’Specially not them.”
“Any sign of the King’s Army mounting a defense? He’s got a hell of an armed force, and a lot of very sophisticated equipment.”
“This whole thing seems like a series of devastating attacks — fast, professional, and very ruthless. Very military.” The President looked utterly perplexed.
It was a few minutes after 8 A.M. Just then his secretary pushed open the door and walked over to the television set, which she tuned to CNN
“Thank you, Sally,” said the President, turning with the Admiral toward the screen, where the anchorman was formally announcing the death of the Saudi ruler.
The screen flickered, and suddenly the picture was of a robed and bearded Arab, his dress white, a red- and-white — checkered
The President and Arnold Morgan watched together as King Nasir announced his regret at the death of his cousin, but nonetheless confirmed that this had been a “people’s revolution,” launched by thousands of citizens who could no longer acquiesce to the profligate spending of their ruler.
