“For the final time, sir. Your only chance is to get aggressive, show your outrage, be absolutely fearless in your contempt for what France has done. Get the focus of blame right away from yourself. Shock and surprise the world as necessary. But look like the victim, and make a lot of noise. Above all, turn France into the enemy of the Free World. That way you cannot possibly lose.”
“I’m listening, Arnie. And I know you’re right. It’s just that I have nothing to do with this. And I find myself in the middle of everything.”
“Other Presidents in other times have felt precisely the same,” replied Morgan. “We gotta bite the bullet and turn this thing around. And we have to somehow turn it to America’s advantage. And that’s going to cost France plenty.”
Col. Jacques Gamoudi and Gen. Ravi Rashood had been keeping their heads well down while the dust of war settled. The city of Riyadh had been quiet since the new King took over, and the entire Saudi armed services had agreed to serve King Nasir.
He had already announced, to a thunder of national applause, an end to the massive annual stipends to the thousands and thousands of royal princes. He further announced that those royal princes who were left in the country — not many — faced a wide confiscation of their property, except for primary residences.
He advised those who could leave to do so, and immediately froze any assets of more than a half-million dollars kept by any prince in any Saudi bank. He ruthlessly passed these laws in retrospect, meaning there were a lot of casinos, hotels, and boat marinas all over the Riviera that were left holding large debts incurred by the former golden boys of the kingdom.
“Frankly,” said King Nasir, in imitation of his great hero Clark Gable, “I don’t give a damn.”
The King’s view was simple. These princes had had their day. And if any of them had debts that they expected the King of Saudi Arabia to pay…well, those days were over. They’d have to get a job and start paying them off. Either that or go live somewhere else and hide from their former dissolute habits.
He further announced that the only members of the royal family who would in future be paid anything were those who buckled down and found a way to serve a useful purpose in the kingdom. He made it illegal for any member of the vast former royal family to transfer money from Saudi Arabia to another country.
As for the armed services, he appealed to the land forces, the Royal Saudi Air Force, and the Navy to remain loyal to the Crown. He announced that the salaries of all serving members of those services would be paid as a matter of priority from Saudi Arabia’s currency reserves. He told them he had allocated the sum of $3 billion for this purpose in the first year.
Thus King Nasir, at two strokes, had rid himself of a $200 billion a year “obligation to the princes,” and gained himself a fabulously loyal national fighting force at a net “profit” of $197 billion.
As the Saudi soldiers, sailors, and airmen owed him a huge debt of honor and allegiance, so King Nasir felt toward Colonel Gamoudi and General Rashood. They were both ensconced in the big white house he had personally made available to the Colonel, and their every wish was his profound pleasure to grant.
They had servants, limousines, helicopters on call, a facility at every restaurant in the city to dine at the King’s expense, endless invitations to attend the palace, and if they wished to dine with the King in the desert.
King Nasir was especially fond of his comrade-in-arms Colonel Gamoudi, and he was growing to like equally well his forward commander in the battle for Khamis Mushayt. If the two leaders of the revolution so wished, they were free to remain and make their homes in Riyadh as permanent guests of the King for the rest of their days. They were the nearest thing to the most privileged of princes, ever since the former King went down in a hail of bullets from Rashood’s machine gun the previous week.
The King had also moved forward on his promises to France. He had allocated $10 billion to the rebuilding of Pump Station Number One, the Abqaiq complex, the Qatif Junction manifold, the Sea Island Terminal loading platforms, the LPG Terminal off Ras al Ju’aymah, and the Red Sea refineries.
At present, there was of course a vast amount of incoming dollars still owed to Saudi Arabia, and while the King intended to increase the personal state allowances to all citizens to $14,000 a year, he did not feel able to commit billions to the rebuilding of the oil loading platforms at Yanbu al Bahr, Rabigh, and Jiddah. He would begin that work as soon as some oil began to flow.
But, true to his word, he immediately awarded all the major contracts to French construction corporations, with a gigantic sum of money for advice, consultation, and planning services to the giant French TotalFinaElf oil conglomerate.
All of this was done in secrecy and it would be many weeks before the full scale of Saudi Arabia’s apparent debt to France was uncovered. Meanwhile, millions and millions of dollars’ worth of hardware, oil pipeline, pumping systems, excavation equipment, trucks, and bulldozers were making their way systematically through the Mediterranean, from French ports to the Suez Canal.
It was boom time in the heartland of industrial France. Just as the French President knew it would be, almost a year ago when Prince Nasir had first come to call.
Meanwhile, the sun shone brightly on the Diplomatic Quarter in Riyadh. General Rashood and Colonel Gamoudi had elected to dine at one of the best Italian restaurants in the desert city, Da Pino in the Al Khozama Center, next to the Al Khozama Hotel on Olaya Street. It was a great favorite of Saudi Arabia’s ruling class, who had formerly all belonged to one family, but now Da Pino was hitting very hard times, and it was easier to book a table than it had ever been. Of course, if General Rashood and Colonel Gamoudi had wished, the King would have bought it for them.
However, they only wanted a good dinner of pasta and chicken or veal, with fruit juice to drink, both being devout Muslims and unable to drink alcohol in this country anyway.
Their chauffeur drove them into the city from the Diplomatic Quarter. General Rashood caught his first glimpse of a black Citroen driving behind them before they were out of King Khalid Road. He could just see it through the passenger-side mirror, and while he was not particularly curious, he did notice that the vehicle was driving up close and had once refused to allow a white van to drift in between them. There was a loud blowing of horns. Rashood turned to see the van driver waving his fist. They turned left onto Makkah Road, and, routinely, Rashood checked to see if the Citroen was still behind them.
It was, but these were two of the busiest streets in Riyadh, so there was nothing unusual in that. However, when they made their turn onto Al Amir Soltan Street, Rashood saw the Citroen once again follow them closely. They sped under the big overhead junction with King Fahd Road and took the third left onto the wide boulevard of Olaya Street.
They pulled up on the right-hand side, where there was ample parking space. The chauffeur said he would be waiting right there when they had finished dinner. Both men climbed out on the right side, and Rashood watched the Citroen drive past and make a slow right onto Al Amir Mohammed Road. He never gave the car another thought.
Dinner was outstanding and the chef came out and talked to them. At the next table was Colonel Bandar, liberator of the Riyadh television stations, dining with his family. He and Jacques Gamoudi silently toasted each other with fruit juice, and introductions were made.
They all left, more or less together, just after 10 P.M., and Rashood and Gamoudi walked quickly through the precincts of the Khozama Hotel and out into the fresh night air. The chauffeur waved to them from across the street, and they stood chatting on the sidewalk while the stream of traffic passed.
Finally it was clear, and they stepped out into the street, with the traffic approaching from the left. Still chatting, they set off across the boulevard, when Rashood heard the squeal of tires on black-top, from the left, no more than 100 yards away. He stopped instinctively, but Jacques Gamoudi kept going.
Rashood turned to see an approaching vehicle that might have made zero to sixty in four seconds. Through his mind flashed the thought
He jumped two steps forward and, with an outrageous display of strength, twisted, wrapped his left forearm around the throat of Le Chasseur, and hurled him backward. Jacques Gamoudi’s head hit the ground first, followed by his shoulder blades.
For a split-second the ex — French Foreign Legion soldier thought he was dead. Another half-second and he would have been. The front wheels of the Citroen literally brushed the soles of his feet as it roared past.
