Thursday night. General Rashood and Gamoudi had planned to keep quiet about the entire matter and make their way carefully out of the country in a few days. But the police had caused the most ridiculous fuss, some passerby had taken the number of their car, and Ahmed must have told about 7,000 people what had happened, because the King called Colonel Gamoudi on Saturday morning and suggested he and the General come in for a chat.
It quickly became apparent that he had no interest in the rights and wrongs of the killings. Two of his most trusted friends had been attacked in the streets of Riyadh, and he was extremely glad things had worked out as they had.
What the King wanted to know was who had attempted to kill his friends. But when he heard the story, as recounted by Rashood, he was inclined to agree with the General. The culprits may have been acting on behalf of the French government. And he did not approve of that. Not one bit.
Like them, he knew it would be pointless for him to check with the French President. No one would admit to an assassination attempt. But the reality of the incident remained. If the French had decided to take out Le Chasseur, they were now up against an extremely powerful enemy.
For King Nasir harbored all of that inbred Bedouin creed of loyalty, honed over thousands of year in the desert. Arabs do not easily abandon their friends. Indeed the Saudis’ record of loyalty, even to their employees, was absolutely rigid. If they hired anyone into a position of trust, and that trust was not broken, it would not matter if they had hired a total incompetent. They would never abandon him. They would assume that their own judgment might have been awry, but that ought not to reflect upon the character of any person they had appointed. If he was not up to the job, then they would hire someone to help him. But they would never, ever fire him.
Perhaps the finest example of this friends-are-forever mentality happened in the emirate of Dubai, many years ago, when the legendary Sheik Rashid bin Said al-Maktoum, the ruler, gathered in the desert with his council to discuss the possibility of building the largest desalinization plant in the world. Eventually it came down to a short list of two — an excellent German corporation and the British engineers Weirs, of Glasgow, Scotland. The Germans had three advantages: they were more experienced, cheaper, and likely to be quicker. Sheik Rashid knew there were problems in Scotland. And he knew there were thousands of jobs on the line. But he had many, many friends in Great Britain, and indeed owed the existence of his entire country to Her Majesty’s Government.
Finally he made his decision: “I have decided to award this contract to the British,” said Sheik Rashid.
The Council was astonished. It was a full meeting, and they were sitting on a great carpet on the floor of the desert. His advisers immediately reminded Sheik Rashid of the price. This was a grandiose scheme, costing millions and millions of dollars.
There was a quizzical smile on the face of Sheik Rashid when he replied gently, “Because I like the British more.” And that was an end to it. The Scottish corporation successfully built Dubai’s massive first desalinization plant.
And so it was with General Rashood and Colonel Gamoudi. They had put their lives on the line for King Nasir, and now they had become his friends. And to him this made them unique in all the world. He would hear no word against them, and he would protect them forever — with his life if necessary.
The French might have been wise to find this out about the new King of Saudi Arabia.
And here in his palace, the King pledged his support for the two warriors who had spearheaded his revolution. He told Jacques Gamoudi he must plan an escape and begin, somewhere, a new life. He, King Nasir, would give him every possible assistance, including a private jet to fly out, to take him wherever he wished.
Colonel Gamoudi was deeply touched. He took the King’s hand and thanked him profoundly.
And King Nasir responded with the traditional hard eye-to-eye contact of the desert tribes. “Always remember, Jacques,” he said, “I am a Bedouin.”
Capt. Alain Roudy had made good time to La Reunion. And Lt. Commander Ramshawe was now looking at photographs of two Rubis-class hunter-killers moored alongside the submarine jetties in that tiny island.
“There you are, you little bastard,” breathed Ramshawe, staring at the closeup shot of the newly arrived
He called Admiral Morris, who in turn called Admiral Morgan, and the Supreme Commander Operation Tanker convened a planning meeting at the White House for first thing Monday morning.
It was now plain to everyone that France was behind the overthrow of the Saudi royal family. And Ramshawe knew this was probably it. Arnold Morgan was about to take action against the French. But this was a rare occasion when young Ramshawe could not work out which way the Admiral would jump.
“One thing’s for certain,” he decided. “He’s not going to sit back and allow the French to get rich, not while half the world’s struggling to keep the lights switched on.”
It was with a heightened sense of anticipation that he arrived at the White House at 0900 on Monday morning. He and Admiral Morris arrived separately, and reported to Morgan’s new quarters, where the Chief of Naval Operations, Adm. Alan Dickson, was already in conference, staring at a huge computerized map of France on a wall screen.
Arnold Morgan greeted the men from NSA both warmly and grimly. “I’ve briefed Admiral Dickson,” he said. “And I think he agrees with me, that for the President’s sake, we have to take some action. In the modern world it is simply impossible for anyone to act with total disregard for the plight of other nations. Especially on this scale.
“Now, we are not going to get either an admission or an apology from the French government. I plan to speak to the French President, but I expect him to deny any knowledge of anything.
“Thus, so far as I can see, we have several missions. One, to ensure they can’t just sit back and laugh at everyone else’s problems. Two, to expose and then humiliate them in front of the United Nations. Three, to teach them a damn hard lesson.”
Alan Dickson looked as if he were not sure about this. And Morgan instantly caught the doubtful look on his face.
“Alan,” he said, “we have a very good man in the Oval Office. He loves the Navy, he trusts us, and he never allows anyone to tamper with our budgets. Through no fault of his own he is caught up in a global uproar that could finish him, if he doesn’t move, move, move…
“I think we owe him our loyalty, our brains, and the muscle of the United States Navy. Because that’s the only way he’ll survive. He must be seen to be furious, he must be seen to identify the culprit, and above all, he must be seen to punish the perpetrator of this evil.”
Admiral Morris right away mentioned the financial problems afflicting all the big Western stock markets, and, of course, the Japanese Nikkei. There had been a major statement issued from the International Monetary Fund, which was holding an emergency meeting in Switzerland later today.
And all over the United States, families with strong positions in the blue chip components that made up the Dow Jones Average were taking savage losses, which may not be recovered for two years, until the Saudi oil came back on stream.
“From this moment, I am going to deem the Saudi oil a global asset,” said Admiral Morgan. “I am going to treat the French as if they have committed a crime against humanity. And, quite frankly, I don’t actually give a rat’s ass what any other country thinks. I am not having the well-being of the United States of America jeopardized by any other nation.
It was sure as hell final in that particular White House office. All three of Admiral Morgan’s visitors nodded in agreement — even Admiral Dickson, whose patriotism had just been given a sharp wakeup call.
They waited for Arnold Morgan’s next jackhammer blow. And each of them stood prepared for some kind of onslaught. But when the Supreme Commander Operation Tanker spoke, he spoke quietly, and thoughtfully.
“I am proposing to deploy a U.S. Navy blockade outside every French port that imports foreign oil. That’s Le Havre, which is located at the mouth of the Seine River in Normandy. It contains the largest oil refinery in France, at Gonfreville l’Orcher.
“Marseille, in the south, handles thirty percent of France’s crude-oil refining. There’s a big terminal at Fos- sur-Mer; a Shell refinery at Berre; TotalFinaElf is in a place called La Mede; BP operates in Lavera; and Exxon uses Fos. Marseille imports a vast amount of methane, and close to the port there’s a massive underground storage facility for liquid petroleum gas; a lot of it used to be from Ras al Ju’aymah, but the French have, of course, now made other arrangements.
