population of Tokyo to be patient. The lights had been off for three days in the cities of Osaka and Kobe, as the electric-power generators used the last of the fuel oil.
Hong Kong, another voracious user of oil-fired electric power, was into its emergency supplies, and Rome, the Eternal City, was headed for eternal darkness. The northwest of France was running out of gasoline, and the great seaport of Rotterdam was virtually closed down.
There was a complete blackout in Calcutta. Traffic was grinding to a halt in Germany, and there was no power in Hamburg, with brownouts in Berlin and Bremen. In England the refineries in the Thames Estuary were slowing right down, and the government had banned all neon lights in London. In the county of Kent, particularly southeast of Ashford, there was absolutely no electricity — at all.
On the East Coast of the United States the situation was becoming critical, as the refineries along the New Jersey side of the Hudson River, opposite New York City, began to fail.
That ought to have been enough to keep the most insatiable news editor happy, but the standoff between France and the United States knocked every other story off the front pages, and from the leadoff spots on television news.
Back in the National Security Agency, Lt. Cdr. Jimmy Ramshawe was trying to hold together a great spider’s web of agents all over the Middle East, all of them trying to find Jacques Gamoudi.
And the situation was not greatly assisted by a phone call every two hours from Admiral Morgan, which always started with the words
If they had but known it, the U.S. operation was way behind the eight ball in the battle with France to find the missing assault commander, because France had inserted five top agents into Riyadh as assistants to Colonel Gamoudi in the runup to the attack on the palaces. Throughout his preparations, they had kept him informed of developments, and all five of them had enjoyed free and easy access to the ex — French Special Forces Commander. Three of them were still in Riyadh, just observing on behalf of the French Secret Service, and all three of them were regular visitors to the splendid white-painted house that King Nasir had made available for the Colonel as long as he needed it.
And suddenly, as both the U.S.A. and France stepped up the pace to locate the Colonel, the game changed. Gaston Savary, the only man with access to these three French spies, called the senior officer, former Special Forces Major Raul Foy, and instructed him, in the fewest possible words, to report to the French Ambassador in the Diplomatic Quarter.
Somewhat mystified, the Major drove over to the embassy, where the Ambassador’s secretary told him it would be necessary to wait for new orders, direct from Paris, which would be given to him by the Ambassador in person. His Excellency would be free in ten minutes.
In fact he was free in five, and Major Foy was ushered into the office. The two men shook hands, but the Ambassador did not invite his guest to sit down. He just said simply, “Major, I do not wish you to remain here for one second longer than necessary. I have just been speaking for the second time this morning to Gaston Savary. I am instructed to tell you, in the most clandestine terms, that you and your men are to assassinate Col. Jacques Gamoudi this day, on the direct orders of the President of France.”
If the Major had been given the courtesy of a cup of coffee, he would have choked on it. “B-but…” he stammered.
“No buts, Major. My own instructions are to call the Elysee Palace the moment you leave, to confirm I have passed on the orders. I don’t need to tell you how serious this is. But I am asked to inform you that there will be an excellent financial reward for you upon your return to Paris. We’re talking six figures.”
Major Foy, a man who had faced death more than once in the service of his country, just stood and gawped.
“I’m sorry, Raul,” said the Ambassador in a kindly tone. “I know that you are certainly a very good colleague of the Colonel’s, if not a friend. But I think I mentioned, this is supremely important. The blackest of black ops, you might say. Good-bye.”
The forty-one-year-old Major turned away without a word, and walked out of the building to his car, parked outside the main door. He climbed into the driver’s seat and just sat there, stunned. He was not, of course, the first soldier to bridle at an order, and perhaps not the first to tell himself,
But he may have been the first to be told he must assassinate his own boss. And all he could think of was Colonel Gamoudi’s decency, professionalism, and understanding of his own problems working undercover in the city. When he first arrived from France, he had dined with Jacques Gamoudi on two or three occasions. The two men had spoken every day, always with immense dignity and respect.
Major Foy, who like the Colonel had served with distinction in Brazzaville at the height of the Congo revolution, was not at all sure about this — six figures or no six figures. But then, he thought of all it would mean for him, and for his wife and children.
He started the car and drove away, back toward his own apartment in the center of the city. He resolved for the moment to tell no one of his five minutes with the Ambassador. He just needed some coffee, and some time to think. He glanced at his watch. It was almost eleven o’clock on that hot Thursday morning, which gave him a lot of time to contemplate, since there was no way he was going to shoot Colonel Gamoudi in cold blood in broad daylight.
Major Foy parked his car approximately two hundred yards from the “grace and favor” home awarded by King Nasir to Jacques Gamoudi. He had made up his mind now. He locked the car door and walked quietly up the deserted street, beneath the trees and the fading pink and white spring blossoms still hanging over the high walls of these impressive houses.
When he reached the wrought-iron gateway to the Colonel’s Riyadh home, he tapped on the window of the guardhouse outside and was pleased to see that the men inside both knew him. They waved him through, opening the electronic gates.
At the front door, he faced two more Saudi armed guards whom he knew even better, and they too directed him inside. And there the duty officer greeted him. “
“Ahmed,” said the Major, to a young man with whom he had been on friendly terms for more than four months, “I have just come from the French Embassy. I have a message for the Colonel that is so secret they would not even commit it to paper. I have to tell him in person. I’d better go up. He’s probably reading.”
“Okay, Major. If it’s that important, I guess you better.”
Raul Foy walked up the wide staircase and along the left-hand corridor. At the double doors to the master bedroom, he hesitated and then knocked softly. Jacques Gamoudi heard the knock and slipped out of bed, positioning himself behind the door with his bear-slaying knife in his right hand.
But Gamoudi did not answer. The door opened quietly, and Major Foy came into the room and closed the door behind him. The Colonel heard him whisper, “Jacques, wake up,” in a somewhat hoarse voice.
The Colonel did not recognize that voice, and he leapt forward into the darkness, seizing the intruder by the hair and flattening the blade of his knife hard onto the man’s throat.
Raul Foy almost died of shock, for the second time that day. “Jacques, Jacques,” he cried. “Get off. It’s me, Raul. I’ve come to talk to you — urgent. And get that fucking knife out of my neck.”
Colonel Gamoudi released him and switched on the light. “Jesus, Raul, what the hell are you doing, creeping around in the middle of the night?”
“Jacques. Do not interrupt me. Just listen. This morning I was given personal instructions from the goddamn President of France to assassinate you, at all costs. I don’t know why but, Jacques, you are a marked man. They are determined to kill you. They even offered me a financial reward to do it. A big one too.”
“Christ, you haven’t come to shoot me, have you?” The Colonel grinned.
“Not while you’re holding that fucking knife,” Foy replied.
“No, Jacques. Seriously. I’m not even armed. I haven’t even told my team. I’m here to warn you. Honestly, you have to get out of here. Now. These guys are not joking. Run, Jacques. You’ve got to run.”
