“My instructions are to accompany you as far as the door.”
“That's right.”
“You might be interested to know that we haven't had any press inquiries. D.C. has kept this one pretty quiet.”
“That'll change in about five hours.”
Riyadh was a clean city, though quite different from Western metropolises. The contrast with Israeli towns was remarkable. Nearly everything was new. Only two hours away, but that was by air. This place had never been the crossroads Palestine had been. The ancient trading routes had given the brutal heat of Arabia a wide berth, and though the coastal fishing and trading towns had known prosperity for millennia, the nomadic people of the interior had lived a stark existence, held together only by their Islamic faith, which was in turn anchored by the holy cities of Mecca and Medina. Two things had changed that. The British in the First World War had used this area as a diversion against Ottoman Turkey, drawing their forces here and away from sites which might have been of greater utility to their allies in Germany and Austria-Hungary. Then in the 1930s, oil had been discovered. Oil in quantities so vast as to make Texas an apostrophe. With that, first the Arab world had changed, and then the whole world had soon followed.
From the first, the relationship between the Saudis and the West had been delicate. The Saudis were still a curious mixture of the primitive and the sophisticated. Some people on this peninsula were but a single generation from nomadic life that was little different from that of the wanderers of the Bronze Age. At the same time, there was an admirable tradition of Koranic scholarship, a code that was harsh but scrupulously fair, and remarkably similar to the Talmudic traditions of Judaism. In a brief span of time these people had become accustomed to wealth beyond count or meaning. Viewed as comic wastrels by the “sophisticated” West, they were merely the newest entry in a long line of nouveau riche nations of which America had been a recent part. A nouveau riche himself, Ryan smiled at some of the buildings in sympathy. People with “old” money — earned by bumptious ancestors whose rough manners had long since been conveniently forgotten — were always uncomfortable around those who had made, not inherited, their comforts. As it was with individuals, so it was with nations. The Saudis and their Arab brethren were still learning how to be a nation, much less a rich and influential one, but the process was an exciting one for them and their friends. They'd had some easy lessons, and some very hard ones, most recently with their neighbors of the north. For the most part they had learned well, and now Ryan hoped that the next step would be as easily made. A nation achieves greatness by helping others to make peace, not by demonstrating prowess at war or commerce. To learn that, it had taken America from the time of Washington to the time of Theodore Roosevelt, whose Nobel Peace Prize adorned the room in the White House that still bore his name. It took us almost a hundred twenty years, Jack thought, as the car turned and slowed. Teddy got the Prize for arbitrating some little piss-ant border dispute, and we're asking these folks to help us settle the most dangerous flashpoint in the civilized world after merely fifty years of effective nationhood. What reason do we have to look down on these people?
There is a choreography to occasions of state as delicate and as adamant as any ballet. The car — it used to be a carriage — arrives. The door is opened by a functionary — who used to be called a footman. The Official waits in dignified solitude while the Visitor alights from the car. The Visitor nods to the footman if he's polite, and Ryan was. Another, more senior, functionary first greets the Visitor, then conducts him to the Official. On both sides of the entryway are the official guards, who were in this case uniformed, armed soldiers. Photographers had been left out, for obvious reasons. Such affairs would be more comfortable in temperatures under a hundred degrees, but at least here there was shade from a canopy, as Ryan was conducted to his Official.
“Welcome to my country, Dr. Ryan.” Prince Ali bin Sheik extended a firm hand to Jack.
Thank you, Your Highness.'
“Would you follow me?”
“Gladly, sir.” Before I melt.
Ali led Jack and the DCM inside, where they parted ways. The building was a palace— Riyadh had quite a few palaces, since there were so many royal princes — but Ryan thought “working palace” might have been a more accurate term. It was smaller than the British counterparts Ryan had visited, and cleaner, Jack saw, somewhat to his surprise. Probably because of the cleaner and dryer air of the region, which contrasted to the damp, sooty atmosphere of London. It was also air conditioned. The inside temperature could not have been far above eighty- five, which somehow seemed comfortable to Ryan. The Prince was dressed in flowing robes with a headdress held atop his head by a pair of circular — whats? Ryan wondered. He ought to have gotten briefed on that, Jack thought too late. Alden was supposed to have done this anyway. Charlie knew this area far better than he did, and — but Charlie Alden was dead, and Jack was carrying the ball.
Ali bin Sheik was referred to at State and CIA as a Prince-Without-Portfolio. Taller, thinner, and younger than Ryan, he advised the King of Saudi Arabia on foreign affairs and intelligence matters. Probably the Saudi intelligence service — British-trained — reported to him, but that was not as clear as it should have been, doubtless another legacy of the Brits, who took their secrecy far more seriously than Americans. Though the file on Ali was a thick one, it mainly dealt with his background. Educated at Cambridge, he'd become an Army officer, and continued his professional studies at Leavenworth and Carlyle Barracks in the United States. At Carlyle he'd been the youngest man in his class, a colonel at twenty-seven — to be a royal prince was career-enhancing — and finished third in a group whose top ten graduates had each gone on to command a division or equivalent post. The Army General who'd briefed Ryan on Ali remembered his classmate fondly as a young man of no mean intellectual gifts and superb command potential. Ali had played a major role in persuading the King to accept American aid during the Iraqi war. He was regarded as a serious player quick to make decisions and quicker still to express displeasure at having his time wasted, despite his courtly manners.
The Prince's office was easily identified by the two officers at the double doors. A third man opened them, bowing to both as they passed.
“I've heard much about you,” Ali said casually.
“All good, I trust,” Ryan replied, trying to be at ease.
Ali turned with an impish smile. “We have some mutual friends in Britain, Sir John. Do you keep current with your small-arms skills?”
“I really don't have the time, sir.”
Ali waved Jack to a chair. “For some things, one should make time.”
Both sat, and things became formal. A servant appeared with a silver tray, and poured coffee for both men before withdrawing.
“I sincerely regret the news on Dr. Alden. For so fine a man to be brought down so foolishly… May God have mercy on his soul. At the same time, I have looked forward to meeting you for some time, Dr. Ryan.”
Jack sipped at his coffee. It was thick, bitter, and hideously strong.
“Thank you, Your Highness. Thank you also for agreeing to see me in the place of a more senior official.”
“The most effective efforts at diplomacy often begin informally. So, how may I be of service?” AH smiled and leaned back in his chair. The fingers of his left hand toyed with his beard. His eyes were as dark as flint, and though they seemed to gaze casually at his visitor, the atmosphere in the room was now businesslike. And that, Ryan saw, was fast enough.
“My country wishes to explore a means of — that is, the rough outline of a plan with which to alleviate tensions in this area.”
“With Israel, of course. Adler, I presume, is delivering the same proposal to the Israelis at this moment?”
“Correct, Your Highness.”
“That is dramatic,” the Prince observed with an amused smile. “Do go on.”
Jack began his pitch: “Sir, our foremost consideration in this matter must be the physical security of the State of Israel. Before either of us was born, America and other countries stood by and did very little to prevent the extermination of six million Jews. The guilt attending that infamy lies heavy on my country.”
Ali nodded gravely before speaking. “I have never understood that. Perhaps you might have done better, but the strategic decisions made during the war by Roosevelt and Churchill were made in good faith. The issue with the shipload of Jews that nobody wanted prior to the outbreak of war, of course, is another issue entirely. I find it very strange indeed that your country did not grant asylum to those poor people. Fundamentally, however, no one saw
