Badrayn laid out his papers on the desk, showing cities and routes and times. It was mere mechanics. Daryaei looked the plans over with a cursory eye, and while they seemed overly complex, that was not a major concern for him. He'd seen maps before. He looked up for the explanation that had to come with the paperwork.
'The primary issue is time,' Badrayn said. 'We want to have each traveler to his destination no more than thirty hours after departure. This one, for example, leaves Tehran at six A.M., and arrives in New York at two A.M. Tehran time, elapsed time twenty hours. The trade show he will attend—it is at the Jacob Javits Center in New York—will be open past ten in the evening. This one departs at 2:55 A.M., and ultimately arrives in Los Angeles twenty-three hours later—early afternoon, local time. His trade show will be open all day. That is the most lengthy in terms of distance and time, and his 'package' will still be more than eighty-five percent effective.'
'And security?'
'They are all fully briefed. I have selected intelligent, educated people. All they need do is be pleasant en route. After that, a little caution. Twenty at once, yes, that is troublesome, but those were your orders.'
'And the other group?'
'They will go out two days later via similar arrangements,' Badrayn reported. 'That mission is far more dangerous.'
'I am aware of that. Are the people faithful?'
'They are that.' Badrayn nodded, knowing that the question really asked if they were fools. 'The political risks concern me.'
'Why?' The observation didn't surprise Daryaei, but he wanted the reason.
'The obvious question of discovering who sent them, though their travel documents will be properly prepared, and the usual security measures put in place. No, I mean the American political context. An unhappy event to a politician can often create sympathy for him, and from that sympathy can come political support.'
'Indeed! It does not make him appear weak?' That was rather much to swallow.
'In our context, yes, but not necessarily in theirs.'
Daryaei considered that and compared it with other analyses he'd ordered and reviewed. 'I have met Ryan. He is weak. He does not deal effectively with his political difficulties. He still has no true government behind him. Between the first mission and the second, we will break him—or at least we will distract him long enough to achieve our next goal. After that is accomplished, America becomes irrelevant.'
'Better the first mission only,' Badrayn advised.
'We must shake their people. If what you say of their government is true, we will do such harm as they have never known. We will shake their leader, we will shake his confidence, we will shake the confidence of the people in him.'
He had to respond to that carefully. This was a Holy Man with a Holy Mission. He was not fully amenable to reason. And yet there was one other factor which he didn't know about. There had to be. Daryaei was more given to wishes than considered action—no, that wasn't true, was it? He united the two while giving another impression entirely. What the cleric did appreciate was that the American government was still vulnerable, since its lower house of parliament had not yet been replaced, a process just beginning.
'Best of all merely to kill Ryan, if we could. An attack on children will inflame them. Americans are very sentimental about little ones.'
'The second mission goes on only after the first is known to be successful?' Daryaei demanded.
'Yes, that is true.'
'Then that is sufficient,' he said, looking back down at the travel arrangements, and leaving Badrayn to his own thoughts. There is a third element. There had to be.
'HE SAYS HIS intentions are peaceful.'
'So did Hitler, Ali,' the President reminded his friend. He checked his watch. It was after midnight in Saudi Arabia. Ali had flown back and conferred with his government before calling Washington, as one would expect. 'You know about the troop movement.'
'Yes, your people briefed our military earlier today. It will be some time before they are ready to make any threat. Such things take time. Remember, I was once in uniform.'
'True, that's what they told me, too.' Ryan paused. 'Okay, what does the Kingdom propose?'
'We will observe closely. Our military is training. We have your pledge of support. We are concerned, but not overly so.'
'We could schedule some joint exercises,' Jack offered.
'That might only inflame matters,' the Prince replied. The absence of total conviction in his voice was not accidental. He'd probably fielded the idea in council himself and gotten a negative reply.
'Well, I guess you've had a long day. Tell me, how did Daryaei look? I haven't seen the guy since you introduced him to me.'
'His health appears good. He looks tired, but he's had a busy time.'
'I can relate to that. Ali?'
'Yes, Jack?'
The President stopped then, reminding himself that he was unschooled in diplomatic exchange. 'How concerned should I be about all this?'
'What do your people tell you?' the Prince replied.
'About the same as you do, but not all of them. We need to keep this line open, my friend.'
'I understand, Mr. President. Good-bye for now.'
It was an unsatisfactory conclusion to an unsatisfactory call. Ryan replaced the phone and looked around at his empty office. Ali wasn't saying what he wanted to say because the position of his government was different from what he thought it should be. The same had happened to Jack often enough, and the same rules applied. Ali hacFto be loyal to that government—hell, it was mainly his own family—but he had allowed himself one slip, and the Prince was too clever to do that sort of thing by mistake. It probably would have been easier before, when Ryan had not been President and both could talk without the worry of making policy with every word. Now Jack was America to those beyond the borders, and governmental officials could talk to him only that way, instead of remembering that he was also a thinking man who needed to explore options before making decisions. Maybe if it hadn't been over the phone, Jack thought. Maybe face-to-face would have been better. But even Presidents were limited by time and space.
36 TRAVELERS
KLM—ROYAL DUTCH AIR-lines—Flight 534—left the gate on time at 1:10 A.M. The aircraft was full—at this hour, full of weary people who stumbled to their seats, strapped in, and accepted pillows and blankets. The more experienced travelers among them waited for the sound of the wheels being retracted, then pushed their seats as far back as they could go, and closed their eyes in the hope of a smooth ride and something akin to real sleep.
Five of Badrayn's men were aboard, two in first class, three in business. They all had baggage in the cargo hold, and a carry-on tucked under the seat in front. All had a minor case of nerves, and all would have had a drink to ameliorate it—religious prohibition or not—but the aircraft had landed in an Islamic airport and would not serve alcohol until it had left United Islamic Republic airspace. To a man, they considered their situation and bowed to circumstance. They'd been well briefed and properly prepared. They'd come through the airport like ordinary travelers, and submitted their carry-ons to X-ray inspection by security personnel who were every bit as careful as their Western counterparts—actually more so, since the flights were relatively few, and the local paranoia relatively greater. In every case, the X-ray display had shown a shaving kit, along with papers, books and other sundries.
They were all educated men, many of them having attended the American University of Beirut, some to obtain degrees, the others simply to learn about the enemy. They were dressed neatly, all with ties, loose now in their collars, and their coats hung in the mini-closets throughout the aircraft. Within forty minutes, they, along with the rest of the passengers, were fitfully asleep.
'SO WHAT'S YOUR take on all this?' van Damm asked.
