EIGHTY-SIX

Driving around the block, Reynolds brought the Land Cruiser to a screeching halt in front of the abandoned building Zafir was using as his lookout. Harvath and Reynolds pounded up the stairs and burst out onto the rooftop. Zafir was slumped over his rifle, the walkie-talkie still propped against the wall next to him. Harvath rolled him over and saw that his throat had been cut from ear to ear.

Reynolds lost it. “Those goddamn animals, “He cursed.

Crossing to an adjacent roof, Harvath found a plastic tarp and brought it back over to wrap around Zafir’s body.

The two men worked in silence, and once they had carried the fallen Pakistani downstairs and loaded him in the back of the Land Cruiser, Reynolds said, “I don’t care what it takes. I want the people who are responsible for this.”

“We both do,” replied Harvath. “Believe me.”

The crowd that had gathered to gawk at the smoldering ruins of the warehouse was growing, and given the recent riots that had been springing up all around Riyadh, Harvath suggested they get back in the truck and get moving to someplace safer.

On the way to Reynolds’s Aramco offices, they were forced to detour around several small but violent civil insurrections, which Saudi Security Forces nevertheless were having trouble putting down. “They won’t shoot their own people. That’s their problem,” said Reynolds coldly as they passed yet another. “The same thing happened in Mecca in the seventies. They finally had to call in French GIGN units to help them recapture the Grand Mosque.”

Yet another reference to Mecca. Everything in Saudi Arabia seemed inexorably linked to the two greatest shrines in Islam, Mecca and Medina. “Do you know about any secret spring there?” asked Harvath.

“I’ve heard some cock-and-bull story our little exporter Prince Hamal was spreading about one, but who knows? If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that Saudi Arabia has more secrets than it does sand. The key is knowing which secrets to leave buried.”

“Well, this definitely isn’t one of them,” said Harvath.

“Do you think that’s what’s in those bottles?”

“That’s what we intend to find out,” said Jillian.

“Does Aramco have a lab that she can use?” asked Harvath.

Reynolds looked at his watch. “At this hour it should be completely empty.”

“Good. We’ll need to get her set up right away. In the meantime, what else can you tell me about the prince who owned that warehouse and the militants he’s been working with?”

“Quite a bit,” replied Reynolds. “I’ve got backup copies of my dossiers on all of them back at my office.”

“Including photos?”

“Including photos. Why?”

“Because I’m pretty sure I know what their next move is going to be.”

After setting Jillian up in Aramco’s extensive, state-of-the-art lab with her samples and arranging for one of his men to take care of Zafir’s body, Reynolds led Harvath to the elevator and up to where the corporate security offices were located.

His supply of prayer rugs now depleted, Reynolds had forgone the Remington in favor of the Les Baer 1911 pistol he had secreted under the front seat of his Land Cruiser. Upon seeing his office door standing wide open, he pulled the weapon from his ankle holster and motioned for Harvath to be quiet.

Having ditched the Koran briefcase back at the warehouse, Harvath drew his H amp;K from the plastic trash bag he was now using and covered their six as he and Reynolds crept down the hallway toward his office. Stepping inside, they saw that it had been completely ransacked.

“Goddamn it,” spat Reynolds as he picked up his phone and called the security desk downstairs. After a terse conversation in Arabic, he hung up and said, “I can’t believe it. They let the deputy intelligence minister, Faruq al-Hafez, up here.”

“The one you saw meeting with the militants and the members of the different military branches?”

“He said it was official business.”

“You think he did this?” asked Harvath.

“Oh, yeah. And I’d be willing to bet he was behind what just happened at the warehouse,” said Reynolds as he pulled a bottle of Bushmills from his credenza and poured himself a drink. “When I made my first trip there, I butt-stroked a guy with my Remington. He must have seen enough of my face to describe me to Faruq. You want one?” he added, holding up another glass.

“No thanks,” replied Harvath. “How can you be so sure he’s involved?”

Reynolds took a long swallow of the Irish whiskey and said, “ Saudi Arabia has two militaries. One of them is the Saudi Arabian National Guard, which as you so succinctly put it in the warehouse is loyal to the Saudi Royal Family, the al-Sauds. The other is the Royal Saudi Land Forces, ostensibly established to protect against all external threats to the kingdom, but which in reality was created as a balance against the SANG, should the Royal Family decide to wipe out any of the clans hostile to the al-Sauds.”

“Let me guess,” said Harvath. “Faruq is from a clan hostile to the Royal Family.”

“Bingo.”

“How the hell did he get his job then?”

“Just like marrying two children from warring factions, the Saudi Family has put a lot of their lesser enemies in positions of moderate power in hopes of securing their loyalty.”

Harvath shook his head. “A lot of good it did them in this case.”

“Actually,” said Reynolds, “Faruq was extremely loyal for a very long time. He uncovered numerous plots against the Monarchy, even within his own clan, and brought the perpetrators to justice.”

“So why the change?”

“He found religion.”

“Wahhabism,” said Harvath, the disgust evident in his voice.

“Yup, and there’s nothing worse than a born-again Muslim.”

“But doesn’t the Royal Family know he’s gone the Wahhabi route?”

“I would hope so. Faruq’s boss is one of the Saudi princes-Prince Nawaf bin Abdul Aziz. If Aziz isn’t keeping up on this kind of stuff, he’s got no one but himself to blame if things go south. The problem is that the Royal Family operates under a very clouded delusion that it’s still in control. Until a man like Faruq fucks up, they think everything is okay.”

“In this case, though, once Faruq fucks up, it’s going to be too late for the Saudis to do anything.”

“Exactly,” said Reynolds as he took another sip. “All the rioting we’re seeing? Faruq’s the perfect person to have sowed the rumors among the Wahhabi leadership. He easily could have fabricated enough evidence to support the claims of a U.S.-influenced crackdown by the monarchy and the police. In fact, he is in a perfect position to actually orchestrate police crackdowns, giving the militants prime examples to rally behind.”

“Which brings us to the other reason I’m here. Kalachka said the unrest would escalate to such a point that the Saudi Monarchy would have no choice but to come to the table and meet with the Wahhabi leadership. That’s where he plans to have the leadership killed, making it look like the Royal Family was behind it and setting the wheels of a full-on revolution in motion.”

“And with the country’s fall to the Wahhabis, so begins the resurgence of the Muslim caliphate across the Islamic world. More than one billion strong.”

Harvath nodded his head and said, “Listen, Chip, my first priority is to get to the bottom of whatever this illness is and find a way to stop it. If we can screw Kalachka’s plans up in the process, then all the better.”

Reynolds set down his drink. “What do you want me to do?”

“I need to find out where and when that meeting between the Saudi Monarchy and the Wahhabi hierarchy is going to take place. That’s where Kalachka’s people are going to make their move, and if I’m right, Prince Hamal is going to help them do it. He and Kalachka are the only people who can give us the answers we need.”