Читать книгу The New Girl - Daniel Silva - Страница 18

IN PRESS INTERVIEWS IN THE WEST, Prince Khalid bin Mohammed spoke often of his reverence for the desert. He loved nothing more, he said, than to slip anonymously from his palace in Riyadh and venture alone into the Arabian wilderness. There he would establish a crude camp and engage in several days of falconry, fasting, and prayer. He would also contemplate the future of the Kingdom that bore his family’s name. It was during one such sojourn, in the Sarawat Mountains, that he conceived The Way Forward, his ambitious plan to remake the Saudi economy for the post-petroleum age. He claimed to have hit upon the idea of granting women the right to drive while camping in the Empty Quarter. Alone amid the ever-shifting dunes, he was reminded that nothing is permanent, that even in a land like Saudi Arabia change is inevitable.

The truth about KBM’s desert adventures was far different. The tent into which Gabriel and Sarah were shown bore little resemblance to the camel-hair shelters in which Khalid’s Bedouin ancestors had dwelled. It was more like a temporary pavilion. Rich carpets covered the floor, crystal chandeliers burned brightly overhead. The news of the day played out on several large televisions—CNN International, the BBC, CNBC, and, of course, Al Jazeera, the Qatar-based network that Khalid was doing his best to destroy.

Gabriel had anticipated a private meeting with His Royal Highness, but the tent was occupied by KBM’s traveling court—the retinue of aides, functionaries, factotums, groupies, and general hangers-on who accompanied the future king everywhere he went. All wore the same clothing, a white thobe and a red-checkered ghutra held in place by a black agal. There were also several officers in uniform, a reminder that the young, untested prince was waging war on the other side of the Sarawat Mountains in Yemen.

Of the crown prince, however, there was no sign. One of the factotums deposited Gabriel and Sarah in a waiting area. It was furnished with overstuffed couches and chairs, like the lobby of a luxury hotel. Gabriel declined an offer of tea and sweets, but Sarah attempted to eat a honey-drenched Arab pastry while still wearing the abaya.

“How do they do it?”

“They don’t. They eat with other women.”

“I’m the only one—have you noticed? There isn’t another woman in this tent.”

“I’m too busy worrying about which one is planning to kill me.” Gabriel glanced at his wristwatch. “Where the hell is he?”

“Welcome to KBM time. It’s an hour and twenty minutes later than the rest of the world.”

“I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

“He’s testing you.”

“He shouldn’t.”

“What are you going to do? Leave?”

Gabriel ran his palm over the silken fabric of the couch. “It’s not so crude, is it?”

“You didn’t really believe all that?”

“Of course not. I’m just wondering why he bothered to say it at all.”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because men who tell one lie usually tell others.”

A sudden commotion erupted among the white-robed courtiers as Crown Prince Khalid bin Mohammed entered the tent. He was dressed traditionally in a thobe and ghutra, but unlike the other men he also wore a bisht, a brown ceremonial cloak trimmed in gold. He was holding it closed with his left hand. With his right he was pressing a mobile phone to his ear. The same phone, Gabriel assumed, that Unit 8200 had compromised. He could only wonder who else might be listening—the Americans and their partners in the Five Eyes, perhaps even the Russians or the Iranians.

Khalid terminated the call and stared at Gabriel as though astonished to see Israel’s avenging angel in the land of the Prophet. After a moment he crossed the richly carpeted floor, warily. So did four heavily armed bodyguards. Even when surrounded by his closest aides, thought Gabriel, KBM feared for his life.

“Director Allon.” The Saudi did not offer his hand, which was still clutching the phone. “It was good of you to come on such short notice.”

Gabriel nodded once but said nothing.

Khalid looked at Sarah. “Are you under there somewhere, Miss Bancroft?”

The black mound moved in the affirmative.

“Please remove your abaya.”

Sarah lifted the veil from her face and draped it over her head like a scarf, leaving a portion of her hair visible.

“Much better.” It was obvious that Khalid’s bodyguards did not agree. They quickly averted their eyes and fixed them coldly on Gabriel. “You must forgive my security men, Director Allon. They’re not accustomed to seeing Israelis on Saudi soil, especially one with a reputation like yours.”

“And what’s that?”

Khalid’s smile was brief and insincere. “I hope your flight was pleasant.”

“Quite.”

“And the drive wasn’t too arduous?”

“Not at all.”

“Something to eat or drink? You must be famished.”

“Actually, I would prefer to—”

“So would I, Director Allon. But I am bound by the traditions of the desert to show hospitality toward a visitor to my camp. Even if the visitor was once my enemy.”

“Sometimes,” said Gabriel, “the only person you can trust is your enemy.”

“Can I trust you?”

“I’m not sure you have much of a choice.” Gabriel glanced at the bodyguards. “Tell them to take a walk, they’re making me nervous. And give them that phone of yours. You never know who might be listening.”

“My experts tell me it’s totally secure.”

“Humor me, Khalid.”

The crown prince handed the phone to one of the bodyguards, and all four withdrew. “I assume Sarah told you why I wanted to see you.”

“She didn’t have to.”

“You knew?”

Gabriel nodded. “Has there been any contact from the kidnappers?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“How much are they asking for?”

“If only it were that simple. The House of Saud is worth somewhere in the neighborhood of a trillion and a half dollars. Money is not the issue.”

“If they don’t want money, what do they want?”

“Something I can’t possibly give them. Which is why I need you to find her.”