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“Make me a drink,” bin Musaid said, and then went to the back, taking a seat.
He watched disinterestedly as the pilot closed the door and then rushed to pour a single malt for his only passenger.
“Do I have your permission to lift off?” he said, handing bin Musaid the drink with another bow.
The prince nodded and too
k a sip from the crystal glass. Not his preferred brand but it would do for the relatively short flight. He savored the dark liquor without guilt as he did women, drugs, and gambling. Why not? He had been shut out of his rightful place by old men fearful of his youth and vitality. Certainly Allah would understand him taking solace in these meaningless vices until the order of things changed. Until the storm that was brewing in the Middle East finally destroyed the Western appeasers who infested the region.
As the engines spooled up, he wondered idly what had happened to the money he’d provided ISIS. Was it being passed along their elaborate network on its way to America? Had it been laundered and deposited in a legitimate financial institution? Was it already in the hands of the devout men who would use it for a glorious attack?
What would the target be? An American sports stadium? One of the country’s decadent commercial centers? The Capitol building during a meeting of its congress?
Freedom made the Americans weak. How could a society protect itself unless the greater men took charge of every aspect? How could a society be truly exceptional when it was at the mercy of the whims of the mob?
His own country was slowly succumbing to a similar fate, he knew. King Faisal and the leaders who had come before him had turned their backs on Allah. The old man had retreated behind the walls of his depraved palace, emerging occasionally to falsely proclaim his devotion to subjects who were beginning to see through his lies. He had abandoned the almighty power of God long ago, replacing it with the power of America.
Like all bargains with the devil, though, this one was beginning to unravel. The vast network of conservative madrassas financed by the House of Saud were no longer blinding the people to its excesses, but instead showing them the truth. The king was now faced with an impossible situation. His strategy of publicly condemning the U.S. while privately supporting its battle against fundamentalist Islamic forces was beginning to fail. And the Americans were finally waking up to the fact that the billions they spent on Saudi oil was being used to create terrorists whom they then had to spend billions fighting.
This increasing dysfunction had culminated in the recent action ISIS had taken against his own country. They had acquired radioactive material from Pakistan and attempted to use it to irradiate Saudi Arabia’s oil-producing region. In the ensuing economic chaos, Faisal and his lackeys would have fled to the West, leaving the forces of true Islam to take control of not only Saudi Arabia but the trillions of dollars’ worth of sophisticated weapons the Americans had sold its military.
It was a magnificent plan, but one that had never come to pass. The murderer Mitch Rapp had thwarted the attack. Now King Faisal was bowing and scraping even more to the Americans—begging men like Rapp to provide enough stability to protect him in the last few years of his life. After that, Faisal cared little about what happened to his country and the religion that should have been under his protection.
The plane accelerated a bit abruptly up the runway and bin Musaid struggled to keep his drink from spilling. He was about to shout an insult in the direction of the cockpit but then reconsidered. He would soon rise to a position from which he would lead the Arab people. A king of kings acting as God’s representative on earth. Personally interacting with this man was beneath him. A brief mention to one of his people when they landed would ensure the pilot never worked again.
Bin Musaid’s phone rang and he glanced down to see the recently appointed Saudi intelligence chief Aali Nassar’s name on the screen. He ignored it.
Nassar was undoubtedly strong and had proven intelligent enough to identify bin Musaid as an ally, but he was also a commoner. It was a fact that he seemed to be forgetting as his power grew. While his machinations were unquestionably impressive, they were entirely for the benefit of the next generation of Saudi aristocrats. When bin Musaid took his rightful seat as the head of the House of Saud, he would of course reward Nassar’s efforts lavishly. But he would also forcefully remind the man that he was a servant. A valuable one, to be sure, but a servant nonetheless.
The plane leveled out and the pilot immediately made his way back to him.
“Your Highness, Aali Nassar is trying to contact you. He wonders if perhaps your phone is not functioning properly?”
Bin Musaid stared up at the man. “My phone is functioning perfectly.”
“I don’t understand, Your Highness. You—”
“I’m not interested in what you do or do not understand!”
Knowing that he’d been dismissed, the pilot retreated back to the cockpit. Before bin Musaid could take another sip of his drink, though, he had returned. This time with a phone in his hand.
“I’m sorry, but I’m told it’s urgent.”
Bin Musaid let out a frustrated breath and snatched the phone.
“What?”
“You went personally? You were to leave the money for the Egyptian and let him make the exchange!”
“You’d do well to watch your tone when you speak to me, Aali. It was my money and I wanted to meet the man taking it.”
“Watch my tone? Idiot!”
“You know nothing of this!” bin Musaid shouted. “You sit in your office in Riyadh using other people’s funds and labor to advance your plans. You would be able to do nothing—you would be nothing—without the support of my family.”
“It never occurred to you that you could be seen? That your involvement might be discovered?”
“Impossible.”
