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“You drove there in a car provided by the embassy! Do you have any idea what your thoughtless arrogance has put at risk? Have you—”
Bin Musaid disconnected the call and threw the phone against the bulkhead. Who was Aali Nassar to speak to him like that? He was a pauper. One of the thousands of meaningless bureaucrats who infested Saudi Arabia’s government payroll. The fact that he had temporarily gained the favor of the useless old woman who was their king had caused him to become drunk with self-importance.
The pilot apparently had a second phone, because it began ringing almost immediately. Surely he would not be stupid enough to bring it back again. Bin Musaid swallowed what was left of his drink and went to the galley to pour himself a second. A third and fourth would probably also be necessary to soften both the memory of that conversation and the fact that he was being forced to return to Riyadh.
He’d spend only the number of days required to keep up appearances. The moment his familial obligations were fulfilled, he would leave again. Perhaps for New York. He had an interesting woman there and a sudden yearning to walk among the godless inhabitants of that country. To revel in their ignorance of what was to come.
“Allahu Akbar!”
The sudden shout from the pilot was followed by the nose of the plane dipping violently and the fuselage beginning to vibrate. Bin Musaid lurched for the cockpit but the angle of descent continued to steepen. A moment later he was weightless, feeling panic grip him as the aircraft dropped below the clouds and revealed the earth rushing toward them.
He screamed but it came out as more of a whimper, swallowed up by the sound of rushing air and the deafening whine of the engines. The sensation of weight returned suddenly and he hit the floor, rolling through the food, dishes, and liquor bottles strewn across it before slamming into a table.
Gravity continued to increase until bin Musaid’s body felt as though it was being pressed to the floor by the hand of God. The breath went out of him and urine ran down his leg as his universe contracted until it consisted only of blinding sunlight, the deafening roar in his ears, and the unbearable force of gravity.
Then, as quickly as it had started, it was over.
The pressure subsided and the scream of the engines returned to the reassuring hum he had spent so much of his life surrounded by. Blue, unwavering sky glowed beyond the windows and he fixated on it, gulping air as he tried unsuccessfully to stand. The pilot appeared, hovering over him for a moment before dropping a phone onto his chest. Bin Musaid took it in a shaking hand and put it to his ear. A moment later Aali Nassar’s voice came on.
“Do we understand each other, Your Highness?”
CHAPTER 9
East of Manassas
Virginia
U.S.A.
LET’S see if they finally added me to this thing,” Coleman said, sticking his arm through the open window and pressing his thumb against the scanner. After a brief delay, the gate in front of them began to open.
Rapp’s subdivision was situated in a rural area outside of Washington, D.C., and had originally consisted of ten large home sites to be sold off at market price. His obscenely rich brother had swooped in and bought the other nine, leaving Rapp with a hundred acres on the top of a butte surrounded by farmland. It was a nice gesture but had the effect of making his house too remote. The 9th Armored Division could roll up to his gate and go unnoticed for a week.
Ever the idea man, Steven had sold off the luxury lots to Rapp’s friends and colleagues for a dollar apiece. A retired Secret Service man had already broken ground on one to the north and Mike Nash’s wife had finally decided on one to the east.
“That’s mine,” Coleman said, pointing through the windshield at a wooded knoll next to the barn that Anna was preparing for the pony she was certain would be arriving for her birthday. “I’m thinking Western contemporary. Something that’ll give me a little class, you know?”
Rapp nodded silently. It wasn’t a solution that he’d have come up with on his own, but it was the kind of out-of-the-box thinking that had his brother edging up on billionaire status. Within two years Rapp would be surrounded by shooters completely loyal to him, as well as a few kids around Anna’s age. A perfect scenario for everyone involved. All he had to do now was not screw it up.
They came over a small rise and the spotlit wall surrounding his house came into view. The copper gate swung back as they approached and Rapp frowned. Claudia had undoubtedly activated it based on the security camera displays. With th
e glare of the headlights, though, it would be impossible for her to see through the windshield to confirm their identities. He’d have to talk to her about that.
The modern, single-level house had been designed mostly by his late wife. His only demand was that it have no exterior windows. She and her architect had done an incredible job of camouflaging the thick walls, reinforced roof, and defensive positions.
Coleman swung the vehicle in a circle and came to a stop next to a spectacularly ugly sculpture that Claudia loved.
“Looks like a Skycrane lost its grip on a Hyundai and it landed in your yard,” the former SEAL said.
Rapp ignored the comment and stepped out into the cool night. He slammed the door and leaned through the open window. “You coming in?”
Coleman shook his head. “I hear you’ve got twelve little girls in there. That’s an opposing force I’d prefer to avoid.”
Instead of turning away, Rapp continued to grip the edge of the car door. “Things are going good?”
“Better every day. They say I might be able to jog a quarter mile on the track next month. Anything to get me out of that lap pool, you know?”
Rapp started to pull back but then stopped when Coleman leaned painfully across the seat toward him. “I have one more thing to say about Claudia.”
