Consent to Kill (29 page)

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T
he Saudi delegation arrived on four massive 747 long-haul aircrafts. The planes were designed by Boeing to carry 400 plus passengers depending on how they were configured, but these were no ordinary planes. Each one was owned privately by a member of the Saudi royal family. Due to an almost endless source of petrodollars, and the Saudis’ need to constantly trump one another, each plane was lavishly decorated in the most opulent manner possible. Marble showers with gold fixtures, king-size beds, and Jacuzzis were standard on each plane, as were workout facilities, steam rooms, and gaming rooms. Plasma TV screens were in great abundance as well as DVDs, CDs, and pretty much anything that had an ounce of entertainment value. Each wide-body plane carried a world class chef, masseuse, manicurist, and barber. The jumbo jets were the equivalent of flying private yachts. Not counting the flight crew and staff, fewer than fifty passengers flew on each plane.

Maintaining this lavish lifestyle was anything but easy. Two separate 747s loaded with security people, protocol officers, junior diplomats, and servants had arrived earlier in the week. Entire five-star hotels had been booked, the top floor in some cases reserved for just one person. Extra cigarettes were ordered in quantities befitting an army going into battle. The hotels stocked up on the most expensive cognac, the finest cigars, and the rarest of wines. Escort services flew in call girls from Chicago, Miami, New York, and L.A. When the Saudis came to town they provided a boost to the local economy that was akin to hosting a major sporting event. Instead of doing it with tens of thousands of people, though, they simply did it with a thousand or less.

The protocol officers had argued over every detail of the state visit. It started with lodging. When the president offered Blair House to the king, it looked like things were off to a good start, but it all went downhill from there. The foreign minister, minister of commerce, and minister for Islamic affairs all wanted to stay at the Saudi ambassador’s estate outside the city. The estate was big, but not big enough to handle two, let alone three, of the ministers and their entourages. The foreign minister’s people argued that he had the most important job. The minister of commerce’s people argued that the ambassador was his full brother, and thus it was his right to use the estate, and the minister of Islamic affairs’ people refused to give a reason other than the fact that it was what Prince Muhammad bin Rashid wanted. In the end this was reason enough. Rashid had the ear of the clerics, and his contacts ran deep in the state security agencies. In many ways he was the most feared man in Saudi Arabia. Only King Abdullah and a handful of young princes dared stand up to him.

In hindsight, they realized that they were fools for not having suggested that Prince Muhammad and his entourage stay at the estate in the first place. Prince Muhammad was one of the only truly pious members of the royal family, and he refused to partake in alcohol or tobacco even when traveling abroad. With Muhammad and his people sequestered at the estate, the rest of the delegation could relax and have fun without fear of being reported back to the clerics at home. The Saudi royals had a “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” attitude. While in the Kingdom they at least kept up the appearance that they were following the Wahhabis’ strict interpretation of Islam, but as soon as they left the country they went wild.

The remaining Saudis were left to fight over the Ritz Carlton in Georgetown and the Ritz in Foggy Bottom a mere eight blocks away. In the end the foreign minister got the Ritz in Foggy Bottom since the hotel had more rooms and his entourage was larger. They were not done arguing, though. There were still important issues to settle, such as the order in which the planes would land. It was a given that the king would land last, but the other three slots were up for grabs. Again, Prince Muhammad’s people refused to negotiate. This infuriated the other two camps, but after much yelling and complaining they got nowhere. In the end the foreign minister secured the number-two spot, and the minister of commerce was forced to land first.

Security was a major issue, but the Americans were running the show where that was concerned. As the planes came in on final approach, the motorcades were readied and the military marching band stood poised to play. The king was going straight to the White House, Prince Muhammad and the foreign minister were going to the State Department, and the minister of commerce was going to the Kennedy Center where he would be hosted by the U.S. commerce secretary and important business leaders. The DC Metro Police were on hand to provide motorcycle escorts, and the Secret Service had pulled in agents from all over the East Coast to provide diplomatic protection. The king, as well as his three half brothers, had all brought their own armor-plated limousines, which had been flown over to America in advance of the visit.

Prince Muhammad had wondered more than once on the long journey just how close Abel’s assassin was to getting the job done. It would be very interesting to watch the story reported from the American perspective if it happened during his visit. It would also be priceless to see the reaction on the faces of their government officials. Especially the director of the CIA. Muhammad knew the woman favored Rapp and that his death would hurt her.
This is what she deserves for meddling in the affairs of Saudi Arabia,
he thought.

After the attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon, Muhammad had learned that it had been that damnable woman who had advised the American president to press for his reassignment. Kennedy herself had visited with then Crown Prince Abdullah and provided evidence that Saudi Security Services were in some cases knowingly protecting al-Qaeda and its members. She stated that the president, along with the leaders in the House and Senate, did not feel Prince Muhammad bin Rashid was up to the job of running the Ministry of the Interior, which oversaw the security services. If he was not moved out of the position, and replaced with someone who was willing to go after al-Qaeda aggressively, Saudi-American relations would suffer greatly.

His half brother caved in to the demand, but in order to save face at home, and keep the tenuous balance between the bickering princes, he gave Muhammad the important position of minister of Islamic affairs, endowment,
dawa,
and guidance. In terms of sheer power, it paled in comparison to running the Ministry of the Interior, but in terms of influence, it was second to none. Oil was the blood of Saudi Arabia, but Islam was its heart. The royal family could not rule without the backing of the clerics in Mecca and Medina, and the clerics were growing increasingly leery of the king and his cozy relations with America. Muhammad knew he needed to show the religious men that he was a man of action. Someone who was willing to stand up to the Americans.

There would be great personal satisfaction in having a hand in the death of a foul nonbeliever like Rapp, but in the more strategic sense, Rapp’s murder would eventually provide proof not just to the clerics, but to the other members of the royal family that Muhammad bin Rashid was a great defender of Islam, and not some pandering fool like the king. Revealing his hand in the matter would have to be handled very delicately and over a certain period of time. Prince Muhammad was fifty-nine and in good health. He could bide his time for another five years and slowly chip away at the king’s support. When the time was right, the clerics would support him, that he knew for certain. They wanted Rapp dead more than he did, and they would be very grateful that a member of the House of Saud had finally picked up a sword and defended Islam. For now, though, he had to go through the motions and act as if he actually liked the Americans.

Prince Muhammad bin Rashid stepped from the plane into the late-afternoon sunlight. He was dressed in his white robes and he clutched them against the blowing wind. To the undiscerning eye it was difficult to tell him apart from his half brother, the king, especially when he was wearing sunglasses as he was at this moment. Both men stood six feet tall and had jet black mustaches and goatees. This sometimes caused a bit of confusion as it did now with the group of dignitaries and photographers who were waiting on the red carpet at the foot of the stairs. Prince Muhammad descended with a slight smile on his face as he watched one of the king’s protocol officers pointing frantically at the last of the jumbo jets which was pulling to a stop just a little ways down the tarmac.

The air force general waiting to greet him held his ground. He was not about to slight the Saudi foreign minister by bolting. Enjoying the spectacle, Prince Muhammad took his time getting down the stairs. Upon meeting the base commander, he clutched the man’s hand in both of his and became quite effusive in his praise for the military band. The whole time he kept one eye on the protocol officer and took great joy in seeing the man begin to tremble. Finally, the base commander broke free and with a hand on Prince Muhammad’s back he sent him down the carpet toward his waiting limousine.

U.S. S
TATE
D
EPARTMENT

K
ennedy stood in the corner of the John Quincy Adams State Drawing Room and nursed her glass of Chardonnay while two State Department undersecretaries tried to sell her on a new approach toward North Korea. They knew if she sided with their boss, the president would likely change course. That was not going to happen. Kennedy listened politely even though she disagreed with everything they were saying. The North Korean leader was mentally unstable, and nothing these two diplomats said would change that irrefutable medical fact. Single-party talks were a nonstarter and nothing more than an ego game by the North Korean premier. China, Japan, and South Korea had to be at the negotiating table. It was their backyard. Kennedy was tempted to tell the two Ivy Leaguers that she had been secretly counseling the president that it was time to give the Chinese an ultimatum; either rein in North Korea, or the United States would help Japan develop a nuclear weapons program. Kennedy was convinced the specter of a nuclear Japan would force China to bring North Korea to heel. There were others who understandably disagreed. China could counter by saying it would invade Taiwan and things could spin out of control rather quickly.

Telling these two doves any of this, however, would be foolish. She let them drone on and on about how it wouldn’t be such a bad concession to conduct single-party talks. After all, they could always go back to six-party talks if it didn’t work out. This conversation was a perfect example of why she had been reluctant to attend the reception for the Saudi foreign minister. Mixing with other departments in a social setting, especially State, often meant being trapped in these types of diametrically opposed discussions. She looked around the room for her new boss. This had been his idea. A command performance. Had Kennedy been invited by the secretary of state herself, she would have still been ambivalent about attending the diplomatic reception, but Ross had ordered her to come, and had done so in a very condescending manner. He told her, as if he was giving her an employee review, that she needed to work more on relationship building with their allies. She took all of this in stride and bit her lip, but in the back of her mind she heard Rapp’s warning—Ross is an idiot.

Kennedy wondered if this was about Rapp—if Ross was punishing her for what he’d done. She had not let on that she knew about their confrontation, but it was safe to assume Ross thought she knew all the details. What had started off as a decent enough working relationship was suddenly not looking so good. Whether this was exacerbated by Rapp or inevitable she did not know, but she was beginning to seriously wonder if Ross was the wrong man for the job.

Kennedy had been tempted to force Rapp to accompany her as a form of punishment, but he had gotten out of it. He’d shown up at her office limping earlier in the day and told her he was going in to have his knee operated on in the morning. She asked how serious it was and he shrugged it off with a mumbled answer. After a few more questions she found out they were going to scope his knee and he’d be back at work in two days. That didn’t sound like such a big deal, so she pressed him further and found out the procedure was only a short-term solution. The doctor told him within five years he’d need to undergo knee replacement surgery. Kennedy was surprised by her own lack of concern for his health. On the contrary, she was pleased to hear that he would finally have to slow down. With any luck, she could get him behind a desk soon and keep him there.

Ross entered the room in a manner befitting the president himself. He was followed by the ever-present Jonathan Gordon; two female staffers, whom Kennedy only vaguely recognized; and four immense Secret Service agents. Kennedy looked across the room at Secretary of State Berg and noted that not a single member of her security detail was in the room. They were in one of the most secure buildings in Washington, after all. There was no reason, other than hubris, to have the agents so close to their protectee.

Kennedy stood in the corner and continued to listen to the two State Department officials. She was in no rush to talk to Ross so she waited for him to make his way over. Ross was shaking hands and slapping backs. Kennedy was amused to read the lips of a senator who asked Ross, “What are you doing here?”

Very good question,
Kennedy thought to herself. She looked at her watch and noted that he had told her to be on time, and yet he had arrived thirty minutes late.

Ross made his way over to Secretary Berg and kissed her on the cheek. After a few minutes he spotted Kennedy and waved her over.

Kennedy excused herself and made her way through the crowd. “Secretary Berg.” Kennedy extended her hand. “How are you?”

“Well, Irene, and you?”

“Just fine, thank you,” answered Kennedy. She and the secretary of state were often at odds philosophically, but had a good working relationship.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Ross said, thinking he was funny.

“I thought I’d crash the party,” Kennedy replied with a half smile.

“I’m glad you came,” said the secretary of state quickly. She squeezed Kennedy’s arm and gave her a reassuring nod.

Kennedy knew exactly what she meant. The Saudis had a way of making women feel very uncomfortable. To the old guard of Saudi men a woman’s place was at home, taking care of the children and running the household. It was inappropriate to look a woman in the eye or address her directly. This made for some awkward moments when powerful women like Berg and Kennedy were placed in the same room with an all-male delegation of Saudis. In Kennedy’s twenty plus years in the intelligence business things had gotten much better. The next generation of Saudis, the ones who had been educated at universities in Europe and America, were far more accepting of women, at least when dealing with foreign governments. Back in Saudi Arabia, though, the great divide between the sexes was still alive and flourishing.

One of Secretary Berg’s assistants came up and informed her that the Saudi foreign minister had entered the building. Berg excused herself and left Ross and Kennedy to take up her position in the diplomatic receiving line. Ross grabbed Kennedy by the elbow and pointed toward the far corner of the room. They wove their way through the crowd with Ross’s bodyguards shadowing them as they went. Kennedy thought the security must have looked ridiculous and was relieved when Ross finally gave the detail leader a signal to stand down.

Ross stood with his back to the room, facing Kennedy. Jonathan Gordon stepped from his shadow and took up position beside his boss. Ross smoothed his light-blue-and-silver-striped tie with the palm of his right hand and then adjusted his trousers before placing his hands on his lips. The director of National Intelligence looked at her, tilted his head slightly, as if he was going to say something, and then stopped.

Kennedy had a pretty good idea what was on his mind, so she said, “Mark, about you and Mitch, and what happened the other day …”

Ross cut her off. “You don’t need to say a word. It’s water under the bridge.”

Kennedy glanced at Gordon, whose expression said different. “I just want you to know I don’t operate that way,” Kennedy said to Ross. “If one of my people has a problem with you they need to come to me first. Mitch went behind my back, and I’m not happy about it.”

Ross considered his reply. “I know Mitch has sacrificed a great deal for this country, but a lot of people worry he’s uncontrollable. That it’s just a matter of time before he does something that really embarrasses the Agency. Neither of us want that to happen.”

“No, we don’t,” Kennedy said honestly.

“Then I suggest you keep him on a short leash.”

Kennedy nodded. She couldn’t really tell him that there were as many or more people in Washington who wanted to simply let Rapp loose.

“And this Coleman guy. I wasn’t born yesterday. That guy spells trouble.”

Kennedy said nothing.

“I’m going to do my best,” continued Ross, “to stay out of the day-to-day business of the Agency. I have a lot of faith in you, you’ve done a great job so far, but I worry that you have a blind spot where Rapp is concerned. I’ve already talked to the president about this and he shares my concerns.”

Kennedy listened to the words without showing an ounce of emotion. Inside, however, her stomach started to churn.

“We’ve decided,” said Ross, “to keep a close eye on the situation. If Rapp can’t start following orders and respect the chain of command, some changes might have to be made.”

“You talked to the president about this?” Kennedy wanted to be clear on this point. One of the classic power plays in Washington was to drop the president’s name to bolster your position.

“Yes, and he’s been worried for some time about it.”

Kennedy looked Ross in the eye and wondered if he had bothered to tell the president what had caused Mitch to become so insolent. She doubted that Ross had told him about his investigation of Scott Coleman and his company. Scott Coleman, a man who had been the commander of SEAL Team 6 and who had won both the Silver Star and the Navy Cross. A man who after leaving the navy had conducted dozens of black ops, a handful that the president himself had authorized.

Where Rapp was quick to anger, Kennedy was the opposite. She didn’t like any of this. She hated the fact that Ross was meddling in such delicate matters, and it really irked her that he had already begun politicking with the president. In spite of those emotions she remained calm.

She gave Ross a slight nod and said, “I’ll have another talk with him.”
And with the president,
she thought to herself.

“Good.” Ross pivoted so he was standing next to her. Gordon moved into position on her left. The two men had her bracketed. Talking out of the side of his mouth Ross said, “You’re probably wondering why I asked you to come to this reception.”

“The thought has crossed my mind.”

“The Saudis are the key.”

Kennedy looked across the room to the diplomatic receiving line. The foreign minister and his lengthy entourage had just entered the room. Kennedy had noticed that Ross liked to make statements like “The Saudis are the key” and then add nothing more. His aim was to get you to ask him why, so that he could then dispense his wisdom. Kennedy, a professional spy from the old school, was very good at keeping her mouth shut and listening.

“Don’t you care to know why they are the key?”

Kennedy spoke Arabic. She’d spent the majority of her youth moving around the Middle East, and understood the Saudi culture about as well as a foreign woman could hope. She had forgotten more about Saudi Arabia than Ross could ever hope to learn, but nonetheless, she was actually interested to hear where he would go with this.

“Why are they the key, and to what are they the key?”

“Very good qualification,” Ross replied. “They are the key to solving this whole mess.”

“Which mess?” asked Gordon in a slightly impatient tone.

“The whole mess … the Middle East, terrorism, the spread of radical Islam. They hold the key. If we can get them to trust us … to see that we mean them no harm, we will do more to secure this country from terrorist attacks than we could ever hope through use of force.”

Kennedy was suddenly hopeful, not that Ross would offer her a realistic solution, but that she was about to get an invaluable look at how the man’s mind operated. “And how do we go about doing this?”

Ross pointed. “The problem isn’t with people like the foreign minister, or the king. They like us. They get it. They know we don’t want to take over their country and their culture. The problem is with people like Prince Muhammad bin Rashid.”

Kennedy spotted the minister of Islamic affairs. He was in line right behind the foreign minister. He was the problem all right. The man had softened his rhetoric as of late, but Kennedy didn’t buy any of it.

“How well do you know him?” asked Ross.

Kennedy could write a lengthy briefing on the man. At the moment, though, she was more interested to hear what Ross thought of him. “I know a little. What’s your take on him?”

“The road to peace lies through their religious leaders, and he is the way to get to those leaders. He is the key,” Ross said emphatically. “I personally asked him to come on this trip. I told him I wanted to open an honest dialogue about how our two great nations can get to know each other better.”

Kennedy nodded. The fact that Ross would use the word
great
to describe the United States and Saudi Arabia in the same sentence would have been business as usual if he had been from the State Department, but this was the director of National Intelligence talking, a man who was supposed to use his words very carefully, a man who was supposed to collect intelligence. It was not his job to conduct affairs of state with any foreign citizen he chose, let alone someone who had a history of sponsoring terrorists. Kennedy understood the need to interact with adversaries and allies alike. She also very much wanted to get to know Prince Muhammad bin Rashid better, but not the way Ross did. She wanted to study him the way an FBI profiler studies a serial killer.

The man was an incurable bigot, and for Ross to not already know this was a bit unsettling. He was, after all, the president’s chief advisor on intelligence and the international terrorist threat. If their relationship had been better, she would have taken the time to explain to Ross why Muhammad bin Rashid could not be trusted, but at present it would be a waste of breath. Ross would not want to hear why his plan wouldn’t work. He would have to spend some time with the prince and figure it out for himself. In the meantime, Kennedy would have to make sure he didn’t reveal anything, or promise something that might screw up the delicate balance they fought to maintain with the Saudis.