Authors: Vince Flynn
Rapp walked past the elevators to the stairs and started down. Raising his digitally encrypted radio to his mouth he said, “Scott, I'm coming down. Meet me by the east entrance of the hotel with the car.”
O
mar was in a hurry to join in the revelry. He'd kicked everyone off the yacht so he could have his private meeting with David and with that little piece of business taken care of he was ready to enjoy the evening. His cousins had gone ahead to the Casino Club to try to procure some women for the trip to St. Tropez in the morning. He would much prefer it if they could find some young aspiring actress to join them, rather than the usual whores they had to pay for. The young ones were so much fun to corrupt.
Omar had lent large amounts of money to Italian, French and American producers over the years and the walls of the ship's upper gallery were adorned with autographed headshots of the silver screen's elite. The photos never failed to impress the naive teenagers. The size of the yacht, the opulence of the furnishings, the photographs, they overwhelmed the vulnerable young women. And if that wasn't enough, there was a full complement of drugs that could be used either overtly or surreptitiously to melt away their inhibitions.
Omar stepped from his yacht onto the pier. It was a clear night and the fresh air of the Mediterranean felt wonderful. Killing David had livened his senses. He couldn't wait for the rest of the evening's entertainment. His cousins would immensely enjoy watching the tape of Chung strangling the insolent Palestinian. None of them liked him. Omar had been very fond of David at first, but his impudent attitude had worn thin. His disapproving looks and his refusal to join in the sexual merriment became increasingly intolerable. He was only a Palestinian after all, and his place in the pecking order of the Arab tribes was at the very bottom. The fact that he didn't know his place in society and that he kept asking for more money was what had made the decision easy. Besides, Omar would sleep much easier knowing that David would not be telling or selling his secrets to the wrong party.
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Rapp watched the portly Arab waddle down the pier in his shiny suit. His mountainous Chinese bodyguard walked in front of him, his head turning and his eyes deliberately sweeping the path before them like a spotlight atop a citadel searching for danger. Rapp had read the British surveillance reports, probing for a weakness. The boat would have been difficult, too many people and almost no set schedule. Someone was always up and moving about. There was the bathroom at the casino, and there was the party room at the hotel. There were all kinds of options that if Rapp absolutely had to, he could have made work, but he was short on time and forcing something often led to mistakes. In Rapp's line of work, mistakes could get someone other than the target killed or at a bare minimum cause an international crisis. Fortunately one very straightforward opportunity jumped off the page at him.
Rapp was not acting without orders. The president didn't know what he was about to do, but that had been intentional. In operations such as this it was best to insulate the president and the office from any blame. Rapp and Kennedy had decided it was time to send a message to the Saudis. No longer would they have free rein in financing terrorism as if it were some hobby to be enjoyed in one's spare time.
Through his earpiece he could hear the operational chatter of Scott Coleman receiving updates from the other men. It was nothing more than background noise for Rapp. He could clearly see Omar and Chung from where he was stationed. The others were there as backup to monitor the local police frequencies and finish the job if for some reason Rapp fell short, which he had absolutely no intention of doing.
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Chung reached the limousine first. Even though the casino was only a few short blocks away, Devon LeClair kept a limousine on twenty-four-hour standby. It was enough of an exertion for the prince to amble the length of the pier; he was not about to walk down the sidewalk to the casino. Before opening the door, Chung took one last look around, giving a group of youths across the street a long hard stare. Then when Prince Omar was ready Chung opened the door for his employer and helped him into the vehicle. Chung then somehow managed to fold his frame in half, and squeeze into the dark backseat, closing the door behind him.
The first bullet struck him in the face. So did the second. The silencer on the tip of the gun minimized the muzzle flash to barely a spark. Chung never moved other than the slight jerking motion his head made as each hollow point round penetrated his forehead. He sat motionless like some ancient stone statue, his posture upright and his hands open and resting on his knees. He never had even a fraction of a second to realize something was wrong. All in all it wasn't a bad way to die.
Omar would not be so fortunate. The door locks on the limo clicked simultaneously and the vehicle began to move. Omar reached for an overhead reading light and pressed it. A narrow beam of light shone down on him, and he looked around nervously. Something strange was happening. There had been several unusual noises, a few weak sparks, but the usually alert Chung was sitting still, unalarmed.
Somewhere near the front of the compartment there was movement and Omar suddenly realized someone else was in the car. The danger of the situation still had yet to register as he asked, “Who is there?”
Rapp, who was dressed in black, blended in perfectly with the dark interior and heavily smoked windows of the limousine. He leaned forward and in Arabic said, “I am a friend of your brother's.” His words were carefully chosen.
Omar's eyes opened wide and his right arm reached for Chung. It was at that moment that he realized something was seriously wrong. He pushed Chung and the Asian man's lifeless body fell sideways into the door. Turning back to his assailant with panic in his voice he asked, “Who are you?”
“I am your executioner,” Rapp answered, again in Arabic.
Omar, thinking the assailant in his car was a Saudi, said, “You cannot harm me. I am a member of the royal family.”
Rapp smiled and changed to English. “I am an American, and as a favor to your brother I am going to kill you.”
Omar's eyes grew even larger. He was shocked by the man's change of languages. “For what?” he croaked incredulously. “I have done nothing but honor my brother.”
“You are a liar, and you have disgraced your family.” Rapp again chose his words very carefully for every second of this was being recorded.
“I have done no such thing,” stammered an unconvincing Omar.
Rapp looked back at him leaving no doubt that he didn't believe a single word the man uttered. “You had your own cousin, Abdul Bin Aziz, killed.”
“I did no such thing.”
“And I suppose you never called your brother a fool, and a poor excuse for a man?”
The quote struck a note of familiarity with Omar and his expression changed in a very subtle way. “I love my brother. I do not always agree with him, but I love him.”
“Do you love him enough to admit that you had your own cousin killed?”
“I did no such thing!”
Rapp squeezed his left index finger and a 9mm round spat from the end of the silencer striking Omar in the knee. The Saudi prince lurched forward and screamed in agony. In all of his pampered life he had never felt anything so painful.
Rapp pointed the weapon at the prince's other knee and repeated the question. “Why did you kill your own cousin?”
Omar was now rocking back and forth, holding his shattered knee with both hands as blood oozed from between his fingers. “How much are you being paid? I will pay you millions,” he pleaded.
Rapp squeezed off another round, this time striking the other knee.
Omar squealed and looked down in absolute horror at the fresh wound.
Rapp kept his voice under control. “Why did you kill your cousin?”
“Because I hated him!” hissed Omar. “Because he and my brother are leading my country in the wrong direction, and because I should be crown prince!”
Rapp didn't speak at first. Omar had said it all. As much as Rapp detested him he did not find this enjoyable. There was no thrill in watching him suffer. Even though he had no doubt the man deserved everything he was getting and then some, for Rapp it was just a job. He hesitated for only a second, and then raised his pistol and sent a single bullet into the Saudi prince's forehead.
T
he crown prince and his entourage had taken the top three floors of the Plaza Athenée in Paris. President Hayes by contrast had only taken the top two floors of the Bristol, but then again the president only had one wife. The Israeli and Palestinian delegations were spread around town at various hotels. The peace summit had caused quite a stir with the Parisian hotel community. Spring was fast approaching and, as always, rooms were scarce. With only two weeks to make arrangements, apologies and discounts were offered and schedules were changed. Parisians were proud to host a conference that might finally bring about a peace in the Middle East. Especially in light of the recent embarrassment they'd suffered due to the less than honorable actions of their country's ambassador to the United Nations.
The French intelligence agency, DST, had arrested Ambassador Joussard on charges of accepting a million-dollar bribe from a wealthy Saudi prince. To make matters worse, that same Saudi prince, along with his bodyguard, was found dead in Cannes the very same day of Joussard's arrest. And if that wasn't sensational enough, the strangled body of a known Palestinian terrorist had been discovered aboard the prince's yacht. The story was too juicy to resist and within days the press was all over it.
The details had been scarce at first, but slowly the picture of an international terror network funded by a spurned Saudi billionaire began to emerge. The group was being blamed for the assassinations of the Palestinian ambassador in New York, the Saudi ambassador in Washington and the increased suicide bombings in Israel and the West Bank, all in an effort to manipulate the UN and gain international sympathy for their cause.
The spokespeople for the Saudi royal family had been quick to disassociate Crown Prince Faisal from his estranged half brother Prince Omar. It was said that the two had not talked to each other in years, and that the Machiavellian Prince Omar had been all but banned from the royal court. He spent almost all of his time sailing the Mediterranean aboard his yacht, gambling and running his various enterprises. He was carefully profiled as a man without a country, and a man with little or no alliance to Saudi Arabia.
How Prince Omar had ended up dead was the cause of much speculation. One theory had it that Omar had gone back on a deal he'd made with the Palestinian terrorists, and had paid for it with his life. This leak was designed to send a message to wealthy Arabs who liked to dabble in bankrolling various terrorist groups. There was also the inevitable rumor that Omar had been eliminated by either the Israelis, the French or the Americans, for his hand in trying to manipulate the UN.
The truth about what had happened was slightly different. The French DST had arrested Ambassador Joussard only after President Hayes had made the French president a very gracious offer. Either the French could arrest their own ambassador, and save some face, or the Americans would expel the ambassador and denounce him on the floor of the UN for accepting a bribe. For the French this was a no-brainer. President Hayes also suggested that in order to make amends for the upheaval at the United Nations it might be a good idea for the French to host a peace conference.
After the French agreed to host the conference it was fairly simple for President Hayes to get the other parties to show up. The Palestinians and Saudis were shamed into participating because of their unwitting role in recent events, and the Israelis were told they could either attend or face some very hard questions about what actually happened in Hebron. In the end, all the parties agreed it was mutually beneficial to at least sit down and talk.
Neither Rapp nor Kennedy were bothered that the credit for their hard work had been given to others. It was the way they preferred it. They had the gratitude of their president, and the personal knowledge that they had helped to avert an international crisis. Now they were about to ingratiate themselves to the crown prince of Saudi Arabia, and further cement the alliance between their two countries.
Rapp, Kennedy and the director's personal security detail were brought into the Plaza Athenée through a back door and escorted to a service elevator. From there they were taken to the top floor and met by a phalanx of bodyguards. Only Rapp and Kennedy were allowed to pass, but first Rapp had to hand his weapon over to one of the CIA security guys.
Rapp felt naked without his gun, but there was no choice in the matter. Even unarmed, the crown prince's bodyguards were less than thrilled about granting him an audience. They were escorted to a room where Rapp was simultaneously frisked by two men while a third stood guard with his pistol drawn. Kennedy stood off to one side, slightly amused by the stir that Rapp had caused. When the bodyguards were finally satisfied the two Americans were allowed admittance into a plush suite and left alone.
Neither bothered to sit, nor did they speak. Kennedy had asked for permission to have a team of technicians sweep the room, but the Saudis had declined. This either meant they were confident that their own people were up to the job, or they intended on recording the meeting for their own purposes. In reality it was probably both, which was why they would say as little as possible. Their mere presence, and the large manila envelope that Kennedy held to her chest, would say it all.
The envelope held a videotape, several audiotapes, and a thick file of financial transactions and phone records. The originals were all kept in a safe back at Langley. These were copies. The videotape had been lifted from Omar's yacht and contained the graphic footage of David being strangled, as well as Omar's personal thoughts on his brother's lack of manhood and intelligence. The audiotapes contained Omar's conversations with the crown prince leading up to and immediately following the assassination of their cousin. They revealed Omar's continued plea for an oil embargo, and finally, his confession in the back of the limousine before he was put out of his misery. All of it unassailable proof that Omar was in fact much closer to his brother than the press was led to believe.
There had been a debate as to whether or not they should erase Rapp's voice from the last tape. Surprisingly, Rapp had argued that it should remain. He was not ashamed of what he'd done, nor was he afraid of any reprisal from the House of Saud. He recognized that he had done the crown prince a great favor by ridding him of his errant brother. He had saved him the trouble of having to do it himself and risk a potential schism in the royal family. This way Crown Prince Faisal got exactly what he wanted and his hands and conscience were clean. He would be indebted to the man from the CIA.
They were not forced to wait long. An aide wearing a white keffiyeh and black robe entered the room through a side door and gestured for them to follow. Contrary to Arab custom Rapp allowed Kennedy to go ahead of him. If they had been in Saudi Arabia he may have reconsidered, but they were in Paris, and despite what Omar had thought, his brother was no fool. Crown Prince Faisal had been educated in America and this was a private meeting. There was no worry about offending someone's sensibilities or embarrassing the crown.
Crown Prince Faisal was sitting in a high-backed wing chair at the far end of the luxurious suite. He was dressed in traditional Arab garb as were the two large men who flanked him. He wore a white keffiyeh topped with a gold braid and a black robe trimmed in gold. The crown prince made no effort to rise and meet his guests nor did Rapp or Kennedy expect him to.
The representatives of the American government stopped next to the two chairs that had been placed approximately ten feet from Faisal. They both bowed and then waited to be told to sit. To Rapp, Faisal looked apprehensive and tired, as if he expected some trap to be sprung on him. His black mustache and beard accentuated the dark circles under his tired eyes. From all outward appearances the crown prince of Saudi Arabia had not been sleeping well.
Almost imperceptibly, Faisal gestured for them to sit. They both did so, but neither settled in. Kennedy started by saying, “Thank you for taking the time to meet with us, Your Highness.” Leaning forward, she set the envelope on the coffee table that sat midway between them. “President Hayes asked me to deliver this to you in private.”
Faisal stared at the package, but didn't bother to pick it up or ask what was in it.
Motioning to the envelope with an open hand the director of the CIA said, “He wishes to keep this between our two countries.”
To this, Faisal nodded his understanding. He had spoken to the American president on many occasions, and would be talking with him in the morning. The very fact that he had sent two of his top intelligence people to deliver this package spoke volumes.
“Your Highness,” Rapp said, “I must warn you that you may find the contents of this envelope very disturbing. It is in no way our intent to upset you. We just thought it was best for you to know the truth.”
This time the crown prince nodded more deeply, signaling that he clearly understood it would not be pleasant. He then looked directly into Rapp's eyes for a long uncomfortable moment. He stared at the man from the CIA as if he knew much more than he was letting on ⦠maybe even who had killed his brother.
Finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, Faisal said, “Thank you.” The crown prince then turned to his aide and nodded.
The man stepped forward, an unassuming smile on his face, and motioned for Rapp and Kennedy to follow. The meeting was over that quickly. They were escorted back through the suites and into the hallway without a further word. Kennedy's security detail was where they'd left them, by the service elevator. Rapp wasted no time retrieving his gun. He inspected the Heckler & Koch 9mm to make sure it was exactly as he'd left it and stowed it in the belt holster at the small of his back. He then buttoned his suit coat and everyone stepped into the elevator.
The group proceeded back to the hotel in a three-car caravan. Rapp and Kennedy made the short trip in silence. When they arrived at the Bristol they were taken to President Hayes's suite. Hayes was waiting for them in formal attire. He was scheduled to attend a dinner at the Elysée Palace, the official residence of the French president.
“How did it go?” asked Hayes.
Kennedy gave a noncommittal shrug while Rapp said, “I don't think you're going to be threatened with any oil embargoes for a while.”
The president smiled in satisfaction and reached for a bottle of champagne that was chilling in a sterling silver bucket. He plucked it from the icy water and dried it with a nearby white towel. “I think a toast is in order,” he announced as he began twisting the wire from atop the cork. When the wire was off, he draped the towel over the bottle and began gingerly working the cork free.
He completed the task without spilling a drop and then poured three flutes. When Hayes was done he handed a glass each to Kennedy and Rapp and then held up his own. “To a job well done, and a crisis avoided.”
They all drank and then the president added, “These are truly momentous times, and the two of you have played a major role in getting these parties to sit down. Who knows,” he added with a hopeful glint in his eye, “by the end of the week we could finally have peace in the Middle East.” The president noticed Rapp's doubtful expression and asked, “You don't think that's possible?”
Rapp hesitated, and then said, “Sir, I think by the end of the week you'll probably have a document that
says
there's going to be peace in the Middle East, but I'm a skeptic as to whether or not that peace will ever become a reality.”
The president frowned. He did not want his good mood spoiled. “Why do you think that?”
“Because there's an element within the Arab world that will settle for nothing short of the total destruction of Israel.”
“That element hasn't been invited to the table. Israel and Palestine must coexist side by side. There is no other choice.”
“I agree, sir, but that element doesn't want to be invited to the peace table. That's the problem. They only want the destruction of Israel.”
“So what would you advise me to do?” asked a cautious Hayes.
“Exactly what you're doing, sir. Just make sure you hold no illusions about what it will take to really make peace. Those groups that don't want peace need to be dealt with, and there's only one thing they understand.”
“What's that?”
Rapp reached behind his back with his left hand and drew his gun. He wanted to make his point with the president, bring him back down from the clouds. This part of the peace process was easy, with civilized men and women gathering in a magnificent city like Paris, talking about noble causes while the world press lauded them with accolades. At night they all went to bed secretly dreaming that one day soon they would win the Nobel Peace Prize, while several thousand miles away young Palestinian boys and girls were being trained to blow themselves up in the name of their god. Those so-called martyrs cared little about documents signed in fancy rooms by fancy men. It was not possible to reason with unreasonable people.
Rapp held his gun up in the palm of his hand for the president to see, and said, “This is the only thing the zealots understand, sir. If you want peace in the Middle East they need to be dealt with. Only then will Israelis and Palestinians be able to live side by side.”