The Templar Concordat (45 page)

Al Dossary: I stress this laser test is just the first test to be performed. It does confirm, as we predicted, that the manuscript parchment was produced in the late Twelfth Century. But, the science of paleography involves much more than laser testing, and our team of scholars will be assembling back in Cairo to conduct additional tests.

CNN: But this laser test is an important step?

Al Dossary: Important? Certainly. But all the steps are important. If any single test demonstrates the manuscript could not have been produced as we think, then the treaty cannot be considered authentic.

CNN: You seem quite confident the treaty is genuine.

Al Dossary: We assembled an unimpeachable panel of renowned experts. I await their evaluation.

So, that’s about it, Peter. The treaty has passed the most difficult and demanding test, and many are taking that alone as sufficient grounds for authentication. But, as Mr. Al Dossary said, we have to remember there is still much more work to be done before a final verdict will be rendered.

This is Greg Conrad, CNN International, Cairo.

*     *     *

The Old Man’s unexpected call burst Hammid’s giddy bubble.

“Stop those idiots running through the streets killing each other. I don’t want one more TV report from Karachi or Algiers showing a bunch of dancing idiots with misspelled English signs.”

“But Sheik…” Hammid started.

“You know better than I?” the Old Man clicked in his metallic monotone.

“No. No. Yes. We’ll get the word out immediately.”

“The objective in this phase is to make the Vatican look stupid, while we look reasonable. You know that.”

The Old Man broke the connection.

Hammid threw the phone against the wall and it burst into a hundred pieces. Abdullah had given the order for the riots, but the Old Man held Hammid responsible. Hammid got the credit, and Hammid paid the price.  The Old Man might know Abdullah had ordered the riots, and he might make Abdullah pay, but Hammid would pay first.

The Old Man always acted swiftly, so he had only a short window of opportunity. He called the pilot of his Bombardier business jet at the Cairo airport. “We’re going to Dhahran as soon as I get to the airport. Have the plane cleared and ready to take off immediately.”

*     *     *

Hammid eyed the ten men assembled around the conference table at his Villa south of Dhahran. Victory and celebration were in the air. Each was convinced the treaty was authentic and would soon lead to a massive uprising by their people.

“I’ve asked you here to talk about today’s events,” Hammid began. “We had a great victory when the panel of experts announced the treaty parchment came from the Twelfth Century.”

Abdullah clapped his fat hands together and said, “I was overjoyed when I heard the news. Just think. Proof of the true motives and objectives of the decadent West.”

“Yes,” said Hammid. “And the riots?”

“Yes, Sheik. We were ready… waiting. As soon as we heard the news, we called our brothers and gave them the word. I cannot tell you how proud and excited they were.”

“You acted quickly, Abdullah?”

“As fast as possible, Sheik. It wasn’t even a half hour before our people hit the streets.”

Hammid steepled his fingers and looked down the table. “You know you made us look like fools in the eyes of the world? Dancing idiots with English signs. They can’t even spell.”

Abdullah’s face collapsed. “Fools, Sheik? It was a great thing we did. I mean…”

“It was a great thing, Abdullah. It made us look like a bunch of great fools, dancing around the streets yelling Death to America, Death to Christians, Death to the Pope, Death, Death, Death. Death to everyone.”

“But Sheik, you said…”

 “While we are conducting scientific investigations of the highest order, showing the world our rational approach, turning the West’s technology back on it, demonstrating we are civilized people… while we are doing all that, you order our people into the streets… to act like asses.”

Abdullah looked around the table for support. Nobody met his eyes and they were slowly backing away. “But, Sheik, you must understand…”

“Shut up. Just shut up.” Hammid drew a large Colt revolver, cocked it, aimed squarely at Abdullah’s head, and said, “Traitor.” The shot was deafening in the confined room and took Abdullah in the jaw. He fell back, choking on his own blood, and Hammid walked over, aimed straight down at his head, and pulled the trigger a second time.

Nobody moved a muscle. Hammid slowly looked at each man in turn. “We do not act independently,” he said softly. “We do not act like some mob of idiots.” His voice rose a bit. “We act on orders, we act in a coordinated manner, inflicting the maximum damage on the enemy.” Now he enunciated each and every word and spat them at the nine living men. “We have no room for ego. None. We act for a cause far greater than any one man here. Is that understood?”

When nobody answered, he shouted the question again. “Is that understood?”

The room filled with a chorus of mumbled, “Yes, Sheik.”

“Good.” He pointed to Abdullah’s body. “Now remove that diseased dog from my sight.”

That went well, thought Hammid, and the Old Man would soon learn of it. At least Abdullah had died before he could reveal Hammid had given him the order to set the rioters loose. It was very close.

Dhahran - Thursday, May 7

He had a tentative plan for getting into the villa, but that didn’t mean it would work. Once he got in there, then what? The place was about ten thousand square feet spread over three floors, and he didn’t have a clue where the treaty was kept.

Callahan called Berrera from his apartment on the Aramco camp. “Where can we steal an ATV?”

“A what?”

You know… one of those four-wheel vehicles that can go anywhere. Like a motorcycle with four wheels.”

“Like a dune buggy?”

“Yeah.”

“Why do you want to steal one? Why not just go buy one?”

When he returned to camp later that afternoon, he hauled a brand new Honda ATV on an equally new trailer, and it was all probably destroying the transmission on the new Chevy that DuBois had let him use. He had spent about an hour putting the ATV through its paces near an abandoned drill site. The ATV would go anywhere, but the big problem was staying on it while it did.

With the guns, GPS, tactical radios, night vision goggles, and ATV he had everything they needed, everything except the information to make the mission succeed.

*     *     *

Eguardo lounged in the back seat on the way down the highway to Hammid’s villa. “So, Callahan, we’re going to jump on that thing we’re towing, drive up to Hammid’s house, look around, wave, pose for snapshots, and leave… all without getting shot?”

 “Yeah. Maybe he’ll invite us in.” Callahan laughed. “Really, we’ll park in a lot for beach users about five miles south, then take the ATV to about a half mile from Hammid’s villa. Then we go in on foot and use the night vision stuff to take a good look.”

“Do we know what kind of guards he has out there?” asked Berrera.

“No,” Callahan answered. “That’s what we find out tonight.”

“I hope someone somewhere is praying for us,” said Eguardo.

When they got to the parking lot, they all clicked their locations into their GPS units so they could find their way back, then they set off down the dark beach on the ATV, finding their way with the crisp green picture the night vision goggles gave.

Callahan drove the ATV into the scrub at the edge of the beach when the GPS showed him about half a mile from the villa. He didn’t have an exact position for the villa, and that was one of the things he would take care of tonight. They all clicked the Point Of Interest button so the GPS could lead them back to the ATV.

After an hour of slowly creeping through the small dunes, they covered the half mile to the villa without finding any sign of roving patrols or surveillance cameras. The security was either very good or very bad. Since they were still alive, Callahan guessed it was very bad.

The land rose to a ridgeline three hundred feet south of the house where they had a good view of the walled villa and the road leading up to it. A flat stretch of hard-packed sand ran from the ridge line to the house, with the only cover a pump house at the halfway point.

“There. On the left.” Eguardo tapped Callahan on the elbow. “Coming around the corner of the wall.”

Callahan focused his goggles and saw a single guard with an AK47 slung over his shoulder kicking stones in front of him as he slowly made his way along the west wall. When the guard turned the corner, Callahan clicked his watch and timed his progress down the south wall. At that pace, he would take ten minutes to kick the stone all the way around.

The wall was forty feet out from the house, and about ten feet high, too high for one man to jump to the top and pull himself over. They’d need two men, a ladder, or a rope. The rectangular house itself had a ground floor terrace, with balconies on the second and third floors. The sliding glass doors Berrera’s man had drawn for them were right where he said they were.

“Four cars and a van in the drive,” said Berrera. “Eight men? Ten?”

“Makes sense. So where are they?” Callahan moved east along the ridge until he could see the east side of the house, with its much larger second floor balcony overlooking the Gulf. Four men were out there. No, three men and one woman. And from the way one man’s hands were roving over her, he doubted she was a Saudi’s wife. They wouldn’t even let their wives be seen.

Callahan clicked the radio headset he wore. “Take a look down here. Three guys and one girl.” The balcony was well-lighted so Callahan snapped several telephoto shots of the four people. Even from a distance, he was sure one was Hammid Al Dossary himself.

“I’m coming,” Eguardo said in his earpiece. “Berrera’s going to stay in position.” When Eguardo slid next to Callahan, he focused his goggles on the balcony. “Whore,” said Eguardo. “Interesting.”

“Think there are more?” he asked Eguardo.

“Probably,” he said. “They usually work places like this in groups. Four or five. She’s Filipino, and she has a Filipino pimp who works for a Saudi somewhere. The other girls would be Filipino, too.” Eguardo clicked his mic and spat some fast Filipino at Berrera.

“You’re lucky, Callahan. I think we might have our inside man now. Or I guess inside woman.”

Berrera told him earlier he had learned the entire staff at the villa was Indian Muslim. That didn’t mean they supported terrorists, Berrera said, but it did mean they didn’t know who they could trust, so they couldn’t approach anyone.

Now the lone guard came walking back around the wall, still kicking stones in front of him, and still watching the stones instead of the surrounding area.

“Look at that wadi.” Eguardo pointed at the gully running north and south on the east side of the house. “That’s how we approach. It’s only thirty feet from the wadi to the corner of those walls.”

“We have to get out of here, Callahan. We have to get back to the car.”

“Why?”

“I bet the pimp is sitting in the van. He’ll take the girls back about 1:00 am. That’s how they usually do it. We need to follow the van, so we have to get the car up here.” Eguardo adjusted his goggles to detect any heat from the van. “I can’t see if he’s in there. I’ll be right back.”

Before Callahan could object, Eguardo took off down the ridgeline to the west. Callahan clicked his mic. “Where you going, Eguardo?”

“Just going to get a better look in that van,” Callahan heard in his earpiece. “That pimp is around here somewhere.”

“He’ll be Ok, Callahan. He moves like a ghost,” said Berrera’s calm voice in the earpiece.

Ten minutes later Eguardo was back. “I was right. He’s sleeping in the front seat of the van. That means the girls don’t stay here. They just bring them in at night. Get as many pictures of that girl as you can. High power telephoto. We need to find her.”

*     *     *

When the white van left just after midnight, Callahan let it go a quarter mile before turning on his headlights and following north on the road back to Khobar. He wasn’t sure how fast he could push the Impala with the ATV on the back, but the pimp stayed to the limit.

“They probably live in a dormitory somewhere,” Eguardo said from the backseat, “and this guy will drop them there. Then we locate the girl in the pictures.” He was paging through the digital pictures Callahan had taken. “These are good. We can find her.”

Callahan couldn’t help wondering how Eguardo knew so much about the prostitution business in Saudi Arabia. Another question he should let die.

When the van reached Khobar, it stopped outside a local hospital and the four women got out, all wearing white hospital uniforms. When the van pulled away they went down the street and into a dormitory for foreign female hospital employees, just like they were coming off a normal shift.