Keys to the Kingdom (30 page)

Worley began his story at the beginning. He explained his sighting of Gallagher and his trip to London adding the fact that Burfield had confirmation that Gallagher was in Belgium trying to buy explosives. He then moved on to Rosinski and the Princess ending with the meeting in the Intercontinental and the death of Princess Nadia. As he spoke he watched Ellis. The Foreign Office man fiddled constantly with his Montblanc pen placing it vertically on the table and running his fingers from top to bottom before turning it through one hundred and eighty degree and repeating the process. He had long ago recognised this habit as Ellis in deep concentration.

‘So you see, Peter,’ he concluded. ‘They used Prince Kareem to set up the Majlis and Gallagher is going to be lying in wait to assassinate the King. Somehow we’ve got to get the King to cancel the Majlis.’

‘My Lord,’ Ellis said pinching his narrow nose. ‘Real cloak and dagger stuff. And you’re sure of this intelligence?’ He watched Worley’s face for the nod of assent. ‘I see.’ Ellis was weighing up his options. This was the kind of situation that could make or break a career. If Worley’s information was correct and he managed to stop the majlis, he would be a star. But that was only if Worley’s information proved correct. If, on the other hand, he embarrassed Her Majesty’s Government by making strenuous efforts to stop the majlis and Worley proved to be incorrect, then his career would be forever blighted. The third option was to do nothing. This was the option that Ellis found immediately attractive. Ambassadorships were not handed out on star quality but on one’s ability to steer a middle course.

Ellis turned towards Rosinski. ‘And what do our Atlantic friends think?’

She shuffled uneasily on her seat. ‘Clark and I don’t exactly see eye to eye on this one.’

‘I see,’ Ellis said continuing to play with his Montblanc. ‘I take that to mean that they do not exactly give credence to your intelligence.’

Rosinski wanted to punch the pompous prick behind the desk. She had dealt with the same type of guys in the State Department.  They were the product of privilege, the right school followed by the right College and membership of some male secret society. Maybe there was a factory somewhere cloning these people. Ellis was not going to help them. He was the kind of guy who needed comfort from another source to make the decision to go to the toilet. She took a deep breath.

‘Mr Ellis,’ she began. ‘If you don’t take some action there’s going to be an assassination attempt on the King today. If that attempt succeeds, the chaos we’ve seen in Saudi over the past month or so is a picnic in comparison to what’s ahead. You guys have the biggest military contracts with the present regime. Now maybe the new regime will continue that arrangement but maybe they won’t. Great Britain stands to lose a great deal. Cancelling the majlis is no big deal. Get them to move the location, change the time. Whatever. But stop the majlis from going ahead at the Al Hokm Palace at four o’clock to-day.’

‘Miss Rosinski,’ Ellis had made his mind up. The risks outweighed the rewards. He now knew how Pontius Pilate felt. It was time to call for the bowl of water for the hand washing exercise. ‘Please put yourself in my position. Even if I were to make the most strenuous efforts to convince our Saudi hosts to re-arrange the King’s majlis, it is very unlikely that they would listen to me. Prince Kareem carries a lot of weight with the Crown Prince and in attempting to get to the Crown Prince I would perhaps even have to pass through Kareem. Given that the chance of success is unlikely and given that this would expose the United Kingdom to a future charge of interfering in the internal affairs of Saudi Arabia, I am afraid that even if your intelligence is correct, I am unable to help. We must simply hope that this assassination attempt ends like so many others in hot air and incompetence.’

‘You don’t know Patrick Gallagher,’ Worley said sharply. He could see that they were wasting their time with Ellis. One couldn’t blame him. It would take a particularly perceptive and brave civil servant to make the level of noise necessary to disrupt the King’s majlis. Peter Ellis had neither of those qualities.

‘Arthur, I am genuinely sorry but I really don’t see how I can involve Her Majesty’s Government in an internal Saudi matter. On the other hand, I really do think that we should make the most strenuous efforts to apprehend this Gallagher fellow. I will contact the Saudi Foreign Ministry this morning requesting that he be located and prepared for extradition.’

‘That’s it?’ Rosinski said angrily. ‘A verbal note to the Saudi ministry requesting very politely that they look for Gallagher. This country is about to disappear up its own ass. A group of fundamentalist bigots want to send this country further into the Middle Ages. Don’t tell me that everybody is going to stand back and watch them do it.’ She owed the Princess more than that.

‘I think, Miss Rosinski,’ Ellis’ beady eyes stared at her. ‘That there is some confusion in your mind between Her Britannic Majesty’s Government and Batman and Robin. Unlike our American cousins we do not view ourselves as the world’s policeman. If the regime in Saudi Arabia were to change tomorrow, the Foreign Office would decide how Britain would respond to that change. However, we would have no hand in the internal affairs of a sovereign nation. You’ve probably had the same message from your own State Department, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.’

‘That’s bullshit and you know it,’ Rosinski was on the edge of her chair. ‘You people have put the stamp of approval on every ruler in the Gulf for the past ninety years. These people don’t even fart unless they have your, or our, okay. So don’t give me that non-interventionist crap.’ She stood up and stared down at Ellis. ‘A brave woman died last night because she tried to stop something that she believed to be wrong. Whatever happens today, you’re going to bear some responsibility unless you help to avert it.’

Ellis opened his hand in an expansive gesture. ‘My hands are tied. I will, of course, pass this information to London and if they instruct me to carry out any action then I will undoubtedly comply. More than that I cannot do in good conscience.’

‘I’m out of here,’ Rosinski said wheeling around and heading for the door.

‘Sorry,’ Ellis threw up his eyes and looked at Worley. ‘I never thought spying was a suitable sport for women, too damn emotional. And Arthur, careful how you go on this one. A diplomatic incident is totally out of the question.’

Worley left the room without a word.

He caught up with Rosinski before she had reached the front door of the embassy.

‘What did you expect?’ he said falling into step beside her. He pulled back on her arm to slow her down. He could see from her face that she was close to tears.

‘Something, anything.’

They passed through the front door and out into the warm sunshine.

‘It’s over,’ Worley said.

Her pace had slacked and they walked calmly across the green lawns still wet from their early morning watering.

‘I know it’s difficult to accept,’ he continued. ‘And I know the way you feel about Princess Nadia. But there’s nothing more that we can do.’

‘If we found Gallagher then maybe we could stop him,’ she said. The anger she had felt in Ellis’ office had evaporated. Her shoulders slumped.

‘That’s a pretty big ‘if’. We’re both intelligence agents. Even if we could find Gallagher, how could we stop him?’

‘Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it,’ Rosinski said. They stopped under a tree on the lawn. ‘You know what they say about it not being over until the fat lady sings. I’ll never be able to live with myself unless I give it everything. The Princess told us the who and the where. We know it will happen at the majlis. So maybe Gallagher will be in the crowd in the main square. Maybe he’ll shoot from a window in one of the surrounding buildings. If we knew where he was going to fire from, maybe we could stop him. Let’s go and look at some maps of the area.’

CHAPTER 41

Every nerve end in Abbas’ body was tingling. In only a few hours he would complete his destiny. One chapter of his life would close and another would open. He had been thoroughly searched by the National Guardsmen at the gate of the Palace. They had found nothing and he had maintained the subservient demeanour that Nasrullah had insisted that he follow. How could someone as weak and servile as he pose any threat to the Royal Family? He sat in his room wishing the time away. His fingers played lovingly with the remote control. One push on the top of the pen and a radio signal would fly instantly to the detonator. A second later the air would be sucked out of the Majlis and every moveable object would fly towards the King and the Princes. The ones that were not killed by the blast would be torn to pieces by the flying masonry and other assorted objects. The Al-Hokm Palace and everybody in it would disappear in a cloud of dust. Should the remote control fail, Abbas himself would detonate the bomb. There was only hours to go before he would enjoy the fruits of his martyrdom in Paradise.

‘It’s got to be somewhere within a kilometre of the entrance to the Al Hokm,’ Worley poured over the map. There was a very high density of high-rise buildings in downtown Riyadh. To the south of the Al Hokm was the one or two story Al Dirah souk. So they could concentrate their attention on the North, East and West giving them just too much bloody ground to cover.

‘Time’s running out,’ Rosinski could feel her heart pounding. She wanted so badly to do something but there appeared to be no way they could stop Kareem and Gallagher. ‘There’s nothing much we can do here. Let’s get downtown and see if we can spot anything out of the ordinary.’

‘And how exactly are we going to travel. You and I are not husband and wife and if the mutawain were to run across us together there would be hell to pay.’

‘I’ve still got my wedding ring,’ she saw the smile on his face. ‘A souvenir, I’ll get all covered up and I’ll tag along two paces behind you. We both have diplomatic passports so what can the geeks with the big sticks do to us.’

‘The geeks with the sticks as you so aptly put it are not trained to recognise diplomatic passports but they can distinguish every kind of sin known to man and the greatest sin in their book is for a man and a woman who are not married to be together.’ He wanted to dissuade her from going into the centre of Riyadh but he knew that was their only option. ‘Why don’t I go? It’s safer.’

‘No way,’ she bristled. ‘There’s no way that you could cover the ground. There must be more than forty potential sites from which a man could fire a weapon. Two of us operating together stand twice the chance of nailing this guy. And anyway, this is one bit of fun I’m not going to miss.’

Worley removed a picture of Gallagher from his inside pocket. ‘Patrick Joseph Gallagher,’ he said showing her the photo. ‘You should at least know who you’re looking for. I’ll try to get us a car,’ he looked at her. ‘You need to get properly dressed and I’ll meet you at your apartment.’

Rosinski was standing at the door of her apartment when Worley arrived. ‘Where the hell have you been? We haven’t exactly got all day.’

‘Relax,’ Worley said. ‘We’ve got transport so at least one hassle is out of the way. Our next problem will be to get past the mutawain at the gates of the compound.’

Rosinski was wearing her most chaste outfit, a thick long dark blue dress that might have looked good on Demis Roussos, but certainly was not her. A large floral headscarf covered her curly hair and the whole ensemble was topped off with an all-encompassing black abaya.

‘You think I’ll pass muster?’ she asked standing in front of Worley.

‘You don’t have to do this,’ he said. ‘It’s probably useless anyway so why should you put yourself at risk.’ He could see from her face that her mind was made up. ‘Let’s get on with it then.’

It was ironic but getting out of the diplomatic compound would be as dangerous as wandering around downtown together. The gate to the compound was policed and there was a member of the Committee for the Protection of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice on constant duty. The perception, of the Saudi in the street, of foreign diplomats was of a group of drunken fornicating sinners.

Worley had managed to borrow one of the embassy’s Mercedes. He sat in the front while Rosinski lay on the floor at the rear covered by a grey blanket. They passed through the control at the gate of the compound with the minimum of scrutiny from the guard and the mutawain. When they turned on to the Al Malice Khaled Road, Rosinski rose from underneath the blanket. For the next few hours she was going to be Mrs Worley if they were stopped and questioned.

Gallagher was dressed in the uniform of a colonel in the Presidential Guard as he made his way with the rest of the faithful across the main square and into the Great Mosque. He was not exactly nervous but neither was he totally cool. A little apprehension improved performance. He had seen men puke their guts up before heading out on an operation. That wasn’t his way. He glanced around the square as he crossed the open space to the mosque. The whole of the Al Dirah area had been cordoned off by the National Guard but the atmosphere was not as tense as he had anticipated. He had been stopped twice during his walk from the safe house to the main square. The RPG and the rockets had already been placed. He glanced at his watch. It was a half past three. He had fifteen minutes to pray and then there was the last phase of the operation to complete. This was where it had begun for Abdul Aziz, the father of the Saudi dynasty, and this was where it would end for his progeny.

Worley and Rosinski were forced to park their car close to a police barrier at the junction of the Al Malek Fahed Road and Al Imam Turki Ibn Abdullah Ibn Mhd Street. Although the police were stopping all traffic, pedestrians were permitted to make their way towards the Great Mosque. Worley looked at his watch. It was three forty. They had only thirty-five minutes to locate Gallagher. It was bloody impossible.

‘Where to now?’ Rosinski asked as they made their way along Al Imam Turki in the direction of the Al Hokm.

Worley glanced ahead at the Old Clock Tower and the other buildings surrounding the Main Square. Gallagher could be anywhere.

‘Wherever he is, he has to have a clear field of view to the entrance of the Al Hokm,’ he said. ‘Once the King and his entourage are inside the Palace there’s little or no chance of getting a shot at him.’ He looked upwards at the buildings surrounding the square. If this were a film, he would see the glint of the weapon in the fierce Saudi sun. But there was nothing except the relief of concrete against a completely clear blue sky. He knew that there would be National Guardsmen on the high ground. How the hell was Gallagher planning the assassination?

They entered the Main Square and Rosinski saw the men streaming out of the Great Mosque to her left. Being a woman and an infidel, she had never been inside the building, one of the biggest and oldest in central Riyadh. The twin minarets climbed skywards from the corners of the long flat building. The sense of apprehension in the all male crowd was almost palpable. They exited from the mosque in animated groups gesticulating and arguing in typical Bedouin fashion. A line of National Guardsmen deflected those who tried to move north in the direction of the Al Hokm. The fact that the King was holding a Majlis in the Al Hokm Palace had been common knowledge in Riyadh for at least twelve hours. In a tribal society such as Saudi Arabia, it was impossible to keep the existence of such meetings secret. Many in the crowd streaming from the mosque stood in the heat behind the lines of Guardsmen waiting for a glimpse of the King and the other senior members of the Royal Family.

Not for the first time Worley asked himself what the hell he hoped to achieve. It was almost a quarter to four and he still had no idea where Gallagher’s sniping position might be. He was beginning to sweat profusely and his head felt light. He moved against the tide of people only vaguely aware that Rosinski was walking in his wake. He needed the shade of the portals at the side of the mosque and he needed it badly.

Patrick Gallagher had reached the parapet near the top of the minaret closest to the Al Hokm. The RPG had been placed by one of Kareem’s men two days previously. Directly above Gallagher’s head were the loudspeakers through which the muzzaheddin called the Faithful to prayer. The sound from the speakers at the Great Mosque in Riyadh was loud enough to wake the dead. He removed the RPG from its box. A glance at his watch told him that he still had a fifteen-minute wait. It was time to prepare the rocket launcher. He removed the cardboard container from the box and screwed it to the missile. The long cylindrical body of the OG-7 glistened in the strong sunlight. The RPG was in its folded position so he slipped the two sections of the tube over each other and locked them into position. He then inserted the missile into the muzzle of the launcher with the small projection mating with the notch in the muzzle to line up the cap with the percussion hammer. He removed the nosecap but left the safety pin in position. The launcher was now ready for firing. He moved to the edge of the parapet and looked across the crowd gathering in Justice Square. The Al Hokm was barely two hundred metres away and the room where the majlis would be held was clearly visible from Gallagher’s position. It was nearly finished. He smiled with satisfaction. He had managed to bring the Saudi state almost to its knees. He took in a deep breath of the hot desert air and then moved back to where he had laid the launcher. He slid to the ground with his back against the wall of the minaret.

They’d failed. Rosinski could feel the knot of frustration in her stomach. It was Kuwait all over again. At the time, nobody at Langley believed that Saddam Hussein was really going to invade. In just a few minutes the King of Saudi Arabia was going to be assassinated and she had failed totally to convince either her ex-employer or the British that it was going to happen. She and Worley stood together under the arch at the front of the mosque. A large crowd had already gathered in the square and chanting had begun in some sections of the crowd. Things were beginning to look ugly. There was an increasing tension in the air and Rosinski was beginning to smell a riot. Maybe Kareem and his friends weren’t on the fringe after all. Maybe they’d plugged into a feeling that was held by the majority of the people. Suddenly Rosinski was aware of eyes staring at her and a shiver ran down her spine. Being back in cold, shitty and dangerous Chicago began to look very attractive. If things went crazy down here, it was not going to be a good thing to be a white woman in the middle of it.

Worley was watching the crowd. The mood was on a knife-edge. They would either cheer like crazy fools at the appearance of the Al Sauds or they would tear them to pieces. He could feel the sweat running down the back of his neck. ‘You damn stupid fool,’ Worley said out loud. It had been staring him in the face all along.

What?’ Rosinski said moving close to him. She could see the excitement in his face.

‘He’s here in the mosque,’ Worley said breathlessly. The crowd began to cheer as the first of a series of dark limousines pulled into Al Ferayan Street. ‘The ‘breast of Allah’ is the Great Mosque. The Bedouin like to talk in similes. We should have listened more closely to what the Princess was saying. She was an educated Lebanese. She was simply repeating a conversation between her husband, Gallagher and the co-conspirators. They would naturally speak as Bedouins.’

Rosinski looked at her watch. ‘Shit, it’s almost four o’clock. We’ll never stop him.’

‘It’s not we this time, I’m afraid,’ Worley started towards the entrance of the mosque. ‘No women allowed.’

Rosinski held him back. She knew that he was right. There would be a minor riot if she tried to enter the mosque. She slipped her hand beneath her abaya and brought out a small pistol.

‘Take this,’ she said thrusting the gun quickly into Worley’s hand. ‘I suppose you know how to use it. Don’t forget Gallagher is no schoolboy.’

He took the gun without thinking. He had never fired a weapon in anger although he had attended a weapons training course. He turned and ran towards the entrance to the mosque.

Abbas watched the arrival of the Princes from a window in the Al Hokm. Some he recognised from photographs Nasrullah had shown him. He had seen the Crown Prince and the Governor of Riyadh. The crowd beneath him had stirred at the arrival of the Crown Prince. The Royal Family was gathering together in the Majlis below. The great conclave would begin as soon as the King arrived. It was time for Abbas to take his station. His instructions were quite clear. The detonator button was only to be pressed as the first rocket struck the building. A thrill of excitement ran through him as he moved towards the position he had chosen. Soon he would be in Paradise enjoying the fruits that Allah had promised him.

Gallagher watched the arrival of the Al Sauds dispassionately. These were men who would die in a matter of minutes but he felt no sorrow for them. A fleet of cars deposited the progeny of Abdul Aziz at the doors of the Al Hokm. They arrived singly and in twos making their way dutifully into the Palace that he would turn into their tomb. He wondered how Leila had felt when she had heard the sound of the approaching French Legionaries. Had she known that she and their unborn son were about to die? The men beneath him had no idea of their fate. All the billions of dollars that they had squirreled away in European and American banks would be of little use to them. The grandiose palaces that had been built in Saudi and abroad would never house them again. The crowd below surged as a large limousine deposited the King at the entrance to the Al Hokm. He walked through the large gates ignoring the shouting of the crowd, as he went. He picked up the rocket launcher. It was almost show time.