The Scorpion's Gate (26 page)
Security Center of the Republic
Riyadh, Islamyah
“
Y
ou were the one who told me we could not trust the Chinese to be here,” Abdullah bin Rashid said, “and now you want me to trust the Americans?”
Y
ou were the one who told me we could not trust the Chinese to be here,” Abdullah bin Rashid said, “and now you want me to trust the Americans?”
“Not all the Americans. Some of them. They are not all imperial warmongers. Many of them are like the Canadians,” Ahmed tried. His brother looked at him, unconvinced, but he continued. “My point is just that we do not want them acting against us based on false assumptions about whether we have nuclear weapons or not. And there are some Americans whom I think we can talk to.”
Abdullah picked up a folder and handed it to Ahmed. “Read this. A pack of lies. It’s a summary of the American media reaction to the crash of their Navy plane off Kuwait. It’s full of speculation that we shot it down.”
“Did we?” Ahmed asked, scanning the papers.
Abdullah paused, irritated at the question. Finally he replied, “No. No, we did not. Our radar showed nothing near the aircraft and no missile fired at it.”
Ahmed passed the folder back to his brother. “So it just blew itself up in midair?”
“So it seems, Ahmed. First they try to blame us for the attack on their Navy base in Bahrain—which you prevented! Now they try to blame us when one of their aircraft blows itself up. They are looking for an excuse, Ahmed, can’t you see it?” Abdullah walked back behind his desk.
Ahmed placed his palms down on the other side of the desk. “What I see, brother, is a need to calm things down, to open a channel with the Americans so that we can prevent misunderstandings like these.”
Abdullah gathered up files from the desktop. “You want to see what I’m dealing with? How hard it is to convince my fellow members of the Shura that we should be moderate? Come with me, now. The Council is meeting here today. Because they think we need to meet in a highly secure location. The public cannot attend, but you can attend as my aide.”
Ahmed bin Rashid followed his brother, the Director of Security of Islamyah, down corridors to a small conference center within the former palace. The room was filled with men in white robes, many with long beards, loudly chattering in small groups before the meeting. In the middle of the room was a large oval-shaped table with a microphone at each place. Abdullah pointed out the Interim President of the Republic, Zubair bin Tayer, a cleric who had spent most of the previous decade in Damascus, Tehran, and London. Bin Tayer was moving to the seat from which he would chair the meeting.
Electronic bells sounded in the room. “In the name of Allah, the most merciful, the most compassionate . . .” bin Tayer started to pray into a microphone. The prayer continued for several minutes and was followed by three readings from the Holy Koran. As soon as bin Tayer stopped and was seated, a man on his right began reading a resolution. Ahmed finally determined that the subject was the appropriate punishment for a group of college students who had been detained by religious police for protesting against the extension of the religious law, the Sharia. The punishment was to be public flogging in a square in Riyadh.
“Does the Shura concur?” the man on bin Tayer’s left droned into his microphone.
Abdullah leaned forward and touched a button below his microphone, causing a green light to come on in front of him. “The religious police are supposed to enforce religious practices, not to enforce the civil law.” The room went still. Abdullah continued, “I am in charge of law enforcement and security, by decision of this Shura, not the Ministry of Religious Affairs. Publicly dissenting from proposals before the Shura, including those having to do with Sharia law, is not a violation of our religious practices.” A chorus of voices disagreed. “These men did nothing to warrant their arrest, let alone their flogging,” Abdullah concluded, and he hit his microphone button again to shut it off.
The chorus of disagreement grew louder. A man in cleric’s robes across the table repeatedly pounded on his microphone button. “So what does the director of security propose we should do with these boys who have done
haram,
prohibited acts? Give them sweets?”
haram,
prohibited acts? Give them sweets?”
Abdullah straightened in his chair and slowly leaned forward to press his microphone. “It is not what I propose, it is what I have done. In the rightful exercise of my legal authority, I have released citizens who were being illegally held, citizens who had violated no law.” The room erupted. Ahmed was pleased to see that his brother had supporters who could also scream and point their fingers, wave their arms in the air.
Bin Tayer hit his microphone button and began to speak. “Minister Rashid. Why do you think we fought this revolution, to let the decadence continue that the al Sauds did in private and overseas? To allow anyone to pretend to be a Koranic scholar? To allow Muslims in other lands to practice deviant strains of Islam? To give power to the infidel kafirs and to women? No, it is the mission of government to end such
jahiliyah,
such ignorance. Those who violate the laws must be punished!” More commotion followed.
jahiliyah,
such ignorance. Those who violate the laws must be punished!” More commotion followed.
Finally, Abdullah responded. “First, Zubair, I did not notice that you did fight at all.” Cries of outrage followed.
“Munafiqeen!”
“Munafiqeen!”
Over it all, Abdullah continued, “Second, those of us who did fight did so to change our country, not to impose something on others elsewhere. Third, it is not the job of
hakimiyah,
of those in governance, to force Salafism or any other school of thought on our own people. The Prophet Muhammad, blessings and peace be upon him, accepted the Jews and the followers of Jesus as children of Abraham. For centuries, Muslims have chosen their own paths. Some choose to be
murtadeen
and live a secular life, but very few choose the ways of Taymiyyah or Wahhab, or the Salafists. We who fought did not do so to change the ninety percent of our Muslim brothers who disagree with you, Zubair.”
hakimiyah,
of those in governance, to force Salafism or any other school of thought on our own people. The Prophet Muhammad, blessings and peace be upon him, accepted the Jews and the followers of Jesus as children of Abraham. For centuries, Muslims have chosen their own paths. Some choose to be
murtadeen
and live a secular life, but very few choose the ways of Taymiyyah or Wahhab, or the Salafists. We who fought did not do so to change the ninety percent of our Muslim brothers who disagree with you, Zubair.”
Abdullah shifted his body, showing his back to Zubair bin Tayer as he appealed to the others on the Shura. “It is the duty of a country to develop its people’s full potential, and to allow the smartest to build for the rest of us. So we should, as the government, be promoting education in the sciences, in medicine and mathematics. These are not un-Islamic studies. These are things that Islamic scholars created and promoted centuries ago at the height of our power. This is what we should be doing, not flogging students, not punishing acts which are halal.”
After an hour of highly agitated and excited debate, the Shura Council of the Republic of Islamyah adjourned without taking any action. Abdullah left the chamber quickly by a side door near his seat. Ahmed stuck to his side. “I am proud of you, brother,” Ahmed said when they slowed down in a corridor leading back to the director’s office.
“Now do you see why the sessions are not televised, as you proposed?” Abdullah laughed.
“No, all the more reason why they should be. The people would not stand for it. The people would support you against these Neanderthals,” Ahmed urged.
Back in the office, the brothers were joined by six of Abdullah’s supporters from the Shura. “Are you happy now, my friends?” he asked them.
“It was the right issue to pick, Abdullah. It makes it clear to the people that this is not a struggle about religion, but about its place in our government,” Ghassan bin Khamis said, patting Abdullah on the shoulder. Ghassan had been with Abdullah in exile in Yemen and was now head of one of his intelligence units.
“It is a struggle about whether we are part of the modern world,” Hakim bin Awad objected. “Modern states do not flog people. And people have a right to say what they think about laws. That’s why we overthrew the al Sauds, because they locked us up when we expressed ourselves against the things they were doing.”
“Ghassan, Hakim, you are both right. We did not fight to become the al Sauds—at least I didn’t,” Abdullah said, throwing himself down on one of the four couches that formed a semicircle in his office. He adjusted his robes. “I fought so that this country could breathe again, the way it did when our grandfathers were free in the desert. And so that it could be the people’s country, its own country, not some privately held company, part of some British or American network. Democracy our way.”
Ahmed was stunned. He had never heard his brother so articulate, so passionate, and so much in agreement with what Ahmed himself believed.
“We also need to lead the Arab world back to the leadership it once had in the arts, sciences, medicine, mathematics,” Abdullah said, looking across at his brother. “We have lost all that. We have closed the minds of our people.” Ahmed smiled, remembering the Arab Development Report he had left with his brother.
“This is all about the Wahhabist clerics trying to do now what even the al Sauds would not do,” Hakim added.
“Let me tell you about Wahhabism,” Abdullah replied. “They won’t even use that phrase, you know, but they say it is the natural way of Islam. Ninety percent of Islam rejects Wahhabism. Muslims who live here should be able to do so as well, if they choose. Our government should not be telling citizens which of the Muslim scholars are right and wrong on interpreting the Holy Koran or the Hadith.”
“If you say that out there, they will try to have you killed,” Ghassan cautioned. “Bin Tayer fears that you will run against him when we have the elections. That is why he keeps postponing, why his people say only the righteous should be allowed to vote. You are in danger, Abdullah.”
“The Corps of Protectors is solidly behind you, Sheik.” It was General Khalid, the commander of the united force that was made up of what had been both the Saudi army and the national guard.
“Maybe your men are behind him, but half your weapons don’t work anymore. And they are bringing in more Chinese. And how do we know they will keep the Chinese in the desert with the missiles?” Ghassan shot back.
Abdullah turned quickly. “What’s this, Ghassan? More Chinese?”
“I haven’t had time to tell you yet, Abdullah. My men have confirmed that there are preparations at ports in both the Gulf and the Red Sea, preparations to offload and billet more Chinese. Others will be flying in. This is no troop rotation. These are more.”
Abdullah stroked his short beard. “The Shura has not approved this. Why do we need more?”
Ahmed, who had sat back listening to the exchange, now leaned in. “Maybe to protect nuclear weapons?”
“No,” Abdullah said emphatically. “We have not agreed to request nuclear warheads for the missiles.”
“Maybe bin Tayer has, behind the back of the Shura,” Hakim wondered aloud.
“No,” Abdullah repeated. Then he turned to General Khalid. “Find out.”
The Ritz-Carlton Hotel
Dubai,
United Arab Emirates
United Arab Emirates
“
A
re you Russell MacInytre?” A young man with a British accent was approaching the taxi.
A
re you Russell MacInytre?” A young man with a British accent was approaching the taxi.
MacIntyre paid the driver and turned. “Who the hell are you?” “So sorry, sir,” the young man said, presenting a business card.
“Clive Norman, British Consulate. I am from the Exchanges Office.” “Look, I have an appointment here,” MacIntyre said, brushing past. “With Admiral Adams. Yes, I know, sir. There’s been a change in
plans and he’d like you to join him at one of our facilities nearby.”
plans and he’d like you to join him at one of our facilities nearby.”
MacIntyre examined the business card and looked at what was undoubtedly a young Brit. He doubted that he was looking at a terrorist or kidnapper. “We have a consulate car and driver here, sir, if you’d please . . .” Norman pointed at a Jaguar with diplomatic plates parked down the drive. “The admiral said you could telephone him to verify.”
MacIntyre was unsure but said, “All right. Let’s go.” The car drove a short distance and pulled up to a gate with two uniformed guards from one of the many Dubai security firms. Inside the compound, the car stopped in front of a large domed villa, one of the shining, oversized homes that lined the beach.
Clive Norman led the way up the stairs and into the high-arched marble foyer. MacIntyre could see through to the glass doors in the
back and the Gulf beyond. He was still unsure of what was going on. “They are dining on the patio in back, sir. Please go right ahead through.”
back and the Gulf beyond. He was still unsure of what was going on. “They are dining on the patio in back, sir. Please go right ahead through.”
MacIntyre walked ahead and pressed open the door to the outside. “Rusty, over here!” It was Brian Douglas. He was bald, there were bags under his eyes, and his nose looked to be a different color from the rest of his face. His polo shirt was too tight...but it was Brian Douglas.
“I believe you know of Admiral Adams.”
MacIntyre shook hands with the Navy officer and turned to Douglas. “It’s good to see you. Both of you, actually. There was a time last night when I thought I would never see either of you, ever.”
“Yes, sorry I stood you up. There were... complications, but I’m here. And I just got off the secure line with Sir Dennis, who has authorized me to brief both of you on what I found out. On condition that you not report on it, yet. You’ll see why.”
“Gentlemen, your lunch is served,” Clive Norman said from a table nearby. “I will leave you alone, sir, but buzz if you need anything.”
Almost an hour later, Norman responded to a buzz by bringing more coffee.
“I know the position it puts both of you in, considering it is your government, or part of it, that seems to be involved,” Douglas said, pouring. “But is it really so hard to believe?”
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