‘Those things you worry about are a long way off,’ Webster said. ‘It would take an enormous amount of time to turn a country like ours around from petroleum-based products to something else.’
‘Perhaps in your vision.’ Khalid looked out at the city again. ‘Not in mine. That future lies just round the corner. I have seen this future in my dreams. My father would never recognize that it exists.’
‘Maybe it would be better if we could talk again in a few days,’ Webster replied. ‘When your mind is more settled.’
Khalid faced him. ‘My mind is settled. I have not had myself crowned king today because I chose to wait for that honour until after my father’s and family’s murders are resolved. Then I will take my crown, and I will take my people. I will initiate a cleansing of my country. All those who live within our borders who do not live according to the rules of the Prophet will be driven out or killed. I will not be merciful or foolish as my father was. I know who my enemies are, and I will not suffer them to live in my kingdom.’
‘My God,’ Vicky whispered.
Webster noted the fear that had settled into his companions.
He rejoiced.
They would return to their hotel rooms and spread that fear to others among them who had money and investments in the Middle East. Panic would ensue. It wouldn’t just end with the collapse of confidence in the economic sectors in America and the Western world. It would also affect the military when the Pentagon realized how many of its soldiers and materials might be at risk. It looked like his timetable for the Middle East meltdown had just escalated.
‘How are you going to resolve your father’s murder?’ Webster asked.
‘I will find the Shia assassins responsible, and I will have them executed. I have military teams already closing in on the men behind that cowardly attack.’
Webster knew that was only because Colonel Anthony Eckart had left a false trail behind him leading to known Shia dissidents within Saudi Arabia. The frame would be believable. And in the end, who knew? Those Shia dissidents might even claim credit for killing the king and his family members.
Khalid focused on Webster. ‘There is another matter I would speak to you about. Perhaps you could help.’
‘Of course, if I can.’
Khalid nodded to one of his personal guards, who walked to another door and opened it. The guard led another man into the room. He was in his twenties. White gauze covered his left cheek and his right forearm. Scabs clung to recent lacerations all over his body. He walked with a limp.
‘Do you know this man?’ Khalid asked.
Webster made a show of looking at the man, but didn’t recognize him. ‘No. Am I supposed to?’
The man stood trembling, sucking in air and looking at the floor as if afraid to look anywhere else.
‘His name is Farok,’ Khalid said. ‘He came to me seeking asylum. He claims to have worked for your CIA.’
‘I wouldn’t know anything about that.’
Khalid smiled, but the expression was frosty and distant. ‘I suppose if it were true or false, you would deny it all the same.’
Webster didn’t bother to reply.
‘He insists that the CIA hired him and his friends to abduct a man from Ataturk International Airport only a few days ago. A man named Professor Thomas Lourds. Do you know that man?’
‘I know who he is, of course. That story of the attack on him has been in the news. The last I heard, Professor Lourds had been allowed to stay in Istanbul to pursue his studies.’
‘He has,’ Khalid commented. ‘This one managed to elude the police, but he brought back an interesting story. Would you like to hear it?’
Webster made himself remain calm. This wasn’t at all expected. ‘Of course, Your Excellency. If you think it’s of interest.’
‘This story is of interest.’ Khalid walked behind the trembling man and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. ‘This man went on to tell me that not only was he supposed to take this professor captive, but he was also supposed to find out if the professor was in possession of a document.’
‘A document?’
‘Yes, evidently something of historical significance regarding Istanbul’s religious history. Do you know anything about that?’
‘No,’ Webster lied. He throttled back his anger that somewhere there had been a leak. It had been ill-timed luck after all that the Joy Scroll had turned up at the same time he was making his move on the Middle East. Dawson should never have told anyone they were looking for a religious manuscript.
‘Perhaps,’ Khalid suggested in a neutral tone, ‘you could make enquiries when you have the time.’
‘Of course.’
‘Istanbul is an important city to my people’s history.’
‘And to mine.’
‘Muslims and Christians have warred there for centuries,’ Khalid acknowledged. ‘That city contains the histories of both our cultures, and any religious documentation would be of great interest to me.’
‘I understand.’
‘I have sent a contingent of warriors to Istanbul in hopes of securing that document.’
‘If it exists,’ Webster countered.
Khalid stepped back from the handcuffed man. ‘It is no secret to me that there are spies among my people. I know some of them belong to you. This man feared for his life, and he came to my father seeking absolution for his sins against us. Is this not true, Farok?’
‘Yes, my king.’
‘My father would have forgiven him and perhaps sought to find a way to use Farok to find out more of what the CIA wishes to know about my country.’
Vicky suddenly closed her hand over Webster’s. Her nails bit into his palm. ‘My God,’ she whispered, and turned her head away.
Evidently sensing what was about to come, the handcuffed man tried to turn round and duck at the same time. He raised his hands to defend himself. With a quick movement, Khalid whipped the sword from his back. He slashed sideways at the man standing in front of him. The blade cut through the prisoner’s hands and caught the man just under his jaw line. The keen edge passed cleanly through flesh and bone. Blood sprayed over Khalid and the window as severed fingers rained to the floor and wriggled. Crimson stained the prince’s thawb, ghutra, and face. He stood without flinching.
The decapitated man dropped to the floor and sprawled as he jerked through the final moments of his life.
Khalid knelt and cleaned his sword on the dead man’s clothing before returning the weapon to the sheath across his back. Then he stood and addressed Webster.
‘I am not my father,’ the prince said as blood trickled down his grim features. ‘I will not be betrayed. And this country will become strong in its faith in God. My enemies will not be forgiven or ignored.’ He stepped over the corpse. ‘Do you understand, Vice-President Webster?’
‘Of course.’ Webster had to work to sound shocked. He was surprised by Khalid’s personal bloodthirstiness, but that trait would only make his plans work out better.
However, the prince’s knowledge of the events in Istanbul could pose a problem there. But Webster reconciled himself with knowing Eckart and his men should be on the ground there now. The prince would be too late.
Thomas Lourds would be in Webster’s custody again soon.
15
Istanbul University
Beyazit Square
Istanbul, Turkey
19 March 2010
‘Do you know who the author of that book is?’
Despite his longer legs, Lourds struggled to keep pace with Olympia as she strode down the halls of the college where she taught history. Several students remained on campus for afternoon and evening classes. Conversations buzzed all round and bright laughter seemed counterpoint to the dark, anxious mood that had infected Olympia so suddenly and mysteriously.
‘No name was given.’
‘Any other names?’