Grishkov shook his head, and said, “I’m afraid to ask, but will. What was it?”
Vasilyev replied grimly, “A certain American hamburger restaurant.”
Grishkov stared and asked, “Not…”
Vasilyev nodded. “Yes, the one with ‘golden arches.’ I will not say its name.”
Grishkov shook his head, and said, “I can see why you were not pleased.”
Vasilyev scowled and said, “Yes, we already know who won the Cold War. Whoever at corporate headquarters decided on that particular location didn’t need to make the extra effort to underline the point. From time to time, though, I think we can remind the Americans that we are still in the game.”
Grishkov nodded, and then asked, “Do you really think this Shi’a cleric will tell us anything useful, or will this just be a waste of time?”
Vasilyev shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. My instincts, though, tell me that getting to the Eastern Province with the Saudi government’s blessing is the best we can hope for at this point. And besides — maybe we’ll be there in time to witness the attack!”
Grishkov choked on his black coffee, while Vasilyev laughed.
“I know, I know — we’re supposed to prevent the attack. Well, who knows?
We may just get lucky!”
Grishkov wiped his mouth with a napkin and glared at Vasilyev, who he could see was completely unrepentant. Well, he couldn’t really argue. What they needed most now was some good luck, and soon.
Chapter Nine
As they trudged towards the airport exit with bags in hand, Anatoly Grishkov saw a twinkle in Alexei Vasilyev’s eye. Sighing, he said, “OK, out with it. Another fascinating bit of trivia to share?”
Vasilyev laughed. “Well, yes, and I think this one will surprise you. Did you know that Dammam’s King Fahd Airport is the largest airport in the world?”
Grishkov snorted. “For once I know you’re wrong. I’ll bet even Sheremetyevo Airport is bigger, and I know that many airports in Europe are bigger than ours in Moscow.”
Vasilyev raised one eyebrow. “You’d like to bet? Very well, how much would you like to wager? Oh, and to settle the bet, I propose we rely on the Guinness Book of World Records.”
Grishkov sighed and shook his head. “You’ve forgotten my service in Chechnya. I know an ambush when I see one. So, explain how this could really be the world’s biggest airport.”
Vasilyev grinned and said, “With pleasure. It is indeed biggest in terms of land area officially deeded to the airport authority. In fact, in terms of sheer acreage it is larger than the country of Bahrain. Only a small fraction, though, is used for actual airport operations.”
Grishkov scowled. “So, it hardly counts then. Really, what’s the point of learning such trivia?”
Vasilyev’s grin now grew wider. “Ah, you still need training to think like an intelligence officer, which like it or not is what you’ve become. What question should you be asking now?”
After a brief pause, Grishkov asked thoughtfully, “Why did the Saudis deed so much land to the airport authority?”
Vasilyev punched Grishkov in the shoulder and nodded. “Exactly. To answer that question, you need to know that this airport was built in the 1990s to replace a much smaller one. We are here in the heart of the Eastern
Province, near Dhahran and Saudi Aramco headquarters, as well as their most important oil production operations. The Shi’a here have always been a security concern. So, now draw on your military and police background. If you had decided to build a new airport, what would you want?”
Grishkov grunted. “As much fenced and alarmed space between the airport and any potential attackers as I could get.”
Vasilyev nodded with satisfaction. “Just so. The fact that most of the land is desert with no other real use may have encouraged our Saudi friends to go a bit overboard, but from a security standpoint the result is quite impressive.
An attacking force of any size would stand no chance of approaching the airport without detection long before it could do any real damage.”
Grishkov nodded. “Helps to give you some idea of how the government thinks about the threat here. They really are worried, aren’t they?”
Vasilyev shrugged. “Well, I’d say we can hardly blame them.”
Grishkov scowled. “The Shi’a are even worse. I’m surprised you agreed to their terms for this meeting.”
Vasilyev nodded. “Yes, you are quite right. Ordinarily I would never agree to allow the subject of the investigation to provide the car and driver that will take us to meet him. Too likely to be a one-way trip. This time, though, there was no choice. We must get information on the coming attack, and quickly.”
As sliding glass doors opened in front of them, Grishkov jerked his head wordlessly toward a car idling near the entrance. Its driver was staring straight ahead.
Vasilyev smiled. “And why this car?”
Grishkov’s head swiveled back and forth as he observed the surroundings outside the airport terminal.
“Because it contains the only driver who didn’t look right at us when we exited. I think we’re a bit noticeable.”
Nodding, Vasilyev walked up to the open passenger-side window and asked in Arabic, “Who are you supposed to take us to meet?”
Now the driver slowly turned towards Vasilyev. “Ayatollah Sheikh Massoud al-Ahmadi.”
Vasilyev opened the rear passenger door and gestured for Grishkov to enter, which he did with the same degree of enthusiasm Vasilyev remembered from his last dental visit.
Vasilyev pushed away the smile the comparison brought to his lips, not wanting to explain it to Grishkov in front of the driver, and entered behind him. As soon as they were both seated, the car moved forward.
Once they left the airport terminal the driver made a right turn, and then settled into a broad, multi-lane road.
Vasilyev turned to Grishkov and said, “This is King Fahd Road. In about thirty kilometers we’ll get to Qatif via Route 605, followed by Route 617.”
Grishkov simply nodded, since he knew Vasilyev was just demonstrating situational awareness to their driver, who appeared to be paying no attention.
Nevertheless, Grishkov would have cheerfully bet a month’s pay that the man had listened carefully to every word.
With little in the harshly lit desert landscape to attract his attention and conversation on any matter of importance in earshot of the driver out of the question, Grishkov’s thoughts turned to names. King Fahd Airport. King Fahd Road. Now that he thought about it, the massive structure connecting Saudi Arabia with Bahrain was called King Fahd Causeway.
Well, Grishkov thought shaking his head, no Russian could really criticize the Saudis. Leningrad, Stalingrad- they had renamed entire cities for their leaders, even while they were still alive. It was fair enough that the Saudis had named several important landmarks after one of their kings following his death.
Bored with both his thoughts and the passing scenery, Grishkov realized that while they couldn’t discuss their mission in front of the driver, he was unlikely to be interested in a foreigner’s past experiences in the Kingdom. So, he asked Vasilyev, “What is your most vivid memory of your past trips here?”
“Well, to Dhahran specifically I would say a trip I took from Riyadh by train. The only difference between second class and first class, where I was, that I could see was we had a TV. During the entire trip the only muted program playing was American professional wrestling starring someone named ‘Hulk Hogan’ which everyone watched in complete silence.” Vasilyev shrugged. “Of course, back then there were no cell phones or laptops.”