“He’s carrying his fifty years really well.” Justin flipped through a few documents Matthew had pushed toward him. They contained the Prince’s personal information, which read like a long resume.
“Good health is just one of the privileges of a few billion dollars,” Matthew replied.
“What’s this?” Carrie pointed at one of the aerial photos.
She could tell it was a large complex of buildings, made up of three interconnected wings that formed a large Y-shaped structure. It was most likely a house, since Carrie could make out a large swimming pool and what seemed like a huge garage and a stable at a distance from the main building. Her question was about the location of the complex.
“That’s Prince’s sixty-five thousand square feet mansion in the outskirts of Riyadh.” Matthew paused for a brief second and added quickly, “But that’s not our point of attack.”
“Attack?” Justin and Carrie gasped.
Matthew offered a justifying head tilt and a resigning hand gesture.
“Well, maybe ‘attack’ is a strong word. I meant to say a ‘raid.’ Hmmm, a ‘search.’ Hopefully, we can find some irrefutable evidence about his involvement in Nour’s shooting and the plot against Libya’s Prime Minister. But this search can’t take place at his mansion. It’s extremely well-protected.”
“His main office?” Justin asked.
“Well, his main office is in his yacht, this humongous floating fortress that never docks in the same port more than twenty-four hours. It’s named ‘Arabia’ and it’s a two hundred and seventy-feet long beauty. Like his mansion, it’s heavily guarded at all times. And we can’t deploy a large team. Well, basically, this is the team.” He motioned toward the two agents sitting across the table.
Carrie frowned. “Let me get this straight. You want the two of us to raid the Prince’s fortress and get killed while trying?”
Matthew grinned. “Of course not. I said his usual strongholds are unassailable. We’ll try to breach the Prince’s security where he’s most vulnerable, given our limited resources.”
“Pathetic, not limited, was the first term that came to mind,” Carrie blurted.
Matthew frowned. Carrie just shrugged.
“I guess you have some kind of a plan?” Justin asked.
“No. Not yet anyway.” Matthew rubbed his chin.
“What else do you have on the Prince?” Carrie asked.
“This is just the tip of the iceberg.” Matthew placed his right hand over the folders. “I’ve requested the rest of the files from the Secret Service and the CIA. We should get them soon. We know the Prince always travels in his own private jet, a Boeing 707, which is virtually a flying palace. He has been seen taking choppers for shorter rides, but he’s always surrounded by an entourage of aides and protected by a company of bodyguards.”
“So, his palace in the air is better guarded than his palace on the ground,” Carrie quipped.
Matthew ignored her dry wit remark. “If you gain entry to Prince’s private jet and search it, maybe you’ll find some evidence of his involvement in this plot.”
“And how exactly do we do that?” Justin asked.
“I haven’t thought that far. As I said earlier, I wasn’t going to say anything to you if it were not for Nour getting shot. A few minutes ago, we received this piece of intel.” Matthew held up a single sheet of paper.
Justin held out his hand and Matthew gave him the document.
“A CIA source learned the Prince is visiting a hot area in the Gulf Region. Yemen.”
“Yemen?” Carrie’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Isn’t some sheikh, yes, Sheikh Al-Arhabi going there too?”
“Yes, the leader of the Alliance is going to Yemen too,” Matthew said. “This isn’t a coincidence. I dug a bit deeper and found out they’re both visiting Northern Yemen. Not clear exactly on the location, but I bet the ranch the Prince is meeting the Sheikh. And we know what kind of deals they’re cutting in that terrorist haven.”
“Yemen has been an Al-Qaeda base for many years. Iran and Saudi Arabia flex their muscles in this no man’s land.” Justin pondered over the new piece of information. He was staring at the Xeroxed note as if it could reveal the location of the secret meeting.
“Yes, and I’m advising against following Al-Farhan into that hellhole,” Matthew said with a deep sigh. He brought his hands behind his neck and slowly leaned back in his swiveling chair. “Here’s all I’ve got on Al-Farhan so far. Analyze it and let me know your plans, keeping in mind we don’t have much time. I can provide some logistics, but that’s pretty much it. I wish I could do more, but since a Saudi prince is involved, I don’t have much leverage.” He sighed again, this time bitterness and rage spreading across his face like dark tornado clouds.
Justin gathered the paperwork, stacking it in two thick piles. Carrie picked up the one closer to her.
“We’ll use the Washington conference room,” Justin said, referring to the room where he first briefed Matthew less than twenty-four hours ago.
“I’ll send someone to bring you some lunch. But first, I’ll check on Nour.”
Chapter Twenty-two
“This has turned into an unbelievable nightmare.” Justin closed the opaque glass door of the George Washington Conference Room, and dropped his stack of briefing notes on the table. “Two days ago, we were only messengers. Now, we’re chasing ghosts of princes and terrorists, while bodies stack up as if hacked down by the Plague.”
“None of this is our fault.” Carrie sat next to Justin and spread her folders in front of her, “but now, we must unravel this plot.”
“Oh Johnson.” Justin threw his head back and stared up at the ceiling, as if Johnson were a goddess up in the skies. “Why do we have to clean up this mess?”
“Because you’re a great janitor, my dear,” Carrie imitated Johnson’s high-pitched voice and mimicked her tight facial expression. She puckered her lips and narrowed her eyes, lowering her reading glasses to the tip of her nose. “And I know you can fix any screw-up.”
Justin rolled his eyes and shook her head. “This is not a screw-up; this is a clusterfuck of galactic proportions.”
Carrie grinned.
“What did Johnson tell you on the phone?” Justin asked.
“She’s unhappy with the way our mission has turned out, especially the highway shootout. I tried to explain it was self-defense and if we hadn’t responded she would have had to ask for two Canadian flags to wrap our coffins. Still, she scolded us, well, me, since you weren’t there, saying something along the lines of us not showing ‘sufficient restraint.’”
“Typical of Johnson. The cleanup process is dirty and they don’t like it. But when we reach the goal, then, the mission is described in superlatives.”
“Yeah. She said she’ll talk to Matthew about letting you collect your belongings from the hotel and move freely in the city. Although, she warned us against it. How did she put it? Oh yeah, ‘the US Embassy is definitely the safest place for you at this moment.’ That’s what she said. She wants us to file a report, close the case, and get the hell out of Libya by tomorrow morning.”
“Perhaps she’s worried about more Libyans dying if we roam the streets of Tripoli.”
Carrie shrugged. “Could be. Or worried about having to give longer explanations and more apologies to our ministers.”