‘Yes,’ he said, ‘there is perhaps something — or, at least, someone — you should know about.’
4
Cole walked through the fourth-floor corridors of the Ministry of Interior, escorted by a stern-faced official who didn’t like to talk.
Cole had been surprised by the look of the building; it was like something that had been built by aliens and then dumped in the middle of the city, quite unlike anything else that surrounded it. The interior was rather more conventional however, and was like government buildings the world over; cold, clinical and utilitarian.
But soon he was outside the office of Abd al-Aziz Quraishi — Assistant Minister for Security Affairs for the government of Saudi Arabia and, if al-Zayani was to be believed, the Lion himself, the head of Arabian Islamic Jihad.
Before leaving Dhahran, Cole had called Ike Treyborne via his secure sat phone to give his old friend an update. He had explained what he’d done to al-Zayani and his boat, and asked Treyborne to run interference in case there was any comeback; he needed the meeting to go smoothly, and didn’t want to have to worry about things back in Dhahran.
He’d also shared the information he’d managed to get from al-Zayani, including how Arabian Islamic Jihad had been financed, and the fact that Quraishi seemed to be behind the whole thing. It was far too early to start alerting the Saudi government — as yet there was no real proof tying Quraishi to anything — but Cole asked Treyborne to find out everything he could about the man, and recommended giving the name to Bud Shaw at the NSA to activate surveillance on his calls and emails.
Treyborne had promised to try, but Cole understood he had to be circumspect in how he went about asking; after all, Treyborne wasn’t supposed to have any leads, as he wasn’t supposed to be investigating anything. But Cole was sure Treyborne would find a way to put the intelligence services on Quraishi’s scent; he was a born improviser.
By the time Cole arrived in Riyadh and had found his luxurious suite in the Ritz Carlton hotel — courtesy of Abdullah al-Zayani and Saudi National Oil — Treyborne had already sent him the CIA file on Abd al-Aziz Quraishi.
The file revealed two interesting things to Cole — one, that Quraishi had spent considerable time in the United States; and two, that he was under no suspicion whatsoever by US intelligence. He was as clean as a whistle in every respect.
Quraishi had been born in 1972, his father a very distant cousin of King Faisal, who had ruled Saudi Arabia until his nephew assassinated him in 1975. The family was therefore tied to the royal family, and yet was never a part of the true upper echelon. But it did mean that the male members of the Quraishi family could serve in the Saudi government, and Abd al-Aziz Quraishi did just that, joining the Saudi Royal Guard Regiment at the tender age of seventeen. From there he was selected — apparently due to his high intellect and potential for future leadership — for an exchange program with the American military, and was sent to West Point to undergo officer training in the US Army.
He graduated near the top of his class, and reportedly didn’t restrict himself purely to military life during his four years in America; contemporary reports indicated that he travelled far and wide, and used his royal connections to establish links with many political and business figures.
Cole thought this strange — if not downright suspicious — but the CIA and FBI hadn’t been concerned, as this was common practice for foreign cadets; the whole exchange program was to help foster closer ties between nations on an unofficial level.
Quraishi had gone on to serve with distinction in the Royal Guards, reaching the rank of Lieutenant Colonel before joining the Ministry of Interior as head of the feared Mabahith. Again, he seemed to have made a positive impression on everyone, for he had steadily worked his way up to his current position as Assistant Minister for Security Affairs, about as high as a minor relative of the House of Saud could ever hope to rise.
Cole had searched the file for any information which might shed light on why Quraishi was — according to al-Zayani, at least — so rabidly anti-monarchy and anti-Western. On the face of it, it just didn’t make sense; Quraishi held a high position in a society which favored the royal family, of which he was a part. When did the religious zeal enter his life? At what point was the man turned?
It wasn’t in the report, that was for sure, and Cole wondered if he would be able to learn more from the man himself.
The door opened at the same time he arrived outside, and he was surprised to see an American face framed in the doorway.
‘Oh, excuse me,’ the man said, extending a hand. Cole took it and shook firmly. ‘You must be Dan Chadwick, right? Texas Mainline Oil?’
Cole nodded. ‘That’s right.’
‘I’m Jeb Richards, a fellow Texan,’ he said with a smile. ‘Just leaving as a matter of fact, though unfortunately I’ve got to go back to Washington and not Texas.’ He sighed. ‘Still, I might get back there one day. Be sure to pass on my regards to Ezzard,’ he continued as he moved past Cole into the corridor beyond, ‘not seen him for years but we used to enjoy a game of tennis together.’
‘I’ll be sure to do that,’ Cole said after the man, who was now half-way down the corridor, Cole’s mute escort accompanying him. ‘Have a safe flight.’
‘Will do, my friend,’ Richards shouted back over his shoulder.
Cole concealed his concern as he turned back to the open doorway, watching as Quraishi came towards him across the office. What the hell had Jeb Richards, the Secretary of Homeland Security, been doing here?
What was of more concern to Cole was whether Richards recognized him or not; with an arrest warrant out on him, it wasn’t unreasonable to assume that Richards — as a member of the National Security Council — might well have seen a picture of him.
But, Cole reflected, such a picture would hardly be up-to-date; whatever there was on file for the Caribbean diving instructor named Mark Cole would no longer tally with the man waiting outside Quraishi’s office. The fireball which had engulfed the house in Kreith had left Cole with extensive scarring which — although surgically corrected — had altered his appearance quite considerably. Added to which was the fact that Cole had partially disguised himself for the role of Dan Chadwick anyway.
But if Richards knew Ezzard Kaplan, might he also know the real Dan Chadwick? But he’d said that he hadn’t seen Ezzard for a long time, and Chadwick was new at Texas Mainline, one of the reasons for Cole choosing him in the first place.
In the end, Cole decided that he had nothing to be concerned about; his identity was secure. But he did still wonder about Richards’ purpose here in Riyadh.
But he could worry about that later; right now he had more pressing concerns, and he offered his hand to the man who floated gracefully towards him over his tiled floor, bedecked in the traditional Saudi white dress known as a thobe, with a red and white checked headdress to complete the image.
Quraishi smiled beneficently at his guest and took his hand. ‘Two Texans in my office in the same day,’ he said amicably. ‘It must be providence, no?’
Cole returned the smile. ‘It must be. I guess it is a small world, after all.’
Quraishi gestured for Cole to sit, and then swept elegantly around the other side of the desk and took his own seat across from him. ‘Water?’ he asked, gesturing with his hand to the water jug and glasses to one side of the large desk.
‘Thank you,’ Cole said, reaching forward to help himself.