But the other side of him — more cautious, more powerful — told him that he had been discovered. He had no idea how or why — or even if he was right to think such a thing — but his instincts told him to run.
As the conscious part of his mind took over, listening intently to his inner instinct, he had started to recognize where these feelings were originating from.
There was an increased security presence at the ugly concrete building, armed personnel patrolling the corridors, checking visitors; Quraishi had been able to see them even as his car passed by the front entrance, on its way to the subterranean parking lot.
But it wasn’t just the personnel at the Ministry; it was the men who accompanied him in the car. They were as obsequious as always, but behind that façade of respect, Quraishi had sensed something else altogether, something insidious and frightening; he had sensed the magnetic attraction of predators to prey. And, he had realized with growing horror, Quraishi himself was the prey.
And so he had instructed the driver to pull over outside the front entrance, telling him that he would go straight inside that way; he was in a hurry, he’d said, and didn’t want to waste time with parking.
He could sense that the men in the car were uneasy, but had received no orders on what to do in this situation; Quraishi was a respected government figure after all, and still had power over them.
Eventually, the driver had agreed, and pulled in towards the curb. One of the guards had moved to open the door; presumably to get out and escort Quraishi inside. But before the armored car had even braked fully to a stop, Quraishi had thrown his own door open and was running, losing himself in the crowds who passed by the Ministry building; the same crowds Quraishi had observed from his fourth floor office window for years, their eyes cast down; scared by the Mabahith, disgusted by the concrete edifice which housed it.
As the crowd parted to accept him, closing round him as if with a mind of its own, Quraishi could just about see the men back at the car emptying out, guns raised, eyes scanning out for him as they reached for their radios, asking for orders; and Quraishi had known he’d done the right thing.
And now, hours later and safe at last — ensconced in an apartment in the Red Sea city of Jeddah, six hundred miles away from the dangers of Riyadh — Quraishi considered the options for his future.
Reliable colleagues had confirmed that a warrant had been made out for his arrest back at the Ministry. Apparently the Americans had information which suggested a link between himself and Arabian Islamic Jihad and — true to their corrupt, hateful form — the Saudi government had agreed to whatever the US demanded. After all, Quraishi was only a minor relative of the House of Saud, and therefore completely expendable in the face of the ongoing good relations between Saudi Arabia and the United States, and the Ministry of Interior was more than happy to offer him up on a plate if it made the Americans happy.
Quraishi wondered how the link had been made — was it through Mark Cole, the agent killed back in Riyadh? Had he told his superiors about him? Or else was it through some other means?
Quraishi shook his head as he was served a cup of jasmine tea by one of his many mistresses. He was married, but it was just for show; he considered himself personally bound to Allah alone, and would have no problem in leaving his wife and children behind. He kept mistresses as he appreciated the comforts of female company, but they too meant nothing to him.
No, he thought, it no longer mattered how he had been found out; all that mattered was the end-game.
And his recent conversation with Amir al-Hazmi had reassured Quraishi that — whatever happened to him personally — the end-game was going to be exactly what he had planned.
His beloved martyrs would spread themselves willingly throughout the most populous cities of the United States, putting themselves in a position to cause the greatest amount of havoc, and would then allow the ultimate sacrifice to be made.
Their bodies — mere vessels now for the valued North Korean bioweapon — would erupt and release their spores into the atmosphere, infecting thousands of people unwittingly, who would then go on to infect millions more.
The idea was so beautiful, so incredibly pure; almost the entire population of the United States would be wiped out in weeks.
The Great Satan annihilated in one fell swoop.
Once again he thanked Allah for the providence which had brought the Korean weapon to his attention in the first place.
It was years ago now, he remembered as he relaxed into his wicker armchair, the fan above him dissipating the worst of the evening’s heat.
He had still been with the Mabahith at the time, and it had been brought to his attention that North Korean agents had been working in the area, attempting to recruit Islamic terrorist cells.
Intrigued by what the North Koreans were doing in the Middle East, Quraishi had ordered a full-scale, yet covert, investigation. It soon became clear what they were up to; they were eager to foment trouble in South Korea, and to then blame it on Muslim extremists.
Further investigation led to Quraishi committing his own agents into North Korea, which eventually revealed some of that nation’s ultimate plan; to use a weapon in order to help unify their country, and blame it on Middle Eastern terrorists.
And when it was revealed to Quraishi what weapon was being developed there, his own plan began to appear almost unbidden in his mind.
He had already begun to establish Arabian Islamic Jihad, had started plans for terrorist actions all over the world; but when he caught wind of the North Korean bioweapon project, he put his own jobs on hold. For the most part at least — he still authorized some operations so that his men could be kept enthusiastic and well prepared. But he decided to keep the AIJ much more low-key than he had originally planned; at least until the time came for the greatest terrorist act of all time — at which stage, the name of Arabian Islamic Jihad would be remembered for the rest of human history.
He had killed many of the agents who had brought him the information; some had started to wonder why he wasn’t doing anything with the information they were supplying, and others — especially those from the General Intelligence Presidency, the government’s key foreign intelligence agency whose members Quraishi had seconded — were becoming openly suspicious of his motives.
He had denounced the men as traitors, tortured them to death in the Ministry’s basement; in fact, it was ironically his treatment of these ‘double agents’ which had resulted in his promotion from Chief of the Mabahith to Assistant Minister of Internal Security.
With full knowledge of the RGB plan to infect South Korea through the use of an Islamic terrorist proxy, it just remained for Quraishi to organize for the theft of the weapon en route to Pakistan.
And now, through the will of Allah, the weapon would have an even better use; a sacred use, one for which the people of his beloved Arabia would certainly rejoice.
For the United States and the House of Saud would fall, and Arabia would be free once more.
‘How certain are we of this?’ James Dorrell asked Bud Shaw, ensconced in a private meeting room with Pete Olsen, John Eckhart and President Abrams.
‘Sure enough to bring it to attention of all of you,’ Shaw responded acidly, before holding up his hands in apology. ‘Sorry, I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I guess I’m tired.’
Abrams nodded in understanding. ‘We appreciate your efforts, Bud,’ she assured him. ‘Now what exactly is it that you have?’