hilal stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Hyatt Regency’s twenty-third floor, overlooking the millions of lights along the San Francisco Bay. A strange blend of emotions crowded his chest—the same as every time he visited the United States—a mixture of excitement and sadness that left him empty. Somehow Europe and Asia were different. He’d seen plenty of large cities full of excess, beginning with Riyadh, which in many ways bled more exorbitance than the rest put together. If the princes were known for anything, it was spending money. No, it wasn’t the wealth boasted by San Francisco’s coastline that bothered Hilal.
It was the unlimited freedom of every citizen to bask in this wealth that bothered him. Nowhere else in the world did as many individuals have as much as in America. In most countries the wealthy paid the price of personal freedom with rules.
But here, the people enjoyed both immense wealth and unparalleled freedom. The combination made America unique among nations. The mutawa might accuse him of straying from the edicts of the Prophet and acquiescing to the infidels for such a statement, and in some ways they would be right.
Unfortunately, only a few truly understood that Saudi Arabia faced political extinction if she did not adapt to the changing world. Fortunately, King Abdullah was one of those.
Hilal turned from the window and poured himself a scotch. It felt good to be in a country where he didn’t have to break the law to do what he did normally. He threw the drink back and swallowed.
A black nine-millimeter Browning Hi-Power lay beside the briefcase on the bed. His contact had delivered the weapon to him an hour earlier with a few other items he’d requested. Another benefit of freedom.
Six hours earlier he’d arrived and learned that the sheik’s daughter had fled Berkeley. Sorting out the details of what transpired at the university had not been easy. Evidently, two Arabic men had passed themselves off as Hilal and an embassy associate and attempted to take her. This meant that someone else valued the woman as much as the king did and knew Hilal was on his way to collect her.
To his way of thinking, there was only one reason any Saudi assassin would go to such lengths to intercept Miriam. They needed her for their own gain. There was only one way to gain from a woman, and that was through marriage. The mixing of bloodlines.
Someone sought Sheik Abu al-Asamm’s allegiance. Which meant that someone wanted power over the king.
But who? Who would know of his trip and the woman’s whereabouts?
Wouldn’t it be ironic if the kingdom’s fate was decided by a woman rather than a man? Of course, a single bullet to her head would decide everything.
The shrill sound of the hotel phone interrupted his thoughts, and he picked it up. “Yes.”
“Good evening, Hilal.”
“General Mustafa. It would be best for me to call you on your cell phone. I’ve taken care of security. Every six hours, as requested by the king.”
“Of course.”
Hilal paused. His first call to Saudi Arabia had been directly to the king, but he couldn’t interrupt Abdullah every six hours to update him on this mess. General Mustafa was a blood brother to the king and the head of intelligence. If they couldn’t trust him, they could trust no one.
“She escaped with an American—Seth Border, a student,” Hilal said.
“So, the authorities are cooperating.”
“Locally, yes. I’m scheduled to meet with the State Department tomorrow afternoon in Los Angeles. Meanwhile, the local police have begun a search for the car. We believe she’s headed south. Several complaints were called in from other motorists. Evidently the man thinks he’s in a race car.”
“Don’t all Americans?” The general chuckled.
Hilal found no humor in the statement. “The police say they will have the car by morning. With any luck I will be on a plane back to Riyadh tomorrow night.”
“Good. Then this should be a simple matter.”
“Perhaps. She managed to escape the two men who tried to intercept her.”
There was a pause. “Will you track them?”
“I have a car; I have a police scanner. Freedom has its advantages, General. I’ll call back in six hours.”
Hilal hung up the phone, picked up his briefcase, checked the room by habit, and left for the garage.
Khalid spoke softly into the secure phone line. “Those idiots were your men. And now an American helps her?”
Omar leaned back in his chair and said nothing.
“The fact that Hilal himself has gone means the king suspects something.”
“The king always suspects something. His days are numbered and he knows it.”
Silence.
“Who is this American?” Khalid asked.
“Seth Border,” Omar said, shifting the receiver to his opposite ear. “A student. That’s all my men were able to learn before they left the scene. Evidently the police showed up in some force.”
“That would be Hilal’s doing. By now he’s working with the authorities.”
Omar sighed inaudibly. In the end, men like his father always depended on men like him, didn’t they? On killers and enforcers of the law. True strength was always wielded by the sword. Even the Prophet had known that.
Khalid took a deep breath. “You will need to marry her in America if you can,” he said. “With Hilal involved, bringing her back could be a problem. And if she does not cooperate, then she must be silenced.”
“Killed.”
“We can’t have her telling the world stories. General Mustafa called ten minutes ago,” Khalid said. “Hilal called him. They’ve already identified the American’s car and expect to take Miriam into custody by morning. She’s headed south.”
“There’s no question about Mustafa’s loyalty?”
“No.”
“How often will Hilal call him?”
“Every six hours. We will know what he knows before the king does.”
“I’ll call from New York; if there’s any change, I’ll make necessary adjustments.” Omar paused. “In the meantime you should prepare the sheik for the worst. We need his loyalty even if his daughter is killed.”
Khalid snorted. “You are telling me how to arrange my business now?”
Omar ended the call.