hilal eyed the diplomats around the conference table, thinking that debating protocol while the woman and the American fled was a waste of time. The State Department’s cooperation was critical now, but not at the expense of Miriam’s disappearance. The fact that she had escaped him once infuriated him enough.
He closed his eyes. Seth Border had handed him an insult. The man’s words ran circles through his head still. Stupid, flippant words that he should ignore. But he couldn’t. Dealing with Seth Border was in some ways as important to him now as dealing with the sheik’s daughter.
“. . . if it makes any difference to you, Mr. Sahban.”
Hilal looked at the man who addressed him. Peter Smaley, deputy to the secretary of state, was fortunately available, having been in Los Angeles with Iona Bergren on unrelated business. Bob Lord, the undersecretary for State Department affairs, sat beside them, waiting for his response. The only other person in the small conference room was Clive Masters, from their National Security Agency. Within a minute of the meeting’s commencement, Hilal had judged them accurately. Smaley was here to administer the meeting and ensure that Saudi-American relations were not threatened by this event. Lord was here to play the antagonist—the individual-rights activist who would rather see a hundred Arabs die than one American. Iona, the woman, was the most knowledgeable of the Middle East’s sensitivities, despite her gender. And Clive Masters was the killer here. Of them all, he was the only one who gave Hilal some pause.
“Forgive me, my mind was elsewhere,” he said. “Could you restate the question?”
“Bob has suggested that we withdraw and let them surface under a false sense of security,” Smaley said.
“I’m afraid this matter is too urgent for such tactics,” Hilal said. “I’m not sure you appreciate the difficulty this evasion puts my government in. You do not sit back and let a coup surface.”
Iona cleared her throat and leaned forward. She looked to be of Mediterranean descent, pretty, with olive skin and a rather large nose. He wouldn’t mind making her acquaintance.
“You are saying that the princess confessed to being an integral component of a planned coup? Why would she confess this?”
“I believe she thought it would dissuade me from taking her home.”
“And you believe her?”
“I have no doubt.”
“Seems rather assuming,” Bob Lord said. “But if you know about the coup, I can’t see why you need her to deal with it. Arrest the parties involved. We certainly don’t need to bring in gunslingers to hunt down a couple of people who’ve done nothing more than run for their lives.”
“She has broken our laws, Mr. Lord. And your assumption that we can simply arrest the suspected parties in Saudi Arabia shows your ignorance of our society. Even if we did know who was behind the coup—”
“You said Sheik Abu Ali al-Asamm was behind it.”
“He is surely an accessory. But the coup would not come from him,” Hilal explained. “If arresting the sheik made any political sense, we would have done it twenty years ago. He’s too powerful to arrest. We need his allegiance, not his head. We must expose the man among our own, and I am convinced the woman knows his identity.”
They were silent for a moment.
“You’ll take the princess back and torture her for this information,” Lord said.
“Our government is at stake, Mr. Lord. We will do what we must. And if she can’t be returned, then she must be . . . dealt with here.”
Lord just stared at him.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand how anything beyond her apprehension’s in our interest,” Smaley said.
“It’s in our interest because it effectively squashes this coup attempt,” Iona interjected, “even if it doesn’t expose the parties involved.”
Hilal gave her a soft smile. “Precisely. It also gives my government leverage with Sheik Abu Ali al-Asamm.”
At the far end of the table, the NSA operative chuckled. He stared at Hilal with pale blue eyes and nodded. Clive Masters was no idiot. His hair was a sandy red and his skin was unusually fair—a strange sight with his gray-blue eyes. Disturbing, even. He would have to watch this man.
“Please explain,” Smaley said.
Hilal turned from Clive Masters. “The sheik will be distressed to learn that his daughter has been killed. Naturally, so will Prince Salman, her adopted father. We will approach the sheik and explain our suspicions that she was killed by the man whose marriage she fled. It may be in the sheik’s interest to reveal that man’s identity and look for favor with King Abdullah, which we will be pleased to extend.”
“So the woman’s death renews an alliance with the sheik,” Lord said.
“Precisely.”
“You assume that the United States is interested in keeping your king in power at the price of an innocent woman’s life.”
Iona turned to the deputy secretary. “The question is more accurately a matter of regional stability. I’m confident that the secretary would agree. Where Saudi Arabia goes, the Middle East goes. The United States can’t afford a coup in Saudi Arabia. Period.”
“I wasn’t aware that you were so partial to the House of Saud,” Lord said.
“Please,” Hilal said. “The next king of Saudi Arabia may not be as progressive in his thinking as King Abdullah. In fact, the reason we are here today is likely because some extremist considers the king too progressive to remain in power. Miriam is a pawn of those extreme elements. Dealing with her is not so different from dealing with a terrorist.”
“Terrorist?” Lord objected. “She’s no Bin Laden. She’s a refugee seeking political asylum. We have laws here too, Mr. Sahban.”
Iona still studied Hilal. “I am partial to the House of Saud only to the extent that the alternatives are less appealing,” she said. “I think that’s the administration’s policy as well. Moving Saudi Arabia into the twenty-first century is a tedious task, but as long as the movement’s forward rather than backward, I support it. If a militant seized control of Saudi Arabia, a dozen neighbors would swing his way. So in some ways the minister makes a good point.”
She looked at Lord. “However unfair it may seem, the fate of your innocent princess may have more bearing on the fate of the region than you would guess. I’m not sure I’m ready to gamble the stability of the Middle East on the survival of one woman.”
Lord’s face darkened a shade. “What are you suggesting? That we assassinate this woman?”
“I’m suggesting that we avoid a bloodbath in the Middle East, Bob. You may think of her as a refugee; I see her as a fugitive. We have an obligation to help our ally bring her to justice.”
“Justice in this country doesn’t come at the end of a gun.”
“I don’t recall mentioning a gun. I’m simply laying all of our cards on the table.”
Hilal couldn’t have made a more convincing argument. As far as he was concerned, the discussion here was over. It was time to go after the couple. Regardless of what the Americans did or did not do, he would hunt them down. He could use the Americans’ intelligence, of course. For that alone, perhaps this meeting was worth the time after all. But either way, he could not allow Miriam to remain a free woman. “And what about the American? Who is Seth?” Smaley asked.
“He’s a student from Berkeley,” Iona said. “Mr. Masters?”
Clive Masters faced the group, amused by the banter. Smaley and company weren’t necessarily slouches, but the Saudi diplomat had them hog-tied and properly disciplined. Diplomat was the wrong word for the man. He was a killer, pure and simple. And judging by his hard eyes, a good one.
“Seth Border,” Clive said, shifting in his chair. “The man you’re after just happens to have an IQ that makes Einstein’s look average.”
“I wasn’t aware we were after a man,” Lord said.
“Well, if you’re after the woman, you’re after the man. I don’t know how the brightest mind in the country happened to team up with our princess, but I can tell he’s the one causing your trouble. You find him, you find her. I’m just curious, sir,” he said, looking into the Saudi’s dark eyes, “but how exactly did Seth manage to stall you at that truck stop?”
If the Saudi registered the slightest surprise, he didn’t show it.
“If I were in your shoes, I would have killed her then,” Clive continued. “But Seth pulled some trick, didn’t he?”
Smaley cleared his throat. “I’m not sure what you’re suggesting, Clive, but this isn’t a run-and-shoot operation. We’re dealing with complications that require a measure of caution. You’re here because of your past association with Seth, but that doesn’t mean you get to go after them with a bazooka.”
“A bazooka? Not exactly the weapon of my choice. I was merely pointing out, Peter . . .” He paused for the simple reason that the deputy’s facade annoyed him. Before they’d gone their separate ways, they attended the FBI’s Quantico school together. Small world. They’d each exceeded the highest academic scores the bureau had given before or since.
But not all bright minds see eye-to-eye. Some are cut out for the grind and gore of detective work, and others make better politicians. Clive had gone on to receive a doctorate in psychology and put in five years as an FBI profiler before moving on to the NSA. Peter had pursued a career with the State Department. Now, twenty years later, they found themselves on opposite sides of the same coin. The perfect diplomat and the perfect detective.
Clive resumed his thought. “I’m saying, Peter, that if our friend here had killed the woman in that bathroom, as he probably intended, we wouldn’t be trying to keep the Middle East from blowing up. And we all know that if the House of Saud is overthrown by militants, sooner or later the Middle East will blow up. But he didn’t kill her, did he? And frankly, I’m just a tiny bit curious how our fugitive managed to pull one over on an accomplished . . . diplomat’s head.”
“Try to control yourself, Clive,” Smaley said. “Whatever you might think, not everyone’s a gunslinger.”
“Perhaps if I had been in my own country I would have taken care of the problem,” Hilal said, staring Clive down with those black eyes of his. He dipped his head slightly. “But I am not. Now it will be your job. And by the sound of it, you are well qualified.”
The man was either sucking up or insulting him, and Clive wasn’t ready to decide.
“Can you bring them in?” Iona asked.
“Do you want her dead, or do you want her brought in?” Clive asked.
“Brought in,” Smaley said. “Preferably.”
A faint smile curved Hilal’s lips.
“They’re headed east in a blue Mercury Sable reported stolen from the alley behind this building,” Clive said. “They have a two-hour head start, and, according to the clerk at the Wal-Mart they stopped at, they’re loaded with cash. We’ll put out a new APB, cast a broad net, and try to anticipate his next move. Run-of-the-mill. But Seth Border’s not exactly run-of-the-mill. If he hadn’t given the slip to three different parties, you might guess that he’s better suited for breaking the light barrier than for leading a chase. But you’d be wrong.”
“A simple yes or no would do,” Smaley said.
“I’m not sure it would, Peter. As I’ve explained, in a case like this, the best way to get to the girl is to get to the man. But I’m not sure it’s in our best interest to end Seth Border’s life. He’s not exactly an easy human being to replace. We can’t kill him.”
Smaley smiled. “I didn’t know you were so softhearted. Your friend may be a genius, but I doubt he’s worth the stability of a region. I’m sure you can figure out a way to outwit him. Live up to that reputation of yours.”
His old rival hadn’t lost his touch. Clive gave him a polite nod. Give credit where credit is due, but owe no man anything.
“In the meantime, we will keep you informed,” Smaley said to the Saudi. “You may tell your government that you have our full cooperation.”
“Then I’m sure you wouldn’t mind allowing me to follow the investigation on a real-time basis,” Hilal said. “I would like to be updated on the hour.”
The snake was going after Miriam on his own, Clive thought.
“Of course. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a plane to catch.” The deputy secretary stood. “Please keep me informed.” He cast a glance at Clive and left with Iona.
Hilal stared at Clive in the brief silence that followed. Clive stood. “You’ll excuse me as well, gentlemen, but I have a fugitive to catch.”
“He’s very quick,” Hilal said, holding his stare.
“How so?”
“With his mind.”
So, the Saudi had been outwitted after all. Lord watched them with a raised brow.
“And if you were Seth? Where would you go?”
“I don’t know your city. But I would get out of the city.”
Smart man. “You wouldn’t go underground?”
“It would be difficult to go underground with a Saudi princess. Yes?”
“Yes.” Clive walked for the door.
“I believe that he may also be unusually . . . intuitive,” the Saudi said. “Perhaps clairvoyant.”
Clive turned back. Clairvoyant? Hilal was a Muslim. Evidently a mystic. Clive could see how facing the man Scientific American had called the next Einstein might feel like going up against Elijah himself. Though Clive doubted Seth was clairvoyant, Hilal was right: He would be an elusive prey.
Clive, however, had built his reputation on tracking elusive prey. Not one had yet evaded him. Granted, Pascal Penelope had taken seven years and Al Cooper three, but both were now behind bars alongside another twenty-three fugitives he’d collared.
“Thanks,” Clive said. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
He left, knowing he’d see Hilal again.