clive studied the printout and drew his finger over the information, nerves taut. Pencil marks covered the margins in a maze of arrows and notes. Three months of Seth’s foresight had translated into seventy-three pages. He’d circled each event that mentioned the sheik, fifty at least. Abu Ali al-Asamm figured importantly in a government run by Khalid. The question was, what part of this future yielded any useful information that might be common to all futures, including the one they faced now?
The coup was only nine hours old, and already the world was scurrying. A militant Islamic government in Saudi Arabia would wreak havoc in the Middle East, providing a safe haven for terrorists and dissidents, that very small minority of Muslims bent on the destruction of all who stood in the way of their extremist utopia.
Those who followed the politics of the region knew that the destabilization in Saudi Arabia could easily spread to other Arab countries, as well as to other Muslim countries.
The U.S. military was already developing plans to take out a Saudi kingdom run by Khalid, but Clive held an extrapolation of such plans, and it didn’t read as though removing a militant king would be easy. In fact, according to Seth, they would fail, at least in the first three months.
He glanced at the clock. Time was running out. According to information from within Saudi Arabia, Khalid would storm the palace in less than four hours.
“Come on, Seth,” he muttered. “What am I looking for?”
An image of Seth bent over the computer, typing away, ran across his mind. What made a mind brilliant?
“You’re still out there, aren’t you, Seth? This isn’t over, is it?”
Clive looked back at the printout. The secretary was right about one thing: A militant government would depend on the cooperation of the sheik and the Shia. A thin thread of an idea tickled his mind. If Seth still had his gift, he would be able to tell Clive whether this mind-bending exercise would yield anything of value in the next few hours.
Forget Seth. Back to the printout.
Sheik Abu Ali al-Asamm stood at the entrance to his tent, looking over the valley filled with his men. If God wills it, he thought. For twenty years, thirty years, God had not; today he had changed his mind.
Riyadh sat on the horizon, dirtied by a haze of smoke from a hundred tire fires. The afternoon prayer call was just now warbling over the city. Yes, pray, my fellow Muslims. Pray, as I pray.
The House of Saud had grown softer with each passing decade. Abdul Aziz would roll in his grave if he could see Abdullah today. They had abandoned the central teachings of the Prophet for favor with the West. So now those who were faithful were called fundamentalists and regarded with distaste and suspicion. Was religion a thing to change with cultural moods?
Evidently, most thought it was.
One of his most trusted servants, Al-Hakim, approached from behind. “We have received another message, Abu.”
The sheik didn’t remove his gaze from the city. “From whom?”
“It’s the Americans,” he said. “They are saying that should the coup succeed, they will not allow fifty years of progress to slip into the sea.”
Al-Asamm closed his eyes. Why the Americans insisted on putting their fingers into every jar, he would never understand.
“Go on.”
“They say they are drawing up plans for the removal of Khalid already.”
Al-Asamm smiled. They were a cunning lot; he would give them that. And it was true that his bloodline would not be fully established in the kingdom until Miriam bore a child. But they underestimated the value of both his mind and his word. Everything was negotiable in the American mind, including their own religion. Not so with the sheik, Abu Ali al-Asamm.
“Tell them I am more interested in the will of God than in the will of men. Then remind them that they are merely men.” The sheik paused. “On second thought, don’t tell them that last part. It will only send them into a panic. Just tell them to mind their own business and stay on their own side of the ocean.”
Al-Hakim bowed and returned to the room where they kept the telex machine. Al-Asamm crossed his arms and walked to his mat. It was time to pray.