The Aisha Prophecy (7 page)

The Saudi said to Howard Leland, “More pulling of my leg. A good Muslim does not drink either beverage.”

“Except when no one’s looking,” added Charles Haskell. “Drop by his room, you’ll find a case of Jack Daniels. I should know. I had his bar stocked with it.”

The Saudi shrugged. “You have a saying. When in Rome. For me, this is Rome. I might take an occasional sip.” He said to Leland, “But I will not deny that I chafe at the policy that requires all here to be celibate. We are men in full vigor. Our needs are our needs. Did you know that no women are provided?”

“I… don’t recall that it came up,” Leland answered.

“Too late now,” said the Saudi. “We are both out of luck. The only women who have ever been allowed on these grounds are the cooks and the housemaids, none younger than fifty. I have sacrificed much to be here with good friends.”

Haskell gave Leland a look that said, “Perhaps you now see what I meant.” To the Saudi, he said, “I’ll have a sheep sent to your room. Beyond that, your friends will make your sacrifice worthwhile. You’re going to be glad that you came.”

A cell phone chirped. Its sound was muffled. It chirped again. All heads turned to the Saudi. The sound came from somewhere on his person. Haskell looked at him, glaring. “Did you bring a phone?”

“Do not worry,” said the prince as he cupped both hands over it. “I have been careful to keep it concealed.”

“Concealed? The damned thing’s ringing. Shut it off.”

“Yes, at once.”

The Saudi fumbled for the phone that he’d secreted in his jacket. He silenced it and he peered at the read-out. He chewed his lip. He was visibly nervous. “It is one of my cousins. This must be an urgent matter. He knows not to call me unless it is urgent.” He started to tap out a number.

Haskell said, “Stop right there.”

“You are right. I will wait.”

“No, what you’ll do is walk down to the shore and throw that thing into the lake. You will try to do so in a casual manner. Try to look as if you’re skipping a stone.”

The Saudi drew a breath. His color rose.

The banker said, “Better yet, throw it into the fire.”

Haskell said, “No, because the battery might explode and, if not, its remnants would be found in the morning.” He asked the Saudi, “What else have you brought? What else that I told you not to bring?”

“Only this.”

“After you’ve tossed it, why not take a little swim? Take off all your clothes. It’s called skinny-dipping. That’s another of this club’s traditions.”

The Saudi’s face went blank. “I… do not understand.”

“You’ve forgotten one rule. Another might have eluded you. A recording device comes to mind.”

“You accuse me?” asked the Saudi.

“No, I alert you. Because if you had ‘forgotten’ that you’d brought such a thing, you’d be out on your ear and me with you.”

The banker rose to his feet and unzipped his own jacket. He said to the Saudi, “I could do with a dip. I’d be honored if you’d let me accompany you.”

The Saudi stiffened. “To watch me undress?”

“Not at all. It is our custom. It is called the buddy system. We’ll wade in together and I’ll turn my back. You’ll have ample time to make any adjustment that might add to your comfort and ours.”

The Saudi hesitated. “I have no such device.”

“I believe you,” said the banker, “but let’s do it all the same. After that, we needn’t ever speak of this again. We will continue to nurture the level of trust that I feel is now growing between us.”

The Saudi said to Haskell, “This man has good manners.”

“He’s a beacon to us all. Enjoy your swim.”

SIX 

Howard Leland watched them go. “A bit hard on him, weren’t you?”

“I’m going to take a walk. Care to join me?”

“Saudi men don’t undress before other men. And this one’s a prince. You’ve insulted a prince.”

“Saudi princes, as you know, are as common as houseflies. There are what, six thousand?”

“Something like that.”

“And they have a pecking order. This one’s near the bottom. He’s been sucking hind tit all his life.”

“Even so…”

“And I didn’t insult the damned fool,” said Haskell. “His honor, such as it is, is intact. One can only offend the honor of an Arab if another Arab is present to hear it. We’re all infidels here. By his lights, we don’t matter. The insult, therefore, never happened.”

“If you say so,” said Leland.

“The point is, so would he.”

“Still, you seem to have nothing but contempt for this man. Just him? Or toward Saudis on the whole.”

Haskell shook his head. “I have no such prejudice. I respect competence wherever I find it. I admire courage in whatever culture. This particular Saudi is possessed of neither virtue. He’d be a dickhead wherever he came from.”

“Then what use is he to you? Hind tit and all that.”

“That’s easy. He knows how to get at the front ones. Did I mention that he is a banker of sorts?”

“I… gathered that money is involved.”

“Oh, indeed,” said Haskell. “About ten billion dollars, most of it skimmed. It’s money that was meant for certain Islamic charities.”

“That instead goes to militants? Hamas and the like?”

“Oh, some of it, yes. Far less than you’d think. I’ll give you one guess where the bulk of it goes.”

“Off-shore banks?”

Haskell nodded. “Numbered accounts.”

“Flight money?”

“You betcha. For hundreds of Saudis. It’s not just the lesser royals who are stealing and stashing. It’s almost anyone who’s prospered by sucking up to them. They’re all building considerable nest eggs for themselves against the day when that regime is overthrown. The house of Saud has been circling the drain for some time. We could hear a great slurp any time now.”

“Are you telling me that this one has access to those funds? And that you now have access through him?”

“Not as we speak, but we’re working on that. As to his access, it was all a happy accident. Unlike most of the princes, this one actually has a job. He’d never had one, didn’t want one, but they cut his allowance. The top princes get two or three million a month. This one got less than a hundred thousand, but they cut that in half when the Saudi treasury turned out to be a leaking bucket.”

“The Saudi treasury? Short of cash?”

“Oil revenues are down, but that’s not the half of it. There are all kinds of hands in that till. You’d be surprised. Anyway, to a Saudi prince, anything under a hundred K a month is a burger joint minimum wage. So of course he started wheedling and whining. He got the support of a powerful cleric by offering his tasty young daughter in return. This cleric persuaded the royals to relent. They did so, but only up to a point. They said, ‘Okay, he goes back up to the original figure, but in return we want him kept out of our hair.’ They gave him a job at Saudi Overseas Charities. They gave him an office and a meaningless title and told him that he had to show up every day. First in every morning, last out every night and don’t call us again, we’ll call you.”

Leland wasn’t sure that he understood. “You say he’s not very bright.”

“Your average poodle is smarter.”

“And yet the Saudis trust him with ten billion dollars?”

Haskell smiled. He said, “I’m sure it never crossed their minds. They gave him what amounts to a clerical job. His tasks are insultingly trivial. They gave him a computer for routine correspondence. Some kid had to show him how it works. He hates them for this and he wants to stick it to them. He’d have liked to skim the skimmers, but he didn’t know how. He’s learning, however. We’ve provided a tutor. That’s his tutor down there splashing with him now.”

“The banker?”

“Good cop,” said Haskell. “He plays off my bad cop. He’s stroking the prince’s bruised ego as we speak. He’s reminding him of the day, not far off, when all those other princes can’t seem to find their stashes and will be coming to him on their knees. But, of course, he won’t have it. We will.”

“I see. You plan to steal ten billion dollars.”

“Howard, most of that money has been stolen to begin with. It’s just languishing now in off-shore accounts. I intend to employ it more usefully. But we won’t be piggish. Some, we’ll even give back, but only in trade for certain services.”

“You… do have a labyrinthine mind, don’t you, Charles?”

“It’s called negotiating from strength. You’re familiar with the concept. Come on. Let’s go stretch our legs.”

SEVEN 

Mulazim had driven up the coast for two hours, arriving at the city of Charleston. On its outskirts was a big shopping center. Many stores, many cars in the lot. In the glove compartment of the Ford Escape he’d found a device called a Swiss Army knife that contained several tools folded up. Among these were two different screwdrivers.

Thus equipped, and making sure there were no shoppers nearby, he removed the license plate of the Ford Escape and replaced it with one of a similar design that he took from a neighboring car. The owner of that car had backed into its space and might therefore not notice that his plate was missing before the next morning at the earliest. Mulazim knew better than to simply swap plates. True, a different plate was less likely to be noticed than a space where a plate should have been. But if noticed and reported it would have been easily traced and Bernice might be found inconveniently soon.

He was eager to find a quiet motel so that he could get to work on the laptop. But the stores were right here. He had some shopping to do.

He entered a very large store called a Wal-Mart. There he took some time to observe what sort of clothing men his age wore. On the whole, they seemed to favor short pants and T-shirts and shoes for either running or for boating. No hats except the kind meant for baseball. Some wore jackets intended for golf.

He found everything he needed at this Wal-Mart. He bought pants both short and long; he bought something called gym shoes; he chose shirts with plain colors that wouldn’t stand out and that didn’t have some stupid design printed on them. He bought a golf jacket the color of sand and another that he couldn’t resist because its color was called Hunter Green. He bought a blue cotton sweatshirt that came with a hood and sweatpants of an almost matching color. He had seen other men who were wearing such garments. Loose-fitting, baggy, but baggy was good. Baggy conceals a great deal. Also two baseball caps, one red, one blue, with the emblems, apparently, of popular sports teams. He’d seen people glance at men wearing such caps, but only at the emblem, not so much at the face. Attracting such glances didn’t seem a good idea, but the caps might make him seem more American.

Next, still in the Wal-Mart, he bought a video camera. Very small, pocket sized, it also took photos. In the sporting goods section, he bought another knife. The Swiss Army knife was good for some things, but it was unwieldy to open. The one he bought was very flat, no sharp edges, just a point. This knife was intended for throwing. Mulazim had no such skill, but its flatness made it ideal for concealment. No bulges when taped to an arm or a leg. He would grind a cutting edge later. He bought a whetstone and a pair of binoculars and two different kinds of sunglasses.

He had hoped to buy a shotgun that he could cut down, but the clerk said that the Wal-Mart no longer sells firearms. Another customer, standing near, said to him, “Damn shame,” and advised him to go up to Virginia where “our God-given rights still mean something.” He rubbed his fingers adding, “And that’s where money talks. There’s always a gun show somewhere in Virginia. No damned waiting period. Still America up there.”

Mulazim understood his meaning. Very well. No shotgun. He would look at a map to see how far is Virginia. But for now he at least had his knives.

He left with his purchases and drove to a motel that he’d passed a mile or two back. He checked in for one night paying cash in advance. No ID was asked for. He made up a name. It’s no wonder that so many come here illegally. This country makes it almost too easy.

In his room, the door locked, he opened his laptop. He spent another hour going through Bernice’s files, hoping to find something else that might be useful. He found nothing that he recognized as such. He was actually stalling. He realized that. The one thing he had was the email address of this girl from Iran known as Niki. Incidental to this was the knowledge that one of them had a birthday that was fast approaching. He’d been rehearsing in his mind how best to phrase a message asking Niki where a gift could be sent.

But wouldn’t Bernice already know that address? The request would be suspicious. It could put them on their guard. They might have some friend back on Hilton Head Island go and verify with Bernice directly.

But it was all he had. He would have to trust in God. He typed in Nikram102 at Hotmail and went about composing a message.

He wrote: “Niki, I pray that this finds that all of you are well. I wish to send birthday wishes to Aisha. Remind me of your address.”

He cursed himself. Idiot. This sounds nothing like Bernice. He said a silent prayer before trying again.

He wrote: “Is there any SPECIAL address to which I should send Aisha a gift for her birthday?” He wrote the one word using upper case letters because Bernice liked to do so for emphasis. He signed it “Bernice” and, holding his breath, he clicked the “Send” button and sat back. All he could do now is wait and hope. However not even two minutes went by before the laptop announced a reply.

It read: “No, same address. Just write Aisha, no last name, care of Harrison Whistler, P.O. Box 2625, Belle Haven, VA 23307. If you mail it tomorrow it should get here by Wednesday. We’re giving her a sweet sixteen party at a little Italian restaurant we like. And thank you for not telling Elizabeth.”

Mulazim’s spirits fell. A box number only? In the name, not of this Martin who they were to join, but of someone named Harrison Whistler. He couldn’t very well ask her who this man is. But Bernice must have had this address all along. The name would not be unknown to her.

With clenched teeth he wrote, “Is Mr. Whistler there WITH you?”

The answer came promptly. “No, Mr. Whistler is back in Geneva. He came over to help us move into his house. He only uses it when he has business in Washington. You should have seen the two bodyguards that came over with him. But you wouldn’t. Not together. Only one at a time. But you never know which one is which because they’re twins. They are funny little men. They don’t look at all scary. Martin, however, says we shouldn’t let that fool us. He says they’re very good at their job.”

Bodyguards, thought Mulazim? Who is this man if two bodyguards are needed. No matter, however. They are gone.

Mulazim asked her, “But Martin is still with you?” There seemed no more need for upper case.

“Mr. Kessler? Oh, yes. He is more than still with us. Elizabeth won’t let him out of her sight. She doesn’t like to sit in bars, but he does so she does. She says it is only to make sure he behaves.”

Kessler. Martin Kessler. He remembered the name now. The German. An adventurer, known to be reckless. But equally as dangerous as the Black Angel. Make sure he behaves? This does suggest reckless. Like her, he had also worked with the Israelis. The dossier had said the Israelis “among others.” These others must include this man, Whistler.

Mulazim sorely wished that he could ask Niki the full address of this house. Would Bernice have asked? It didn’t seem likely. Not if all she was given was a Post Office Box. Even so, it seemed reasonable that she would inquire as to its physical description.

He wrote, “Room for six plus three from Geneva? It must be a very big house.”

She replied, “Big, but not as big as some in Belle Haven. Some have their own tennis courts. But all four of us have our own rooms and computers so that we can work on our studies. There is also a separate apartment for guests. No tennis, but we do have a beautiful pool. It has a warm waterfall that comes down over rocks and a hot tub for when it gets colder. Mr. Whistler seems to have houses all over. One is a ski lodge in the French Alps. Mr. Kessler says he owns half a mountain. Mr. Kessler has skied there. So, I think, has Elizabeth. Mr. Whistler invited us all to come visit. He says there is snow at the top even now, but Mr. Kessler says we’ll wait until there’s more.”

Enough about skiing. Enough about this Whistler. Mulazim tried to think what else Bernice would ask. Ah, he remembered. “Are you still losing weight?” This was only to keep the talk going.

She answered. “I am trying. Elizabeth thinks I spend too much time at my computer. She wants me to go out and play tennis with them. But they are all too good. Even Rasha can beat me and she is so small. They all try to be nice. They give me easy shots to hit. But I don’t think such playing can be much fun for them. For exercise I swim every day.”

Tennis, thought Mulazim. A more useful subject. If this house has no tennis court, where do they play?

“Are there tennis courts close by?”

“Several,” came the answer. “And they are lit up at night. The closest are over in Marcey Park. Elizabeth prefers to play under the lights because it’s cooler and not always so crowded.” She added, “Bernice, I must sign off now. I have much to do on my computer before dinner.”

Much to do, thought Mulazim? “Not more emails to friends here.”

“No, I kept my promise. Only with strangers who don’t know where we are. It helps me to work on my English.”

“Good night, then. All is well here.”

Mulazim used Google to locate Belle Haven. It was part of Alexandria, south of Washington, D.C. He typed in the zip code that Niki had provided. A page of demographics appeared on the screen plus a section describing the community. Very wealthy, it said, but he’d gathered that much. Several senators and congressmen live there. More interesting to him was the number of foreigners. Many diplomats and their families from all over the world. Many foreign businessmen as well. Google says that the number that are foreign born is thought to be one out of four.

So, thought Mulazim, this is why it was chosen. Easy not to stand out if you speak with an accent. Many would surely be from Muslim countries. All the easier not to stand out.

He brought up from Google a map of Belle Haven looking for the place called Marcey Park. He added “tennis” to his search and it popped up at once. Yes, Marcey Park. Courts lit up at night. The little park was described as being off by itself, no houses close by, only woodlands. Good.

That is where he would look for them.

Tomorrow, thought Mulazim, he would drive to Virginia. Tomorrow evening he would be at this Marcey Park watching for who comes to play tennis.

It is good that his journey takes him to Virginia. He remembered what the man at the Wal-Mart had told him. Virginia is the place to buy guns.

Also he would find a new license plate that shows he is no stranger to Virginia.