Reprisal!- The Eagle's Sorrow Read online

  “The man is ungrateful for the help we have provided him thus far. We should have him killed and see if we cannot have a more successful relationship with his vice president. That would be Vice President Charles Bantock, is it not?” Almory flippantly remarked.

  “We will deal with him soon enough. We need not risk exposing our plans before we are fully ready to crush the infidels. Besides he doesn’t know we are the driving force behind the global currency change. Find out exactly how much he wants and arrange for him to get it. But only after he signs the agreement and forces his country to make the change,” Al-Ghazi ordered.

  “What of the foreign aid that Starks has promised us? I suppose he wants more of it repaid to him?” Abdul al-Fakih, the emir of Aden and brother of the late emir killed the previous year, asked.

  “No, he hasn’t tried to change that agreement. Once he has agreed to an arrangement, he doesn’t typically go back on his word, but you are right to remind us he bears watching,” the emir of Massawa stated.

  Taking his cue from the silence in the room following that last remark, the emir looked around at the other men. He was ready to field more questions, but none were asked; so he suggested that they end their meeting with a prayer.

  Each man bowed his head, and his holiness, the imam of Massawa, Abdul Mohammad al-Fakhry, stood and began his prayers.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Mr. Bascome, thank you for seeing me,” Hassam Saud stated as he entered the corner office on the top floor of the National Security Agency Headquarters at Fort Meade, Maryland.

  “It’s never a bother to make time for you, Mr. Saud,” Bascome said, flattering the lobbyist from Solution Brothers Trust as he rose from behind his desk to shake hands with him.

  “How are you doing with the weight of the free world on your shoulders, my friend?” Hassam asked in a congenial way, not expecting any true confessions from this man who was most certainly a pawn for the Brotherhood. In his element as director of the NSA, however, Bascome was quite formidable—like a tiger in the jungle or a shark in the sea.

  “Would you care for a coffee?” Bascome asked Hassam as the secretary waited at the door.

  “Oh, no, I’ll be brief. I know you are a busy man.”

  Waving his secretary away, Bascome went back and sat behind his desk, pointing to a chair in front of the desk for Hassam to sit in. When the door was closed, he then pulled a small box from his desk drawer, setting it between himself and Hassam. The small box was a white noise masking device that would provide enough static to defeat any recording device that Hassam may have had on his person or that anyone might have managed to plant in his office despite the daily sweeps for listening devices.

  “So, Hassam, how is life treating you?” Bascome started their now private conversation.

  “Life is good, my friend. The sun is warm and bright now that spring is here. The winters are the hardest part for me. Did you know that I had no idea what snow was until I saw it for the first time when I was a teenager in Switzerland? My father laughed at me for an hour. I could not get enough of playing in it. Of course, my mother, she was worried I would catch a cold; and of course, she was right. I was sick for weeks afterwards. Although I still enjoy the memory of those days, I no longer find the snow as enjoyable. I prefer the beach in the South of France in the summer now, but I must be discreet, since watching scantily-clad women is a prohibitive pastime in my culture.” Hassam skillfully made small talk as was required by his culture whenever opening a negotiation.

  “That’s too bad. All those women in those skimpy bikinis and the lovely tans they get. They are quite beautiful,” Bascome expounded in an effort to be polite. He wasn’t bound by custom to make small talk, so he quickly cut to the chase. “Now, what can I do for you?”

  “Ah, it is not for me. I have a friend, a friend from home. It seems a member of his family has disappeared here in the States. His family is very concerned that he may have lost his way or has fallen in with the wrong company. He knows many of the family’s business secrets, and it would be highly embarrassing if he were to tell stories ‘out of school.’ I believe that is what you Americans say.”

  “Yes, family business secrets can be very embarrassing, but what can I do about his wanting to tell them?” Bascome asked coyly.

  “It is a difficult thing to ask because your country might desire to know some of these secrets, and if that were to happen, I am afraid the close relationship we have built would be in jeopardy of being sacrificed. The man doesn’t have a stellar reputation. Some of his friends are people of extreme political views.”

  Bascome remained silent, so Hassam continued. “He also provided help in advance of the terrible tragedies in Houston and San Antonio. He used his position in international banking to provide cover for many illegal students, as well as moving money around the world for them. Recently, when he was in Baghdad, he accepted transportation to America from your CIA.” Hassam looked expectantly at Bascome but received no reaction.

  “His family would prefer that he doesn’t speak with anyone, so they have asked if I knew anyone that could help them. I thought perhaps with his family so concerned, that you, a man so powerful, would be able to ensure that he does not talk with anyone. Of course, his family is willing to show their great appreciation for such a favor. I was thinking that a hundred thousand ‘thank yous’ would be due you if you could help. Might that be enough?” Hassam alluded to the money bribe he was prepared to give.

  Bascome looked off into space for moment, then he answered. “I believe I know which friend you are speaking of, but the appreciation is much too small compared to the risk involved,” Bascome stated as he began negotiations.

  “Then perhaps we could thank you two hundred and fifty thousand times?” Hassam raised the ante.

  “That might seem reasonable, but there will be others that I will have to extend the ‘thank yous’ to, as well. I would be more inclined to intercede if the ‘thank yous’ were, say, in the seven figure range.”

  “Ah, I see. You drive a hard bargain. But I know his family is very concerned and one million ‘thank yous’ is a small price to pay for such an important favor. Would that be agreeable?” Hassam asked.

  “The ‘thank yous’ will need to be sent to a friend in Cyprus, not the one in the Caymans. I don’t want my other friends to be concerned that I have made a special arrangement without them. I’ll provide the number to which you are to forward such generosity. When I have confirmed receipt, I will take care of the issue which has your friend’s family so concerned.” Bascome smiled wickedly as he accepted a bribe for the murder of David Ashrawl.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  As he left the mosque at the conclusion of morning prayers, he was contemplating whether or not the plans of the Brotherhood would succeed. Unlike most mornings, he was unable to stay and talk with his friends or the imam. Today, he had several early meetings, and he was expecting a call from his personal emissary.

  He traveled in a motorcade of military vehicles whenever he left his personal compound. Every trip for a member of the Saudi Royal Family, even if it is just going to the office, is fraught with danger. As a safety precaution, the motorcade travels at speeds of a hundred twenty miles per hour or more. A typical motorcade is made up of two or three police cars, one or two armored limousines, and three or four armored military escort trucks with .50 caliber machine guns mounted on top. Additionally, there would be at least two military helicopters circling overhead with machine gunners and rockets at the ready. The protection detail is made up of Saudi National Guard and Saudi National Police, which are charged with protecting the Royal Family and any foreign nationals of importance who may visit the kingdom.

  Most Westerners have no idea of the disparity between the rich and the poor in the kingdom. This disparity is the reason that this level of protection is required for the royals. What the Saudis present to the world is a land of lavish palaces and modern conveniences such as hospitals, libraries, luxury
car dealerships and modern shopping malls—a land of true Islamic Brotherhood and equality. A country where the king is benevolent, and he has a true paternal concern for his subjects.

  The reality is that the best hospitals, schools, libraries, luxury cars, shopping malls and the care and concern of the king, are reserved for the five thousand princes in the Royal Family, their families and their close allies. What the Saudis do not want shown to the outside world are the slums in which the non-favored live—about eighty percent of the population.

  The average Saudi, if they have a job, works for less than half of the monthly income of an average blue collar American and, even with a lower cost of living thanks to the government subsidizing their basic purchases such as food, clothing and rent, every day luxuries are in short supply. The poor are cloistered in high rise tenements, much like the housing projects in America in the 1960s.

  The tenements are isolated from the more affluent areas of the cities and the country by walls or fences that are guarded twenty-four hours a day, keeping the poor away from the rich and their perfect world. If a person of affluence has to venture into the poorer sections, they travel with a heavily armed military escort as traveling alone would be suicide.

  It is surprising the huge difference between the rich and the poor in the kingdom, especially when you consider that the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia is one of the richest countries on earth. It could easily educate and properly house its population, while barely scratching the surface of its vast wealth.

  Unemployment and illiteracy are very high in the kingdom. Many of the wealthy import their personal employees such as butlers, maids, groundskeepers, cooks, and drivers from India, China, Indonesia, Bangladesh and several African nations. Few of the average citizens are hired for such work since the ruling class is suspicious of them and concerned about the militant Islamic tendencies of the lower classes. Most of the average citizens receive no more than the education provided by the local madras. No money is wasted on educating the masses who are considered less than human by the ruling class. Besides, it is so much easier to control them if they don’t know how to read or write above basic levels and haven’t any experience with the outside world. By controlling the populous through the educational process and by keeping tight controls on the monetary system, the king can continue to rule with only minor opposition.

  The main threat to the Royal Family is not the population but the fundamentalist Wahhabis. They are the radical religious group that controls the holiest sites of Islam—Mecca and Medina. Mecca is home to the Grand Mosque, and it is where the faithful attend the Hajj. Medina is the home of the mausoleum of the Prophet Mohammad.

  The Wahhabis are at odds with the Royal Family over the king’s tempered embrace of their religious views, with the most radical among them looking for any opportunity to overthrow the Royals. This would allow them to take control of the kingdom and rule it under the strictest form of Sharia Law, like the Taliban in Afghanistan. Osama bin Laden was one of these radicals.

  At any given moment, the Royals, foreigners or those out of favor with the racial religious zealots could be attacked by RPGs (rocket propelled grenades), car bombs, and IEDs (improvised explosive devices), or be ambushed by criminal bands. The only truly safe place for the Royals is inside their compounds, which are guarded by the Saudi National Guard.

  The Saudis have three levels of protection. The Saudi National Guard is charged exclusively with the protection of the Royals. The Saudi National Police is charged with protecting the favored and important visitors to the kingdom and with backing up the National Guard. The Saudi military is charged with protecting the kingdom from outside aggressors. The whole system is overseen by the Interior Ministry, headed by a member of the Royal Family loyal to the king. At present, that is Heyman al-Ghazi ibn Fahd, the king’s trusted brother.

  The phone in his limousine rang, and as was his custom, he let it ring several times until he finally answered. “Yes,” was all he said knowing that it was the appointed time for his underling to call.

  “I have my report, sir,” the voice on the other end of the encrypted line stated.

  “Yes?”

  “Our friends in Hamburg are ready and waiting for your go ahead, now that we know exactly how the charges must be set,” the man stated, knowing the minister knew all about the experiment in the Malaccan Straits. There was no need to tell him again.

  “Inshallah!” he stated with little emotion. “Did the emir not pass along the order to execute?” he asked.

  “Yes, he did, but with so much at stake, Yousef wanted to confirm the approval.”

  “Tell them to go forward. Allahu Akbar!” He raised his voice slightly, allowing himself to feel some excitement over what was to come.

  “And the other plans?” the voice asked, knowing there were at least two other missions to be carried out.

  “Continue to prepare, but our shipment for the Iranians has been delayed. Another shipment has been expedited and will be there by the end of the month. What of our business in Washington?” the minister asked.

  “There doesn’t appear to be any connection between Kilauea Corporation and the loss of our friend in the West Bank. Our source at the NSA states that Ashrawl has claimed it was the Iranians who kidnapped and tortured him. My source also tells me that Ashrawl told the CIA that he would cooperate fully but only with the FBI. It seems he feels he has information that they will find extremely valuable. He is asking for witness protection before he will divulge any information, which is lucky for us,” the emissary explained. “I’ve been informed that the Ashrawl situation will be handled shortly. We will no longer need to be concerned about him sharing trade secrets.”

  “This is good news. But if the Iranians truly did kidnap him, they know everything and will be waiting for us. If someone else kidnapped our friend, then they know everything; and again we are in great danger. We will need to take additional steps to protect ourselves, but we will continue with our plans. I do not believe it was the Iranians. I believe it was the Americans, but they hate the Iranians as much or more than we do. They will not share what they know until after the fact, in an attempt to deflect the wrath of the Iranians,” he shared with his underling.

  “Soon, the Iranians will be no better off than the other charlatans who claim they follow Allah. As for Ashrawl, it is good our friend in Washington will solve that problem for us.” With this statement, he hung up and smiled, contemplating the destruction that was to come.

  CHAPTER SIX

  David Ashrawl was being held in a CIA safe house outside of Kingsville, West Virginia. The house was situated on a dead end road surrounded by a ten thousand acre parcel of land once owned by a coal company that closed some forty years ago. The Feds acquired the property from the state of West Virginia who took possession for back taxes. Now it is used only by a few hunters and the occasional backpacker.

  A ten acre compound that had been carved out of the pristine forest on the eastern edge of the property was the secret CIA safe house. The compound was filled with motion detectors, cameras and, when it was in use, with guards. David Ashrawl, after begging not to be turned over to the Israelis or the Iranians, had suddenly clammed up and began trying to negotiate with the FBI for a new life in witness protection rather than prison. He felt prison would be a death sentence due to the growing Muslim population incarcerated in the American prison system now.

  After three weeks, he still refused to talk. He continued to claim that he had extremely valuable information that he would be more than happy to share…provided they would place him in the Witness Protection Program.

  As the negotiations dragged on, Ashrawl filled his days by taking morning walks after breakfast and then spending the day being questioned by the CIA. Of course, he refused to answer any of their questions until they had a deal regarding his future.

  Unlike the people who had captured him, the CIA had not tortured him or even hinted they would. So far, he had been treated more
like a guest than a terrorist. After three weeks, he was beginning to feel that they were about to give in to his demands, and today would be the day they finalized the deal.

  Ashrawl stood smoking a few dozen yards from the house by a small pond filled with goldfish. The sun felt warm on his skin and brought back memories of his youth. Closing his eyes, he could almost feel the spray of the Mediterranean Sea in his face and feel the heat of the sun warming his back. It was home, Lebanon, before the civil war, when Lebanon was considered the cultural center of the Middle East. It was a land dominated by cedar forests in the north and olive orchards in the south. His family owned a large olive orchard, but on Fridays, he and his two brothers would spend the day with the family playing at the seashore, wading in the water; that is until the fateful Friday when the government troops came to the beach.