Spiders from the Shadows

SIXTEEN


Raven Rock (Site R), Underground Military Complex, Southern Pennsylvania


James Davies was hauled away, his feet dragging across the floor, leaving random specks of blood to dot the dark blue carpet from the powerful dart that had pierced his neck.

The first order of business out of the way, the real meeting was finally able to begin. It lasted for almost five hours before food was brought in; then the lunch was quickly eaten and the men went back to work.

At three in the morning, they had their final agreement. They signed it, some of them smiling, some frowning, though in truth most of them were relieved.

It had gone better than any of them could have dreamed.

The world’s spheres of influence divided and allocated, the meeting was adjourned.

* * * * * * *

The old man met the king at the back of the room and pulled him aside. “This is the last time you will come here,” the old man said. He glanced behind him after speaking, shooting a nasty look toward the president of the United States. “It makes it difficult for the others. You are far too recognizable.”

The king of the House of Saud glared with cold eyes at the old man. Their relationship was strained, accusatory and barely even civil. There was no balance any longer. The old man had delivered everything that he had promised the king: his brothers, the weapons he had used to destroy America, the kingdom with its uncounted wealth, pride and unfathomable power. Everything they’d ever talked about, the old man had delivered, leaving King al-Rahman to stand beside Nebuchadnezzar in the historic halls of power. But what the old man could build, he could destroy; what he had given, he could take back. Worse, the king had little purpose now, and the old man was through with him. The old man didn’t want to kill Al-Rahman—the king would kill himself soon enough—but the old man certainly wanted Al-Rahman dead.

Like an infected wound, the king’s heart was fully putrid now. Everything that the ling was, he owed to the old man, which made the king hateful, resentful and ripe with pride, a deadly combination for any king, but especially for a king of Saudi Arabia descended from a long line of proud and powerful men.

The king didn’t answer for a moment.

“You have everything you’ve asked for. I gave it all to you. Now I need for you to listen. You must stay away. Stay away from Fuentes. Stay out of the country. There is nothing for you to do here. No good can come from it. If you’re invited, decline politely, but do not come. It will make our work much more difficult if you are identified at this critical juncture. I know you’ll understand.”I want to be like you killedwpx; }

The king cocked his head, tempted to rebut him, but the red smolder in the old man’s eyes tamed him, turning his wrath aside. “Agreed,” he answered simply, a dog before his master, his tail between his knees.

The old man watched and smiled, laughing inside himself. None of them were equal to him. None of them. They all wore down, some of them more quickly, some of them more stubbornly, but all of them would fall. Once he started talking to them, once they looked him in the eye, they would fall. Their defense against him would have been so simple: All they had to do was walk away. But as long as they listened to him, then all of them would fall. He could wear them down eventually if they listened to his words.

The old man leaned toward Al-Rahman and lowered his voice to plant the seed. “The prince is still alive, you know.”

Al-Rahman stared at him.

“I’ve told you before, it is a problem. You’ve got to take care of him. He will grow, and when he does, he’ll come to kill you. Do you think he won’t come for his kingdom? Do you think the men who have him now won’t prepare him for that day? He is the only son of the oldest son. He should be king. He has been taken and hidden for a purpose. Every day you let him linger, they grow bolder, thinking you have forgotten the bloodline that survives.”

Al-Rahman turned his eyes away, looking past the old man. “I have time—”

“You will lose your kingdom then, you fool. Everything that we have worked for, everything that we have killed and died for, all of it will be gone. You risk your own good, but you risk mine as well. Mine and that of the brothers. We will not endure your foolishness. You must act or we will.”

Al-Rahman moved his shoulders slightly. His breath smelled like Arab Chi and cigarettes, his armpits like sweat.

The old man knew that the king was hesitant and he pressed the seed a little deeper, pushing into more fertile mental soil. “Think back over time,” he whispered now. “How many empires, how many kings have been brought down by a child who had claim upon a throne? I can name you at least a dozen, including the greatest kings. And whether you like it or not, King al-Rahman, this young prince has claim on you. You killed his father, his uncles and his cousins. You killed his grandfather, the real king,” the old man emphasized the word, digging into Al-Rahman’s soul. “You stole it from him, Abdullah. He knows it. Those around him know what happened, which is why they risk their lives to save him. But I’ve told you all this before.” The old man let his voice drift away now. He had him; he could tell that from the agitation in his eyes.

“I’ll do it,” King al-Rahman said.

The old man frowned and leaned toward him. “Do it now,” he sneered.