Mullah Halabi’s doing, of course. The fact that the ISIS leader was already using his influence to increase Nassar’s stature in Saudi Arabia was an encouraging sign.
“I did only what was necessary, Your Highness.”
The king laughed. “Well, Aali, if this is too trivial a matter for you to discuss, why don’t you tell me about your meeting with the president?”
Nassar actually smiled at that. The old man hadn’t heard. Perhaps Nassar’s initial analysis had been correct. President Alexander was indeed too spineless to pursue the matter.
“It turned out to be much more difficult even than the attack, Majesty.”
“What? How so?”
Nassar allowed for an appropriately dramatic pause, given the news he was about to deliver. “The Americans believe that Talal bin Musaid recently went to Morocco to make a payment to ISIS.”
“What are you talking about? That’s outrageous!” the king said, before descending into a coughing fit. It was violent enough that Nassar wondered if the old fool was finally going to drop dead.
Unfortunately, Faisal managed to regain his breath. “Is there any truth to this, Aali?”
“In my opinion, there is not, Majesty. The accusation relies entirely on the account of a single mercenary and a laughably poor photograph. While it’s true that the prince was in Morocco at the time, I’ve spoken to his security people and embassy personnel, all of whom are willing to testify that he was nowhere near the site of the alleged exchange.”
“Have you spoken to him? Have you spoken directly to Talal?”
“I haven’t, Majesty. We—”
“I’ll summon him to the palace immediately.”
It was the expected reaction, but a potentially disastrous one. What were the chances that the idiot prince wouldn’t let something slip under questioning?
“Sir, I’d strongly recommend against that. Given some time, I believe I can prove his innocence to the Americans. And if that’s the case, the entire matter will go away without anyone ever knowing about it.
“I’m not convinced, Aali. President Alexander wouldn’t make this kind of an accusation lightly.”
“I agree, Majesty. He’s an impressive and thoughtful man. But not infallible. If I’m wrong and my investigation doesn’t clear the prince beyond a shadow of a doubt, then he should be called upon to explain himself. But why humiliate him with an accusation that I’m convinced is false?”
Faisal didn’t immediately respond, but Nassar could hear his ragged breathing on the other end of the line. “You’ve never failed me before, Aali. And your heroism in Mauritania has once again demonstrated that you were the right man to oversee our intelligence efforts. I’ll do as you advise. I’ll wait for your report.”
“Thank you, Majesty.”
Faisal disconnected the call and Nassar leaned back in his chair. The conversation had gone as well as could be hoped. He had time to carefully consider the problem that bin Musaid posed and how to best solve it. Further, at this point, it was unlikely that the Americans would contact the king to protest the tone of Nassar’s meeting with the president. But if they did, he could always excuse his performance by citing the shock he’d felt at a royal being the target of such an accusation.
There was a knock on his office door and a moment later the bearded face of Mahja Zaman peeked around the jamb. “I hear you’re off the line with the king. Do you have a moment to speak with a common peasant like myself?”
Nassar’s parents had been servants in the Zaman household, and because he and Mahja were the same age, the two of them had struck up a friendship. They’d attended the same madrassa in their youth, and it was Mahja’s father who had recommended Nassar for the university scholarship program created by the king. Mahja and Nassar continued their lifelong friendship, rooming together at Oxford and exploring Europe during school breaks. Upon their return to Saudi Arabia, Nassar had joined the military—the best way for the son of a working-class father to move up in society—and Zaman had taken over his family’s wildly profitable construction company. Despite their divergent paths, the friendship endured.
“You look healthier than I expected,” Zaman said as Nassar came around his desk to embrace the man.
“It was nothing.”
“Nothing? I read that you were forced to jump onto an armored vehicle and kill those dogs yourself! Praise Allah that you escaped with your life.”
Nassar indicated for his friend to sit and then took the chair next to him. The office door was closed, but still he scooted close so that they could speak in whispers.
“Once again, I must ask for your help, Mahja.”
Zaman’s expression turned conspiratorial. “You know that I am always at your service and at the service of God.”
The lessons of the madrassa had influenced Zaman even more than they had Nassar. He had remained devout, but his life of privilege had left him yearning for something more meaningful than the acquisition of more and more wealth. Like Prince bin Musaid, this nagging emptiness made him useful, but the analogy ended there. Whereas the prince was a spoiled boy in the throes of a tantrum, Zaman was strong, devoted, and clever. Those qualities made him an effective soldier, but also made it necessary for Nassar to tell him more than he would have liked. Zaman was not a man who would tolerate being a simple pawn, and his intelligence allowed only the most careful lies.
“Fortunately, while critical, it’s not a complicated matter.”
Zaman nodded. “What, then?”
“We need to make another cash payment.”
“Where?”
“Brussels. You’ll take the money in your private plane, transfer it to a car, and then drive to a designated location in the Molenbeek neighborhood.”
“And after that?”
“Nothing. That’s the end of your involvement. Take the keys and leave. The car will be driven away a few hours later. No face-to-face contact will be necessary.”
“Cameras?”
“No coverage where you’ll leave the vehicle.”
“How much?”
“Five million euros.”
Zaman was surprised by the amount. “Five million? Does this mean that you’ve made contact with Mullah Halabi?”
“I have,” Nassar admitted.
“Excellent! And do you think your new relationship will bear fruit?”
“Perhaps.”
In fact, it already had. Beyond the ISIS-generated story about his superhuman actions during the Mauritania attack, there had already been a quantifiable reduction in antimonarchy sentiment on social media. After the five million euros was transferred, Nassar expected the rate of that reduction to accelerate. It was a strategy that worked on two levels. His fabricated heroics played well with the general population, and the attenuation of antiroyal Internet bile played well with the king.
“Will it be used in an attack against the Americans?”
“I can’t be certain, but that would be my assumption.”
Zaman grinned. “I wouldn’t be surprised to see you as caliph one day. The leader of lands that stretch from Mali to Tajikistan.”
“If Allah calls on me to fill that role, I will of course do His will.”
Zaman slapped him on the shoulder. “Always so smooth, Aali. Those English girls at school never had a chance.”