69.

Sheriti left the Riston Hotel and strolled to the Place de la Concorde, where she admired the three-thousand-year-old granite obelisk gifted to King Charles X by Mehemet Ali. Crossing Rue Royale, she skirted around the Church of the Madeleine and browsed the fashion boutiques along Rue du Faubourg Saint Honore, studying the reflections of people in the store windows until she was confident she wasn't being followed.

Heading past the Elysee Palace, she strolled along Avenue Montaigne and entered a store specializing in women's swimwear. She smiled at the cherubic face that greeted her. She was safe here, for a while.

She had declined Jamila's invitation to accompany her to Paris Disneyland. With Khalid dismissing them for the day, she had the perfect opportunity to meet Miki to update her on progress. Last evening, she'd left a magazine open at page eleven in the lobby where a man was seated. That set the time. But if someone was tailing her, Miki wouldn't show.

Sheriti selected five items and headed to the change room, where she chose a cubicle with no other customers nearby. As she was slipping into a bikini, there was a soft knock on the door and Miki squeezed into the small s.p.a.ce, locking it behind her. They hugged and Sheriti looked down, stepping back to regard her case officer.

"You're pregnant? My closest friend is pregnant and doesn't tell me?"

"Four months now," Miki said, the inner glow showing on her face. "I was going to say in Dubai, until we had the problems with that American."

"I'll bet it's a boy, knowing Moshe. You said American! I thought-"

Miki lowered her voice to a whisper. "His name is Lee McCloud. Ex Delta Force, or whatever they call that unit now. His partner is Nathalie Francis. We believe they are CIA."

Sheriti slipped her arms into the bikini top. "Here, do me up."

"Pretty. Khalid will like that," Miki said, clipping the buckle together.

"Oh, please don't." Sheriti glanced over the top of the cubicle, and whispered, "Why would the CIA be following me?"

"It appears the Americans are watching Khalid. Perhaps he followed you because you were with Ziad, or perhaps because you're pretty."

A customer went into a cubicle nearby and Miki put her finger to her lips. Sheriti continued to try on the garments and they talked about inane topics for a few minutes until the other customer left.

Sheriti pulled a face and whispered: "Do they know about the canisters, do you think?"

"We don't know. And we don't dare ask, because that would reveal that we know. We must get them before they do. They are too valuable and the Americans would not want us to have them. Tell me... what do you have?"

"I haven't been able to get the plans of the fortress. Sorry, Miki. But I'll try to have Khalid show me inside next time we're on Andaran. I believe that Ziad may still be pursuing Fanning's wife Mai, even though Bill gave Ziad all the copies before they killed him."

"Are you in any danger, do you think?"

She shook her head. "No. Khalid has asked me to be his wife. I have not given him my answer, of course. But I will need to say yes if I am to stay safe."

Miki frowned but remained silent.

"I've had worse, Miki. I'm sure you did too, when you were a katsa. He adores me, is charming and kind, but what he does elsewhere disgusts me. Kidnapping and selling slave children, the drugs, the support for Al Qaeda. If it wasn't for the canisters..."

"Yes, I know. Khalid will be stopped soon. But first, we must get the canisters before he sells to the highest bidder. G.o.d forbid that they should fall into the hands of Al Qaeda, or the Iranians. We tried to make contact with him last night without success. We will try again. Will he negotiate, do you think?"

Sheriti took off the bikini and tried on another. "Perhaps, if he senses it's in his best interests. He is not interested in laying down his life for a cause. He loves the celebrity lifestyle too much. But he seems intent on destroying the Saudi regime."

"We cannot let that happen. Without the House of Saud, Arabia would become another Iran. And we have enough problems with Egypt, Syria, Jordan and Libya. Imagine if Khalid had power to influence Arabia, with the grip it maintains on the b.a.l.l.s of America!"

"His two senior bodyguards, Ibrahim and Masoud, are still missing after his father's funeral. They are gone several weeks now. Where, Khalid will not say."

Miki's expression hardened. "Perhaps they are recovering the canisters. We have been tracking the Princess Aliya. Soon, hopefully, this mission will be over for you."

"I won't fail you, Miki."

"You won't fail Israel. Your mother sends her love, by the way, and says thank you for the birthday present. Now, I want to discuss several contingencies with you."

70.

"Rosco! We've got him!" After trapping and releasing eighteen other houseguests on their fake internet portal, Tally watched with mounting excitement as Khalid logged on. A small Trojan program automatically downloaded and installed on his laptop, then installed an activity monitor and keylogger. Now they could ride shotgun whenever he logged onto the internet, at least until some smart IT person cleaned his computer.

Rosco raced over to her screen as Khalid logged on to the first bank account. "Jesus. Since when does anyone keep that sort of money in a cash account?" he said, pointing to the screen. "The moron should have it on term deposit, at least. Are we recording this?"

"Oh yes, we certainly are."

They watched in silence as Khalid transferred millions of dollars from the numbered accounts on his spreadsheet to other accounts.

Tally studied the numbers Khalid typed intently. "That's it. Now we just need the token tags."

She switched on Khalid's laptop microphone and turned up the volume. He was discussing investing in oil futures and gold futures with someone named Ahmed. After the phone call, Khalid opened a second spreadsheet. Bearer bonds, cash, paintings, ancient artefacts, gold, diamonds... and five canisters of highly enriched uranium!

"Holy c.r.a.p. There they are," Rosco said, breathing down the back of Tally's neck. "The canisters."

"This is it, Rosco. What we've been waiting for. Now we just need to find out where they're hidden."

She compressed and encrypted the recorded material before uploading it to the ASTA server and emailing Derek Wisebaum the link. She could hear Khalid talking to someone else-no, he was talking to himself. She turned the volume up to its maximum. He was mumbling something about destroying the House of Saud and changing the course of history.

There was a knock at the door. "Housekeeping!" called a female voice.

Taffy looked at Rosco. He called out: "Don't need anything! Merci!"

"Housekeeping!"

"Oh, hang on!" Rosco yelled.

Tally switched off the monitors, leaving the computers running.

Rosco checked the security viewer.

"It's okay. Just the daily bowl of fruit."

He opened the door, and took the fruit bowl offered. "Merc/. But we don't need the room serviced."

Tally turned in her chair. Instantly she recognised the cleaning woman as Khalid's sister Rubi, and shouted a warning. Too late. Two men leapt from behind the cleaner's trolley and tackled Rosco to the floor. Fruit spilled across the carpet as Ziad stepped inside and pointed a pistol at her. He closed the door behind him.

Tally lunged for the panic b.u.t.ton.

71.

Khalid stepped out of the elevator on the mezzanine floor with Seth close behind and entered the boardroom where Sheik Bulari was gazing out the window, his back to him. Seeing four bodyguards on duty, Khalid relaxed. He would be safe here. One of the bodyguards closed the door.

"Salaam alayk.u.m," Khalid said. "Peace be with you, brother."

The man turned. It wasn't Sheik Bulari.

"What is this? Do I have the wrong room?" A nervous twitch squirmed inside his gut.

"Shalom, Sheik Khalid. You are in the correct room. Sheik Bulari has been unavoidably delayed. Sit down, please. I won't take much of your time."

Israelis! Those who had threatened his father and stolen his gold.

"What is this outrage?" he demanded. But even as he stood there venting his anger, a cold shiver rippled up his backbone.

The four guards had drawn silenced pistols. Two of them blocked the exit. Seth appeared uncertain what action to take.

Khalid shook his head. They couldn't kill him in the Riston boardroom.

"Very wise," said the Israeli. "We are not here to kill you, but we would have no hesitation if your man gave us no choice."

The Israeli was a fit man in his late forties, early fifties perhaps, with a weathered face, hard eyes of the palest blue, and a foil head of stark white hair. He tipped his head at one of his men, who advanced on Seth.

"Your weapon please."

Seth didn't move. Khalid nodded, and Seth slowly removed the pistol from inside his jacket and handed it to the other man.

"Thank you."

"Let me see some identification," Khalid said, trying to exert some presence, although he realised he lacked any real clout.

"I believe it should be obvious I have adequate authority. Are you armed, Sheik Khalid?"

He held open his jacket.

"Very good. Your bodyguard will wait outside with my men, please."

After the others left, the imposter said, "Sit, please. My name is Meir Cohen. I work for the State of Israel."

As if that wasn't obvious. The impudence of the man, coming here like this after stealing his gold. He sat down at the opposite end of the meeting table. "What are you? Ex-IDF? Mossad? An Aluf Mishne perhaps?"

"Yes, I did retire a Colonel. How perceptive of you."

"I reject Israel's illegal occupation of Palestine. I have nothing to say to you."

The Israeli leaned back in his chair. "I knew your father, Prince Abu-Bakr, you know."

"You threatened him, you mean."

"We were negotiating. But we didn't kill him."

"No. He died in his sleep. Not, perhaps, as you hoped."

"If you believe that is the case, then it is an unfortunate coincidence. Your father died as we were close to coming to an arrangement. In fact, I had a meeting scheduled with him later that week. We thought perhaps he might have been killed to prevent him accepting our offer."

Khalid stopped breathing for a moment. Why would the Israelis think his father had been murdered? He tried to recall the words he'd used. Hadn't he said that he had refused to deal with the Israelis? Still, he was curious. "What offer do you refer to?"

Cohen's voice became sharper. "We want the canisters that Saddam Hussein gave your father to hide. We understand that-"

"I don't know what you're talking about. What canisters?"

Cohen studied his face. "Sheik Khalid, we know about the two shipping containers that Prince Abu-Bakr received from Saddam just before the US invasion. Now, we aren't interested in the looted treasures of Iraq. But we do want the uranium contained in those canisters. We cannot allow it to find its way to those who would want to start a devastating war that is in n.o.body's interests. You will understand this, of course. We are willing to pay a generous sum."

Khalid steepled his fingers, touching them to his lips as he contemplated his response. "But this is nonsense. Even the Americans found no evidence that Saddam possessed nuclear weapons."

Cohen played with an old Zippo lighter. "They are not nuclear weapons. They are canisters of uranium from dismantled Soviet missiles in Kazakhstan. Somehow they ended up in your father's hands. He in turn sold them to Saddam. Then, just before the US invasion in 2003-"

"Mr. Cohen, this is all very fascinating, but..." Khalid shrugged and placed his hands on the table. "I'm afraid I don't know anything about these canisters."

"We are willing to make you the same offer we made your father."

"In the event that I was to locate these canisters, what offer is that?"

"The State of Israel is willing to pay you one hundred million dollars. I'm sure-"

Khalid's explosive laughter took Cohen by surprise. "And would that include the eighty million in gold you stole last night when your men killed two of my security team? Surely you realise you are insulting my intelligence."

"What? I know nothing about any gold or any dead men. We had no intentions of harming you. In fact, two of my men were also injured in that explosion. Fortunately, they smelled the gas and got out in time. They had no contact with your men. In fact, we thought you were killed in the explosion. We had only been trying to put the same offer to you that I am making today. You obviously wouldn't meet me voluntarily, would you?"