No Remorse (30 page)

“To outbuilding on property next door. Your father own adjoining property. He build tunnel for escape, like now. And… for little while there was a young girl in other house. Sadly, she die.”

Khalid tried to think back. Was there another woman when he had accompanied his father here? He could vaguely recall one particularly pretty girl, but he had thought she was a servant, or a servant’s daughter.

“Hurry. When we enter tunnel I press destruct switch. Gas being released into house now. Soon gas explode. Whoever attack us, they die. Come, there is car in garage. Your men will be waiting.”

But when they got to the main road there was no truck waiting.

After following the truck for an hour and a half along the A4 towards Reims, Mac and the others arrived at the farm, a few miles south of Epernay. Jog had sent Marcel and the other guys home. It was just before daybreak, and Mac was still trying to come to terms with the realization that, with Khalid and his men dead, he had lost the key to finding Sophia. Would the transplant operations continue? Even if they did not, whoever had the girls was hardly likely to release them.

There was a remote possibility that Sophia and Danni were in the truck. But that seemed unlikely. It was more likely they were being held somewhere on Khalid’s compound on Andaran. Maybe underground, behind the waterfall, or in the Yubani Resort itself. He needed to get down there again, this time with Scotty, not Tally. He had one more card to play. If he could get the full plans from Mai.

He parked outside the barn where Jog had left the truck. They held their weapons ready as Scotty used a bolt-cutter on the lock and lifted the roller shutter.

“Damn!” Mac said. It was just a heap of boxes.

Jog jumped up on the deck. “Drugs, perhaps?”

“Just what we need.”

Jog found a screwdriver and opened one of the boxes. “Mon Dieu!” He pitched an ingot at Scotty and began to laugh.

“My sweet Lordy!” Scotty ran his fingers over the gold, and tossed it to Schmidt.

Jog opened a second box to verify they were the same. “Around a hundred boxes at a guess.”

Schmidt went to throw the ingot to Mac, but he shook his head. He was trying to think. Should he call Mai, just to check she would have the plans with her on Monday? Did her copy include the underground cavern he and Tally had discovered?

Tally. His mind flashed back to the previous night. He went through the evening, step by step. Tally had wanted to get the truth off her chest, so to speak. But she’d told him just as they were getting it on. What sort of bad timing was that, not to mention bad taste? And Wisebaum, who was more interested in stealing Khalid’s money than in saving American lives, had ordered her not to. Maybe he had judged her too harshly. Maybe she was just trying to time telling him so he would… Nah, that didn’t make sense. She must have known he would react like that.

Maybe she’d told him deliberately, so he would react? Perhaps the men who blew up Khalid’s house were CIA guys? No, that didn’t make sense either, because now Wisebaum wouldn’t get his bonus. Nothing was making sense.

He had to get to London to see Mai and get the plans to Andaran. It was his only chance.

He looked over at Scotty, who was sitting on the tray of the van, his feet dangling, checking something on his phone. “Seventy million pounds worth. Christ, we’re rich!” He jumped around, waving his arms.

Jog was studying a slip of paper taken from one of the boxes. “The Central Bank of Iraq. This gold was probably smuggled out before the war.”

Scotty was juggling three ingots. “I don’t give a Queen’s tit where it came from. Finders keepers is one of my fundamental principles of life. You’d agree with that, Mac?”

He shrugged. “Well, we’re sure as hell not giving it back.”

The others laughed.

“That’s the spirit, lad!” Scotty clapped him on the back.

According to his contract with ASTA, Mac was required to hand over the gold, which would probably end up in the US Treasury. He’d get a small percentage as a bonus. His thoughts turned to what he might need to fund the rescue of Sophia and Danni. And to the others taken or hurt by Khalid’s activities. And to what it might take to stop Khalid.

It was a no-brainer.

“Okay. We use some of it to pay the guys. The rest is to be held over until we’ve got Sophia and Danni. After that, we can decide how we might best use it.”

The others nodded.

“So Jog, how do we convert two thousand bars of gold to cash?”

“Jog fix, mon ami. Just open a bank account in Monaco or Liechtenstein and tell me the number.”

Khalid’s initial fleeting suspicion had been that Ali and Sadiq might have been behind the theft. For an instant he even suspected Ziad. But he knew his men were loyal, and the television news had shown two bodies being carried to an ambulance, reported as being shot.

It seemed his father was right. The Israelis were after the Saddam treasure, and their men had attacked the house and managed to hijack the truck. They had probably thought they would get their filthy hands on the nuclear canisters. But they had been completely finessed, and now they had revealed their intent. Perhaps, if there were any bombs left after he had taken his revenge on the House of Saud and the Wahhabi mullahs in Mecca, he would look at how he might repay the Jews for their blundering arrogance.

After visiting the BNP branch and retrieving two USB flash drives and four token tags from his father’s safe deposit box, he had retreated to his suite at the Riston and sent the women away for the day so he could concentrate on securing his inheritance. Not only was there the threat of the Israelis, but the police would wish to speak with him once they traced the limousine and the identities of Sadiq and Ali. He needed time to think. And the sooner he could leave Paris, the better.

The USB sticks contained identical files, one being a backup. Khalid’s heart pounded as he stared at his inheritance listed on the spreadsheet. Over six hundred million dollars in numbered accounts in Panama, Antigua, Vanuatu and the Bahamas. Shopping malls in London and the Emirates; a share portfolio in a Delaware-based trust; units in a Geneva-based investment trust; diamonds hidden in Freetown, Sierra Leone; and the gold in Paris. Almost one billion US dollars in cash and assets, even more than his father’s note had promised. He smiled, and tapped a fingernail against his teeth as he pondered how he could outwit his enemies to get control of these assets. One thing was for certain—he needed to act quickly.

By rights he should be furious at the theft of the gold. But as he stared at the list of his father’s assets, of
his
assets, he felt an uncanny urge to laugh. What was $80 million in gold but small change, compared to this?

He knew just how he would celebrate. He would host a spectacular wedding with Sheriti, inviting celebrities from around the world to the resort on Andaran. The most expensive wedding ever. Famous singers and rock bands would entertain the guests—perhaps Elton John? And Brad and Angelina might attend, once they were told about his work with orphans.

First, though, he needed to secure the funds in his own accounts, so they would be safely in his control.

Logging onto the hotel internet, and using the token tags from the safe deposit box, he completed transfers amounting to almost $120 million from the accounts his father had left him. Eighty million dollars went to investment accounts managed by his accountant, Ahmed Nezar, and the rest he transferred to a Caymans account that Ahmed didn’t know about. He would never trust one man with all his money. He called Ahmed.

“Ahmed, brother, there are rumors of disruption in Saudi oil supplies in the near future. I want you to invest fifty percent of my cash in oil futures, and twenty-five percent in gold futures.”

“But Highness, these are high risk strategies. I could not recommend them,” Ahmed said.

“Just do it, brother.”

Khalid rang off and brought up the other file on the USB. It contained an inventory of the two containers of Saddam’s treasure that Ibrahim and Masoud had recovered from the desert. It read like a cache of Nazi war booty. Khalid stopped breathing as he scrolled down the list, which included $500 million in negotiable US bearer bonds, 207 million euros, six tons of gold, three tons of platinum; as well as thousands of diamonds, rubies, sapphires and emeralds; and eight crates of paintings, including two Monets, a Picasso, a Van Gogh, and sketches by da Vinci. There were thousands of artifacts dating from the Babylonian Empire, including two missing Dead Sea scrolls, thousands of cylinder seals, Assyrian ivory sculptures, and black stone sculptures from the Acadian civilization of 2200 BCE.

Some of the items had been stolen from the Iraq National Museum. There was no shortage of private buyers willing to buy such items, even if they could never be publicly displayed. His friend Bogdan Brazhlov used stolen paintings as collateral in some drug deals.

Scrolling down the list it occurred to him that, with the Saddam treasure, he would become possibly the wealthiest, most powerful Arab outside Saudi Arabia and the Emirates.

And there it was at the bottom of the list. What the Israelis were desperate to obtain. Five canisters of highly enriched uranium taken from decommissioned Soviet nuclear weapons. Perfect for dirty bombs that could contaminate a city for centuries.

We are traders; let the market decide
, his father had said. His father had wanted to sell the nuclear material to Al Qaeda. And perhaps Khalid would. But not until he had used what he needed to achieve the fall of the Saudi regime.

He would soon have a place in history unparalleled by anyone in the twenty-first century. After he was dead, a confession would be released on video. He would acknowledge his part, and the world would remember him as the one who had initiated the downfall of Saudi Arabia by the destruction of Mecca.

He put one USB stick in his pocket and locked the other in the safe.

Seth knocked and opened the door, as Khalid was shutting down his computer. “Highness, Sheik Bulari has arrived downstairs for your meeting. And Sergei is wanting to check your computer.”

“What?” He frowned and crossed his arms, a flash of anger making his face and neck feel flushed. He had just completed his internet transfers of millions of dollars of his father’s funds, thinking Sergei had given him the all clear. “Is there a problem? Sergei has already checked it.”

“I don’t know. He just told me that he wants to check something else on your machine.”

Khalid grunted. He put on his Ferragamo loafers and Brioni jacket. “Take it and hurry back. I must not keep Sheik Bulari waiting. He is a very influential potential new member of the Hunnafite Brotherhood.”

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 Honoré, studying the reflections of people in the store windows until she was confident she wasn’t being followed.

Heading past the Elysée 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 space, 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…”