Turncoats

By Harris I. Baseman

After the wife and brother of Saudi-born, Wall Street whiz Hal Hamaly are murdered by radical Islamists in a Riyadh shopping center, he reverts to his Bedouin heritage and code of honor to exact his revenge. While in Riyadh, he's seized by radical Wahhabi cleric, Sheik Alomari who threatens to murder all of Hal's other relatives unless he joins Alomari in Jihad against the West. While not trusted by the clerics, Hal agrees to Alomari's terms, knowing that Alomari has many ways to insure against Hal's possible betrayal. Hal's initial assignments-kill all his Jewish partners, and negotiate and finance the purchase of an arsenal of Soviet made suitcase nuclear bombs for simultaneous strikes on New York and other U.S., European and Asian cities.

The colossal attack is designed by Alomari to demonstrate the power of the Islamic Jihad against the western Democracies and crush all infidel resistance to the restoration and spread of a world-wide, Wahhabi controlled Islamic theocracy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 2, 2007
• ISBN: 9780595917051

Harris I. Baseman

Harris I. Baseman terminated a successful career as the senior partner of a prestigious Boston law firm to concentrate on a second career as a novelist. The Accidental President is his second published novel. Baseman lives with his wife in St. Croix and in Massachusetts.

Book preview

TURNCOATS

Copyright © 2007 by Harris I. Baseman

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

iUniverse

2021 Pine Lake Road, Suite 100

Lincoln, NE 68512

www.iuniverse.com

1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

ISBN: 978-0-595-47428-8 (pbk)

ISBN: 978-0-595-91705-1 (ebk)

Contents

Preface

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 46

CHAPTER 47

CHAPTER 48

CHAPTER 49

CHAPTER 50

CHAPTER 51

CHAPTER 52

CHAPTER 53

CHAPTER 54

CHAPTER 55

CHAPTER 56

CHAPTER 57

CHAPTER 58

CHAPTER 59

Preface

While the story told and all the characters in Turncoats are fictional, much of the background is true. For some readers, knowing what is true adds to the enjoyment. This Preface is for them.

The Declaration of Jihad against the United States and all infidels referenced in the novel is true. The pronouncement by Osama Bin Laden publicized in 1998 contained the following language, in compliance with Allah’s order, we issue the following fatwa to all Muslims. The ruling to kill the Americans and their allies—civilians and military—is an individual duty for every Muslim who can do it in any country in which it is possible to do it… Unfortunately, there is a minority of Muslims that accept the order and a majority of Muslims that are apparently unwilling to oppose the order and those among them that are working to carry it out. The scholarly writings in the Muslim world defending and opposing the order would be amusing if it were not so deadly serious.

There is evidence that a substantial number of suitcase size nuclear bombs were made by the Soviet Union and that their whereabouts is unknown. On 7 September 1997, the CBS newsmagazine Sixty Minutes broadcast a story in which former Russian National Security Adviser Aleksandr Lebed claimed that the Russian military had lost track of more than 100 suitcase-sized nuclear bombs, any one of which could kill up to 100,000 people. He stated, "I’m saying that more than a hundred weapons out of the supposed number of250 are not under the control of the armed forces of Russia …I don’t know their location. I don’t know whether they have been destroyed or whether they are stored or whether they’ve been sold or stolen, I don’t know." Although various spokesmen for the Russian and United States governments attempted to deny that any nuclear weapons were not accounted for, other credible sources confirmed Lebed’s statements. In a PBS Frontline interview, Alexei Yablokov, Boris Yeltsin’s one time Science Advisor stated, Yes, small atomic charges exist…. They are very small. Several dozen kilos, thirty kilos, forty kilos. I spoke with people that made them … and I believe these people, these people knew what they were talking about. And there was data published about it … No one knows how many exist … Lebed mentioned that there’s forty-eight, or a hundred and fifty, but no one knows for certain. Further inquiry was made by Congress and according to a press release from Rep. Curt Weldon’s office (R-Pa): Yablokov stated that he personally knows individuals who produced these suitcase-size nuclear devices under orders from the KGB in the 1970s specifically for terrorist purposes. As a result of their being produced for the KGB, Yablokov has stated that they may not have been taken into account in the Soviet general nuclear arsenal and may not be under the control of the Russian Defense Ministry. There’s much more available on the subject and any interested reader can easily find additional materials.

The characters in the novel discuss the possible use of a neutron bomb. What is it and what does it do? According to the Encyclopedia Britannica, the neutron bomb, also called an enhanced radiation warhead, is a specialized type of small thermonuclear weapon that produces minimal blast and heat but which releases large amounts of lethal radiation. The neutron bomb delivers blast and heat effects that are confined to an area of only a few hundred yards in radius. But within a somewhat larger area it throws off a massive wave of neutron and gamma radiation, which can penetrate armour or severalfeet of earth. This radiation is extremely destructive to living tissue. Because of its short-range destructiveness and the absence of long-range effect, the neutron bomb would be highly effective against tank and infantry formations on the battlefield but would not endanger cities or other population centres only a few miles away.

Finally, the book refers to Sharia laws. Sharia is a religious code governing all elements of Islamic life, from prayers to fasting to donations to the poor. For example, it decrees that men and women should dress modestly, which is interpreted by some as a requirement that women take the veil and that men and women be segregated. While it’s not surprising that Sharia laws prohibit Muslim women from marrying a non-Muslim as most religions oppose intermarriage, what is shocking is the penalty for a violation of those laws. Within the Sharia laws, there is a specific set of offences known as the Hadd offences that provide for specific penalties, set by the Koran and by the prophet Mohammed. Sexual offences carry a penalty of stoning to death or flogging while theft is punished with cutting off a hand. The requirements of the Sharia laws have been codified in some Islamic countries. For example, in Iran, the penal code provides in Article 102 that a man who is sentenced to death by stoning is to be buried to his waist, while a woman who is to be stoned must be buried up to her chest. Article 104 of that code defines the size of stones and stipulates: In stoning to death, the stones should not be so large that the person dies upon being hit by one or two of them, neither should they be so small that they cannot be called a stone.

Harris Baseman

CHAPTER 1

Mrs. Halid Hamaly glanced at the Cartier wristwatch under the sleeve of her blouse. She then loosened the black, gauzy veil covering her nose and mouth and shouted impatiently while standing outside of her brother-in-law’s room, Hurry, will you please, Rashid! I used the remote to start the car and turn on the air-conditioning ten minutes ago. It’ll overheat.

Okay, okay, Mrs. Hamaly’s brother-in-law, Rashid Hamaly shouted. What time is it anyway?

The middle of the afternoon. You should have been up hours ago.

Rashid Hamaly parted the floor to ceiling, brocade drapes covering the entry to his bedroom and entered the hallway where his sister-in-law was impatiently waiting. He smiled at her as he said, You better be nicer to me, Zahra. If I quit as your driver, you’ll have no one to drive you around. Sensing that she was not in the mood for his bad attempt at humor, he said, Why the big rush, anyway?

Zahra smiled. I’m just nervous about Halid coming from New York and want everything to be right for him.

You must have more than a thousand dresses you bought when Halid was here last year that you’ve never been able to wear outside the villa. Rashid grinned at his sister-in-law. He’ll buy you another million in New York, if he actually takes you with him this time.

Please, Rashid, stop joking. I have a 4:00 o’clock appointment with the hairdresser at the Kingdom Tower and I don’t want to miss it. I’m not going to look like some harem girl when Halid and I get off the plane in New York next week.

Minutes later, they walked through the house to the front entry. Air conditioning, high ceilings and thick stone walls kept the house relatively cool, but a blast of hot air from the afternoon desert sun hit them as they entered the courtyard. It was the hottest day of the month in the hottest month of the year in Riyadh. The temperature outside was 128 degrees Fahrenheit. During the short walk to the carport, Mrs. Hamaly could feel the sweat forming under her arms and over her upper lip. As she opened the door of the pearl gray Mercedes, the cooled air brought some welcome relief. She sat on the off-white leather seats and quickly closed the door, then loosened her veil, headscarf and her Abbaya, the traditional black cloak all women wore in Riyadh when going out, to allow the cooled air to penetrate to her skin. The loosened headscarf revealed an olive complexion, and red lipstick on a model-pretty face. She fanned herself like an old woman splashing her body with water at the seashore. After a minute she fastened her seat belt, turned to Rashid and smiled. Let’s go.

All right, but you better cover your head and fasten your veil. The religious police are everywhere.

Everywhere you are. I told you those religious fanatics were on to you.

Rashid shrugged as he said, They’re stupid. They know nothing.

Zahra shook her head, said nothing and then fastened her headscarf and veil. Rashid backed out of the parking space, clicked open the security gate of the fence surrounding the villa they shared with Rashid’s mother and uncle Fawzi and drove out onto the street. As they drove along the highway to Riyadh she asked, Have you decided yet? Halid still expects you to move to New York with us. As she mentioned her husband’s name, she scolded herself, thinking, I’m going to have to remember to stop calling him Halid and use his American name of Hal when we get to New York.

Rashid shrugged. I don’t know. Things are going good for me right now and I like it here. I make a lot of money, I have a lot of friends and I don’t have to work very hard. What’s the matter with staying right here in Riyadh? If Halid wants to live in New York and work twenty-four hours a day, let him. He glanced at his sister-in-law momentarily. We have talked about this before. You know how I feel about you. Divorce Halid and stay here with me.

Zahra took a deep breath and restrained herself from immediately responding to what had become a major argument between them. She said as lightly and conversationally as she could, Don’t be foolish, Rashid. How can you even think such a thought? I am Halid’s wife. He’s finally ready for me to be with him in New York and that’s what I want more than anything else in this world.

Leave him. He probably has a three or four wives in the United States already.

Nonsense, that’s not permitted there and he wouldn’t do that.

It’s permitted for us and who are they to tell us what to do?

This is a foolish conversation, Rashid. They come here, they obey our laws. We go there, we obey theirs. Besides, he has no time for anything except work. Halid has been working very hard. You know that. Every month he sends us money so we can live like sultans here and you can drive around in this fancy Mercedes while you were supposed to be finishing your education. He’ll be very upset when he learns you quit college. He promised your mother that he would take care of you and see that you were properly educated the way she wanted.

I’m not a child that needs taking care of anymore. I’m making more than enough to take care of myself and you. After a pause in the conversation, Rashid said, Seriously, Zahra, you and Halid have lived apart for most of the last ten years. The only time you see my dear brother is when he comes to the Middle East on business, and that totals about five or six weeks a year. Accept it. Halid doesn’t care about you. If he did, you would have been in New York long ago.

Zahra shook her head wearily. Stop with that nonsense. You know as well as I do. Hal was going to university and then business school and then working at his job to become a partner at BEST Investors. He had no time for a wife and family until he became a partner and established his position. He and I agreed on that. Now he is ready, and so am I. More than ready, she thought to herself.

I would never have left you for so long if you were my wife. Rashid glanced for a long moment at Zahra and reached for her hand as he said, Stay here with me. We could have a good life together.

Mrs. Hamaly moved her hand away and shook her head. Keep your eyes on the road and your hands on the wheel. Zahra looked at Rashid as she said, Just stop it. I want you to listen to me for once in your life. I’ve told you this a million times. I hate having to live like this. If Halid wanted to stay in the kingdom, I would still want to leave. There is no freedom here for me or any woman. I hate it here. It’ll be a relief when I can go to the United States, when I can drive myself to a store, or go to a restaurant where men and women can eat together. I want to wear pretty clothes when I leave my house. Her heavily made up eyes frowned as she said, I hate having to wear these black bed sheets that make me look like a shapeless block of wood. I’m sorry, Rashid, but I want to leave. I hate it here. Please, I beg you. Do not speak of such foolishness again.

Zahra and Rashid drove on in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. She finally spoke. You should come with us, Rashid. It’ll break Halid’s heart if you don’t. Truly Rashid, sometimes I think Halid loves you more than me. She touched his arm a moment. "Please, at least try it. If you stay here you’ll probably

take four wives, love none of them and become a dissolute playboy like those new friends of yours."

I thought you liked them better than my old school friends.

"Your old friends were Wahhabi religious fanatics, jihadists and supporters of Al Qaeda. These new ones are dissolute pigs."

They’re not so bad.

Don’t say that. It’s only a question of time before the religious police find out that you and your friends are selling that disgusting pornography you download from the Internet. Who knows what they’ll do to you when they do.

Rashid drove along quietly a few minutes and then said, I don’t know. It’ll be difficult seeing you two together day after day when I want you so much. Rashid paused a moment before continuing and then said very softly, When I remember our one time together, I know we could have many such times if you would stay here with me.

Mrs. Hamaly angrily turned towards Rashid. Don’t speak of that again. You took advantage of me once. It will never be. You drugged me and forced me. I told you before and tell you now that if you do it again, I will kill myself before the religious police find out and have me stoned to death. If you feel anything for me you will never say anything about it. It never happened.

Rashid looked at her a moment and then straight ahead at the road. I’m sorry for what I did. You know that. I shall never speak of it again. Zahra, look at me. Please, you have to forgive me.

I have and I do. After a few minutes of silence, Zahra forced a smile. Cheer up, Rashid. You will come with us and you’ll see. You’ll finish college in the United States and find an American girl, younger and prettier than me. You’ll forget all about me and do something useful with the rest of your life instead of dealing in slime.

I doubt it. Rashid pulled a Marlboro cigarette from a package in his shirt pocket.

Please, Rashid. Don’t smoke in the car. It stinks so.

I need a cigarette. He punched the Mercedes’ cigar lighter, lit up and opened the window a crack to exhale. After a few minutes, he stubbed out the cigarette, flipped it out of the window and then continued driving without saying another word.

Minutes later they arrived near the entry to the shopping area at the Kingdom Center. Rashid parked the Mercedes. After agreeing to meet back at the car in two hours, Mrs. Hamaly went to the hairdresser’s shop where she had her hair washed, cut and set in a style Zahra had admired while browsing through a copy of Vogue. She had a manicure and pedicure while waiting for her hair to dry and then went to the Saks Fifth Avenue shop on the women’s only floor in the Kingdom Tower.

Rashid decided he’d try out the McDonalds Restaurant and the Starbucks and after that visit the electronics department to kill another hour and see what new marvels the West had invented. Perhaps they had one of those high-speed, color printers he read about.

Mrs. Hamaly, abbaya clad and veiled with her newly dressed hair properly covered by a headscarf, returned to the car loaded down with boxes from Saks Fifth Avenue five minutes early. She started the engine, turned on the air conditioning and began loading the boxes into the back seat. She had just loaded the last one when two of the Mutawah, the Saudi religious police, arrived. She had noticed them staring at her and Rashid when they had first arrived and was surprised that they decided to question her now. She could feel the sweat running down her arms and between her breasts as they sternly warned her that she was forbidden to drive. Mrs. Hamaly nodded and respectfully replied that she knew the law and was waiting for her driver. They asked her the name of her driver and after she told them, they spoke between themselves a moment. Apparently satisfied with her response, they withdrew, but continued to watch her as she stood in the shade waiting for the car to cool off.

A few minutes later she entered the Mercedes, sitting in the front passenger seat and continued waiting for Rashid. She kept her head covered and her veil fastened while she tried to direct the cooled air under her voluminous garments. She glanced at her wristwatch and noted with a small degree of annoyance that Rashid was almost ten minutes late. She looked out the window up and down Olaya Street. There was no sign of Rashid, but she did notice that the religious police seemed to have stopped watching her and were nowhere to be seen. Five minutes later she saw Rashid walking rapidly towards the car carrying a large cardboard box. She squinted at the printing on the side of the box and read that it was a Hewlett-Packard color printer. Mrs. Hamaly shook her head and frowned. She knew that meant Rashid had decided to stay here and that Halid wouldn’t like it. In spite of herself, she smiled as she admitted to herself that perhaps it’s for the best. She and Halid would really be better off in New York without Rashid around.

As Rashid approached the rear of the Mercedes, Mrs. Hamaly opened the trunk using the inside dashboard release and watched as Rashid placed the box inside the trunk. In the far distance behind Rashid she saw the religious police again watching them. As Rashid began to close the trunk lid, an old Nissan van parked directly in back of the Mercedes exploded, sending out pieces of metal and shock waves in a two hundred-yard radius. Rashid was killed instantly. When pried out of the trunk, his corpse was unrecognizable. Mrs. Hamaly was also killed instantly. A piece of flying metal sheared off the top of her head.

Four hours later, CNN reported that a truck bomb killed four Americans, two British and an Italian in the entry of the Kingdom Center in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia as well as two civilian Saudi citizens, Zahra Hamaly, wife of Mr. Halid Hamaly of New York, New York and her brother-in-law, Rashid Hamaly.

A leading mullah interviewed by al jazeera expressed regrets in behalf of the clerics at the death of the two saudis, but suggested that mrs. Hamaly and her brother-in-law should not have been frequenting an establishment that caters to foreign infidels and buying materials to violate the laws of decency.

CHAPTER 2

Halid Hamaly had officially changed his name to Hal Hamaly after living in the United States for a year. He hadn’t encountered any problems, but he wanted to become an American and decided early on to Americanize his first name. At long last he was ready to continue on his journey to achieve his American dream. He was ready to bring his wife to New York and to start raising a family. He wanted a good night’s sleep, but accomplishing that objective seemed to elude him as he tossed and turned in his bed for most of the night. He had one small unpleasant chore to take care of at his office and then he was off to the capital of Saudi Arabia. It wasn’t the unpleasant task that kept him awake nor was it any fear of flying or the long flight. He had made that trip from JFK to Riyadh many times. Perhaps it was that this time he was going to bring his wife and his brother back to New York with him. He had wondered on many occasions whether he would really want to bring Zahra here and start a family when the time came that he could. Now that the time had come, he had the answer to that question. He had to admit it. It was the excitement and anticipated pleasure of being at last able to introduce his wife and brother to the freedom and advantages of living in the greatest city in the greatest country in the world that was keeping him awake. He had started to take the benefits of living in the United States for granted, but on the infrequent times he would be with Zahra, her questions about life in New York would renew his appreciation of his adopted homeland. He knew that experiencing it all once again through the eyes of his wife and brother would be priceless. Yes, it was the anticipation of a long awaited pleasure that had disturbed his sleep.

He smiled as he recalled how he and Zahra had met in Lebanon, married shortly after that and then spent one year together living in Riyadh with his mother in his uncle Fawzi’s house. They were both very young. As the months went by, they increasingly hated the restrictions imposed on their lives by the strict religious laws of the kingdom and decided that Halid should go to the United States, get an education and then find a job and bring her to New York, once he had established himself there. That took longer than anticipated and was complicated by the promise Halid made to his mother that he would allow his brother Rashid to complete his religious education in the kingdom before he took him to the United States. Although Hal went to Riyadh several times a year, the separation had been difficult for him and for Zahra and they had postponed having children because he wanted them to be born in the United States so they could be citizens. Hal glanced at his wristwatch. The hours had dragged by and there would be no sleep tonight. It was time to go to the office and then to JFK.

Hal exited from his West Village apartment building, saw the waiting car service driver, hopped into the stretch Lincoln and, as he quietly rode to his mid-town office, he thought about how much pleasure Zahra would have at being able to eat at a restaurant with him and go outside wearing the pretty clothes she loved to wear. He also couldn’t wait to free his young brother from the influence of the Wahhabi clerics that controlled so much of his life. As he exited from the vehicle, he confirmed with his driver that the driver would be back in an hour, all as previously arranged, to take him to JFK.

Once in his office, Hal met with Ralph Zehmidi, the CEO of Caribe Resort Properties. As he usually did when he questioned officers of companies controlled by his foreign clients, he had started with easy questions to put Zehmidi at ease, and was now, fifteen minutes later, ready to question him about the poor performance of the six hotels Zehmidi ran. Occupancy revenue was as expected and gaming profits at the casinos were consistent with occupancy, but bar and restaurant revenues were not consistent with occupancy rates or liquor and food purchases. He immediately knew someone was stealing, but didn’t know who, and whether Zehmidi was involved. He was going to fire Zehmidi immediately for incompetence as he should have picked up on the discrepancy even if he wasn’t involved in the thefts, but it was better to let it continue another month and then know for sure if Zehmidi was a crook. Hal got up from his polished, teak wood desk, turned his back to Zehmidi and walked to his 45th floor window. He looked out over mid-town Manhattan to where the Trade Center Twin Towers used to be, and then turned toward Zehmidi. Just as he was about to ask Zehmidi if he were a thief or just plain stupid, there was a quiet, almost timid knock on his office door, and Hal’s secretary, Virginia Mead, silently entered. Hal frowned at her, Virginia, I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed for anything.

Sorry, Mr. Hamaly, but there was a telephone call for you from Riyadh. A man named, she looked at her notepad, Fawzi Hamaly, he said that he’s your uncle and left a number for you to call him back. He said that he needs to speak with you immediately and most urgently.

Hal dismissed the initial concern he had from his mind with the thought that it was probably Fawzi, or, Zahra, or possibly Rashid or his mother that wanted him to bring them something from New York. They had done that before. Hal turned to Zehmidi and said, Excuse me, Mr. Zehmidi. I’ll probably be a few minutes with this call. Would you wait for me in Miss Mead’s office? As Zehmidi rose and walked towards the door, Hal nodded at his secretary. Thank you, Virginia. I didn’t mean to snap at you before. You did the right thing interrupting me. You can put the call through.

I’m sorry. I’ll have to call him back, Mr. Hamaly.

Yes, yes, you said he left a number to call. Please do so.

As Hal watched Ms Mead turn, leave the office and close the door behind her, he daydreamed a moment about the retreating Ms Virginia Mead. He recalled when he first joined BEST Investors directly from Harvard Business School, feeling intimidated when Sol Gold, the hiring partner, introduced him to his new secretary, Ms Virginia Mead. He was neither especially proud nor ashamed of it, but during the lonely years of his separation from Zahra, he had had plenty of successes with the women of Columbia and Barnard while a student at Columbia and then with the coed population attending a number of the colleges and universities in the Greater Boston area when he was at the Harvard B School. After all, he was just over six feet tall with the slim, broad-shouldered good looks of an Olympic swimmer and the exotic, dark complexion of his Bedouin ancestors, but he was unprepared for Ms Mead. The first time he saw her, her platinum blonde hair was pulled back from her face in a tight bun at the back of her neck. He couldn’t help but notice that she had large, green cat’s eyes made even more attractive and mysterious by a trace of bluish-green eye shadow and a touch of mascara. Those eyes would have been devastating even if the rest of her face were hidden behind a typical Saudi veil and head dress. Expertly applied make-up on her creamy white complexion and a pale pink lipstick habitually completed a dev-astatingly attractive package of feminine charm. Today, she wore a crisp, long sleeved blouse that stretched to cover her ample breasts under a man-tailored suit and a skirt that covered her long, shapely legs to the knee. Over the almost five years they had worked together she had never changed and he had come to appreciate her professionalism, but she was still the object of his fantasies. He remembered inventing tasks for her to do that would require that she reach something on a high shelf so he could admire a little more of her legs as her skirt hiked up and could watch her breasts rise and strain against the confines of her blouse. Other times she would pick up something he purposefully dropped so he could admire her rounded bottom as she bent over. In his favorite fantasy, her hair was down, splayed across his pillow as she lay on his bed. Her long legs were around his hips and she was pressing him deeper inside her as she writhed with pleasure beneath him while he satisfied his lust for her.

Only he and Sol Gold knew that she had had a two year affair with Sol who was her boss at BEST at the time. That had ended five years ago and when she began working for him, she made it clear that she was not about to have another affair with another married BEST employee. Well, soon he would be in Riyadh and bring his wife, Zahra, back. Perhaps that would put an end to those fantasies.

As thoughts whirled around in his head, he knew he would love introducing Zahra to what the West had to offer women. She had read about it, but experiencing it would be so much better than anything she could have imagined. The ringing of his phone interrupted Hal’s reverie and he picked up the phone. He said in Arabic, Fawzi, what’s so important that it couldn’t wait until I got to Riyadh tomorrow?

I have sad news for you, my nephew.

What is it?

There’s no way to say this gently.

Come on, Fawzi, What is it?

It’s Zahra.

What about Zahra?

She’s dead.

Stunned and in immediate denial, Hal finally responded. "Dead? Are you sure?

Yes, I’m sure.

How can that be? What happened?

There was a bombing at the Kingdom Center.

I don’t understand. When?

A truck bomb, about four hours ago.

What the hell was she doing there? I told her she could get all the clothes she needed once we got to New York.

She went there to get her hair done. She was sitting in her car waiting for Rashid to drive her back home when the bomb exploded.

Rashid? Why wasn’t he at school?

He was her driver and he dropped out of school six months ago.

Nobody told me.

Rashid said he’d tell you and he forbade me or anyone else from telling you.

So Rashid is okay?

No. He had just finished putting some packages in the trunk when the bomb exploded.

But he’ll be all right? There was no immediate response and Hal shouted into the phone, Tell me Rashid will be all right.

Sorry, Halid. Rashid is dead.

Hal wailed, No! No! loud enough so that Miss Mead and Mr. Zehmidi could hear him in her office. They stared at each other uncomfortably for a moment.

Fawzi, I can’t believe it, my brother dead, and my wife dead. Why? Why? Who did this?

Perhaps they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Hal shook his head. I was planning to leave for Riyadh in two hours. Rashid would have come back with me. And Zahra, she was so looking forward to living in New York.

Will you still come to Riyadh?

I don’t know. Hal thought a moment, frowned and then made a decision. Yes. I’ll be there in the morning. Make funeral arrangements for Zahra. I want to make the arrangements for Rashid, and I’ll want to see their bodies, but I don’t want them to be cleaned up. I want to see what was done to them. I want you to find out who killed them, who was responsible for the bombing.

The talk on the street is that it was an organization called the Wahhabi Liberation Front.

Names, I want the names of the pigs that did this.

I don’t know if I’ll be able to find out.

Don’t give me that. I want their names. The people who killed my brother and my wife will pay for it.

We will talk of it when you get here.

I’ll pay one hundred thousand dollars for their names. Get them and I don’t want any excuses. I’ve been supporting all of you over there. You don’t help me now and it’s over.

Calm down. I don’t need your money, Halid.

I’m sorry, Fawzi. I know that. It’s just that I’m angry and I need to do something.

I understand. I’m just saying that maybe you don’t want to start a feud with those people. I hear that organization is affiliated with Al Qaeda and they have the support of the Wahhabi clerics.

I don’t care who they are. I want their names and they have to pay for what they did. Am I more Bedouin living here than you are living there? Please, Fawzi, do as I ask. Hal ended the call, turned and stared out the window for a few minutes. Finally, he straightened his shoulders, turned back to his desk and buzzed his secretary on the intercom. Virginia, come in, please, just you.

When Miss Mead entered, Hal motioned her to a chair. His eyes blazed with sorrow and anger as he said, I’ve had some bad news from Riyadh. My brother and my wife were killed in a terrorist bombing.

Virginia Mead put her hand over her mouth and gasped, Oh, you poor man. What can I do?

Hal waved her into silence and said, Thank you, Virginia. I’ll be going to Riyadh as scheduled, but after Zehmidi leaves, make my plane reservation a one way ticket and cancel the return tickets I got for my brother and Zahra. Then circulate a memo to the partners that I’ll be delayed for a week or two in Saudi Arabia. Ask Sol Gold if I can speak with him for a few minutes after I get rid of Zehmidi. I’ll want him to tell the other partners what happened and I don’t want this to become a subject of office gossip, so keep it to yourself. Now have that idiot, Zehmidi, come in.

Zehmidi came in and sat down in the chair he had previously occupied. I hope it wasn’t bad news, Zehmidi said nervously.

It was, but it has nothing to do with you. Hal picked up the hotel management file a moment and then put it down on his desk. I was going to ask you if you were a thief or just stupid, but I don’t have the time or the inclination to play games with you, and what’s more, the answer to my question doesn’t matter. If you’re a thief, you’re not a very good one and if you’re not, you’re too stupid to work for us.

Zehmidi’s face turned black with rage. He was a big, beefy man and looked like he was ready to explode. Who do you think you are talking to me like that? I know many of the owners. They are my friends.

Hal shook his head. I know. That’s how you got the job, but that won’t help you. They know that someone has been stealing from them, and don’t bother to deny it. You’re probably the thief. In any event, you’re fired. I’ll notify security at the hotels so don’t even think about returning to your office. Hal nodded and pointed at his secretary as he said, "Miss Mead will forward your personal posses-

sions to you when you give her your address. You will not be admitted to your apartment either."

You can’t do that.

We own the apartment and it’s done.

Zehmidi stood and towered over Hal’s desk. I have an employment contract. I’ll sue you and Resorts. It’ll cost you millions.

No you won’t, Zehmidi. I know money was being stolen from the six hotels and I’m sure that you were the major crook. It’s all in this report. Hal waved a copy of the report at Zehmidi. If you make any claim against us, I’ll take this information to the District Attorney and see to it that you go to jail. Evidence that you were involved in the thefts will be produced. Hal threw a copy of the report at Zehmidi and then said, Get the hell out of here. Now!

Zehmidi, his eyes blazing with anger, stepped around the desk towards Hal and started to throw a big right handed, roundhouse punch at him. Hal stood, easily blocked it and immediately smashed Zehmidi’s Adam’s apple with the side of his hand, then kneed him in the groin and finished him with a kick to the side of the head. He turned to Miss Mead who had retreated to the wall opposite from Hal’s desk and stood with her back pressed against the wall with a hand over her mouth. Her eyes were staring at the previously unimaginable scene of violence that had just taken place in the elegant offices of the Borus, Estabrook, Swanson and Thorpe, Inc. referred to as BEST Investors on the street. Hal said, Miss Mead, I’m sorry you had to see that, Virginia, but would you please call security and have them remove Mr. Zehmidi.

After she left, Hal spoke in Arabic to Zehmidi who was still sitting on the floor half dazed, "The District Attorney is a good friend of mine. He owes me for all those complimentary weekends he spent at resorts we own, so putting you in jail will be no problem. But I think I have a better idea. It would horrify my partners, but it appeals to me. You make trouble for us and I won’t bother my good friend, the District Attorney. We’ll just put you on one of our jets, take you back to the Kingdom and deliver you to the investors you stole from. You know what they’ll do. You’ll have a trial under Muslim law. What do you think, Zehmidi? Want your good friends you stole from to apply the Sharia laws?" Hal smiled grimly as he said, Think you might miss your right hand?

After Zehmidi, still groggy, was ushered out by building security, Miss Mead returned. Sorry, Mr. Hamaly, but I was unable to reach Mr. Gold. He’s out all day.

Hal frowned, Right, I forgot. He’s driving his daughter to Hanover for freshman orientation at Dartmouth today. Do you have his cell phone number?

I tried it but he must be somewhere that doesn’t have a functioning cell. I can try it again in a few minutes.

I assume Deborah went too?

Yes, the only one at home was his son, Richard.

You didn’t say anything to him, did you?

Certainly not.

No, no, of course you wouldn’t. Hal glanced at his wristwatch. I’ll have to leave in a few minutes, so I guess I’ll have to speak to Richard.

Hal pressed the speed dial number for Sol Gold’s home in Chappaqua. A moment later, Richard Gold was on the line. Richard, this is Hal Hamaly.

Oh hi, I thought you were on your way to Saudi Arabia.

I am, but something just happened that I need to tell your dad about and I want him to do something for me.

I’d be happy to take a message.

Okay, but I need you to promise that you’ll only tell your dad, no one else.

No problem. I just got the bar exam results and, as of today, I’m a New York lawyer. You’re the first to know, mom and dad don’t even know yet, so keeping secrets is part of what I do now.

Congratulations.

So what’s the message?

Hal breathed an audible sigh. I don’t have such pleasant news. Tell your dad that my wife and brother, Rashid, were killed today in a terrorist attack in Riyadh. I’m going there as planned, but will stay an extra week or two. I’d like your dad to cover my appointments for the extra time I’ll be away and tell the other partners what happened and that I’ll be away.

Richard stuttered on the phone not knowing what to say. He finally said, That’s terrible. Is there anything, anything at all I can do?

Thank you, but no, nothing.

I’m so sorry. I was looking forward to meeting your wife and brother. He’s exactly my age, and you told me so much about him, I feel like I knew him. There must be something I can do. Oh God. I’m so sorry.

Thank you, Richard.

Do the police know who did it?

I don’t know. Even if they do, it won’t matter. The police will do nothing. They’re too afraid of the terrorists themselves, to do anything. Hal paused a moment and glanced at his wristwatch. Sorry Richard, but it’s getting late and I must get ready to leave. Tell your dad I’ll call him tomorrow evening from Riyadh.

CHAPTER 3

Hal Hamaly had plenty of time to cool off on the 17-hour flight from New York to Riyadh, but he didn’t. He sat in the first class cabin, sometimes sleeping fitfully, but getting more and more angry by the minute. When they stopped in Paris, he called his uncle in Riyadh. He demanded the names ofthe terrorists and was disappointed when Fawzi claimed that he still didn’t have that information. After expressing his anger and again telling Fawzi he demanded results, Hal boarded the plane and, sitting up straight in his seat the rest of the way to Riyadh, fumed. He didn’t even notice when the female passengers on the flight, one after the other, wearing stylish western clothing, disappeared into the cramped bathroom, only to reappear minutes later fully covered from head to toe in black with a veil covering everything but their eyes. When the plane finally landed, Hal was the first passenger off the plane. He cleared customs and looked over the crowd waiting to greet the arriving passengers.

Halid! Halid! Over here, over here! Hal looked and finally saw his uncle Fawzi, who was accompanied by two of his sons from his first wife, waving at him.

Hal made his way through the crowd. So, uncle, do you have the information I want?

Yes, yes, but don’t you even have time to say hello!

Sorry, Hal said, "salaam alaykum, uncle, and grasped his uncle’s right hand with his own, put his left hand on his uncle’s right shoulder and they then exchanged kisses on their cheeks. Forgive me, in my anger I forgot my manners."

You are right to be angry, but it would be better if you had not come back here with hatred in your heart. It would be better if you came simply to bury your brother and your wife and then left.

Hal frowned and his eyes hardened. Why is that, my uncle?

None of us are cowards and we will help you if you require it, but you will leave here after you take revenge. We will have to stay, and the organization they are from and the families of those men will seek revenge against us for helping you. Fawzi patted a pocket beneath his robe and said, I have their names and addresses right here with me and I have attached their photographs, but I hope you will not want them.

Hal stretched his hand towards his uncle. Sorry, uncle, this is something I must do, but I understand the problem it could make for you. I’ll take the names, but I will not ask you to help me.

"It shall be as you say, but I will give you a little advice. The two men whose names and addresses I have just given you did the bombing. They are members of Al Qaeda and it is rumored that the clerics approved. Believe