Authors: Reed Sprague
After the fiasco of the 2002 Iraq intelligence reports, both agencies made certain that they took on investigative work that would result in news reports that were dramatic and that shined the media’s spotlights on the successful, world–saving adventures of the two venerable agencies and their all–American agents.
The new kids on the block at the USFIA believed their own stated ideals—noble, but not apt to bring them the title of hero demanded by the media and the public. Few Americans cared about nobility. Everyone, it seemed, cared about dramatic stories of heroes whose selfless, highly professional work resulted in the bad guys going off to jail, or even to their death, while America basked in the secure sunlight of its bright future, glaring just over the horizon.
Albert didn’t need this nobility his agency embraced and settled for. He needed a success story, and he needed a big one. He needed the sun to shine down on his agency, with or without its fortunate son, River Warwick.
“Sheila, please get Warwick and send him in here. I need to see him immediately.”
“Sorry, Mr. Albert, that it took me so long to get here after Sheila called me. I thought we were going to meet after lunch—”
“Sit down, Warwick. I need to talk to you,” a much different Sydney Albert said firmly. “I’ve scanned my office. There are no bugs. We can talk openly.
“I’m sending you over to Saudi Arabia for a special assignment. You will leave in exactly fifteen hours to begin your training. Here’s your brief. As is the norm with cases such as this, you will not be told many of the details until you get there, but I can tell you that I will meet with you at five o’clock tomorrow morning with more details than an agent would normally receive for an assignment such as this. Go back to your office, read the brief, make some notes of questions you might have, and be back in that chair at five o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“What about our discussion from earlier today?”
“Forget about that for now. You’ve done your job by submitting your report. I’ll take it from here.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’re not paid to understand. You’re paid to follow orders.”
“I’m paid to do what’s right.”
“What’s right is that you follow my orders. I just gave you one, and not only did you not follow it, you didn’t even realize it was an order. You have a problem making such distinctions, don’t you, Warwick?”
River rose from the chair without saying anything further, picked up the Saudi brief, opened the door and went back to his office. Something was wrong. And for some reason, River believed that it had little to do with his report calling for action against Peterson.
“Why am I being taken off the Peterson investigation?” River asked at the outset of the five a.m. meeting.
“I’ll talk today; and you’ll listen. Understand? We can talk here today. I swept this room again this morning. We’re okay,” Albert said.
“You’re not being taken off the Peterson case. The nut’s got another suitcase bomb. Our boys have discovered that it’s probably in the hands of a terror group in Medina. On top of that nightmare, the Governing Council is considering the possibility that they’re under Peterson’s authority. They haven’t made the decision to place the USFIA under him, but they’re working on it. It will only be a matter of time,” Albert explained. “What I’m telling you is that we’re probably on our own. You take your orders from me and from no one else.
“You have no time to do anything except deal with your new assignment in Saudi Arabia. Here’s the problem. The CIA has botched its mission over there so bad that they are being pulled off. They were unable to gain a quick P.R. victory over there, so they just stalled until everyone got sick of waiting. Then they made a huge blunder.
“One of CIA’s agents — who, of course, was supposed to be completely anonymous — decided to criticize the Saudi royal family publicly. What he didn’t know was that the royal family found out through their own intelligence sources who he really was. So when he ran his mouth, they promptly went on their nationalized media outlets and exposed him as an agent for the CIA. And, as you might expect, they also unleashed endless commentators who “proved” that not only was he an agent for the hated CIA, i.e., America, but that he was also a Christian who was proselytizing for the Roman Catholic church.
“In other words, the Saudis won a great victory by exposing the Great Satan and so on. Didn’t receive much press over here after its initial reporting on the front page of the New York
Times
, the Washington
Post
and a few others. No doubt the P.R. machines at the CIA threatened to withhold future stories if the reporting got too detailed or if it went on too long.
“Anyway, here’s the deal. You will pose as an oil futures trader. You will be a member of the Islamic faith. You will infiltrate the radical Wahhabism sect in Medina. The main mosque there is so radical that they are openly planning terror attacks on the world because they believe that America and the world have embraced the policy of appeasement. They believe that the world is weak and will not hold them accountable. Additionally, the Saudis believe that they can use oil as leverage. They believe that the world must allow their radical actions because they control the world’s oil, even in spite of Peterson’s power grab.
“We don’t care one way or the other what the official policy is toward terrorists, and we don’t care who or how Muslims in Saudi Arabia or anywhere else in the world worship. We care only that terror attacks are being planned, possibly against the U.S. We must stop those plans and we must stop them soon.”
“But aren’t we supposed to be working through WWCA now?” River asked.
“You take your orders from me. That’s all you need to know,” Albert said.
“But Peterson now—”
“You take your orders from me and from those I assign to give you orders,” Albert said, interrupting River before he could finish his statement.
“You will present yourself as a U.S. citizen who converted to Islam six years ago. You will present yourself as a person who is completely disgusted with the West, and as one who wants to bring about change through radical actions.
“Where should I begin?” River asked, exasperated.
“You will first fly to Istanbul, to train for thirty days.
“Among other things, you will study the Koran and study it thoroughly. During the next thirty days, seven days a week — literally until you step onto your plane bound for Saudi Arabia — you will be indoctrinated twelve hours a day on the details of the Islamic faith. It will be as if you’re being brainwashed. When you get home each night you will read the Koran, memorizing key verses. You will also be drilled on the reasons given by radical Muslims for their hatred and their plots of terror. You will learn to believe like them, and you will learn fast.
“You can go now. Go directly to the conference room, the small one, Room 351–A. Your more detailed briefing will begin in fifteen minutes. And, finally — and most important of all — you need to know that this time we really are going to be responsible for a Russian nuclear suitcase bomb. I’m not sure exactly when you’ll come across it after you get to Medina, but whenever that time comes, make absolutely certain you keep that bomb from exploding. Find that bomb. Make sure that you find that bomb.”
“Thanks for your faith in me to take on such an important mission… I think.”
14 NOVEMBER 2024
Medina, Saudi Arabia, was orderly and clean. The people were free to walk the streets, but they were forbidden from taking to the streets. Societal order was of paramount importance to the royal family. The people were to be taken care of, and they were to live a life of discipline. If they found themselves in need of discipline, the royal family had plenty of state discipline to lend them. The going interest rate was low, the loans were easy to secure, the late charges were steep. The periodic payments — in the form of absolute allegiance to the state and to Islam — were due daily, hourly even, and had to be paid on time.
Jews and Christians didn’t officially exist in Medina. Nor did any other non–Muslim. Women were unrecognizable as such. Children were silent. Playgrounds lacked loud, or even lower–pitched irritating noises of any kind. Even the swings and teeter–totters didn’t squeak. All things, including the Saudis themselves, worked as they were supposed to in Medina, and all produced little noise while doing so. The work was not hard, but it was orderly.
Medina reminded River of a finely tuned watch with a twist—quiet, except for orderly noise, noise that was necessary. Ticking was acceptable. Watches operated with precision, according to certain laws, as did Medina, and all of Saudi Arabia.
The authority that enforced the laws under which a watch operated was difficult to see. It existed — it must have, as evidenced by the results that were plain to see — but it kept a low profile as the watch ticked away. Removing the back of the watch exposed the power of the wound spring or the battery. Doing so also risked damage to the watch; it increased the possibility that the watch would not operate again with absolute efficiency.
The people of Medina were efficient. They respected authority. It was not necessary for them to know what happened behind the scenes to keep the system finely tuned. Was it the oil? Money? Strict laws? Religious requirements for obedience? The authority of the royal family? No matter. The people of Saudi Arabia were not allowed to remove the cover to observe the sources of the system’s power. They were to operate out of duty and respect for the system.
Whatever it was that made things so orderly, River picked up on the tidiness of Saudi society as soon as he stepped onto the streets of Medina. “Disorder will not be tolerated here. You have to keep your mouth under control, and I mean fully under control,” instructed River’s USFIA Medina contact.
River met his contact at a small restaurant, similar to an American or French café. It was located in the heart of downtown Medina. His name was Shane Rawls, and he was the Saudi senior USFIA officer. He was in charge of all USFIA operations throughout the middle and far east. Rawls was tough, no–nonsense and efficient. He could keep his mouth shut. And when he spoke, he said the right thing. He had no time and no use for loose talk. Loose talk gets people into trouble, he always said. Better to shut up in the first place than to be forced to explain details for something you didn’t shut up about when you should have.
Like most USFIA senior officers, Rawls was young, only thirty–seven, five years older than River. Still, Rawls possessed a reserve that was usually found only in a person twice his age. He handled himself, always, with discretion and confidence.
“You will contact me directly, regularly. The people of Saudi Arabia are wonderful. Their leaders are not. They are extremely dangerous. The people will follow their leaders, they will look to them for truth. If you’re exposed, the leaders will slam you, and the people will turn on you.
“You will be best off if you get to know the people and if you gain their trust. Remember, though, that if you let them down — if they find out who you really are — it’ll be over for you faster than you would be able to get to the airport to get out of here. You simply can’t screw up.
“This is a dangerous place. Remember that. Behind the order and efficient hum of the country, there’s a brutal governmental system that rules with an iron claw. The royal family’s power provides the certainty of societal order. Their power is absolute, and it is self–serving. The leaders trust no one. The old joke here is that the leaders’ grandmothers are not allowed to visit them at work unless they pass through a metal detector and pass a background check.” River laughed. Rawls didn’t.
“You will not be able to infiltrate this group at the mosque unless you have been in this country for years or unless you know a respected member of the mosque. You haven’t been here for years, and there’s no way around that. So, here it is: You have known a member of the mosque for twenty years; he is fully aware of your conversion six years ago, and he is fully aware of and can testify to your radical beliefs. Your friend will give you instant credibility.
“Who’s my friend?”
“His name is Amaad al Qatari. There’s a problem, though. We had no choice except to call him to service from the CIA as an agent for us. Our organization is too young to produce a planted long–time, and therefore trusted, member of a radical Islamic sect. You work for him. He’s the boss. You do whatever he says, and I mean that. Trust him completely.
“Get used to working for a CIA agent. I’m as concerned that one of you will kill the other arguing about USFIA/CIA politics as I am that one of you will be discovered for who you are and killed by our Saudi friends.
“Anyway, your friend has been laying the groundwork for your arrival and your participation with the group. Even given that, you have got to remember to move slowly. Remember the grandmother joke.” River didn’t laugh. Neither did Rawls.
“Go to the mosque and ask to meet al Qatari. He will immediately begin the process of acclimating you into the group. He will introduce you. Now listen carefully. Your name will not be River Warwick. It will be Dane Wyson Ward. Here are all of your papers—every form of I.D. you can imagine. Don’t ever slip and use River. And don’t even think of using an Arab– or Muslim–sounding name. You are an American working in Medina, nothing more and nothing less. Don’t complicate matters. Keep it all simple.
“Al Qatari will not speak to you agent–to–agent. He’s good. You will not be able to tell the difference between him and an everyday radical. He never takes chances. So when you meet him, take on the identity you have been assigned and don’t ever expect him to step out of character. Never. He won’t do it. Do you have any questions?”
“Where will I live?”
“You will share a group home at the terror camp with al Qatari and his friends. They will all treat you like a brother… unless they suspect you of anything. If so, they will treat you differently, much differently.”