Blowback

EIGHTY-NINE

Hamal is your son?” repeated Harvath.

“The result of an indiscretion in my youth of which I certainly am not proud,” said Abdullah, looking away. “While I have been largely successful in keeping his lineage quiet, the boy has been nothing but a source of constant distress for me.”

“You’ll forgive me for asking, Your Highness, but why have you let him live here? Why not banish him? Send him to Europe or America, anywhere but here where he has been making so much trouble for you?” said Reynolds.

“You don’t have children, do you, Mr. Reynolds?” replied the Crown Prince.

Reynolds shook his head.

Abdullah smiled the smile not of an all-powerful ruler but of a father. “If you did, you would understand that I would rather cut off my own arm than to see my son forced from the land of his birth. That’s not to say that I didn’t try. I thought that if he had someone to travel with, another worldly young man, a young man of Arab birth, but of a second cultural influence, he might open up and decide life outside this kingdom was more to his liking.”

Harvath didn’t know why, but suddenly there was that ping from a remote corner of his mind as a connection of some sort was made. “Who was this traveling companion you selected for your son, Your Highness?”

“His family was from Abha, a small city in the southern province of Asir. The family’s name was—”

“Alomari,” said Harvath, putting it all together and finishing Abdullah’s sentence for him. “You entrusted your son to the companionship of Khalid Sheik Alomari.”

It was the first time Harvath had ever seen a major head of state lose his composure. “I didn’t know how evil he was. How could I?”

“You are the ruler of the Saudi Arabian Kingdom,” replied Harvath. “You have amazing resources at your disposal. Why didn’t you use them?”

“I did!” he asserted. “I was too embarrassed to air my dirty laundry to my minister, so I asked his second in command to do the checking for me.”

“You asked Faruq,” said Harvath.

Abdullah, his head hung low, responded, “Yes. It was Faruq, and along with the Wahhabis, they succeeded in turning my son against me.”

There was still a piece of the puzzle Harvath felt he was missing — a piece that was the key to helping all of the others floating around in his mind to fall into place. “I know this is a delicate question, and please forgive me, Your Highness, but it is something I have to ask.”

“What is your question?”

“From you, your son can claim direct descent from the Prophet Muhammad.”

“This is correct.”

“Hamal’s mother. You said she was a foreigner. What country was she from?”

For a moment, the Crown Prince seemed to be at peace, as if he was reliving happier memories from long ago. “We met in Cyprus. A man who had been involved in selling weapons to my brother, King Fahad, for our army introduced me to her. I was a young man filled with the world and forgetful of my responsibilities. She was the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. I was completely captivated by her.”

“Her nationality, Your Highness,” repeated Harvath. “What was it?”

“Turkish. She was of Ottoman descent.”

“And the man who introduced you? The man who had been involved in selling weapons to your brother?”

“Ozan Kalachka.”

And with that, Harvath knew who the new caliph was going to be.