Blowback

He drove as close as he dared with the Land Cruiser and then hiked the rest of the way in on foot. Seventy-five yards later, Reynolds spotted the militants’ car and took cover behind a narrow berm. The car was parked in front of an open hangar. A Saudi Arabian National Guard UH60 Blackhawk helicopter sat idling on the tarmac nearby. Things were getting very interesting.

Reynolds removed a pair of Steiner binoculars and peered into the open hangar. Seated on top of cushions scattered across the floor, Bedouin style, were the three young militants along with several men in Royal Saudi Land Forces as well as Saudi Arabian National Guard uniforms. The Saudi Royal Land Forces were charged with external security, while the Saudi National Guard were charged with protecting the Royal Family from internal rebellion and from any possible coup attempts by the Royal Land Forces. What the hell were these guys all doing here together?

Reynolds had brought his somewhat out-of-date parabolic mike along, but he knew that the engine noise from the UH60 would make it impossible to hear anything. Something big was happening, and he needed to know what was going on. Not having brought the proper equipment to circumvent the electric fence surrounding the base, there was no way he could get in closer. Besides, his running and gunning days were over. If these guys really were up to something that they shouldn’t be, there was no question in Reynolds’s mind that they would kill him if they discovered him lurking around the hangar. As much as he didn’t want to, he knew there was only one person he could call for help. Faruq al-Hafez might not be his biggest fan, but he was completely devoted to the Saudi Royal Family, and a meeting of this magnitude was something he’d want to know and hopefully do something about.

Without taking his eyes from the scene inside the hangar, Reynolds fished his cell phone from his pocket, raised it to his mouth, and said, “Call deputy intel minister, cell. “The voice-activated feature began to dial the preprogrammed number, but just as it was starting to ring, Reynolds saw something that made him immediately disconnect the call. Walking out of the adjacent hangar with two large aluminum briefcases in his hands was Faruq al-Hafez himself.

He placed the briefcases on a folding table set up near the mouth of the hangar, popped the lids, and began setting up three stacks of bills. Reynolds watched as a representative from each group came up and collected their money. One of the militants lifted a stack of American currency and fanned through it with his thumb and then shoved the rest of his pile into a dusty, desert-camouflaged knapsack.

The National Guard and Royal Land Force soldiers were far less dramatic than the Wahhabi radical. After a cursory glance, they each piled their money into one of the aluminum cases and shook hands with Faruq. Whatever was going on, everyone seemed to be satisfied.

The National Guard members headed for their UH60 Blackhawk as the representatives from the Saudi army climbed into a Hummer parked on the far side of the hangar. While the militants headed toward their car, the deputy intelligence minister raised a walkie-talkie to his mouth and gave some sort of command. A fraction of a second later, the doors of hangar number two rolled open revealing a sleek Dessault Falcon 50EX business jet. What the hell is he up to? wondered Reynolds. The only time Faruq used one of the Intelligence Ministry jets was when he traveled out of the country. There was only one way to find out.

Reynolds removed his cell phone and voice-dialed the man again.

“Hello?” Faruq responded in Arabic.

Reynolds could hear the whine of the Falcon’s engines in the background. “It’s Chip Reynolds, Your Excellency.”

“Yes, Mr. Reynolds. What is it? I’m quite busy.”

Reynolds watched as al-Hafez entered the hangar. “I have a security matter I’d like to discuss with you. I’m concerned with some activity we’ve seen around one of the northern pumping stations. I’m going to be near your office later today and was hoping we could meet.”

“That won’t be possible,” replied the deputy minister. “I’m on my way out of the country and will be gone for several days.”

“Vacation?” asked Reynolds.

“Business,” said Faruq as he climbed the Falcon’s retractable stairs and paused before entering the cabin. “Whatever this is, I’m sure it’s nothing. If there’s still a problem when I get back, we can discuss it then. “With that, the deputy intelligence minister punched the end button on his cell and climbed into the plane.

Hiking back to his Land Cruiser, Reynolds downed a liter of water from the cooler on his back seat and then reached for his body armor. He had one last lead to pursue, and something told him that with that much money lying around, Mo(hammad), Larry, and Curly were going to be in a shoot first, ask questions later kind of mood.

SIXTY-TWO