Saudis my cover, so he called me in. He was a very worried man.’
‘That OPEC planned Rahbar ’s coup?’
‘Yes.’
‘But that it really wasn’t OPEC? That somebody else was behind it?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Who?’
‘Karim, Iraq’s defence minister. He’s been with the KGB since 1962. It’s been Moscow’s idea for a long time. Suddenly they found a way using Gaddafi. They had a man in Lagos who’s been pushing the Nigerians. Same in Caracas. It’s a big operation, Cheaney. They’ve been working on this for years. They knew Afghanistan was as near as the limit of their confrontation. From then on in it had to be done underground. Iran, Oman, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, working from the inside out. But the Royals had Saudi Arabia all tied up and Moscow couldn’t find a way in, until the Crown Prince became an Islamic freak.’ Franklin then repeated what Fahd had told him.
Twenty minutes later Cheaney said, ‘You got all this from Fahd?’
‘A couple of hours before the start. The first rockets hit the place about midday.’
‘How did he get it so wrong?’
‘Wrong?’
‘So late. How come he knew all this but didn’t splash it sooner? Expose them?’
‘Very simple, Cheaney. So simple it breaks your heart. He got his timing wrong. His family had been in charge for so long they reckoned they controlled time. His service reports were coming in, intelligence was being slowly put together, the fingers were being pointed. Fahd thought he would choose the time when he would come down on them and wipe them out. He got it wrong. He was behind time, not in charge of it.’
Cheaney lit another cigarette, took the half-smoked one from Franklin and gave him a fresh one.
‘You always so agreeable, Cheaney?’ But Cheaney didn’t answer. For a minute or more he looked ahead, over Joe’s shoulder, his chubby face lit up by oncoming car headlamps. Then he turned in his seat and faced Franklin.
‘You heard of Schneider? Anna Birgit Schneider?’
‘Sure. West German. Red Army.’
‘Ever seen her?’
‘No.’
Cheaney touched his arm. ‘She’s on her way to kill Fahd.’ Franklin drew on the cigarette. It was too strong and was beginning to make him feel sick again. Some miles ahead he could see Cairo, the city’s lights reflected in the pollution haze, hanging over it like a low yellow cloud.
‘Is Schneider on her own?’
‘We don’t know,’ said Cheaney. ‘If we did we’d be halfway there already.’
‘And where are you exactly?’
‘Nowhere, Franklin. Shit scared and nowhere.’
‘Where is Fahd?’
‘England. Somewhere north called the Lake District.’
‘So why the Agency? It’s a British problem.’
‘Wrong, Matt. It’s everybody’s problem, but most especially it’s an American problem. Director Johns wants Fahd back in Saudi Arabia and he wants him back there quickly.
‘Johns is mad. If he understood anything about that country he wouldn’t bother. The King’s gone, like the Shah, like King Farouk, like King George out of Boston. There’s been a special revolution with some very special backers and Johns mustn’t imagine we can pull the strings any more. Rahbar is not Thieu or Lon Nol or anyone of the Agency’s puppets. Fahd has lost. So have we. It’s history. Rahbar and his Revolutionary Council have taken over and there’s nothing Johns or the President of the United States can do about it.’ ‘Wrong again, Matt. There’s a lot the President can do, you can bet on it. And there’s a lot he will do. None of us know exactly what, but we’re guessing and the prospects are bright. What we do know for sure is that getting Fahd back on his throne is vital to whatever the President has in mind. You wait for his speech.’
‘I said it’d be bullshit.’
Cheaney leant forward in his seat, rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands so that the tips of his fingers touched his nose. For a moment Franklin thought he might be praying.
Then he said
‘That OPEC planned Rahbar ’s coup?’
‘Yes.’
‘But that it really wasn’t OPEC? That somebody else was behind it?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Who?’
‘Karim, Iraq’s defence minister. He’s been with the KGB since 1962. It’s been Moscow’s idea for a long time. Suddenly they found a way using Gaddafi. They had a man in Lagos who’s been pushing the Nigerians. Same in Caracas. It’s a big operation, Cheaney. They’ve been working on this for years. They knew Afghanistan was as near as the limit of their confrontation. From then on in it had to be done underground. Iran, Oman, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, working from the inside out. But the Royals had Saudi Arabia all tied up and Moscow couldn’t find a way in, until the Crown Prince became an Islamic freak.’ Franklin then repeated what Fahd had told him.
Twenty minutes later Cheaney said, ‘You got all this from Fahd?’
‘A couple of hours before the start. The first rockets hit the place about midday.’
‘How did he get it so wrong?’
‘Wrong?’
‘So late. How come he knew all this but didn’t splash it sooner? Expose them?’
‘Very simple, Cheaney. So simple it breaks your heart. He got his timing wrong. His family had been in charge for so long they reckoned they controlled time. His service reports were coming in, intelligence was being slowly put together, the fingers were being pointed. Fahd thought he would choose the time when he would come down on them and wipe them out. He got it wrong. He was behind time, not in charge of it.’
Cheaney lit another cigarette, took the half-smoked one from Franklin and gave him a fresh one.
‘You always so agreeable, Cheaney?’ But Cheaney didn’t answer. For a minute or more he looked ahead, over Joe’s shoulder, his chubby face lit up by oncoming car headlamps. Then he turned in his seat and faced Franklin.
‘You heard of Schneider? Anna Birgit Schneider?’
‘Sure. West German. Red Army.’
‘Ever seen her?’
‘No.’
Cheaney touched his arm. ‘She’s on her way to kill Fahd.’ Franklin drew on the cigarette. It was too strong and was beginning to make him feel sick again. Some miles ahead he could see Cairo, the city’s lights reflected in the pollution haze, hanging over it like a low yellow cloud.
‘Is Schneider on her own?’
‘We don’t know,’ said Cheaney. ‘If we did we’d be halfway there already.’
‘And where are you exactly?’
‘Nowhere, Franklin. Shit scared and nowhere.’
‘Where is Fahd?’
‘England. Somewhere north called the Lake District.’
‘So why the Agency? It’s a British problem.’
‘Wrong, Matt. It’s everybody’s problem, but most especially it’s an American problem. Director Johns wants Fahd back in Saudi Arabia and he wants him back there quickly.
‘Johns is mad. If he understood anything about that country he wouldn’t bother. The King’s gone, like the Shah, like King Farouk, like King George out of Boston. There’s been a special revolution with some very special backers and Johns mustn’t imagine we can pull the strings any more. Rahbar is not Thieu or Lon Nol or anyone of the Agency’s puppets. Fahd has lost. So have we. It’s history. Rahbar and his Revolutionary Council have taken over and there’s nothing Johns or the President of the United States can do about it.’ ‘Wrong again, Matt. There’s a lot the President can do, you can bet on it. And there’s a lot he will do. None of us know exactly what, but we’re guessing and the prospects are bright. What we do know for sure is that getting Fahd back on his throne is vital to whatever the President has in mind. You wait for his speech.’
‘I said it’d be bullshit.’
Cheaney leant forward in his seat, rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands so that the tips of his fingers touched his nose. For a moment Franklin thought he might be praying.
Then he said
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