Table of Contents
ALSO BY ALEX BERENSON
THE MIDNIGHT HOUSE
THE SILENT MAN
THE GHOST WAR
THE FAITHFUL SPY
THE NUMBER (nonfiction)
FOR MY WIFE
PROLOGUE
MANAMA, BAHRAIN
JJs HAD COLD CARLSBERG ON TAP AND A DOZEN FLAT-SCREEN televisions on its dark wooden walls. It was an above-average bar, generic Irish, and it would have fit in fine in London or Chicago. Instead it occupied the ground floor of a low-rise building in downtown Manama, the capital of Bahrain, a small island in the Persian Gulf.
By eleven p.m., JJs would be packed with men and women pressing their bodies together in search of pleasures great and small. Now, at nine, the bar was crowded enough to have a vibe, not too crowded to move. A skinny kid with bleached-blond hair spun Lady Gaga and Jay-Z from his iPod as a dozen women danced badly but enthusiastically. The crowd was mostly European expatriate workers, along with American sailors from the Fifth Fleet, which was headquartered in Bahrain.
Robby Duke had gotten to JJs early. The best girls were taken by midnight. Robby was twenty-eight, built like a rugby player, squat and wide, with long blond hair and an easy smile. Plenty of girls liked him, and he liked plenty of girls. Expat birds were all more or less the same. British, European, whatever, they came to the Gulf for adventure, and adventure usually meant a few easy nights.
Dwight Gasser was Robbys wingman. He was soft-spoken, almost shy. He wasnt much use as a wingman, but some women liked his curly hair and sleepy eyes. Them two, he said, nudging Robby toward the corner. A blonde with a round face and nice thick lips. The other skinnier and darker. Spanish maybe. They sat side by side, facing a table with two empty seats.
Yes, Your Highness. Robby squared up and headed for them. Once hed decided to go for it, he didnt see the sense in mucking about.
Room for two more?
The blonde sipped her drink and looked at him like a copper whod caught him pissing in an alley and wasnt sure whether to give him a ticket or wave him on.
All yours, she finally said.
Robby extended a hand. Im Robby Duke.
Josephine.
They shook. Robby sat. Robby looked around for Dwight, but hed disappeared, as he sometimes did when an introduction didnt seem to be going well. Annoying bastard. Though hed be back soon enough, might even have a beer for Robby by way of apology.
Josephine. A fellow commoner. Where you from? If you dont mind my asking.
London.
The center of the universe. Hed bet his right leg that she didnt live in London.
Slough, really.
Slough was a suburb west of London, just past Heathrow Airport. Slough was more like it, Robby thought. He could line Slough up and send it into the right corner and the keeper wouldnt do anything but wave.
Slough sounds like London to a Manchester boy like me. He turned to the dark-haired girl. You from London, too?
Rome.
Rome. The city of Robby couldnt remember what Rome was the city of. Anyhow, the plot thickens. What brings you ladies to JJs?
Were cabin crew, the Italian girl said. For Emiratesthe biggest airline in the Middle East, known for its shiny new planes and equally shiny flight attendants.
Emirates. Have you flown the A-three-eighty, then?
Its a beast, Josephine said. Who thought a plane with eight hundred seats was a good idea?
Not glamorous, then?
About as glamorous as the Tube.
I like it, the Italian said. I know its stupid, but still, theres something amazing about it. How something so big can fly.
Robby turned to face the Italian. She had a big nose, but she wasnt bad. Those dark eyes and that long black hair. And the accent. Most important, she looked happy to talk to him, unlike Josephine. Whats your name, Italiano?
Cinzia. Beside her, Josephine sighed. Have fun with Dwight, Robby almost said. You two will get along great. Instead, he raised his glass. Heres to Italy.
To Italy.
And to Bahrain on a Thursday night. He took a long swallow of his beer. And were off.
THE BLACK MERCEDES E190 rolled down the King Fahad Causeway, the ten-mile bridge between Saudi Arabia and Bahrain. Below the asphalt was the water of the Persian Gulf, warm as a bathtub and nearly as flat.
Omar al-Rashid sat behind the wheel. His younger brother, Fakir, slept beside him in the passenger seat. A line of drool curled into Fakirs pure white thobe, the long gown that Saudi men wore. Fakir had the soft bulk of a high school nose tackle. His thobe draped his round stomach like a pillowcase. He was eighteen, two years younger than Omar.
Fakir.
Fakir grunted irritably. Let me sleep.
Youve been asleep since the Eastern Province. And youre drooling.
Im relaxed.
Youre as stupid as a donkey.
Better to be stupid than scared.
Im not scared. Omar punched Fakir, his fist thumping against Fakirs biceps. And then wished he hadnt, for Fakir didnt complain, didnt even rub his arm.
Its all right, brother. If you want to back out. We can do it without you.
Im not scared. For the first time in his life, Omar hated his brother. He was scared. Anyone would be scared. Anyone but a donkey like Fakir. But now hed gone too far. The humiliation of quitting outweighed the fear of death. And maybe the imams were right. Maybe virgins and endless treasures awaited them on the other end.
Though he didnt see the imams lining up to find out.
Three minutes later they reached the tiny barrier island that marked the border of Saudi Arabia and Bahrain. A bored guard checked the Mercedess registration. A hundred meters on, an immigration agent swiped their passports and waved them through without asking their plans. Everyone knew why Saudis went to Bahrain. They went for a drink, or two, or ten. They went to hang out with their girlfriends without being hassled by the muttawa, the Committee for the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice. The Saudi religious police. They went to watch movies in public, movie theaters being another pleasure forbidden in the Kingdom.
After Bahraini immigration, they were waved into a shed for a customs inspection. An officer nodded toward the blue travel bag in the backseat. Open it, please. Omar unzipped the bag, revealing jeans, sneakers, and black T-shirts. The clothes were hardly suspicious. Saudi men often changed into Western-style clothes in Bahrain. Enjoy your visit, the officer said, and waved them on.
We will, Fakir said.
AT JJs, ROBBY WAS off his game. Dwight had won Cinzias attention, leaving Robby with Josephine. He decided to go the tried-andtrue route of getting her drunk.
Time for another round. Whats your pleasure?
Josephine raised her glass, still half full. No thanks, Frodo.
Frodo! Robby said, in what he hoped sounded like mock horror. In reality the joke cut a bit close. Hope Im bigger than he is.
I hope so, too. For your sake. She glanced at Cinzia.
Figuring the odds youll be stuck with me?
Exactly. She swallowed the rest of her drink. All right, then. Vodka and tonic. Grey Goose.
Of course, Grey Goose, Robbie thought. Top-shelf all the way, this one. And thin odds Ill get more than a peck on the cheek. One Grey Goose and tonic coming up.
