The Haj - Leon Uris [211]
‘Ah, but they are only second to the great house of Saud when it comes to progressive thinking. Even now, the princes of Kuwait and Oman are discovering the ... the ... the magnificent alternatives to Switzerland. Beirut is becoming Paris, Mecca, the seven paradises all rolled into one. And despite the presence of a great number of Christians, they are truly our own people. A gesture to the Lebanese.’
‘Keep it tidy, Kabir.’
‘A pittance.’
‘Very well, but before I present this to my grandfather, I must have the foreign ministers of Egypt, Syria ... and Lebanon here, in this room, together to make certain that our understandings are complete.’
Fawzi Kabir sucked in a fast deep breath, bit his lip, and shook his head. ‘You ask the impossible, my prince.’
‘We pay the bills! They will appear here!’
‘I beseech you, Your Most Noble Highness, let me speak to them privately.’
‘Why can’t I speak to them together?’
‘Have I not always treated you with honesty?’ Kabir asked.
‘I demand to see them together, this day, this hour, this minute!’
Kabir sighed sincerely. ‘I beg you to hear my point. No delegation here is ready to make a commitment in front of any other delegation. The Syrians do not trust the Egyptians. The Lebanese only trust money. No one trusts Jordan. The various Palestinian delegations are under the control of their host countries. They argue furiously in closed committees, which is what we want. However, when they appear in public before the arbitration commission, they all close their mouths, for one fears the other. Everyone is suspicious of everyone, and even now each is maneuvering against the other. May Allah help us, but some of them are even trying to make side deals with the Jews. We cannot put them together in the same room, my prince. Trust me. You see, the only real unity we have is hatred of the Jews.’
Strangely, Prince Ali Rahman understood the twists in Kabir’s mind and thinking. A splendid, delicate job had been accomplished till now. The conference had to end on a note of war against the Jews. However, was he manipulating Kabir or was Kabir manipulating him? If every Arab delegation had the same goal, why were the Saudis spending millions in payoff money? Well, he knew the answer to that. It was because the Saudis had the money to spend. Do not throw camel shit into the machinery, Ali Rahman told himself. Do not make a failure before Ibn Saud.
The prince looked about the room suspiciously, even though it was empty, then leaned forward in his seat. ‘What have you done about Abdullah’s assassination?’ he asked.
Fawzi Kabir plucked a single grape from the bowl. ‘Very tricky. Abdullah has been in the survival business for three decades. His palace is encased by an outer guard of the Arab Legion. Abdullah spreads around British pounds like candy to ensure their loyalty. The palace is very tight. On the inside he has a personal guard of fanatical Circassians.’
‘Not even Moslems,’ Ali Rahman scoffed. ‘They are Russians.’
Kabir clasped his hands together in a washing motion. ‘Let me say, we do not yet have the man with his hands on the hilt of the dagger. However, we have made progress. I have made contact with a key Jordanian minister here in Zurich who knows the king’s movements in advance. He will play. He will cost but he will play. When he returns to Amman, he can report to us where and when Abdullah will appear outside of the palace. We will have the finger on him. Once we know a week in advance that Abdullah will be in Hebron or Nablus or East Jerusalem, we can then import a member of the Moslem Brotherhood from Egypt or one of the Mufti’s assassins. We have a list of such men who are available on short notice. No one can get too close to Abdullah, so it cannot be with a knife. Even a sniper from a distance cannot hope to escape alive. That, of course, is why we need a fanatic willing to make a martyr of himself. A machine pistol from a crowd at close range. However, we must be patient, my prince.’
They continued