Fouad kicked the remaining wall to the garage in despair. This was terrible on a personal level but an outrage on a national level. He, Prince Fouad Al Kabir of the House of Saud, had been attacked! It was unprecedented. He wasn’t fearful – the concept had never entered his head – but he was upset.
Twenty more members of the Saudi Arabian Royal Guard Regiment, the unit with the task of protecting the Royal House of Saud, now patrolled his ‘palace’. His brother had said he’d been foolish to stay at his small place in the desert, but security wasn’t a concept Fouad could fully understand. He was royalty, so why should he be in any danger? Unlike his brothers – especially Umar – Fouad didn’t like to leave the Kingdom. He was happy to stay within its borders and play at being a businessman and scholar…
There was a buzzing from under his robes. Puzzled, he retrieved his Vertu and answered. ‘Yes?’
‘Your Highness, peace be upon you. I hope you are well?’ the voice asked in classical Arabic.
‘And you. Who is this?’ Fouad noted the number was withheld.
‘I am a humble servant of God.’ The voice had a lyricism.
‘As I am. And?’ Every Muslim was a servant of God; the caller was stating the obvious.
‘He instructed me to burn your English cars.’
‘What?’ Fouad couldn’t have heard correctly. ‘You burnt my cars?’
‘That is correct, Your Highness.’
Fouad was incensed. ‘Then you will be punished.’
‘If it is “His” will.’ The caller paused; he could hear the prince breathing heavily on the other end. ‘Burning your precious cars was a way to get your attention. Now, do I have it?’
Fouad held onto a palm tree to steady himself. He couldn’t understand what was happening. ‘What do you want?’
‘You sit on the board of directors of Saudico, the world’s largest supplier of oil.’ The caller paused again.
Fouad didn’t know how to react; here was a stranger, speaking to him in a very impertinent manner. ‘Yes, I do.’
‘You must order the company to immediately cease supplying oil to the infidels.’
Fouad paused then started to laugh heartily. ‘If you were not going to die for destroying royal property, I would find you a very funny man.’
The caller grew angry. ‘Do not mock me, you fool.’
‘What!’ Fouad ended the call. He had never been so insulted in all his life.
Fouad walked towards the terrace and snapped his fingers as a signal that he wanted a cold drink. Could he have the call traced? He would ask the police chief. Just as he was about to sit, the phone vibrated again.
‘Yes?’
‘That was unwise, to end the call in such a way.’
Fouad’s thumb hovered over the cancel button. ‘Any leniency I may have shown towards you has just been withdrawn. You will be executed for both your actions and your remarks.’ That would surely make this unknown person repent.
The caller was again calm. ‘Stop supplying oil to the West or your daughter will be the one to be executed.’
Fouad dropped his glass. It smashed on the tiled floor. Immediately a servant hurried to clean it up, but the prince pushed him away. ‘What did you say?’
‘Princess Jinan…’
‘Don’t you dare mention her name…’ He was redder than he had ever been before.
‘Princess Jinan is no longer at her school. We have her.’
Fouad felt dizzy. He spluttered with rage and waved his arms to attract the attention of his guards. ‘You lie.’
The line went dead; the caller had disconnected at his end. The prince’s brain tried to process the information. He had several people to call but didn’t know who to contact first. The commander of the guards arrived and bowed.
‘Call your men who protect my daughter! Immediately!’
The man bowed again and vanished into the house. Fouad dialled his brother’s number from memory and held the phone to his ear. As he did so the military officer reappeared holding a different handset.
‘Your Highness.’
Fouad snatched the Nokia and looked at the screen. What he saw made his heart stop. It was a picture of his daughter with a gun to her head. The prince could feel his heart racing; he clutched his right hand to his podgy chest… he couldn’t breathe. He slumped into a chair. His Vertu had now connected with his brother in England, who was calling his name. Panic set in as the prince’s entourage rushed to revive him.
‘Your Royal Highness.’ The voice of the commander of the guards was clear and precise as he spoke to Fouad’s brother, on the other end of the line in London. ‘Prince Fouad is unwell.’
‘How?’ Prince Umar was concerned for his favourite younger brother.
‘He has fainted, Your Highness, from learning of some bad news.’
‘Which is?’
Major Hammar didn’t quite know what to say. ‘Someone has kidnapped the princess.’
‘Kidnapped? But she is in Brighton, at Roedean.’ The prince in the Saudi Embassy was suddenly anxious.
Shoreham-by-Sea, UK
Fox checked his watch. The job interview in Central London had been a complete waste of time, in and out in less than an hour. The interviewer – some hair-gelled kid in his twenties – had attempted to grill Fox about his suitability for the job. A job he was overqualified for. The boy had seemed offended when Fox had refused point-blank to elaborate on his military career. His CV mentioned only his parent unit, the Gordon Highlanders, and not ‘the Regiment’.
On Fox’s way out he’d seen the other applicants, ten years younger and twenty pounds fatter. He had no chance and didn’t give a… He turned into his street and saw a familiar car. The dark-red BMW Z4 of his former boss, Leo Sawyer, parked four houses away on the bend – complete with a number plate that did indeed confirm he was a wanker: LE07 SAW. Fox frowned. Why would the jumped-up salesman be here? A dark thought struck him, and an anger of the type he hadn’t felt for years, deep inside. Fox stopped and retrieved his mobile. Dialling Tracey’s number, he continued up the street then saw her car in the drive. A mini moto buzzed past him from behind, making him flinch. Silly old git, getting jumpy.
‘Where are you?’ she answered.
‘Just getting on the train at Victoria,’ he lied, eyeing her car in the drive. ‘And you?’
‘Still in the office. Should be home when you are, though. I’m just seeing to something.’
Fox almost threw the phone but managed to control himself. He snapped it shut. ‘Eagle-eyed
