Keys to the Kingdom (9 page)

CHAPTER 12

Riyadh

They moved together like two beautiful butterflies. As Rosinski watched the young women, dressed in the best of Paris fashions, dance to the heavy beat of the Arabic music she was transported to another time and another place. She remembered as a young girl the butterflies fluttering around her father’s huge gnarled Polack hands as they sat by the shores of the lake in Chicago. It always amazed her that a man as big and as strong as her father could have been so gentle. The hands that could easily have crushed, moved delicately as the butterflies flitted between them. Her eyes filled with tears every time she thought about the only man she had ever truly loved. She’d lost count of the times she wished he were still around. It had torn her apart to watch the cancer destroying him. God but there were times when she really needed those big working man’s hands to enfold her and tell her that everything was going to turn out all right. She brushed a tear from her eye. Her colleagues in the ‘Company’ would give a lot to witness such a show of vulnerability. To them she was a man-hating ball breaker. Dad had given her a bad start with men. She had believed that they were all good and gentle just like her simple old man. Experience had soon dispelled that fantasy. Rosinski’s reverie was broken by the hostess putting a graceful swan shaped bowl of expensive chocolates wrapped in pink and lavender foil beneath her face. She thanked her, carefully picked a chocolate from the bowl and became a part of the party once more. She had arrived at the large villa in the Sulaminia district half an hour earlier. The driver of the office car had barked ‘henna’ when he had stopped before the villa. Rosinski wanted to slap the little shit down but she knew it would only lead to trouble. The driver was five feet nothing and as ignorant as a goatherd but because he had a dick hanging between his legs that made him the master of every woman in this pigpen of a country. She had quelled her anger, gathered her abaya around her and stepped from the car. She passed quickly across the narrow footpath and through the gate of the house. As she entered the darkened garden a servant had motioned her towards a hidden side entrance. Beyond the entrance she had found herself in a long hall leading to the recesses of the harem. A single bulb lit the corridor and she was drawn towards the main chamber by the aroma of fresh coffee. When she entered the harem proper, she found that the room was already alive with party guests who were, as expected, all female. Some of the guests lay back on sofas that were covered with elaborate brocade while others sat talking and sipping from expensive china coffee cups. All the Saudi women were dressed in the very latest and most expensive of Western fashions. Each one sported a creation that had cost at least six months of Rosinski’s salary. She felt positively dowdy in the natty print dress she had bought in Rome on her stopover on the way to Riyadh. Silks, satins, organdie, full skirts with ruffles, sequins, the room was alive with all the tricks of the couturier’s trade. It was a damn pity that none of the clothes on view would ever see the light of day except when the owner made an overseas trip. Western fashions were to be bought for, and only admired within, the confines of the harem. Rosinski had felt awkward as she stood in the doorway looking at the women who were mostly strangers to her. Despite their beautiful clothes and their indolent lifestyle, there was not one woman in the room that she would change places with. The hostess immediately appeared at her side and welcomed her to the gathering brushing her lips across each of Rosinski’s cheeks in the traditional greeting before introducing her to the other guests. It looked like the women of Saudi Arabia had discovered sisterhood long before their American counterparts. She wondered what good old Clark Gilman would make of this scene as she watched the two young women move sinuously to the music. Rosinski had already attended several of these parties and the procedure had been the same. First the dancing and the tea, and then the interminable talking. And when the bored Saudi women got talking, there was no end to the secrets that poured from their lips. The attendees at the party were uniformly middle class with a smattering of minor princesses. She might have been kept out of the mainstream of Saudi male life but Rosinski had discovered that there was a lot more in Saudi women’s heads than fashion and children. She had already picked up some ace pieces of scuttlebutt from the ladies. They may not have sat in the Ministries but their husbands did and when they came home they spilled their stupid male guts to their women.

‘And so, Mary Jo, how are you enjoying our little gathering?’ The hostess, Princess Nadia, the woman whose voice Mary Jo had listened to so often on the tape in her apartment, sat beside her, a benign smile on her beautiful face.

‘It was very kind of you to invite me.’ Rosinski reflected that Princess Nadia could have been anything outside the confines of Saudi Arabia. She was a classic Arab beauty with smooth olive skin and long black flowing hair. Rosinski didn’t know her age but the Princess possessed a figure that a model would die for. It was a hell of a long time since Rosinski had met anyone who had such a unique blend of beauty, intelligence and charm.

They both looked at the dance floor where the music was building to a crescendo and one of the young women was making her long hair fly out behind her.

‘You must think us very quaint with our all female parties,’ the Princess said.

Rosinski smiled. ‘Not really. If they tried it in the States, I think there’d be a pretty good chance that gigs like this could catch on. I’m fascinated by your friends.’

‘Not half as fascinated as they are by you Mary Jo,’ the Princess touched her conspiratorially on the arm.

A servant carrying a large incense burner stood before them and Princess Nadia fanned the sweet-smelling smoke towards her with rapid movements of the palm of her hand. The servant moved in front of Rosinski and she copied the movements of her hostess.

‘What I don’t understand,’ Rosinski said waving away the servant with a practised ease. She smiled to herself. Maybe she could get used to this sort of life after all. ‘I’m sitting here in this rag of a dress that represents the top of my wardrobe. I don’t have more than a thousand bucks in the bank and these people find me fascinating.’

‘The first level of fascination is that you are educated and that you are actually employed here in an equal capacity to a man. That is something completely beyond the understanding of most Saudi women and especially the idle bored upper class. If I wanted to work here, which is quite impossible since my husband would forbid it anyway, I would be a teacher in an all female school or maybe a teller in a women’s bank. There is absolutely no possibility of me working in an office with men as you do. The impossible tends to fascinate people when they see it right before their eyes. You have no idea the consternation that the female American soldiers caused here during the Gulf War. My friends and I saw the liberty these women enjoyed and we were sick with envy. Virtually every woman in this room can drive but they have never sat behind the wheel of a car on a street in Saudi Arabia. It just wouldn’t be permitted.’

‘But why don’t you try to change things?’ Rosinski was beginning to get annoyed for her new Saudi ‘sisters’. ‘It was like this in the West over a hundred years ago but women suffered to create change.’

‘I’m afraid it just isn’t possible,’ the Princess sighed. ‘No matter how capable one is. And there are some very well educated and capable women in this country. The social order, established since the time of Mohammed, will not permit us to play any other part in society than that of chattel. Personally I can leave whenever I wish but my husband would never allow my children to accompany me. Therefore I must play the obedient housewife while my husband dabbles in politics and finance. Since the end of the Gulf War, there has been a lurch towards fundamentalism but only to save the skins of the ruling family. If my husband and his friends get their way, they will return us to the Middle Ages. Then our females will find your life of freedom to be even more fascinating.’

‘The new Ikhwan really does exist?’ Rosinski saw her entry and took it.

‘Oh, it exists all right,’ the Princess’ beautiful face became sad. ‘They are growing in strength and numbers every day. I am sure you thought our previous conversation to be the ranting of a demented and troubled woman. I must confess that I regretted speaking to you in such a frank manner but sometimes the sadness becomes too much to bear. My husband has become more fervent and fanatical. He sees me and his other wives only to have sex with us. If it were not for the children, I would end my life.’

Rosinski looked again at the Princess. She was a woman who would adorn any company. ‘You got to be kidding me. Most of the men I know would give their right arms if they could have you as their wife. And your husband has more wives?’

‘Two more to be exact,’ the Princess tossed back her long black hair. ‘Both considerably younger than me. The one he was married to when I wed him has already been divorced.’

‘He was married when you and he got hitched?’ Rosinski asked.

‘It was a fact that he neglected to mention to either me or my parents. And now he wishes to have more wives. After all he is a very rich man and can easily afford such an extravagance. At the moment it is considered gauche to have more than three wives but all that will change if he and his friends come to power. Although you may find this difficult to believe, the situation of women has improved over the last twenty years.’ She indicated the women spread around the room. ‘This party with the clothes we can never wear in public represents the height of our achievement.’

‘After our last talk I spoke to some of the diplomats at the Embassy,’ Rosinski moved closer to the Princess. ‘I mentioned the new Ikhwan.’

A look of abject fear passed over Princess Nadia’s face.

‘I never mentioned your or any other person’s name,’ Rosinski said quickly. ‘My colleagues think that there’s no problem on the political front. It appears that there have always been fundamentalist groups and there probably always will be. The main fight is between the progressives and the fundamentalists and so far the progressives are way out front.’

A smile creased the corners of the Princess’ full mouth. ‘And that is what your colleagues say. If my life is the victory of the progressives, then let me die now. But your colleagues are making a very big mistake. I have listened to my husband and the Ikhwan are indeed growing in power. They have infiltrated all the organs of the State and are entrenched in the army.’ She looked cautiously around the room and her face became overcast and sad. ‘It will begin soon. It will start like a tiny ripple and it will turn into an unstoppable wave. And when it is finished this country will enter a period of darkness lasting for many years.’

‘And your husband has told you all this?’ Rosinski could almost feel the Princess’ sadness.

‘My husband tells me nothing,’ the Princess said disdainfully. ‘I am a wall for my husband, an inanimate object put on this earth for his pleasure and to bear him children. I am not worthy of his conversation. How can an inanimate object without a brain communicate with one who can touch the greatness of Allah? And when I die there will not even be a stone to mark my passing. But yet I listen. Inanimate object that I am, I listen to every word that falls from his diseased lips and I remember all of those words. A man has come from abroad. He will be the centre of my husband’s plan to take control of the country.’

‘Who is this man,’ Rosinski was fighting down her excitement. If Saudi was going up in smoke and she could put it together before Clark and the rest of the boys at the ‘Station’ that would be the coup to end all coups. ‘What’s his name?’

‘That I do not know. My husband speaks of him with awe. As though he were some kind of God or devil. I have heard the name Abu Ma’aath, the Father of Death, but I have no idea who such a name could belong to. I know only that if my husband fears him then I fear him greatly and so should you.’

Rosinski’s heart was pounding in her ears. Something was going down and so far she appeared to have the inside track on it. This was some hand of cards to have been dealt but it wasn’t just the hand it was how she decided to play it. By rights she should go to Gilman with what she knew. But he was the kind of sharp operator who would only too willingly grab the credit if he believed her and ran with it. This was going to be one of those games where she would have to play her cards very close to her chest. The first step would be to find out what Gilman knew. Her boss loved to play the buffoon but she knew that there was more than booze, dames and cigars running around in Gilman’s brain.

One of the younger women danced over to where the Princess and Rosinski were sitting and said something in rapid Arabic.

‘My daughter reminds me that I am neglecting my other guests and that it is time I stopped being so serious. It is almost time for us to amuse each other with tales of our sexual adventures.’ Rosinski’s eyebrows raised and the Princess laughed. ‘They are all in the head and quite necessary since in general our husbands ignore us. You are welcome to stay and listen I have no doubt but that you will be amused.’

‘And the Ikhwan?’ Rosinski asked.

‘We will talk again,’ the Princess said standing up. ‘In the meantime I will continue to be a wall to my husband and I will continue to listen.’

While the party was in full swing in the villa in Sulaimania, Abbas bin Naseem was deep in the bowels of the Al Hokm Palace. A man met him and Nasrullah at the airport and drove them to a small apartment building in Riyadh. In the apartment, Nasrullah had drilled his duties into him. He was to be obedient and hardworking. He was not to do anything that would put his job at the Palace in danger. Nasrullah had drilled him until he developed a pain in his head from the constant stream of words. They knew he would serve Allah. They knew that he had sworn to make a marriage with death and wished only to join his friend in Paradise. Once in Paradise he would be allowed to choose 70 family members to join him. He would have available truly celestial pleasures, he could avail himself of rivers of milk and wine, lakes of honey and the services of 70 virgins. His death would lead to a glorious rebirth in Paradise. He could not wait to embrace his destiny. The day after his arrival Abbas was brought to the Palace and introduced to the Saudi in charge of the servants. His job had already been arranged. Now he had been working in the Palace for a week and he had easily located the majlis that Nasrullah had shown him on the plan. Soon the explosives would arrive and he would begin his work. Then he would be happy in the knowledge that he would soon enjoy the vision of God.