The Messenger

that it was a fake. He sat down again and emptied the pipe into a large cut-glass ashtray.
    “How many Americans were killed at the Vatican?” Gabriel asked.
    “Twenty-eight, including a Curial bishop.”
    “How much money has Zizi al-Bakari given to the terrorists over the years?”
    “Hundreds of millions.”
    “Go after him,” Gabriel said. “Make a case against him and put him on trial.”
    “Against Zizi al-Bakari?”
    “Section 18 U.S.C. 2339B—have you ever heard of it, Adrian?”
    “You’re quoting American law to me now?”
    “It’s a violation of American law to give money to designated terrorist groups, regardless of whether the money was used for specific attacks. You could have probably prosecuted dozens of wealthy Saudis for giving material support to your enemies, including Zizi al-Bakari.”
    “You disappoint me, Gabriel. I always thought of you as a fairly reasonable fellow—a bit too concerned with questions of right and wrong at times, but reasonable. We can’t go after Zizi al-Bakari.”
    “Why?”
    “ Money ,” said Carter, then added, “And oil, of course.”
    “Of course.”
    Carter toyed with his lighter. “The Saudi Royal Family has a lot of friends in Washington—the kind of friends only money can buy. Zizi has friends as well. He’s endowed academic chairs and filled them with associates and supporters. He’s underwritten the creation of Arab studies departments at a half dozen major American universities. He almost single-handedly financed a major renovation of the Kennedy Center. He gives to the pet charitable projects of influential senators and invests in the business ventures of their friends and relatives. He owns a chunk of one of our most prominent banks and bits and pieces of several other prominent American companies. He’s also served as a middleman on countless Saudi-American business deals. Is the picture becoming clear to you now?”
    It was, but Gabriel wanted to hear more.
    “If Zizi’s battalion of Washington lawyers even suspected he was the target of a criminal probe, Zizi would call His Majesty, and His Majesty would call Ambassador Bashir, and Ambassador Bashir would pop over to the White House for a little chat with the president. He would remind the president that a twist or two on the oil spigots would send the price of gasoline over five dollars a gallon. He might even point out that a price spike of that magnitude would surely hurt people in the heartland, who tend to drive long distances, and who also tend to vote for the president’s party.”
    “So Zizi gets away with murder—literally.”
    “I’m afraid so.”
    “Ask not about things which, if made plain to you, may cause you trouble.”
    “You know your Quran,” Carter said.
    “One of the reasons you can’t operate against Zizi or prosecute him is because you’re afraid of what you might find: business entanglements with prominent Americans, shady dealings with Washington insiders. Imagine the reaction of the American people if they learned that a Saudi billionaire with business ties to prominent figures in Washington is actually financing the activities of your enemies. The relationship barely survived the first 9/11. I doubt it would survive a second.”
    “No, it wouldn’t—at least not in its present form. There’s already a movement on Capitol Hill to isolate Saudi Arabia because of its support of the global Islamic extremism. A scandal involving Zizi al-Bakari would only add fuel to the fire. Several foreign policy lights in Congress are considering legislation that would put the screws to Saudi Arabia. They have that luxury. They won’t take the fall if the American economy goes into the toilet because of higher fuel prices. The president will.”
    “So what do you want from us, Adrian? What do you wish to say to me, in this room where no one is listening?”
    “The president of the United States would like a favor,” Carter said, gazing into the fire. “The sort of favor you happen to be very good at. He’d like you to run an agent into the House of Zizi. He’d like you to find out who’s coming and going. And if Ahmed bin Shafiq happens to walk by, he’d like you to take a shot at him. It will be your operation, but we’ll give you whatever support you need. We’ll be over the horizon—far enough over to make certain that we can maintain plausible deniability in Riyadh.”
    “You disappoint me, Adrian. I always thought of you as a reasonable