“With any luck I can get the password for his email account. After that, who knows?”
“Do you have any regard for the law whatsoever?”
“I sleep just fine.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“You want to listen in or would you like me to do this somewhere else?”
“I’m off duty. Please continue. One day when I’m a private investigator I may find it useful.”
Simon found the number for the prince’s Internet provider, a prominent Saudi Arabian telecom company. “Here we go,” he said. “Quiet.”
Nikki zipped her mouth closed.
“Good morning,” he said when the customer service representative answered. His Arabic was slow and formal. His vocabulary was limited, but his accent was spot-on. “I have a small problem. I’ve forgotten the password for my account.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, sir. I’m sure we can help you find it without too much trouble. If you go to the sign-in page of your account and click on the ‘Forgot password’ link, you’ll find instructions directing you how to retrieve or reset your password.”
“I’m not at my computer. I’m on a phone and I don’t have Wi-Fi access. I’d like to take care of this as quickly as possible, so when I do have Wi-Fi I can get to my messages.”
“Of course, sir. I will have to ask you a few questions.”
“Fire away.”
“What is your email address?”
Simon read it off.
“Thank you. And what is the name of the account holder?”
Simon gave the prince’s full name.
“Am I speaking with the prince?”
“This is Prince Abdul Aziz.”
The representative began speaking Arabic excitedly. Simon did his best to understand but much escaped him. The gist, however, was clear. The telecom rep was honored, thrilled, gratified, to be helping the prince. Simon laid even odds that the representative knew what the prince’s real job was.
“Please,” said Simon. “I am with some American colleagues. I prefer to speak English.”
“Of course, Your Highness. Please excuse me. I apologize. I—”
“May we continue?”
“Yes, Your Highness. I must still ask you these questions to verify your identity. No disrespect.”
“I understand. You are just doing your job. And may I say you are doing it well.”
“Thank you. Now, may I ask your date of birth?”
“November twelfth, nineteen sixty-seven.”
“And when did you create this account?”
Simon gave a throaty harrumph. “Years ago. If I could remember that, surely I could remember my password.”
“No problem, sir. In that case, do you have your national identity number?”
