“Zvi, stop it.”
“But honestly, how are you?” asked Gelber. “How’s my favoritekatsa... other than very, very lucky?”
“Alive,” said Ava. “Getting better. And yes, damned lucky.”
“One day you’ll tell me everything.”
“One day. I promise.”
“Let’s get to it,” said Gelber, all business. “What gives?”
“Tariq bin Nayan bin Tariq al-Sabah. And don’t ask me to repeat it. I’m sitting in front of his chalet in St. Moritz, and he might hear me.”
“The playboy prince,” said Gelber. “You probably know the A-side. You’re calling for the B-side.”
“If there is one.”
“This is the Middle East,” said Gelber. “There’s always a B-side. He’s quite the schemer. Son number two from wife number one. One brother ahead of him, two behind, from wife three, but they’re eight and ten years old. He’s not the playboy everyone thinks. Tariq made a name for himself last year during the talks between Israel and Hamas. Both sides listened to him. A voice of reason. Next-gen Gulf leader. Until ...”
“Until,” said Ava.
“The oldest brother, Jabr, got sick of him. He didn’t want anyone stealing his spotlight. There could be only one Al-Sabah at the table. His father, the emir, has aged out. Jabr saw his brother as a threat. He banished him from the talks. Good idea, if you ask me. Jabr didn’t want a replay of Saudi Arabia circa 2017. He didn’t want to find himself locked up in the Ritz-Carlton signing away his life and his power. He bought TNT a Bugatti as a payoff. Four million out the door, but it was a bargain, all things considered.”
Gelber was referring to the coup in Saudi Arabia staged by Mohammed bin Salman, or MBS, once a wayward prince and today the country’s de facto ruler. Over the course of several months starting in 2017, MBS, having secured the loyalty of the secret police, arrested and imprisoned over three hundred family members in the Riyadh Ritz-Carlton hotel. There, he kept them prisoner until each signed over their assets to him and pledged their loyalty. To refuse meant a long prison sentence, the arrest of their loved ones, or worse.
“Did Jabr have reason to worry?” asked Ava.
“Do you mean, was TNT planning a coup? Hard to say. We saw no outward indication that he was trying to turn the security services against his brother. Given that TNT spends so much time out of the country, I’d say doubtful. But there was something about him. I had a bad feeling. I think Jabr acted out of an abundance of caution. Better safe than sorry. No one’s heard a peep from TNT since. Until you asked about him, I’d put him out of my mind. Now I’m wondering if I was lazy and complacent. Why the interest?”
“Chatter,” said Ava. “Probably nothing.”
“And yet there you are, seated in front of his chalet.”
“Do me a favor,” said Ava. “Ask around. See if you can find out what he’s been doing lately. Any friends he shouldn’t have. Keeping bad company.”
“You mean, did he take his firing sitting down?”
“You tell me,” said Ava. “Oh, and see if the name Abbasi means anything. I’m guessing Iranian. Dr. Abbasi.”
“It doesn’t ring a bell right off the bat, but I’ll give it a check.”
“And Zvi, step on some toes if you have to,” said Ava. “We might have a situation.”
“You can’t keep this to yourself,” said Gelber. “What’s got you so worried?”
“I don’t want to be a Cassandra,” said Ava. “Could be a big nothingburger.”
“What do you care? You’re retired.”
“On medical leave.”
Gelber laughed knowingly. “Ava, Ava, Ava. I’m not as deaf as all that.”
“All what?”
“That I can’t hear the sharp, polished edge of ambition in your voice. You’re coming back. I’ll alert King Saul Boulevard.”
“Don’t you dare,” said Ava. “This is between us. Now move your tuchus.”
