21
MANY YEARS EARLIER
THE ROYAL PALACE OF SEHAAR
“Brother Hyder?”
“Yes, Nishaani. What is it?”
“Why does my mother hate me?”
The young Sheikh looked up from the book he’d been studying and instead studied the serious expression on his baby sister’s light brown face. Her mother had just left after a three-day visit, during which she’d met her daughter exactly three times. Thirty minutes each day, during which time they’d sit face to face in the private atrium near the Eastern Wing of the Royal Palace and play checkers. Nishaani had learned to play checkers by the time she was four, and now, at the ripe old age of six, she was good enough to beat her mother once in a while.
“Your mother does not hate you. She cannot hate you. She is your mother, and all mothers love their children. It cannot be otherwise,” said the Sheikh, trying to sound experienced and wise even though he wasn’t old enough to shave. He was old enough to be king and supreme ruler, though, and he figured he had the authority to make declarations about human nature. Who else would do it? Their father had died of a heart-attack a year earlier, and Hyder’s own mother had succumbed to cancer when Hyder was just eight. He was in charge.
“If she loves me, then why does she not live here with me? Mothers are supposed to take care of their children. I know it. That is what mothers in stories do.”
Hyder smiled at his little sister. “Do you not feel taken care of? Do I not take care of you? Do you not have anything and everything you could want in our palace, in your palace?”
Nishaani frowned and hunched her shoulders, pulling her flowing robes—all green and purple and wild—around her and staring at the hand-woven Persian rug that bore some signs of what two kids without much supervision might do to a rug. “I asked her why she does not come and live with me. With us.”
“And what did she say?”
“She said she has important work to do in America,” said Nishaani. “And so I said perhaps I can come to America with you and help in your important work, yes?”
Hyder nodded, his green eyes shining in admiration at the earnest wit of his younger half-sister. “And what did she say to that?” he asked quietly, finally putting his book away and giving Nishaani his full attention.
“First she laughed. Then she said though I may not understand it yet, I am already helping her work by living here in Sehaar, being a good sister to the Sheikh and supreme ruler,” Nishaani answered with a seriousness that made her seem older than six.
Hyder felt a chill come over him. He was still a child himself, but he’d been well educated on lineage and ascension, history and politics, kings and queens, rebels and usurpers. His advisors were already pushing him to select his first bride, building an alliance with another Sheikdom through marriage. Then a child would follow, and his line would be secure. Those same advisors had been openly disapproving of Nishaani’s illegitimacy, and though they’d lost the battle with Hyder’s father—who’d insisted that Nishaani was his daughter and would live as a princess in Sehaar—they were terrified that she might one day have a claim to the throne should anything happen to the young Hyder before he fathered an heir.
Hyder had listened to those advisors with patience, and he’d always responded with politeness and respect, telling them he’d choose a bride and father an heir when he felt like it and not a day earlier. As for his sister, he’d told them with the same politeness even though his young eyes shone green with suppressed anger, she was a Princess of Sehaar, and there was to be no talk of illegitimacy.
“If I die tomorrow,” he’d told his advisors, the young Sheikh standing as tall as he could, “then it would only be right for Nishaani to be Sheikha. She is strong in spirit, pure of heart, smart as a whip, and even at age six will defeat any of you in checkers.”
But though he loved little Nishaani with all he had and trusted her as much as he trusted that the sun would rise in the morning, his feelings for Nishaani’s cold and distant mother hung like a dark cloud over him. He’d always been suspicious of Mel, and had never understood why she even bothered to visit when she clearly felt no love for her daughter—or at least didn’t show it in any external way. And now, hearing what Mel had said about Nishaani being helpful in her “important work,” that dark cloud felt like it was suffocating him.
Hyder knew that his father had met Mel at a conference in Dubai the year before Nishaani had been born. The topic was “The Future of Energy,” and Mel was an advisor to one of the American oil and gas companies. It made sense that she might find it useful for her daughter to be part of the Royal Family of a kingdom blessed with the purest oil ever pumped from the depths of Mother Earth. But it wasn’t just about money. Something else about Mel didn’t sit right with the young Sheikh. It never had.
So when his father died and Hyder took over the throne, he asked his intelligence people what they knew about her, and they’d confirmed what his father had always told him: That she was an advisor to American and British energy companies. She had a PhD and excellent credentials, a whistle-clean record, and high cheekbones that she’d passed on to her daughter. They also mentioned that DNA testing had confirmed that Nishaani was indeed the dead Sheikh’s child.
“So she travels all over the Middle East and Europe as an advisor to various western energy companies. Is that not the perfect cover for an American spy? Is it not true that American CIA often recruits men and women in legitimate professions to secretly join the agency while maintaining their covers?”
Sehaar’s intelligence officers had looked at one another and laughed at first, but when they saw the way the young Sheikh’s eyes blazed, the way his smooth jaw was set tight, they bowed their heads and assured him that it was not the case, that if she was CIA they would know.
Hyder had forgotten about that conversation, but now, listening to Nishaani, it all came back to him and he knew his instincts were right. Even though Mel’s story was consistent—after all, being an advisor to energy companies was important work, and certainly having a daughter being part of the royal family of an oil-rich nation might be useful in her career—Hyder was sure it was a lie, a cover, a façade. She was CIA, and although he couldn’t be sure, he decided right then and there that he would operate under the assumption that she was. It was the paranoid thing to do. It was the cautious thing to do. It was the safe thing to do.
And once he’d made that decision, the suspicion and paranoia escalated. His father had died of a heart attack, but could he have been murdered? Was that initial meeting between his father and Mel a spontaneous tryst or something planned to perfection? Were Mel and the CIA planting the perfect sleeper agent in little Nishaani? Once that door to paranoia was opened, the young Sheikh realized that anything was possible! Everything was possible!
He looked into Nishaani’s innocent, golden eyes and smiled. If Nishaani was destined to be a spy, a secret agent, then perhaps she could be a double-agent, yes?
“Did your mother tell you why her work is so important?” he asked, nodding when Nishaani shook her head and continued to play with her green and purple robes. “All right. Next time she visits, will you ask her?”
Nishaani nodded, and six months later, after another three-day visit from Mel, Nishaani excitedly came to her big brother with the news:
“She said she is saving the world! And she said someday I will help her save the world!”
Hyder smiled. “Save the world from what?”
“Bad people. Evil people,” Nishaani replied.
“That is indeed important work. So important that you cannot wait for someday. You can start preparing to save the world now! With me! The two of us, Nishaani. Just like it has always been!”
Nishaani’s face lit up at this, and she nodded earnestly. “Yes! I am ready!” Then she frowned. “But how? I’m so small!”
“I am small too, but we will become bigger. We will learn about the world. Learn about why evil people want to do bad things to good people, why there are bombs exploding in marketplaces, why men with machine guns shoot women and children, why there are wars, famines, and misery. We will learn about the world together, and we will save the world together. And then, when your mother is ready for you to help her, you will be prepared! We will both be prepared!”
And so the two of them prepared. They studied and traveled, observed and listened, analyzed and debated, and as the years rolled on, the two of them indeed got bigger, just like Hyder promised: Taller, stronger, with bigger ideas, bigger dreams, bigger ambitions. They were indeed going to save the world together. All of it.
“The United States, China, Russia, and Saudi Arabia,” Nishaani said to Hyder one night during their weekly sessions where they talked world politics and planned out their private strategy. “These are the biggest players on the world stage. The US sets the agenda for the Western world. Russia is all-powerful in Eastern Europe. China is the tiger of the Far East. And Saudi Arabia influences every Arab and Islamic nation, either overtly or covertly.”
“So to influence anything on a large scale, we need to have influence in at least three of these four great nations,” Hyder replied, nodding as he glanced at his sister. At nineteen she was tall and lithe, her olive skin giving her an almost ethereal look, her sand-colored eyes as focused and determined as his own. “Our ultra-pure oil will give us some influence with the Saudis, the Americans, and the Russians, all of whom are entrenched in the economics of oil.”
Nishaani nodded and then sighed. “So it has to be those three nations we focus on. But even with our oil, we are still a tiny kingdom in the grand scheme. How do we make an impact big enough that it matters?”
“The biggest impact is not made by oil or money or guns or bombs. It is made by people. The men and women who make the decisions. Our royal status, wealth, and political connections have put us in a unique position, Nishaani. If we plan it right, we can find ways to be those men and women who make decisions at the highest levels!”
“Then we will plan it right,” Nishaani said firmly. “What are you thinking? What is the best way?”
Hyder took a long, measured breath, closing his eyes and waiting before speaking. “The best way is the oldest way. It is how alliances were built, power was built, influence was built. In the end we are dealing with people, with individuals, men and women with hearts and souls, needs and wants, fears and desires. So we have to get personal. Build influence and power at the most personal, the most intimate levels. Do you understand?”
Nishaani frowned and blinked, but then she nodded slowly, those sand-colored eyes shining like gold. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I’ve always understood.”
“I know,” said Hyder, and he took his sister’s hands in his and looked into her eyes. “And you understand that if we go down this path, we must do it without sacrificing our humanity. Indeed, we must do it while embracing our humanity, giving our own desires and needs the utmost priority. This is what is called the long game, Nishaani. A game we play for the rest of our lives, which means in a sense that it is not a game at all. It is our lives, and there is no point in life without love. Yes?”
“Yes,” she said, taking a trembling breath and squeezing his hands before looking down. “I understand. I am ready.”
Hyder nodded and squeezed back, smiling tightly as he looked at his sister with an affection so strong he thought his heart might burst. But there was excitement too, and he knew she could feel it as well. They shared that sense of adventure, that penchant for wild, perhaps insane plans, that need to make an impact so big it could not be denied. What was the point of living if you did not think big?!
“There is a man I want you to meet,” he said quietly. “A Russian billionaire named Yuri Gorka. Young, brilliant, charismatic. He can be a hard man, but he is honorable in his own way. He has a future in Russia, and perhaps you will choose to be part of it. The biggest part of it.” He cupped his sister’s face in his hands and looked deep into her eyes. “Only if you choose it. Remember, we can never forsake our humanity to achieve our goals. And what makes us human is love. We choose love first, and everything else will follow.”
Nishaani looked back at her brother and nodded. They both stayed silent for a moment, brother and sister standing alone in the ornate chambers of a king, no witnesses but the red sandstone walls, the green curtains, those portraits of old Sheikhs and Sheikhas, the distant minarets and towers of the capital city of Sehaar visible through the large open balcony in the distance.
Finally Nishaani broke the silence. “What about my mother?” she asked.
“What about her?”
“You still believe she is American CIA?”
“Yes. What do you believe?”
Nishaani shrugged. “She has not been to visit in years. She might as well be a figment of my imagination at this point.”
“She will reveal herself soon enough,” Hyder said. “If things proceed with this man I am asking you to meet, then Mel will reveal herself to you.”
“And if things do not proceed with this man?”
Hyder took a breath. “Then she will reveal herself to me.”
Nishaani raised a carefully plucked eyebrow at her brother. “And how do you plan to accomplish that?”
“While you are endearing yourself to the Russians, I will walk the tightrope between the United States and Saudi Arabia,” Hyder replied. “I have made contact with an American named John Benson. He is a rising star in the Near-East division of the CIA, and he personally knows several Sheikhs of the region. It is said he is a man of principle, of integrity. A man who can be trusted.”
“A CIA officer who can be trusted? Ya Allah, Brother, I thought you told me we can only trust ourselves, and sometimes not even ourselves!” Nishaani smiled as she teased him.
Hyder smiled back. “You have to choose whom to trust, when to trust them, and how far to trust them.”
Nishaani nodded. “And why should this John Benson trust you?”
“The best way to gain someone’s trust is to actually be trustworthy. I will give him what he wants—names, dates, proof of ties to terrorism and terror groups—and ask for nothing in return. And the truth is, I do not want anything in return. I want the men and women who hide behind the cloak of Islam and support terrorism to be rooted out and destroyed. And along the way I will build trust, accumulate favors, develop political capital. Eventually I too will become known as an asset to the CIA, and eventually Mel will reveal herself. She will have no choice. The CIA will bring her into it because of our family connection. Just like they will bring her into it because of your connection—if you ever do connect with Yuri Gorka. And then we will all be one happy family in the CIA!”
“Hyder,” Nishaani said, her eyes betraying her excitement. “Tell me truly. Do you believe that my mother killed our father?”
Hyder took a breath and shook his head. “No. I did when I was younger, but I no longer believe it. Father had a weak heart from years of heavy smoking. He lived an unhealthy life, and he paid the price. We all paid the price, perhaps your mother too.”
“What do you mean?”
Hyder shrugged, running his hand through his thick black hair. “Father spoke of your mother during his last days, when he was on a potent mix of painkillers that made him very talkative at times.”
“You never told me! What did he say?”
The Sheikh smiled and shook his head. “Ya Allah, you were still a child! I could not repeat what he told me! In fact, forget I even mentioned it, because I cannot repeat it now either!”
“You are turning red, Brother!” Nishaani squealed, covering her face with her hands. “By God, tell me! I am an adult, you know! I know what sex is, Brother! Please!”
Hyder laughed and shook his head. “All I will say is that he spoke of his time with Mel as being . . . memorable. Very memorable. Warm and memorable. He described the passion as—”
Nishaani waved her hands and then covered her ears. “OK, stop. I do not think I want the details after all. This is my mother we are talking about.” She laughed and shook her head. “Though it is a relief to know that she is capable of showing affection to someone at least.”
The Sheikh laughed and shook his head, touching his sister’s cheek and kissing her on the forehead. She was so damned strong, so at ease with herself, so mentally at peace with everything that hadn’t been perfect in her life. She would change the world. He knew she would.
“Ya Allah, Hyder,” Nishaani whispered after the moment had passed and the reality of the lager conversation returned. “We are really doing this, are we not?” she said, her voice trembling with excitement. “Spies. Secret missions. Undercover operations. We have become our own intelligence agency! We should have a name for this mission, should we not? All great missions have great names!”
“You choose the name,” Hyder said. “Go ahead. First thing that comes to your mind.”
“Nightshade,” she said without hesitation. “Operation Nightshade.”
“Nightshade it is,” said Hyder. “Operation Nightshade. Inshallah and God Bless.”