Jihad: Holy War

Jihad

Published by Christoph Hoenings at Smashwords

Title of the German original: Djihad, published with neobooks, Germany, 2012.

Copyright: Christoph Hoenings, 2011

At first it looks like a normal export contract, when Saudi Arabia buys a number of midget submarines in Germany. The US-Authorities contribute sensitive electronic systems. Confusing is the high emphasis the - normally lethargic - Saudis lay on an extremely short delivery-time of the first boat.

In the US Department of Homeland Security, Lt. Cdr. Carl Almaddi detects that a Saudi preacher mentions the submarines in a phone call to a Koran-school in Pakistan. The school is suspected to be a nest of the Taliban.

An Israeli agent in the Saudi capital Riyadh supplies information that with the first boat, as a commemoration, an attack against an American person or institution named No. Five is planned.

It becomes obvious that whatever is envisaged, is beyond the knowledge of the Saudi political and military leadership. Homeland Security finds as only plausible explanation for No. Five, the target to be the Pentagon in Washington.

Suddenly the boat, being for tests at a shipyard in Dhahran in the Arabian Gulf, is hijacked by members of the trial crew. On board: highly conservative Muslims under the command of erratic former Pakistani naval officer Naqui ul Haq. All on board have very personal reasons to hate America. Evidently they plan a reckless suicide attack with the armed boat. Slowly, the true target becomes obvious.

American, German and Israeli experts try to prevent a military and human disaster. A desperate hunt for the small boat starts, which due to its soundlessness and size proves to be undetectable.

The first attacks executed by the boat cause already an enormous toll of human lives and material. Lt. Cdr. Almaddi realizes that ul Haq has a plan which goes far beyond the anticipations of the entire group of allied experts. The true dimension of the attack is only detected immedperfidious asymmetric submarine attack, once the aggressors are determined to sacrifice their own lives.iately before it is scheduled to happen. Suddenly, every minute counts.

Jihad describes the difficulties to avoid despite highest technological achievements a perfidious asymmetric submarine attack, once the aggressors are determined to sacrifice their own lives. The author shares with the reader his laconic view on how the unthinkable might easily become possible.

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Prologue

Tension on board the small submarine was tremendous. Most of the crew were now in the CIC. The Commander had urged caution and silence, as the operation would start at any moment. Two other crew members remained in the engine room and were praying in a whisper; the others were praying with trembling lips. They had been lying in wait for nearly two weeks, hidden under layers of cool and salty water. Their boat had been carefully bottomed on the seabed. They had expected the area would be searched; therefore it had been correct to arrive long before the planned strike.

In fact, they had detected several American frigates, which over the in past few days had searched the strait repeatedly with their sonar systems, but the Commander had assured the crew the little boat was undetectable while bottomed between the rocks. The waves of the enemy sonar would almost certainly not penetrate the different temperature and salt layers of the water. Here they were safe as long as they remained silent. They had spoken in whispers the entire time and even prayed whispering, in the direction the Commander had indicated Mecca’s location.

More than eighteen hours before, the Commander had put on the headphones of the sonar equipment and made the crew understand, by signs, that today their mission was to be fulfilled. He listened constantly to the increasing ship traffic on the surface.

Immediately after their arrival the Commander had opened the outer doors and bow caps of the torpedo tubes. For this he had used the noise of a ship moving directly overhead. He knew that the opening could be detected by the sensitive sonar of the enemy ships, but the sounds of the ships overhead muffled any noise. The crew had blown compressed air into the ballast tanks, allowing the boat to rise so that it could be caught by the current. Silently they drifted toward their target.

For several days helicopters had flown over the strait, dropping sonar buoys, trying to detect the submarine. Meanwhile, the crew was able to hear ships crossing over them even without sonar, and they knew the Commander could say, Now! at any moment

The infidels would be looking thoroughly in an area of eighty by thirty kilometres. That would be calculated by the range of the weapons fired.

They all were ready to die and to be awarded entrance into Paradise. That, they had solemnly sworn to each other. They knew, within the next few hours they would all be dead. Allah would welcome them at the gates of Paradise with open arms.

---

Jihad

The ringing, knocking and calling at the front door could no longer be ignored! But Rupert Graf slept the sleep of the truly righteous. On this Sunday morning, it might have been half past ten, he was lying peacefully on his belly. From my side of the bed I could recognize only his bald head, showing me that at least he had not buried his mouth and nose into the pillows and was not likely to suffocate!

Since I had known Rupert Graf, he had often come to my house in Starnberg, when he was not traveling. I did not like to visit him at his apartment in Duesseldorf, because of his girl-friends there. We occasionally met in Bremen, where he had an apartment ever since he had been appointed to the board of local shipyards. But often, when he found the time, he came to Starnberg. After the excitement of the past weeks, he deserved a few days of rest!

While still sleepy, I opened the door. Standing there next to two police officers in uniform were several men in civilian clothes. Is Mr Graf with you? asked one of them. I just nodded. We need to speak to him immediately!

It took a while to get Rupert awake sufficiently so that his attempts to hug me stopped and I could tell him that a large crowd was waiting for him downstairs. Mumbling to himself and ill-tempered, he pulled on a bathrobe and went down to the ground floor.

A few minutes later, when I descended the stairs, it was surprisingly quiet. They all were gone. Through the kitchen window I could see the men climbing into several cars. Rupert, in his white bath robe, was led into one of the waiting cars. With screeching tires, they drove away.

After almost an hour I called the police station in Starnberg, but they did not know anything of Rupert. In the evening, I called several more people, hoping they could give me a clue. No one knew anything, and Rupert Graf's offices in Oberhausen and Bremen were closed. I knew, of course, that Rupert Graf was involved in the sale of warships. I also knew that he was exposed sometimes to risks beyond the duties of, as he liked to call himself, a Sales representative.

Rupert Graf had completely disappeared. After waiting for almost a week, I packed his clothes and shaving kit into his carry-on baggage and sent them together with his briefcase to his office in Oberhausen. This novel is based on the interrogation records of Rupert Graf, which became accessible to me only several weeks after the dramatic events described here unfolded.

Starnberg, June 2013

Dorothea N. Onim

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Chapter One - Mahmoud

Lieutenant Commander, Carl Almaddi, U.S. Navy, scratched his head. He was stumped regarding the transcript of a telephone call he had just received.

The caller: It's me.

The person called: Code?

Caller: Green tea is a gracious gift from Allah. He forever be praised for His generosity.

Person called: Good. What is it about?

Caller: To help with the submarines to be used against the Great Devil.

But since the word submarine doesn’t exist in the Arab language, the caller actually said: To help with the ships which sail under water.

Person called: To do what exactly?

Caller: Only verbally.

Person called: Where? When?

Caller: At the usual place, Allah willing, as soon as possible!

That conversation had been recorded and submitted for analysis, because the dialled number belonged to a fundamentalist Koranic school, a madrasah, in Peshawar, Pakistan. Peshawar is located just thirty kilometres from the Khyber Pass, one of the main border crossings between Pakistan and Afghanistan. On the Afghan side was the stronghold of the Taliban.

The madrasah which was called in Peshawar was serious business! Almaddi had seen pictures of the building. A house in a narrow street in the picturesque old city, the windows hidden behind intricately carved wooden screens, and in the alley were bazaar-like mobile market stalls with vegetables, meats, textiles and leather goods.

All US Intelligence Services were in agreement. Here was one of the nests from which the Afghan Taliban recruited their Pakistani helpers. Only the fact that in addition to the large number of market visitors who thronged in the narrow street daily, at least fifty teenage boys were living in the madrasah as boarders, with another fifty children arriving there as day students each morning had prevented the U.S. Air Force from bombarding the school. The technical means for a pinpoint missile attack were available.

As records of Saudi Telecom proved, the caller had, at the hour of the conversation, been in the gardens of the Grand Hyatt Hotel on the Old Airport Road, in Riyadh. The caller had used a Dutch mobile number which had never been activated before. The Netherlands are, much to the annoyance of the Americans, one of the few countries where one can anonymously buy prepaid phones without having to provide a name or address.

All phone calls coming out of Saudi Arabia are first recorded by the computers of local authorities. These computers are programmed to simultaneously investigate calls mentioning certain words. If one of the words entered in the program is spoken, the call will be identified and analyzed. The U.S. authorities also analyze an incredible number of nationally and internationally placed calls. Particularly the latter, are accomplished via intercontinental, long-distance communications satellites, provided by NASA.

What occupied Carl Abdul Almaddi and various other U.S. agencies, was the question, what was a damned Islamic school in Peshawar doing, acting as a covert diplomatic representational office of the Taliban? And both parties had spoken Arabic, not Urdu, the language of Pakistan, a mixture of Hindi, Arabic and Persian. With the nearest coast almost two thousand kilometres away, what could this have to do with submarines? What in the hell was that all about?

Carl Abdul Almaddi worked in Crystal City, a suburb of Washington, on the west bank of the Potomac River. Here are housed, within a few square miles in numerous nondescript office buildings, the subordinate offices of the American Defence Authorities. These offices are located in the immediate vicinity of the Washington National Airport. The Pentagon and the U.S. Department of Defence, is just a subway station away. Also found here are the offices of the Department of Homeland Security.

Carl Abdul Almaddi was the son of a third generation American woman of German decent, Heidi Huckting, who had surrendered to a fiery-eyed charming restaurant owner in Los Angeles, Kamal Almaddi, from Lebanon. Even though his restaurant was successful, Kamal Almaddi had returned to Lebanon with his family, where his son Carl completed his knowledge of the Arabic and English languages at the International school, and on the streets of Beirut. When Carl was twelve, the family moved back to the U.S.

After high school Carl Almaddi applied to the U.S. Navy, and received, despite the high number of applicants, a place at the Naval Academy in Annapolis and began his career as a naval officer. When they later discovered, quite by accident, that he spoke fluent Arabic, he was immediately invited to join the Department of Homeland Security. Actually, Homeland Security isn’t responsible for monitoring global telephone and radio communications. The responsible department is the secretive National Security Agency at Fort Meade near Baltimore, Maryland.

NSA treats all information received by them with the utmost restraint. A restraint so huge, it is often joked, NSA stands for Never Say Anything! In the large glass block that serves as its headquarters, estimated 15,000-18,000 employees comprising in the main, mathematicians, cryptographers, and other experts, busy trying to crack codes and collecting data. The Signals Intelligence Directorate analyzes this data and passes it on to other government agencies which need to know.

Although the Department of Homeland Security actually has the task of identifying and eliminating potential terrorist threats that occur within the United States or in neighbouring states, the global fight against terrorism also became one of its tasks. Because the terrorist threat to the U.S. is primarily seen to come from devout Arab countries, a man with Almaddi´s knowledge was most welcome at the Department of Homeland Security.

When it came to religion Carl Almaddi had little interest. His mother, a Christian Protestant had insisted on him being baptized. Out of spite his father had insisted on circumcision. Carl Abdul Almaddi´s golden middle way had been to avoid religion entirely.

Carl had given up his career as a naval officer, at least temporarily. But he jumped several ranks in his new position, because he dominated at that moment a very important language. The department he worked for, the Office of Intelligence and Analysis, the OIA, was one of the institutions charged with evaluating recorded messages intercepted by local secret service agents in the Middle East, or recorded directly by experts at the NSA.

In the Middle East, several American services were active. The most important being: the Central Intelligence Agency, CIA; the Intelligence Community; the Directorate of National Intelligence; and of course NSA.

The initiator of the request addressed to Almaddi was the National Security Agency, whose computers had intercepted the conversation filtered out of millions of phone calls. But all, including the FBI, were interested in Almaddi´s opinion of the conversation.

„To help with the ships that sail under water."

What in the hell was that about? Saudi Arabia did not have a single submarine!

Pakistan had submarines of the Daphne class from France. Submarines of the Scorpene class from France were still under construction, and small submarines from Germany.

Now the Taliban were pretty much capable of anything, but an attack against the U.S. with a submarine? An act of war? And how could they obtain a submarine? So the cryptic conversation could be just about a boat from another Muslim country. Even if most of these states were considered moderate, everywhere, even in the armed forces, were serious fundamentalists capable of anything.

If Almaddi excluded Turkey as a potential threat to his country: Iran; Pakistan; Indonesia; Egypt; Algeria and Malaysia, all were equipped with, or would soon have diesel-electric submarines. Boats which were extremely quiet and hardly traceable. Boats which were able to fire missiles while submerged. Because these missiles were mostly sea-skimmers they were able to penetrate the defences of the majority of surface ship radars. The question also was who was the Great Devil - the United States?

The danger emanating from diesel-electric boats was not to be underestimated! The chance, however, that a submarine could escape after an attack against the USA, Almaddi saw as most unlikely. The attack would have to take place at sea. The U.S. Navy would ensure its destruction.

In each of these countries were radical Muslims, who firmly believed they would be rewarded in heaven if they lost their lives in attacks against the USA. To motivate ten or fifteen people to collective suicide, like in the attacks of September 11, made little sense. But a submarine crew of thirty or forty people? Due to the high degree of automation in modern conventional boats, smaller crews were necessary, but even then there would still be more than a twenty person crew! It seemed unlikely.

Now it could be that the submarine Commanders didn’t include the crews into their plans. That would be typical for these murderers, to take along on their way to heaven, some of their fellow believers, without their being told. On the other hand, the Commander and officers would have to proceed in a coordinated way in order to leave the crew in the dark. Unlike Tom Clancy´s book about Red October, where defection was the objective, in this case any attack on the USA would be tantamount to suicide.

Several well-trained, well-paid men throwing themselves into collective suicide had never happened. Most suicide bombers were either desperately poor wretches, who had been promised generous financial backing for their families; or young converts who really believed wonderful rewards would be waiting for them in heaven. A mutiny by members of the crew? A handful of people that would eliminate their officers, take over command and act on their own? Most unlikely. They would be lost without competent leadership.

Carl Abdul Almaddi called up on his computer screen Jane's Fighting Ships, the annual almanac with descriptions of all existing warships in the world. He was interested in the performance data of submarines from the various countries. No matter if they were French Daphnes, Russian Kilos or the German 209 Class; all were extremely quiet and deadly.

The old Romeos of the Egyptians would be heard. The Pakistanis also had a handful of mini-submarines, too small to sail across the Atlantic, unless they were transported by a mother ship to their operational theatre. Almaddi was sure that somewhere in this perfidious Pakistan, was a freighter or tanker that could be converted to a dock ship; and the boats could be brought out anywhere without being observed. But in this case the security of any operation would be compromised by the number of people involved. To be sure, he checked with Jane´s once again. Saudi Arabia did not have submarines. And Saudi Arabia would never attack the United States.

Or was he looking in the wrong direction entirely, and instead of against the United States, something was being planned against Israel? The Israeli Navy had submarines, whose missiles according to rumours were fitted with nuclear warheads. Israel had never confirmed this, but also never denied it. Could it be that this request for assistance was directed against the Israeli subs, one of which always operated in the Arabian Gulf, and prepared to, at any time necessary, strike a blow against Iran?

He listened to the conversation again. It had been clearly stated, „the Great Devil!" This commonly meant the United States! Nevertheless, Carl Abdul Almaddi decided to have a chat with the naval attaché to the Israeli Embassy in Washington, Captain Chaim Zimmerman.

First however, there was one more thing Carl Almaddi wanted to know. He called his friend Peter Huntzinger. Peter since recently worked with Navy International Programs, NIPO, and there for the Royal Saudi Navy Support Office. After a short welcome, Carl asked: Peter, do you know whether Saudi Arabia has something going on with submarines? I can’t find anything about this in Jane’s?

You won´t! They have no subs! The Saudis can barely handle their surface ships! They definitely would not dare handle submarines! I have also seen their budget for the next few years. There was no mention of submarines.

---

Rupert Graf had just returned to his apartment from a dinner with business partners, and listened now to the calls on his answering machine. One, he had to replay a few times until he could understand what the speaker wanted. The man had introduced himself in strong dialect-coloured English, as Mahmoud and requested a meeting with Graf within the next few days, the place would not matter. An extremely important project was at issue. The phone number was, as Graf saw, a connection in Geneva, Switzerland. Since a room number had also been stated, Graf assumed that the call had come from a hotel.

Rupert Graf calmly brushed his teeth and made himself comfortable in front of the TV, to still catch the night’s news and a subsequent talk show. Only then did he dial the number. He reached a kind lady who answered withHotel Beau Rivage, and he was immediately put through to the room number he mentioned.

The receiver was lifted so promptly that Graf got the impression the person had been sitting right next to the phone, waiting for his call.

Yes! Nothing else.

I've been asked by Mr Mahmoud to call this number. My name is Graf.

Wait a minute please.

That had not been the voice on his answering machine. Graf heard the babble of male voices in the background, which he interpreted as Arabic, and laughter. There was probably a card game going on, and then they would later go out for dinner. Geneva, as Graf knew, had adapted well to its Arabian guests. There would be, regardless of any official closing time, meals served even at three o’clock in the morning, as long as the restaurants were generously paid.

The call was resumed. Thank you for your call, Mr Graf. When can we meet? This time it was the voice of the caller on his answering machine.

May I ask what it´s about?

Not over the phone. But it is very important. When?

Where did you get my name and phone number? asked Graf, unmoved.

From a friend, a mutual friend from Monaco. He loves to eat much and well. Laughter. Graf told him I’m booked out solid for the next two weeks. Afterwards however, with pleasure. That long I cannot wait, was the response. Either you agree now to meet me in the next three days, or I will contact today one of your competitors.

Rupert Graf cursed Norbert Schmeling. It could only have been Schmeling, who had given his phone number to this impertinent fellow. Nonetheless, he tried to remain polite.

„I would have to reschedule other appointments, which I cannot do this at this hour. Can you come to Germany?"

Come to where I am! I'm off tomorrow to Cannes. I´ll be at the Carlton, come there! I will send a personal plane to pick you up. Graf responded

I cannot predict that I will be able to make it. I'll call again tomorrow.

I need to know now whether you will come, or I will call immediately one of your competitors. They most definitely will come!

Rupert Graf had business dealings with representatives from Arab countries often enough to know that there, they liked to work by means of blackmail. It was like in a bazaar. If he gave in now, Mahmoud would always resort to these means against him for whatever reason.

I wish you good success, Mr Mahmoud. It was nice chatting with you, Graf said and hung up.

---

At the same time, despite the advanced hour in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, three men were sitting together in a private house. They had begun eating dinner at 23:00. As a sign of honour, the eldest son of the landlord was serving the food. The owner of the house, Vice Admiral of the Royal Saudi Navy, Zaif al Sultan, had his wife, Jasmine, with their two Filipino maids, made prepare a truly exquisite meal.

The son of Zaif, Hakeem, had been allowed to be present at the dinner, in order to refill the plates of his father's guests as soon as one became empty. Hakeem bin Zaif was a student, twenty years old, and would soon go to Europe where he wanted to study in one of the universities to become a mechanical engineer. Hakeem now served the tea. His father and his two visitors sat in the large living room. The walls were lined with traditional sofas and armchairs, and in front of the seats were small tables. Hakeem knew both men well. Abdallah bin Athel was one of his father's deputies in the Navy, with the rank of Rear Admiral, responsible for Planning and Procurement. General Faisal bin Salman was head of the General Staff responsible for all strategic matters for in the armed forces.

Although all three men wore uniforms during the day, they were now wrapped in burnouses and wore on their heads the usual Kufiyah, of country-cloth, which was secured by several elastic rings.

During the meal Admiral Zaif had urgently outlined to his guests the necessity of equipping the Saudi Navy with submarines. A Navy without submarines was not a real Navy! And in spite of the Sawari class frigates, which had been bought in the eighties from France, the Navy lacked an essential component, namely the need to prosecute underwater warfare! Rear Admiral Abdallah had supported Zaif only half-heartedly. Submarines were certainly important, but the Saudi Navy had already enough problems to scratch together sufficiently trained crews for its surface fleet. Finding training experts for the operation of submarines would be much more difficult.

General Faisal, had openly expressed his scepticism. He did not approve of a weapon which would spend most of its time under water and was not visible to the enemy. It wasn’t that he had not understood the arguments of Zaif, that such a capability could cause enormous damage.

Faisal was simply reluctant to give his approval for the purchase of something that was virtually invisible, and seemed therefore inappropriate for impressing friends and enemies. He also shared the views of Abdallah, that the Navy did not have sufficiently trained staff for such an acquisition.

But Zaif had not let up. Hakeem listened attentively as his father explained the strategic and tactical advantages of submarines to the other officers. Zaif did not intend to equip the Navy with big boats, but to first gather a number of small units for which crews could be obtained, which could then in turn be used at a later stage as the nucleus for a later acquisition of larger submarines.

Of what size boat are you thinking? General Faisal had finally asked.

Two hundred to three hundred tonnes.

What do U-boats usually have?

Take the Scorpene from France, the Sauro-class from Italy, or Type 209, which the Germans have supplied to the world. All these boats are in the range of 1200-1800 tonnes. I am speaking of a very small submarine!

And that should still offer a tactical advantage? General Faisal had asked. His doubts could not go unanswered.

Yes, certainly. Even a small boat can fire torpedoes and missiles. The computer systems are almost the same as those on board the larger boats. The smaller ones are limited only by range and endurance, and by the number of weapons.

Faisal asked about the logistic problems that might arise through the procurement of submarines, even of such small units. Would the naval bases in Jeddah and Dhahran need to be expanded or modified? What about the spare-parts inventory? Would large, additional investments be required?

Zaif had answers ready to all questions. Faisal finally came to the issue that moved him most: How much do these boats cost?

Two hundred and fifty to three hundred million dollars apiece, said Zaif. I have inquired cautiously with other Navies.

And the big boats you mentioned previously?

Far more than triple. They would also require extensive work in order to accommodate boats of this size. These boats are of such Draft that we would need deeper basins, and also the shipping channels would have to be dredged.

Zaif kept to himself that he had just doubled the usual market price for these submarines. But he knew that for the acquisition of such a purchase, many individuals would have to be involved, all of whom would want their share. And in the end, the supplier would be invited to give a considerable rebate. At this time, Zaif wanted to put himself on the safe side.

General Faisal thoughtfully nodded his head. That was a lot of money. A few years ago, the amounts mentioned by Zaif would have been but pocket change for the Kingdom, but the Gulf war had come at a cost. Saudi Arabia had paid eighty billion dollars to the Americans for protecting their country. It was a protection the Kingdom had not even wanted! The Royal Family and the local population had much rather preferred an Arab solution, achieved in direct negotiations with Saddam Hussein!

I'll talk to number two, Zaif. Could you please have my car called Hakeem knew number two was the common name in the country for Prince Sultan bin Abdul Aziz, the Minister of Defence. When General Faisal stood up, not only Hakeem jumped to his feet. Abdallah and Zaif stood up as well.

Faisal wrapped his burnouse closer when they were on the patio. At this time of night it was chilly outdoors. The General thanked his host extensively for his hospitality, and praised the meal with a voice loud enough that Hakeem's mother could hear, even though not a glimpse had been seen of her or her maids, and she was already upstairs in her chambers.

Finally, Faisal said: Zaif, as I've heard, you have dealt extensively with the matter. Who supplies the best of these products?

Germany, General. Clearly Germany!

---

After his telephone conversation with Mahmoud, Rupert Graf immediately called the various numbers he had for Norbert Schmeling. He had known Schmeling for many years, and they had carried out quite some business together.

Norbert Schmeling existed by using his contacts in German political circles as profitably as possible, and also with his international contacts. What helped most, was his close friendship with a member of the German government’s cabinet. Schmeling, together with Graf, had helped support the financing of the ruling party.

Thanks to his residence in Monaco, he could do this without raising the suspicions of German tax authorities. Schmeling had never revealed to Graf how a portion of the commissions paid to him flowed back into Germany, and Graf had carefully avoided asking. Despite some tough negotiations and discussions regarding the limits of fairness, they had become something of friends.

Graf finally reached Schmeling at one of his numbers. As Schmeling explained, he happened to be in a bar in Nice. I just had a phone conversation with a man named Mahmoud. Have you put this guy on my back?

Oh, have you been called already? I would have reported this to you tomorrow. Schmeling seemed downright enthusiastic.

Graf said: Whatever kind of an idiot is this?

A very interesting man! You must absolutely meet with him! A profitable business!

I will not meet with people who are already trying to blackmail me on the phone!

You know how the Arabs are! Mahmoud has contacts right up to the absolute top level!

What does he want?

It's about a couple of your water-tight cans. I've spent a lot of effort to convince Mahmoud that he could not be in better hands than yours!

Graf did not believe a single word of Schmeling! Probably, by chance, Schmeling had heard of a possible deal, and now he had this unpleasant Mahmoud on his neck!

But if you don’t want this business Mr Graf, Schmeling said, "then leave it! Your competitors will be licking their lips to get this contact! But it will be the last time I recommend you to someone. Incidentally, I also have friends here in France.

Norbert Schmeling sounded very offended.

Which country? asked Graf.

The largest.

Export license?

You can leave this to me!

Good. Call your friend and tell him I will check my schedule. By tomorrow I will let him know when a meeting is possible.

---

Ahmed Falouf observed, in the rear view mirror mounted to the windshield of the Mercedes Benz, General Faisal bin Salman seated in the back. Once again it was late. At three o´clock in the morning the streets of Riyadh were empty, and Ahmed had no intention to stick to speed limits. At seven, right after the morning prayer, he would have to drive the General to his office at the Department of Defence. Until then, Ahmed still wanted to get some sleep.

Ahmed Falouf was a Palestinian. The Saudis kept foreigners for work such as Drivers, secretaries, gardeners and housemaids. As Ahmed once had read, these foreigners represented a larger portion of the population of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia than the Saudi’s themselves. Some of the foreigners had the chance to rise to important positions as merchants or as advocates, but there was always, no matter what their position, a Saudi National above them.

Officially, Falouf Ahmed was a member of the Armed Forces of Saudi Arabia. A Saudi soldier. But that was not completely true. No locals in uniform would have accepted to be a chauffeur. For these tasks foreigners were recruited from poorer Muslim, Arab speaking countries. They were put into uniforms they had to wear during their working hours, no matter whether they were sitting behind the wheel of an official car, serving food, or cleaning the houses of their superiors.

These foreigners were mainly Palestinians, Lebanese, Pakistani or Bangladeshi, but also Egyptians and Yemenis. As employees of the armed forces, these men were not exposed to the lavish pay of the Saudi soldiers. They received the nationwide, considerably smaller salary for these activities.

Ahmed Falouf was not housed in a barrack or a military complex. He lived only a few kilometres from the closed neighbourhood where the homes of the four families of the general were found; in a small room in a home for military support staff. Living here were many chauffeurs and staff of the armed forces. There was even a guarded garage, where the drivers could leave the official cars of the officers. Thanks to Allah, for some time now, Ahmed was no longer dependent solely on the salary the general paid him for his work as a driver. Ahmed earned a little extra money in exchange for regularly informing a friend, who he knew from Ramallah, the places he drove the general. His friend Majed was interested in everything that concerned the general. In what he said in the car, what he said during his talks on the car-phone, with whom the general met, everything.

Majed and Ahmed had played football as children, with empty tin cans in the dusty streets of Ramallah. They had gone to school together, and they had jointly thrown stones at Israeli jeeps patrolling the streets of their hometown on the west bank of the river Jordan. While Ahmed, after a brief period of studies at the University of Gazah, had moved to Saudi Arabia in order to find his luck, Majed had gone to the holy city of Jerusalem. There he apparently had come to terms with the Israeli occupiers.

Ahmed did not know any of the details, but from conversations of his father with his neighbours, and from letters from home, he had learned that Majed had taken up studies at a Jewish university. That was worse than if Majed had accepted the Christian faith and been baptized! All the neighbours and former friends were shaking their heads, and reduced contacts with Majed´s family to the minimum; unavoidable in the narrow streets of Ramallah, without being grossly rude.

Ahmed, with his chauffeur´s salary paid by the general, contributed considerably to the support of his father's family. While his three sisters were now married, his older brother Zahran had become a teacher in Ramallah, and earned just a fraction of what Ahmed earned in Saudi Arabia.

Ahmed hoped to one day return to Palestine with his savings. He would then look for a wife, to whose father he would be able to pay a proper sum, and then he would immediately return to Saudi Arabia. His wife could work as a maid, or in case she had some education, as a nurse or a teacher! Since Ahmed had been away from Palestine, he had been dreaming of marrying Zaida, the granddaughter of a friend of his father.

Suddenly, Majed showed up in Riyadh. Majed worked for a commercial office, which sold goods from Palestine to Saudi Arabia. It had been Majed, who had recognized Ahmed during one of the meetings, which the men from Ramallah living in Riyadh, held on a regular basis.

How delighted Ahmed had been! They exchanged memories of their youth for hours over tea and cigarettes. Despite the time Majed had spent in Israel, Allah be praised, he had not become a friend of the Jews. To the contrary, he hated the Jews just like Ahmed and like all other Palestinians. How they laughed at the stupidity of the Jews to offer Majed an expensive education, upon which as soon as he had his diploma in his hands, he could turn his back on Israel, and, with the help of Allah, fight against her! They had laughed until they cried!

Afterwards, Ahmed and Majed met regularly. One day, Majed told him that he was in contact with a large company in France, a country friendly with the Arabs, and that the French were willing to pay large sums to know what Ahmed's employer, General Faisal bin Salman, said and did. Majed said he would share these sums with Ahmed. Since Ahmed was at the front of the activity, Majed was satisfied with a third of the amount.

Finally he had the contact. Again, they had laughed themselves half to death; this time about the Christians, who were willing to spend so much money on totally useless information. Information which could have been provided by any taxi Driver sent to follow the General, at a fraction of the money paid! Still Ahmed had, Allah be his witness, fulfilled his job always very carefully.

While Ahmed drove the heavy Mercedes to the house where the youngest of the four wives of the general lived, he thought about whether the French might be willing to pay more than usual for information that the General had spent several hours this evening, with two naval officers?

Ahmed knew even more from his conversations with the driver of Admiral Zaif, a guy from Pakistan named Siddiqui. The General had made a deviation from his normal routine. Ahmed knew that this information could be very valuable.

---

Nice, France October 3rd

It was eleven thirty when Rupert Graf stepped off the small jet aircraft, which had rolled out in front of the terminal at Cannes-Mandelieu, in southern France. The jet had been waiting for him in the morning, at the General Aviation Terminal in Duesseldorf.

The pilots were British, and the aircraft had no identification, beyond the tiny Saudi flag painted on the tail. Graf was the only passenger on board. The co-pilot had served him breakfast during the flight. Otherwise he remained undisturbed until landing.

Rupert Graf then climbed into a waiting, white Rolls Royce, which took him directly to the reception desk at the Carlton Hotel. Graf was expected by a hotel clerk, who led him to the doors of a suite on one of the upper floors. When he rang the bell, an Arab looking man in a well-cut dark blue suit welcomed Graf, and asked him to wait. Sheikh Mahmoud would come at any moment.

Graf waited a full half hour. Sheikh Mahmoud was sleepy when he finally came shuffling into the living room of the suite in his bare feet, wearing jeans and a bright red polo shirt. Mahmoud was younger than Graf and had, typical for the Arabs of his class, a thin mustache with a narrow strip of beard that went from the lower lip to his chin. His hair was thick and jet black. He had bright white, beautiful teeth. Graf supposed that this was because Mahmoud, instead of using a tooth brush, would chew liquorice sticks. While Mahmoud was also shorter than Graf, he estimated that he probably weighed a hundred and twenty kilograms, at least.

Without a handshake and without any greeting, Mahmoud let himself plop onto one of the sofas opposite Graf, and said: You're a difficult man, Mr Graf. Graf looked silently at him with an expressionless face. "Without your friend Mr Schmeling, who highly recommended you, one of your competitors would be sitting here now.

Graf remained silent. The butler appeared and asked for their beverage preferences. Graf asked for mineral water, the sheikh demanded a Bloody Mary.

How do you know Schmeling, Sir, asked Graf, to open the conversation. In Germany it was Sunday and a National Holiday. Graf would have preferred to use this day for sleeping in, rather than sitting here with this arrogant fellow.

We had some business together, a reliable man. He has been recommended to my government, by Mr P.. You know that our government is happy to work with people who have been recommended by friends. Mr P. could only mean Schmeling´s friend, the minister. Graf asked himself what the two could have done in Saudi Arabia, without this becoming known in the German public.

Tell me something about Germany, Mr Graf. I do not know much about your country, except that several years ago there were great difficulties when a vehicle that both of your chancellors Mr Schmidt and Mr Kohl had promised to supply to us, was denied in the end. This has led to deep resentment that still persists with individual personalities in my country.

Rupert Graf could remember only too well, these facts raised by Mahmoud. In the early eighties, Saudi Arabia wanted to buy a main battle tank of the German Leopard type. But this delivery was not realized, due to pressure exerted by the government of Israel on Germany.

While Graf described the events of that time; he noticed Mahmoud fumbling between his toes with his right index finger. Now Graf was relieved that Mahmoud had not shaken his hand in greeting. They were interrupted when several waiters appeared, with trolleys full of canapés and hors d'oeuvres, which they spread out in front of Graf and Mahmoud, and which was sufficient for a crowd of twenty!

Help yourself, Mr Graf; you must be hungry after your journey! Mahmoud said.

As he helped himself, Graf tried to not get near the food Mahmoud had been touching. He refrained from taking the salad after Mahmoud fished some crabs out of the bowl with the hand he had previously used to clean the spaces between his toes. However, when Graf had emptied his plate, Mahmoud grabbed some more crabs from the salad and put them on Graf's plate. So far they had not spoken a word about the project for which Mahmoud had Graf brought here. Graf was not unhappy about this. He was firmly convinced that Mahmoud´s suite was bugged. He therefore spoke in generalities about Germany, and about the political situation in the Middle East. This seemed not to bother Mahmoud. In the East, one had patience.

Only after they had taken from the extensive dessert cart and drunk a little black coffee, Mahmoud finally said: I assume that our mutual friend has informed you what it is that I want to discuss with you.

Only very superficially, said Graf, But I would be grateful if we could continue this conversation on the beach. There is such wonderful weather here, and I'm coming from Germany, with fog and the autumn temperatures of only four or five degrees centigrade. You would give me great pleasure, Sir, if we could walk a bit in the fresh air.

Mahmoud looked surprised. Then he called the butler, to whom he gave some instructions in Arabic. A few minutes later the pedestrians promenading on the Corniche, watched a procession of hotel staff carrying pillows and blankets down the steps from the promenade to the hotel's private beach, where two lonely deck chairs were taken from a shed and set-up near the surf.

Shortly afterwards, two middle-aged men, one in a dark suit, the other one wrapped in a warm red sweater, settled into the two deck chairs. The meeting could begin.

---

Ahmed Falouf had met today with Majed. They sat in a Japanese restaurant in downtown Riyadh, which was favoured by business people. It was busy and loud. For families who came here, the restaurant had built-up Spanish walls, behind which the wives of guests could remove their veils to eat.

In the morning Ahmed had time to eat. He had driven General Faisal to the military airport in central Riyadh, from where the general had begun a two-day trip to Jeddah. Ahmed had also noted this fact.

What would your French friends be prepared to pay for information that the general, in deviation from his normal routine, has attended a special meeting during the past days, asked Ahmed.

What meeting? asked Majed, surprised.

With some high-ranking officers of another branch of the Armed Forces. At night, in a private house.

Do you know the names? asked Majed.

Ahmed nodded. And I know what they discussed. The General made a call the next day from the car. It is so important that he asked for a meeting with number two. Ahmed smiled dreamily.

The Frenchmen pay us exactly for this kind of information, Majed said seriously. What we have brought to them so far was not very enlightening. I do not suppose that my friends will now pay extra for information they expect from us anyway.

Ahmed grinned. This is very special information. Or don´t you think they will be interested in a planned new procurement program for the armed forces, of which no one yet knows? I've heard the host say at parting, „the best of these products are delivered by Germany. Ahmed was satisfied to see how it worked with Majed.

I must ask, Majed said.

Do that! Ahmed replied contently. My information could be worth a lot, provided we can get it to your friends in time! Suddenly Majed seemed to be in a great hurry.

He asked Ahmed to be available for a further meeting the same evening. Ahmed nodded. He could not suppress his grin. He was so pleased with himself that only after Majed´s departure; he realized that Majed had failed to pay the bill. In the secure expectation of a princely payment, Ahmed took care of the bill and added a generous tip. He knew his information was worth a mint!

---

Rupert Graf watched unhappily at how the beach slowly filled. Other hotel guests asked for deck chairs and blankets to be brought out, that were already put away for the winter months. Suddenly, he and Mahmoud were no longer alone. Nevertheless, their conversation here could not be overheard.

My government is considering the purchase of submarines, said Mahmoud, after a Porter of the hotel set the cushions correctly, spread out the blankets, served drinks and had finally left them alone. „After the game with the tanks, as you can imagine, no one of us is particularly excited to ask Germany. On the other hand, your yards have also supplied submarines to Israel. For us this means that your quality must be the best. Israel would never buy a second class product!"

Mahmoud paused and observed the waves crashing on the surf. If we formally ask Germany, we must be certain, in advance, that this time a commitment for an export license is on the table. And even then my country will probably call for an international competition, and invite offers from other countries. However, I can make sure that Germany will win.

Rupert Graf was also watching the surf. It is difficult, Graf said thoughtfully.

Why? Mr P. and Schmeling have assured us that the permit issue would be settled! Finally, my country is supporting the Allies from the Gulf War.

I am not thinking of the issue of an export permit, your Excellency, replied Graf, This is not a problem. An export license for submarines for your country has already once been given. No, the question is, who will operate the submarines. Your navy already has problems with their surface ships. They do not have the necessary experts. To navigate a submarine through the Arabian Gulf is similar to steering a car through the city of Riyadh, blindfolded.

He looked at Mahmoud. Moreover, the U.S. will not agree.

Why does this have to interest the U.S.? Mahmoud asked angrily. „The Kingdom is a sovereign state!"

The U.S. Navy has too many ships in the Gulf to risk one of them accidentally rammed by one of your submarines during an exercise, or blown out of the water! Be prepared for a protest from Washington.

I think you can leave this issue to my government, Mahmoud said in an arrogant tone.

How large should the boat be? asked Graf.

Small. Very small. Just big enough to operate in the Gulf.

That would have been my recommendation, as well, Excellency. Larger submarines are not suitable for the Arabian Gulf with its shallow waters. They can be seen against the bright background by the naked eye from an aircraft. Small boats with green paint will at least have a chance to remain undetected. Nevertheless, there remains the problem of the crew.

What does that mean?

When we speak of small boats, you will need a crew of eight to ten men for each boat. You will need skilled staff also for maintenance and exchange crews. You quickly end-up with a thirty to forty person crew, for each boat. Also, only one boat will not suffice. It is customary to have available for every operational theatre, at least three boats; one at sea, one on the way to or from the mission area, and one docked for maintenance and training purposes. Your country has an enormously long coastline. In the Red Sea alone, three thousand miles, with another thousand miles in the Gulf. The number of boats to be procured will depend on how many of your naval personnel are available.

But you will train these men, said Mahmoud after a pause.

Certainly, but in Germany we have simulators, in which training is conducted. But these are only for personnel who already have an idea of what they must do: enlisted men who have grown up in the navy. In your country, we start at zero. You would certainly not like to sit in an airplane, whose pilot yesterday, was a taxi driver. He may understand something of transporting people, but where has he acquired his expertise in aviation, is exclusively in a simulator. Somehow you must see the situation. So I am relieved that you want to start with small boats.

Mahmoud grinned sheepishly.

Why does this make your head ache Mr Graf?

It would not at all be beneficial to our reputation, if a product we supplied would be lost at sea. From debris on the sea floor you can in fact not easily prove operational mistakes.

I'm cold, said Mahmoud, shaking, shivering under his blanket. „I'm used to different temperatures."

Just a moment please, Excellency. When will the request for proposal come out?

It's up to me and my friends. My suggestion is that you give me, in advance, the specifications of a boat that can only be delivered by your company. This specification will then be used as basis for the tender. Anyone who offers something different will be thrown out of the competition. So, everyone except you. Mahmoud made a contented face.

Why are you doing this? asked Graf.

Out of love for my country, Mahmoud said with certainty.

You will want to have your efforts compensated, said Graf.

Yes, of course, for sure!

What are you thinking of?

Twenty-five per-cent, said Mahmoud. And not less!

Rupert Graf sighed. You know that the world has changed, your Excellency, he said.

Not mine! interjected Mahmoud.

We will have to find special solutions, said Graf.

You will find them, said Mahmoud lightly as he unwrapped his blanket. „They do exist."

Graf also stood up. How do we continue? he asked.

My lawyers will be contacting you in the coming days. You will jointly set up a nice little contract. Once this is signed, you give me your specifications. A few weeks later you will receive the tender documents, and will easily recognize your specifications. You will submit your offer, and enclose the commitment of your government for the export approval. I will fix everything else.

They trudged through the sand back to the promenade, and crossed the street to the hotel entrance. There was already a car waiting for Rupert. Two hours later he landed in Duesseldorf.

He was glad at parting to not have shaken hands with Mahmoud. On the beach under the blanket, Mahmoud had again been playing with his fingers between his toes.

---

After the second meeting with Ahmed Falouf, Majed Akhad had gone directly to his apartment, where he encrypted the information he received from Ahmed. On his way, he made a special stop and called a number from a hotel. It was the number from where he would get the instructions for tonight’s meeting.

To encrypt his message, Majed used the French edition of `The Green Mare´ by Marcel Aimé. The code was simple and would be easy to crack. On the other hand, it could be assumed that there would be no other copies of this frivolous book here in this country.

As usual, Majed drove out to the Riyadh airport, which had been named after the late King Fahd. His coded message was scrawled on the sports page inside a folded newspaper. Majed parked his car in the garage and went to the departure hall for international flights.

It was usually very crowded here at this time, as almost all flights to Europe and the Far East left Riyadh at this late hour of the evening, and almost every native traveller was accompanied by four or five relatives. Majed stood at the counter of the small bar where soft or hot drinks were served. He put the newspaper next to his glass of lemonade.

His contact came a few minutes later, ordered a tea, emptied his cup, took Majed´s newspaper and disappeared in the crowd. Majed knew that it would not be this contact that would bring the message out of the country. Majed suspected that his newspaper went through the hands of several people, before it reached the actual messenger.

He was grateful for these precautions, because they were protecting him. He had haggled with Ahmed like a Tunisian carpet dealer until they had agreed on a price that Majed believed to be justifiable with his clients. Only then had Ahmed come out with his knowledge, and he was right. The information that Ahmed had given him was extremely worthwhile.

---

Tel Aviv, Israel, October 4th

Colonel Moishe Shaked sat puzzled behind his desk, in the intelligence section of the Ministry of Defence. Outside, dusk had already started.

Colonel Moishe Shaked had full confidence in his informant in Riyadh. However, he did not trust Majed Akhad.

Akhad was a Palestinian, and who of those could be trusted at all? Colonel Shaked looked once again at the file of Akhad.

Born and raised in Ramallah; graduated from the local high school; applied for a place at Ben Gurion University in Jerusalem; and graduated jurisprudence with a final grade of sufficient.

For a Palestinian this was already quite bright. During his studies Akhad already been contacted by the Mossad, the secret service. His willingness to cooperate after he had been confronted with a series of small offenses could have cost Majed Akhad admittance to the university. Spying on other Palestinian students by Akhad, had led to the thwarting of at least two bomb attacks.

Then direct pressure was put on Akhad by threatening to have him revealed as a spy, unless he would agree to greater cooperation. A refusal would have meant his certain death. His assignment: deployment to Saudi Arabia, where one of his childhood friends held a trusted position close to the Chief of General Staff.

Submarines!

Colonel Moishe Shaked would have regarded this information as fantasy, had he not paid so dearly to this lout of a driver of General Faisal. Five thousand U.S. Dollars! Already, years before, the Saudis had collected offers for submarines, but then let the project fall asleep. Now however, another message had reached him concerning the Saudis and submarines.

Sheik Mahmoud al Ibrahim was known to be a leading businessman, particularly in the field of armament projects, and as a bon vivant. Mahmoud al Ibrahim owned homes and offices in London, Paris, and Marbella in Spain. He had a fifty meter yacht, several aircraft and four wives; the youngest just nineteen years old! With a total of eleven legitimate sons, four of whom from women who Mahmoud had long since been divorced from, and eight daughters. The youngest son was six months old, the oldest thirty-two years.

Mahmoud al Ibrahim had played a crucial role in a series of arms purchases for the Saudis, no matter whether the supplies came from France, England or the USA. He had obviously made a lot of money in this business.

What had electrified Colonel Moishe Shaked was the news that Sheik Mahmoud had met yesterday in Cannes with a German named Graf. Rupert Graf was a member of the Executive Board of shipyards of the Deutsche Rhein Ruhr Stahl AG, DRRS, German Rhine Ruhr Steel, in the port city of Bremen, and responsible for their naval sales activities. The shipyards were regarded as suppliers of high technology in the field of naval technology. That meant they built fast patrol boats, corvettes, frigates, - and submarines! Nice shit!

His own country had bought several submarines from Germany!

Colonel Moishe Shaked did not think much of the Arabs. Until a country like Saudi Arabia would be able to threaten Israel with submarines, the Dead Sea could completely Dry out. But the Arabic admiral had said, in the information from Riyadh, „Germany provides the best products."

If Saudi Arabia was to procure such boats in Germany, it could be assumed that these boats would be equipped much like the ones built for Israel. Then the Saudis would become familiar with a number of tactical and technological achievements that Israeli submarines were capable of. What the Israeli government could do was to prevent Germany from supplying the Saudis with these boats.

Colonel Moishe Shaked lifted the handset of his telephone and dialled the number of the German desk of his ministry. When his call was answered, he said: Moishe here, Shalom! Ezrah, we need to talk!

---

Dusseldorf, October 8th.

Rupert Graf had just returned to his apartment in Dusseldorf’s zoo district, from a full day's sessions at the headquarters of his company in Oberhausen. Even though, as a board member of the shipyards, he had to spend a considerable amount of time in the boring town of Bremen, he did not want to give up the luxury of his home in Dusseldorf.

As he was, on the other hand, constantly travelling the world; he had rented only a small