about his actions, and he even wondered if Hanley was going to try to strong-arm him into a lopsided relationship, to blackmail the crown prince into providing more intelligence, to leverage what Hanley knew about Berlin into some capital.
But al-Habsi couldn’t be sure if Matt Hanley knew anything at all about what had happened.
He threw his napkin on the table, walked over to his desk by the window, and picked up the phone. He stood behind the desk, facing the night, still looking out over the water at the lights of the Palm Hotel across the bay as the call was put through to this line.
A helicopter came in over the water from the north and landed expertly on the rooftop helipad of the hotel. The side door immediately opened, just visible to al-Habsi in the distance.
He spoke into the phone. “Matthew? How are you, my friend?”
“I am excellent. Never better, in fact.”
The Emirati was surprised by the levity in the normally dour man’s voice. He smiled. Either he’d been wrong and the Americans actually knew nothing about his involvement, or else Hanley was a good actor.
The new ruler of Dubai said, “Good. So sorry about all the troubles your nation had in Europe last week. I pray there will not be further attacks. How can I be of service this evening?”
As he said this he watched the helicopter. It wasn’t shutting down; its rotor was still spinning as fast as when it landed.
There was a pause on the line, and Hanley did not respond.
“Matthew?”
Finally, Hanley spoke. “Ah, sorry. You asked how you could help me?”
“I did.”
“You could help me . . . Sultan . . . by standing very still.”
It was a million-to-one chance that al-Habsi had been looking at exactly the right place when the muzzle flash of a sniper rifle sparked in the darkened cabin of the helicopter three hundred meters distant, but he did see the flash of light. This, along with Hanley’s strange request, would have led the newly minted ruler of Dubai to dive for cover if he’d had another moment to think about it.
But he did not. He said nothing, he did not move a muscle, he only stood there until the 6.5-millimeter Creedmoor round shattered the window in front of him, struck him just above his heart, and sent him tumbling back over the top of his desk, where he ended up in a heap on the floor.
He’d served as ruler of his emirate for a touch over six hours.
Three hundred meters away, the door to the helicopter closed, the aircraft climbed back into the sky, and then it dove for the deck and began heading north at top speed, low over the water.
* * *
• • •
Matt Hanley discarded the burner phone in a garbage can in the parking lot of the CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia. The call had been untraceable, but Hanley knew he wouldn’t need the phone anymore.
He was late to a meeting with the director, but he was glad he’d been able to fix al-Habsi to his desk by the big window for Violator to take the shot.
A pretty good day, so far, if he said so himself.
He’d met with the director upon his return to Langley, but he was confident he’d smoothed over the majority of the issues regarding Berlin. Interest had already seemed to move on, as the Germans were energized to prove that Iran wasn’t, as a nation, responsible for the actions of Mirza and his men.
Today, Hanley expected, he’d be receiving a commendation for helping to protect the U.S. ambassador.
He was let into the director’s office ten minutes later, and the heavyset man with a bad comb-over made clear immediately that this was not, in fact, about giving Hanley a fucking medal.
“Sit,” he said. There was no handshake. Hanley did as instructed, and then the director sat in front of him.
“Tell me why you went to Europe.”
“I . . . told you last week, and that was the truth. Is there a problem?”
“Tell me again.”
“I wanted to follow up some leads on the Haz Mirza investigation after the attack. I thought my presence there, as quickly as possible and without worry about normal channels and such, would facilitate a quick understanding of the event.”
The director nodded. “Fascinating.” Then he shook his head. “One hundred percent balderdash, but fascinating nonetheless.”
“Sir?”
“I’ve had an in-house investigation done. The Gulfstream you flew to Germany was tasked to fly from DCA to Berlin over an hour before the