The Royal Data Center allowed the regime to monitor not only potential terrorists but ordinary political opponents as well. For that reason, Khalid seized control of it when he became crown prince. He used it to spy on the mobile devices of his enemies and track their activity in cyberspace. The center also gave Khalid the power to monitor and manipulate the social network. He was not ashamed to admit that, like the American president, he was obsessed by his standing in the parallel universe of Twitter and Facebook. It was not merely vanity that drove his preoccupation. He feared he might be toppled by an Internet-inspired “hashtag” uprising like the one that had brought down Mubarak of Egypt. Qatar, his blood rival in the Gulf, was working against him online. So were a number of commentators and journalists who had acquired large cyberfollowings of young, restless Arabs desperate for political change. One such commentator was a Saudi named Omar Nawwaf.

Nawwaf was the editor in chief of the Arab News, Saudi Arabia’s most prominent English-language daily. A veteran Middle East correspondent, he had managed to maintain good relations with both the House of Saud, to whom he owed his survival as a journalist, and al-Qaeda and the Muslim Brotherhood. As a result, the royal court regularly used him as an emissary to the forces of political Islam. Religiously secular himself, Nawwaf had long championed loosening the Wahhabi-inspired restrictions on women in Saudi society, and initially he greeted the rise of a young reform-minded KBM with editorial enthusiasm. His support dissolved as Khalid ruthlessly suppressed political opposition and enriched himself at the public trough.

It did not take Khalid and his courtiers long to realize they had “an Omar Nawwaf problem.” At first, they tried to defuse the situation with charm and engagement. But when Nawwaf’s criticism intensified, he was warned to cease and desist, or suffer dire consequences. Faced with a choice between silence or exile, Nawwaf chose exile. He took refuge in Berlin and found work at Der Spiegel, Germany’s most important newsmagazine. Now free of Saudi Arabia’s machinery of repression, he unleashed a torrent of biting commentary targeted at its headstrong crown prince, painting him as a fraud and a grifter who had no intention of delivering real political reform to the calcifying Kingdom. Khalid waged war on Nawwaf from within the Royal Data Center, but it was no use. On Twitter alone, Nawwaf had some ten million followers, many more than Khalid. The meddlesome exiled journalist was winning the battle of ideas on social media.

“And then,” said Khalid, “there was a most intriguing development. Omar Nawwaf, my great detractor, requested an interview.”

“And you declined?”

“I didn’t give it a moment’s thought.”

“What happened?”

Nawwaf made a second request. Then a third. And when none met with a response, he used his contacts inside the House of Saud to send a message to Khalid directly.

“It seemed the interview request was a ruse from the beginning. Omar claimed he had uncovered information regarding a threat against me. He insisted on telling me about this threat in person. Obviously, given everything he had written and said about me, I was skeptical. So were my security men. They were convinced he wanted to kill me.”

“With what? A pen and a notebook?”

“When Bin Laden killed Ahmad Shah Massoud of the Northern Alliance two days before nine-eleven, the assassins posed as television journalists.”

“Go on,” said Gabriel.

“I know you think I’m impulsive and reckless, but I gave the matter thorough consideration. In the end, I decided to see him. I sent a message through the Saudi Embassy in Berlin inviting Omar to return to the Kingdom, but he refused. He said he would only meet in a neutral location, somewhere he would feel safe. My security men were more convinced than ever that Omar intended to kill me.”

“And you?”

“I wasn’t so sure. Frankly, if I were in Omar’s position, I wouldn’t return to the Kingdom, either.”

“But you wanted to hear what he had to say?”

“His sources,” said Khalid, “are impeccable. Omar had the entire region wired.”

“So what did you do?”

“I sought advice from someone I thought I could trust.”

“Uncle Abdullah?”

Khalid nodded. “The next king of Saudi Arabia.”

Abdullah bin Abdulaziz Al Saud was not a member of the Sudairi Seven, the internal royal bloodline of the Founder’s sons that had produced three Saudi monarchs, including Khalid’s father. Therefore, he had assumed he would never be a king. He had lived his life accordingly, with one foot in Saudi Arabia and another in the West. Nevertheless, he remained an important figure inside the House of Saud, respected for his intellect and political acumen. Khalid found his uncle to be a source of sage counsel, precisely because he opposed many of Khalid’s reforms, including those involving women, for whom Abdullah had but one use.

“And when you told your uncle about Omar Nawwaf?”

“He was alarmed.”

“What did he suggest?”

Khalid drew a forefinger across his throat.

“Rather drastic, don’t you think?”

“Not by our standards.”

“But you were supposed to be different, Khalid. You were supposed to be the one who was going to change the Middle East and the Islamic world.”

“I can’t change the world if I’m dead, can I?”

“What about the blowback?”

“Abdullah promised there wouldn’t be any.”

“How wise of him,” said Gabriel dryly. “But why would he say such a thing?”

“Because my hands would be clean.”

“Abdullah said he would take care of it?”

Khalid nodded.

“How did he get Nawwaf to come to the consulate in Istanbul?”

“How do you think?”

“Nawwaf was told you were going to be there.”

“Very good.”

“And the nonsense you put out after he was dead? The happy talk about a rendition operation that went sideways?”

“Omar Nawwaf,” said Khalid gravely, “was never going to leave that consulate alive.”

“Rather sloppy, don’t you think?”

“Abdullah wanted a noisy kill to scare off other potential assassins.”

“It was noisy, all right. And now your uncle is next in line to the throne.”

“And I’m sitting here with you in al-Quds.” Khalid listened to the stirring of the ancient city. “It does look as though Abdullah baited me into a reckless act in order to damage my international standing and weaken me at home.”

“Yes, it does.”

“But what if we’re looking at this the wrong way?”

“What would be the right way?”

“What if Omar Nawwaf really wanted to warn me about a grave threat?” Khalid checked his wristwatch. “My God, look at the time.”

“It’s early by our standards.”

Khalid placed a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. “I can’t thank you enough for inviting me here.”

“It will be our little secret.”

Khalid smiled. “I considered bringing you a gift, but I knew you wouldn’t accept it, so I’m afraid this will have to do.” He held up a flash drive. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”