Kamal turned to him. “It was worse than you could imagine. There was no warning. I was invited to a gathering, then suddenly I was hanging by my hands and being used as a punching bag. Tortures of all sorts were employed. I was pepper sprayed several times and beaten often. But I know it was much worse for those who do not have royal blood.”

“That sounds plenty bad to me.”

Kamal stood and stepped down to the rocks. “The thing is, the physical abuse wasn’t the worst part. It was the humiliation. The disrespect.” He ladled water and inhaled deeply of the steam. “Being treated as less than human, as if your life mattered not at all.”

Much like the way you treat my staff and those women I bring on board—and most likely your wives as well, Saad thought but didn’t say.

“Enough of that.” Kamal waved the subject away with his hand. “Yesterday I was thinking this whole coup would be so much easier if I could get the West on my side. But they have a strange love/hate fascination with this man. Think of when he had Jamal Khashoggi killed. Some condemned what he did to the journalist, but so what? Those are just words.”

“Oil speaks louder than murder.”

“Exactly.” Kamal stepped back up the cedar benches to his former perch. “Soon, both the American and British press forgot all about him, and once again they’re posting glamor shots of Mohammed bin Salman on their front pages. It’s like he has them bewitched. Which is why he will never be held responsible by anyone on the outside. Retribution can only come from inside Saudi Arabia.”

“Do you have any idea when you will be ready to exact this retribution?”

“I don’t know,” he said, sitting. “Soon. I need the generals to commit first.”

“Is there anything I may do to help?”

“Honestly, it is not from you I need help. I had hoped General Mousavi would be here. I need the Houthis.”

Saad shook his head and chuckled. “The Houthis unfortunately seem otherwise preoccupied these days. They have their drones from the IRGC, and they are making full use of them on your country’s refineries.”

“That is why the general must connect me with them. All that effort and firepower could be used so much more strategically. Why swat at flies when you can remove the whole pile of manure?”

“I will pass the message along. But do let me know if I may help you in any way. It is true that I am a generation removed, but I assure you that the rivers of my hatred run very deep.” He stood. “Now come. Let’s get cleaned up, and I’ll meet you in the salon. I want to show you two amazing paintings by a modern-day master—originals. They are worth ten million dollars, and I have them right here on my boat.”