Soon after the plan’s approval, the ramsad had set more than 150 Saudi assets on the task of digging up information on why the crown prince would be after Ali Kamal. Yossi, though, had made the breakthrough.

An unusual pattern of phone calls from the father of Kamal’s driver to numbers in Yemen had begun over the past several months. With some access help from Nicole—into the computers of the General Intelligence Presidency, the primary Saudi Arabian intelligence agency—Yossi discovered those numbers had been flagged for being related to the Houthi rebels. He then cross-referenced the timing of those calls with the location of Kamal’s phone. He realized that for every one of the Houthi contacts, Kamal’s phone was at the same location as the phone registered to his driver’s father.

So Ali Kamal was reaching out to the Houthis. The question was why, with only two logical answers. Either he was supporting them in their cause or he was trying to recruit them to his. Nothing in Kamal’s history pegged him as a traitor to his country, so they assumed the latter. He simply wanted the royals out.

Based on that information, the ramsad set up a meeting between his envoy and the crown prince’s chief of staff. The purpose was to communicate information too sensitive for any method but person-to-person. If the information was satisfactory, then the envoy would be taken to the crown prince. The location was set for Doha, and Nir was designated as the envoy.

Now here he was in Qatar preparing for a meeting tomorrow, during which he would ostensibly communicate two pieces of vital information to the Saudi crown prince’s number two man. First, he would reveal the name of the one conspiring against the royal family. Second, he would reveal the date and time for Israel’s planned air strike on Iran’s nuclear program.

Of course, it was all a ruse, designed to draw out his true target. The crown prince already knew the name of the person conspiring against him, and Nir would likely never have the opportunity to communicate any attack information to the Saudis.

And this is your brilliant plan, he thought, shaking his head.

It was dusk when the driver pulled up to the hotel. No sooner had the car come to a halt than Nir’s door opened. A porter wearing a long white jacket and a small mocha-colored hat welcomed him in English. Nir punched a tip into the cab’s electronic pay system and stepped out. The long driveway was well lit, as was the beautiful marble façade of the hotel.

“Do you have any bags?” asked the young man.

“Only what’s on my shoulder,” Nir responded in his practiced Estuary English accent. “Just point me in the right direction.”

“Just inside the doors, you will find check-in. Enjoy your stay at the Mandarin Oriental.”