Isa let out a short laugh and finished his drink in one gulp. Rapp handed him the bottle and he gave himself an even more generous refill.

“Do you ever get tired of the games, Mitch?”

“More tired every day.”

“I used to believe in God. And even the royalty. Now I see the first as delusional and the second as naïve. All that pomp and circumstance is just a weapon the strong use against the weak. And a strangely effective one. Have you ever thought about how these men gain power? We give it willingly to precisely the ones who shouldn’t have it. There’s something that attracts us to their insatiable hunger. Their ruthless, single-minded drive. We toil and die for them expecting nothing in return. Dreaming that one day they’ll bless us with a word or a casual wave of the hand. Knowing that eventually we’ll be discarded without a thought.”

“I’m not here for a philosophical discussion, Bashir. You know what I want.”

“For me to betray the country I’ve spent my life serving and tell you where I got my information on Ward.”

“To betray the men who are discarding you without a thought. The ones you’ve given power to but who shouldn’t have it.”

The Saudi just smiled and took a sip of his drink.

“This can go easy or hard, Bashir. I’m not the kid you worked with all those years ago. You know what I’ve become. And what I’m capable of.”

“A fitting end for a professional liar and backstabber like myself. I just escape being murdered by my friends and am now in danger of being murdered by one of my old allies. What a business we’ve chosen for ourselves, eh, Mitch? There must be something very wrong with us.”

“Who gave you the information?” Rapp prompted with uncharacteristic patience. Like the men at Isa’s house, he had no desire for this to turn ugly.

“The director.”

“And where did he get it?”

“I don’t know for certain, but I suspect directly from the prince.”

Rapp let out a long breath. Not an easy man to get to. And not a man who would divulge the identity of his CIA contact to anyone who didn’t need to know—including the GID director. Rapp altered his line of questioning.

“Then tell me why. Why risk so much to go after Ward?”

The Saudi freshened his drink for a second time. “This wasn’t initially about Ward. It was about David Chism.”

“I assume you were behind that, too?”

Isa nodded. “It wasn’t hard to goad Gideon Auma into going after him. A little outside his normal operating area, but the potential rewards were astronomical.”

“But it didn’t work. So instead of backing off, the prince decided to double down.”

Again, the Saudi nodded.

“Then I’m asking you again, Bashir. Why?”