Chapter 57
élysée Palace
Paris
It was Jabr who had come up with the idea of a Greater Gulf Co-Prosperity Sphere.
And Jabr who had convinced the countries of the Gulf to sign the treaty.
It was Jabr who had faced down the Jews and the Saudis—both intractable, unreasonable, and contentious to the bone—and forced concessions from each.
It was Jabr who had persuaded the French president to serve as host to the conference.
The UK was out of the question, as was the United States; their histories in the region had left too many scars.
When all was said and done, the treaty was Jabr’s and Jabr’s alone.
The limousine made slow, fitful progress across the city. Evening traffic was as snarled as ever. Thank God they’d left when they did, as they needed a full hour to reach Versailles on the western outskirts of the city.
It was his first time visiting the magnificent palace, and he couldn’t help but lean forward to take in its immense grandeur. It wasn’t especially tall or especially showy, but he was awed by its sheer size, its weight, and its elegance. This, then, was civilization. This was majesty.
The limousine passed through a cordon of security and stopped at the grand entry.
“It looks like the entire French Army is here,” said the emir, half in admiration.
“Good,” said Jabr. “There are many people who would like to stop our progress. Haters.”
As they left the car, a dozen soldiers surrounded them, forming a protective phalanx and guiding them inside. They had taken only ten steps when Jabr suddenly stopped. He turned to his deputy. “Go get the champagne,” he commanded. “The big bottle. The methuselah.”
The deputy returned to the limousine and fetched the large crate. Jabr took it from him. He turned to his father. “Wouldn’t do to forget this,” he said. “It’s the only good idea Tariq has ever had.”