King Tallulah and Prince Bawad had been imperious beyond belief, reminding Maliq in every phone call, eve
ry e-mail, every meeting that it
was their troops, their
mukfelleen.
their money and, G
od be praised, their oil that had put him on t
he throne. Between Paris and Kaffa. Maliq
was tired of being grateful. Dammit,
they
should be grateful t
o
him!
H
ad he not selflesslv put himself forward, giving up a brilliant career as a race-car driver, to restore Matar to its glory? (
A
ssuming
Matar
had e
ver actually been glorious.) H
ad he not risked all? What if the coup had fail
ed? Where would he be now? In G
azzy's dungeon, supplementing his diet with beetles. No. he'd had quit
e enough of their telling him, N
ow,
here's what else you can
do
for
us today.
"We will not see the F
renchman." Maliq petulantly announced to
Fetish
, the aide de camp he had inherited from his brother and who had come highly recommended by Delame-Noir. A certain air of pronouncement-making had crept into Maliq's speech of late; this often happens, alas, when one becomes dictator.
"But H
oliness—"
"I have spoken,
Fetish
."
Since
Fetish
was also on the payroll of Delame-Noir's Onzieme Bureau, he pressed as gingerly a
s he could. "Great Imam—would it
not be wise to grant
the Frenchman a few minutes? H
e has traveled a great distance."
"Bah! You make it sound like he crossed the Nefud Desert on camel. He came in his own pr
ivate jet. It's got a bed in it,
a kitchen and a two-star Mi
chelin chef. We ourselves have flown in it. It
is—damn thy impertinence.
Fetish
. It is not for us to explain ourselves!"
"I am but dung beside Thy Augustness,
lord, beloved of
A
llah
,
protector of the one true faith. However,
in my despised humility. I ask,
should not my lord receive the Frenchman just for
a
brief t
ime?"
Maliq made a growling noise but knew
Fetish
was right. "Ten minutes.
Make sure you come in after exactly ten minutes and say, 'Imam, you are urgently needed by ...' Well, by someone important."
"How truly wise and benevolent is my master. Allah truly—"
"Oh, just
get
him,
Fetish
."
Maliq paced in
his office, lingering his worry
beads. Delame-Noir was shown in.
"Altesse!"
Delame-Noir bowed ever so slightly. He looked Maliq up and down, rather—Maliq thought—like a malevolent tailor. "In your person, the magnificence of th
e Bin H
azzim and the purity of the true faith have found their most sublime embodiment. How lucky is Matar to have so wise, so puissant, a ruler. This does not happen every day. Indeed, not since your second cousin's great-great-great-uncle Ali Hashim bin—"
'Ye
s, yes," Malic] said. "
Matar
is once again a holy place. God be praised. So. Here you are."
"I have come to pay you homage,
man emir.
To see the new crown jewel of the Matari in his setting."
"Ah? Well. Good. Here I am. So.
Very
busy time."
"Oh, yes." Delame-Noir grinned Gallicly. "It is truly work, establishing oneself as the unquestioned authority. But you
have,
yes
,
yes, you have. And now maybe it's time to give the signal that, okay, we take our religion seriously, we are very observant, very strict, but we're not going to beat to death
all
the naughty women in the mall outside the Starbucks? Surely?"
Maliq sighed. "We didn't know this Florence woman was going to take a video of it."
"All the same, it's not such a good image for the new Matar,
mo
n
imam.
They are playing it on the Internet now. It's very— Speaking personally; I find it very difficult to watch. It's like a Mel Gibson movie."
"The Internet is an instrument of Satan."
"The theology I must leave to the theologians." Delame-Noir said. "My concern, it's for you. Because this is not good publicity. Look, myself, I don't really care. We chopped off a lot of heads during our r
evolution. For a while it's fun,
and an amusement for the riffraff, but if it goes on too long, it's not good for business."
"What are
they going to do, not buy the oil?"
"No,
no. Oil they would
buy from anyone. From Satan. But
why give yourself such a bad image in the world'.''"
"It's not my image you're worried about. It's yours."
"From
you. wise imam, there is no keeping secrets. But okay, yes, this is making everyone look not so good. Not that France cares what the world thinks, still..."
Maliq threw up his hands. "It's the Wasabis who insist! Tallulah
himself— he calls me every day t
o say he's sending more
mu
kfelle
el
to help me 'purify the
country.' I tell him. Thank you,
you are to
o generous, but we don't need any
more religious police.' And the next thing I know.
Fetish
informs me that another f
ive hundred have arri
ved—by bus! What am I supposed t
o do?"
Delame-
Noir
nodded sympathetically. "It's not easy being imam."
"If it weren't for me,
the
mu
ks
would be holding twice as main executions and beatings."
"Clearly. I have misread the situation.
How
can I apologize to you? H
ow can I help?"
"Just tell me." Maliq grunted, "what am I supposed to do."
"Perhaps there is a solution. Look, why don't you say to Tallulah. 'My dear king, we have had the iron fist, now it's time for the handshake, eh? We have made the people tremble. They are making pee-pee in their
thobes,
T
hey are so full of respect for you. Now we have a very
obedient people. And now it's t
ime for the making pleasant.' Eh?"
"They're Wasabis." Maliq said. "They don't
make
pleasant"
"At least get this publicity
off
your
soil."
"How?"
"Here is a statistic that I happen to possess. It's very secret, so please don't tell who told you. Do you know part of the reason Wasabia is sending you all these
mukfelleen?
Because they don't have enough t
o do there, because the pop
ulation is so scared of them, t
hey don't do anything wrong. They don't even go outside the house anymore. And this has translated into an unemployment situation among the
mukfelleen.
Tallulah is very worried about this,
so he see it
as a golden opportunity to get them out of his country and fully occupied. This is what is going on with the
mukfelleen.
And it's not good to have out-of-work executioners, eh? They get ideas.
"So, why don't you say to Tallulah, "Okay, in return lor your assistance with the change in regime. I am going to send you all our naughty women of Matar to help with your
mukfelee
n
unemployment situation.' If
they want to chop off the women's heads and make the bastinado, then at
least it's happening in Wasabia,
where they expect this barbarism, not here in the former Switzerland
of the Gulf,
eh?"
"But what about this Florence woman? I can't have her running around loose. It undermines our authority."
"No,
no." Delame-Noir smiled. "This we cannot permit. Perhaps for this, too. I have a suggestion."
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
F
lorence
could
tell from the
look
on
B
obby's face
that
it
was
not
good news.
He ripped off
his
gutra
with disgust and tossed
Al
Matar
on the table. Florence saw the front-page headline above the fold:
F
ORMER SHEIKA CONFESSES TO IMMORAL RELATIONSHIP
WITH
AMERICAN FLORENCE SPY-PROPAGANDIST
Bobby said. "They probably didn't bother t
o torture her. Just made it all
up."
Florence read the last paragraph aloud:" "The decision about how to punish her foul sins rests with the highest auth
orities. Acknowledging the enormity of her crimes, the former she
ika has herself stated that strict implementation of
shari'a,
as interpreted by our blessed imam Maliq—a thousand blossoms fall upon his immaculate person—is commensurate with her crimes, too unspeakable to detail here.'
"Aw, shit
." Florence finished.
"Us a trap. This is the bait."
Florence started to gather up her things. Bobby watched h
er. "Does this mean that we're t
akin' the bait?" "I can do this alone."
,
Flo."
By the time they
left their shabby dwelling, they
resembled a thousand married couples—she determined, he furious.
They
drove to a car park in the Mir
dam district, one of Amo-Amas's most crowded, a place of market stalls and outdoor eateries abutting the playing fields where soccer games and camel and horse races were held. It bustled still. Even the grim asceticism that had settled on
Matar
had not entirely stilled the ambient noise of buying and selling.
Bobby's ego had now recovered at least to the point where he was speaking to Florence. "If he picks up right away." he said, "make it real quick. If he offers
to put L
a
ila on the phone and tells you t
o hold, hang up. You can always call back on another cell. But if they're expectin' the call
, and they sure as hell will be,
we've only got a
couple minutes before the place’l
l be swannin' with
muks.
I don't know how much t
echnical assistance they're gett
in' from the F
rogs, but let's assume they are,
so what
ever you've got to say, say it f
ast.
"The call will be taped. And they will take anythin' you say and splice it s
o it'll sound like you're admitt
in
' t
o
everything from lesbian orgies t
o pissin' on the Kaaba stone in Mecca."
They parked the car and got out and blended—Bobbv's favorite pastime— into the late-morning crowd. It was as good a place as any to make a call
that
would be immediately traced: thousands of people, half of them veiled, traffic, two-way streets, dozens of ways in and out.
Florence took out one of the cell phones that she had stolen on the night of
Matar
's "liberation." as it was now officially called. Bobby pressed a wad of sticky wax on the back of it and returned
it to Florence. The wax made it
feel lumpy and strange in her hand. She dialed the emir's private line.
He
picked up after two rings. She identified herself. Maliq came on within moments. They'd obviously been expecting the call. Bobby chewed gum and looked at his watch with the air of a nervous coach.
"Wel
l, Maliq." Florence said, "are y
ou ready to take your seat at the table of civilized nations'.''"
"What are y
ou talking about. Florence?"
"I’m doing what you wanted me t
o
—answering that notice y
ou put in the paper today."
"Ah,
Still want to trade, then? I shall require a down payment."
"What did you have in mind? A hand? Tongue? The whole head?"
"Since you like to make tapes, you'll make a tape
of
your confession. On it should be included all your admissions, all your crimes—the U.S. government's
role in plotting against Matar,
against Islam, against me personally, your unnatural relationship with the sheika. Everything."
"The thousand and one crimes? I'll need a very long tape. And after you have it?"
"She will be fl
own to Cyprus. And you will surrender yourself." "What guarantee do you have that I would surrender after the sheika is set free?"
"You
want her to live a long and full life, yes? With her son?" "All right. Hold on a moment, would you, Maliq?"
She left the connection open. Bo
bby look the phone from her. H
e stepped o
ff the curb and bent, as if to t
ie his shoe, and affixed the phone to the
underside of a car that was st
opped for a red light
They moved off and again blended into the crowds. Moments later, there were sirens and a helicopter overhead, then several black sedans full of
muk
felleen
sped past them in the direction of the innocent vehicle.
“I HAVE
COM
MITTED offenses against the state and ... I have..." Florence stared into the lens of the camera Bob
by held. "My name is Florence. I
am American. I have had a ... relationship .. ."
"Would it help if I
set it up on a tripod a
nd let you do this alone?" Bobby
said.
Florence sighed. "No, let's try it again. What take are we on?" "Eighteen or nineteen. Lost count Okay, rollin'.. ."
"My name is Florence.
I
am American. I am an enemy of the regime of Imam Maliq." She looked at Bobby. "How was that?" "I think they're going to want more than
that
." "This
film—you're sure it works?" "L
ike a charm. Used it dozens of times."
"Okay, then." She brushed a strand of hair away. "Do I look all right?"
Bobby rolled his eyes. "Fabulous. Rollin'."
"My name is Florence, and 1 have commit led many offenses against the country of Matar and its glorious leade
r, the imam Maliq bin-Kash al-H
az ..."
". . . FOR THESE TERRIBL
E offenses, I deserve whatever punishment Imam Maliq. in his great wisdom, counseled by the holy mullahs of Matar, in accordance with shari'a. should decide upon. May my sins be cleansed, and may Allah forgive me for my transgressions. Long life to Imam Maliq. Long life to the new Islamic Republic of Matar."
Fetish
switched off lhe VCR.
"H
um." Maliq grunted, pleased.
"Congratulations, Imam."
Fetish
s
aid. "A great success." "Yes. "It
was, rather. You don't think she was acting too much?" "No. sire. She looked most fearful and penitent. Very convincing." "She's not bad-looking."
"Truly, a waste of beauty. Magnificence. Shall I have the tape copied and distributed'.''"
"Oh. yes. Make many copies."
"And shall I
make the arrangements?"
"Which?"
"With respect to the sheika. Great One. The plane—to Cyprus?" "Of course not."
"Ah? The imam would pray first, then have me make the arrangements?"
"You may make the arrangements.
Fetish
, when I
tell
you to make them. Is this difficult to comprehend? Is thy hearing afflicted?"
"No. H
oly One. It is all quite straight
forward. Forgive thy humble servant's obt
useness."
"Your what?"
"Stupidity, Imam."
"Ah. You may leave us."
Fetish
went off to a quiet corner of the palace apartments to relay by cell phone to his
other employer. M. Delame-Noir,
the developments and lack thereof.
FROM ANOTHER CROWDED
part of the city. Florence placed another call to Maliq. Bobby,
now even more impatient, kept t
ime with his watch.
"You have your down payment." she said when Maliq came to the phone.
"Yes. Do you have a television in whatever stink hole you're in? It's going to be playing tonight. But if you miss it tonight, you can watch it tomorrow night. Or the night after that."
"Will I
also see on television the sheika disembarking from a plane in Cyprus?"
"Well, you see,
there's a problem."
"What problem.' Maliq?"
"She's not well to
travel. She has had quite the time of it,
you s
ee. Why don't you visit her? We’l
l put you in an adjoining room. You can make love through the bars."
"So, Maliq,
still the cheater?"
"No, Florence, still the winner."
Florence pressed
end
and dropped the phone in the gutter, where it broke apart as it tumbled into the sewer drain. She and Bobby joined the throng and walked off. Above, they could hear a helicopter approaching.
"I
M
AM,
THERE
I
S a problem with the tape."
Fetish
said. "What 'problem'?"
"There is nothing on it."
"What are you saying?"
"I sent it
directly to Jahar, the head of the television station, for duplicating and broadcasting. But he says that wh
en they went to duplicate it, it
was— empty. There was nothing on it."
"This is impossible.
Fetish
. You and I watched it together."
"I cannot explain. Imam."
Maliq picked up his phone. Jahar came on the line and tremblingly reported that, regretfully, alas, there was nothing on the tape. Maliq called him an imbecile and a fool and. what was more, a traitor.
Jahar, sweating profusely, said that the tape was being examined most rigorously by TV
Matar's top technicians, and if anything could be found on it—other than nullity and blankness—he would immediately advise His Most Holy Worship. Maliq slammed the phone down with such force that it cracked. "Filthy deceiving bitch!"
"Holiness,"
Fetish
said, "she is not worthy of thy wrath."
"Trickery! Foul women's deceit!"
"Calm thyself. Holy One,
lest thy heart burst."
"Fetch the sheika! Bring her here, the slut! Immediately!"
"Master—"
"
Fetish
." Maliq seethed, "do you know what an
oubliette
is?"
Fetish
did not, but he was certain it was no pleasant thing.
"It is a hole,
Fetish
, a very deep hole, found in French chateaux and prisons, for the hurling into of troublesome people. And there they are forgotten—
oublié
s.
I'm hav
ing one installed beneath the palace. Would you like to be the first to try it out?"
Nothing so concentrates the mind as the prospect of being hurled into a pit.
Fetish
scurried off like a crab to call Delame-Noir.
De
lame-Noir was a man of refinement, but on hearing
Fetish
's report, he uttered a low
"M
erde."
Upon regaining his composure, he instructed
Fetish
to delay, whereupon
Fetish
began babbling about
oubliettes.
It had been some time since Delame-Noir had heard the word, but now that he was reminded of it, he was inclined to dig one himself, deep enough to accommodate the entire Matari royal family; or the whole country, for that mutter.
"1'1
'S
BECOME EASIER now that film is digital," Bobby was saying. "There's an algorithm embedded in the chip that activates the
erase function when you hit PLAY
. So you can only play the tape once, and it won't duplicate. Can come in kinda handy. I've used it a lot."
Florence hadn't said much since dropping the phone into the sewer.
"Look, Flo," he said, "you tried. You did everythin' you could. He
was never going to let her go. Even if he wanted to,
the Wasabis wouldn't let him. The only thing they want more than Laila's head on a stick is yours."
"Algorithm." she said absent-mindedly. "It's an Arabic word. It comes from 'Al-khawarizmi.' Mathematician, twelve centuries ago, in the days when they were great. They're going to kill her. Bobby."
'Mayb
e the French'll
intervene. This PR can't be doin' them any good. They may be assholes, but they don't like lookin' like assholes."
"No. they'll kill her."
"Maybe it's time to go home, Flo. We're not makin' things any better here at this point."
She looked at him. "Are you scared?"
"To be scared, you gotta not want to die. I haven't really cared about that, since there wasn't really anyone I'd miss that much. Up to now. If you see my problem."
"Y
ou don't sound very happy about being in love." "I've got mixed feelings about it, frankly. There are
better places than the Middle E
ast to lose your edge."
"THE
FRENCHMAN
is here, Holy One."
"What? Who does he think he is, just showing up? And where is the sheika? I told you to bring her here."
"Yes, she's coming. They had to ... wash her. She was not presentable, sire.
Being in the cell without amenit
ies ..."