There
was no scar.
“WILL YOU
STOP
following me?" Charles Duckett said. "I've told you what I can."
"All you've told me." George said, still following the briskly moving deputy assistant secretary of stat
e for Near Eastern Affairs (DASNEA). "is what I already
knew from watching CNN."
"I'm not in a position to discuss it further."
"Charles, this is not a State Dep
artment press briefing, nor am I
some reporter."
"I
said I have nothing further for you on this."
"May I ask why my security clearance was suddenly downgraded? What's going on here?"
"I'm not in a position to discuss that, either. Now, if you'll let me proceed, I'm already three minutes late for a Procurement Committee meeting."
"Horrors, Charles! The world might stop spinning on its axis. But I'm not going until 1 get an answer: Are we doing anything about the capture, imprisonment
and,
quite possibly, torture of one of our own?"
Ducket
t was appalled at the prospect of being followed into the most boring meeting on the planet by an agitated, insubordinate subordinate. He peered at George over his glasses with the custard pugnacity of a life bureaucrat and said, as magisterially as he could. "You're out of line." In Duckett's pallid, formatted world, there could be no greater crime than being out of line.
"But don't you
care?”
"Yes, I care. I care for process. I care for going through channels. I care for incremental, mutual steps that promote synergy over the long run and provide a platform for harmonious relations and partnering between—"
It was at this point that the spring inside George that had been coiling for sixteen years went
sproiiinnng.
He began choking Charles Duckett with the neck chain of his State Department ID badge.
"Are vou out of your
eugghh—"
Once Duckett's face had achieved a sufficiently livid shade of crimson, George leaned in to it and said, "If you don't tell me, I'm going to
kill
you.
And I'll make it look like the work of terrorists."
"Urgggh..."
"You'll never put a cell phone to your ear again without w
ondering if it's going to blow y
our brains in."
George released the garrote around Duckett's neck. Duckett's complexion returned to its normal semolina hue.
"What the hell has gotten into you, Phish?"
"Not quite sure myself. Now—where is she, and what is this pathetic spineless bureaucracy
doing
about it?"
'They've ..
. de-decided to adopt a hands-of
f posture." Duckett collapsed like a deflated balloon at having divulged this sacred piece of intelligence.
George stared. Duckett seemed to be trying to back through the wall. George reached toward him. Duckett cringed. G
eorge straightened Duckett's tie
and collar.
"Better hurry. You're—omigod—
three
minutes late."
Duckett edged nervously away, dinging to the wall like a mountain climber negotiating a narrow ledge.
'Ten minutes later, three men from Security surrounded George's desk. They took him to the office of the assistant dep
uty to the deputy assistant for
Internal Security Affairs and Inter-Human Resources. D
uckett was already there, face flushed. H
e flinched when George entered.
"Did you att
ack Mr. Duckett?" the ADDAISAHI
R said.
George looked at Duckett "Oh.
Charles,
is
that
what you told them?"
"It damn well is! It's the truth!"
"Where do I b
egin?" George said with the weary
attitude of a reasonable man having to explain something distasteful that he would, on the whole, rather not go into. "Charles—Mr. Duckett—made a pass at me in the corridor."
"What?!" Duckett roared.
"And though my sexual preference is well known and a matter of reco
rd within the department, he is,
in addition to being my boss, simply not my type. Not to mention that he's married and has three children. I told him all this while he was trying to grope me, in the most
awkward
way, and 1 went about my business. And now here we are. Charles, 1 must saw I am disappointed in you."
"But—this is preposterous!"
"I don't want to file a sexual harassment suit. I really do not. I'm perfectly willing to let it go as a momentary lapse. But really, if you're going to indulge in this sort of lurid cover-up, I'm ready to swear out a complaint right here and right now. Do you have the relevant forms. Ms. Poepsel?"
The ADDAISAIHR looked at George, then at the blubbering
Duckett
"Mr. Duckett," she said, "how do you wish to proceed? Do you want to make a complaint against Mr. Phish?"
Duckett, seeing headlines and his career passing before his eves, let out a wan moan. "No. No ..."
"Mr. Phish, do you wish to file a complaint against Mr. Duckett?"
"Let bygones be bygones, I say. But no more Mr. G
rabby Groin, Charles-shake on it?"
“Gosh that felt good” George said t
o Renard. "Poor beast hasn't had a day like that since CIA blew up his cultural exhibit in Quito. But there we have it. Official hands-off posture. She's on her own." "No, she's not."
"We're not exactly a Delta Force hostage rescue team, are we?" "Fuck it." Rick said. "If we're going to go down for the money, we might as well spend it."
"Why not?" George brightened. "Why lucking
not"
"To Damascus." "To Damascus."
CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE
H
ighness!" Maliq
said
into
the telephon
e with perhaps a
bit too
much
fraternal royal bonhomie. His breath reeked from the brandy
that
he now found a necessary fortification for calling Prince
Bawad
bin
-Rumallah
al-
H
amooj. foreign minister of the kingdom of Wasabia. belo
ved nephew to King Tallulah and,
in all those capacities. Maliq's de facto boss. "May Allah shine upon tin countenance and make all that thou viewest pleasing unto the eye!"
Bawad reciprocated with a greeting so perfunctory. Maliq might as well have been a gas-station attendant. Since Bawad's promotion from ambassador to the United
State
s to foreign minister, he had
become even more grandiose. Too,
he was painfully aware that the recent tectonic shift of power in the region had begun with the flight of his f
lightiest wife, the late Nazrah,
back in Washington. D
.C.
That
this Matari usurper,
Maliq, had not already beheaded the hateful American woman Florence—along with her sluttish lesbian lover the sheika
Laila
—was intolerable. Bawad knew instantly from Maliq's fawning, lickspittle tone of voice what he wanted. And great merciful Allah, the Matari jackass was
still
prattling on.
"Is it true. Royal One, this glorious news that reaches my ear by the west wind?" Maliq was saying,
Fetish
having brief
ed him on the fact that Bawad's
fourth wife, the ill-fated N'azrah's successor, had just borne him a male child, his forty-second or -third. "A male child, dear prince? My heart leaps like a gazelle uncaged, like a—"
“Eh
?" Bawad interrupted. "Yes. So they tell me."
"But this is truly
joyous news!" Maliq soldiered on. "And a male child! Allah be praised! May it grow to be as wise and as—heh. heh—
prodigious
as his worthy f
ather!" Maliq waited. Silence.
"Did ... the gift arrive?" Maliq said finally, swallowing what remained of his pride. He had sent a solid
-gold baby crib, ordered from Wenphrcw & W
enphrew. the London jeweler that maintained a special division for the making of solid-gold objects for bored oil potentates.
"Eh?
What?"
'"T
he crib?"
"I
don't— Yes. perha
ps. I will make inquiries." "No, no,
do not trouble thy august self."
"Well. Allah be with you. His Majesty, my dear
uncle,
bids me attend him. Thank you for calling."
"Uh, Highness, a word, if thou would grace me further. The American woman. Flor-ents—"
"Yes, H
is Majesty, mv
uncle,
wonders why the matter has not already been dealt with."
"It is delicate, my prince."
" 'De
licate'? How is it 'delicate.' E
mir Maliq? She is an American spy. a provocateur, an insurrectionist, an infidel, immoral, a seducer, a sworn enemy of Islam. A sworn enemy of
myself,
personally, who tried to humiliate me and, by extension, the
entire
House of H
amooj, may Allah ke
ep it safe and always wise, This i
s' is the 'delicate' matter to which you refer?"
"U
h ..." Maliq was keenly aware that Bawad had the advantage over him of a Cambridge education, to say nothing of a lifetime's experience of telling silky lies in gilt parlors. "Nonetheless ..."
"Why is she still alive?"
"Worthy One. she
is
a figure of world concern—" "What matters it?"
"N
o sense in m
aking enemies of the entire civ
i—"
"The Americans have made it
plain that they are embarrassed by her existence. The ambassador here in Kaffa has said this to ourselves personally."
"Ah?
Oh? Well..."
"Look, Maliq, you're either going to rule Matar or not. His Majesty
is
counting on you. Thy name comes up in the council meetings with increasing frequency."
"Ah? Well, marvelous, marvelous ..." "I wouldn't put it quite that way."
"Uh? Ah. Why don't I
send
you
the woman Flor-ent
s and the sheika?
Then
you can deal with
them to your heart's content! G
ive them a good—"
"The crimes these two women committed," Bawad said heavily, "were done on your land. It was
Matar
's holy soil that was defiled—"
"Well, holy-ish
;. Hardly as sacred as yours. We bask in thy reflected glory..."
"N
o, Maliq, it is
Matar
that must be cleansed."
"It
seems to me. Worthiness, that it was Wasabia these two were out to defile. I mean.
Matar
was already corrupt And who bet
ter to mete out justice than your dear uncle? You should
hear
the things they've both been saying under interrogation about you and the king. I blush to repeal them, frightful. Disgraceful."
"H
ear me, Maliq," Bawad said in a tone of voice indicating the conversation was about to be ended. "His Majesty the King desires that this mutter-matter—be concluded. Promptly, further, that thou thyself, personally, dispose of it. In a manner public, for all to see. So that the minds she has corrupted, in your country and in ours, will see how just and terrible is Allah's punishment. You
do
aspire to be an instrument of His Majesty and the One God? Don't you. Maliq?"
'Whatever."
"Eh?"
"Of course, yes. Yes, yes,
yes." Maliq murmured.
"Good. I wouldn't want to think we made a mistake elevating you to such prominence."
The line went dead. Maliq hurled the phone at the gold and lapis mosaic on the far wall, where it splintered into little plastic and electronic pieces.
Fetish
heard the crash and entered, pre
-
emptively bowing and scraping. "Did thy conversation with Prince Bawad displease my lord?"
Fetish
's master did not respond. H
e was drinking directly
from
the bottle of brandy
. Not a hopeful sign in a Muslim spiritual leader, or indeed, of any denomination.
Fetish
left Maliq
to telephone Delame-Noir and make his report. But Delame-Noir, having been in the room with Prince Bawad throughout the call from
Maliq
, did not need to be briefed by his spy.