Saad shook his head as he sipped at his drink. It was just beginning to cool off after an unseasonably hot day, and he enjoyed the chilly burn of the liquid. Mousavi was still a fool when it came to women, but he was Saad’s in-road to the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps. The general was high in the Quds Force of the IRGC, and he’d moved even closer to the top with the assassination of Qasem Soleimani at the beginning of the year.

A great tactician, he was ruthless when it came to his leadership of Iran’s proxy militias in Iraq and Syria. When Saad put his money in the hands of Mousavi, he knew it would be funneled into the right places—all except for the portion the general skimmed off the top.

Of course, his friend didn’t know Saad was aware of his graft. It was a little bit of information he kept stored away for when it might be needed.

Reaching into a bowl of mixed nuts, Saad took a handful and popped a couple into his mouth. Off in the distance he saw towering lights moving across the water. That would be one of the cruise ships that plagued these waters. It was difficult to find a more beautiful and cultured collection of islands than those that stretched north of him in the Aegean Sea. But often, sailing these waters felt like driving a car down a freeway filled with tractor trailers. Everywhere you looked, 18-deck monstrosities churned up wakes as they passed.

The music changed to some horrid British-sounding pop song, and his other guest began using his champagne flute as a microphone. The expensive contents sloshed and spilled as he sang. Although Saad despised the man, he had to admit he had a good voice. It wasn’t just high-level karaoke quality; he had some talent. The paid audience, however, reacted as if he were the second coming of Justin Bieber or Shawn Mendes or whoever was popular these days. Saad’s kids could have told him, but he couldn’t remember exactly how many years it had been since any of his three daughters were of the age to still live at home. He did know it had been more than two years since any of them had bothered to contact him.

They resent you for being gone while you make the money. Then once you give them the money, they are the ones who disappear.

Noticing that no one had cleaned up the spilled liquid, he snapped his fingers. The bartender who’d been standing nearby hurried to him.

“Yes, sir.”

“Go tell one of those new Filipinos to clean up that mess on the dance floor before someone slips and breaks a bone. Let the fools know they have one job to do, and right now they aren’t doing it.”

“Yes, sir.” The man ran off.