He was there for a month, wondering often if he would die in this infidel place. Sent home at last, he tried to ignore his wife’s cries of gratitude to God and went to search for the card that one of the rich Arabs had given him—“in case you think of anything later,” the man had said. Praise God, there it was. Never throw anything from such a rich man away. The name of a local hotel on one side; on the other, a phone number in al-Remal. Mustafa stared at the number for a long time. The call would cost him a month’s pay. He hoped that what Brother Peter had said was still worth something.

34. Ali

Ali

Abdallah Rashad, head of the agency that most Remalis called simply Falcon and which combined the functions fulfilled in America by the CIA, FBI, and Secret Service, closed the folder on his desk and waited for his nephew’s reaction.

“You believe this peasant, this Turk?” said Ali.

“He might be lying in hope of a reward, but so far as it can be checked, his story holds up.”

“So, the bitch is alive,” said Ali.

“It seems probable,” Abdallah replied quietly. “And my son, as well.”

“God willing.”

“Where are they?”

Abdallah decided to ignore the tone of demand. “That, of course, is the question, Nephew. I’ve reviewed the entire file in light of the new information. I’ve also initiated new inquiries. It seems likely that she and the boy went to Paris. They probably stayed in a certain hotel there. She may have seen a lawyer named Cheverny, but he died two years ago. So far, that is where the trail ends. They could be anywhere in the world now, under almost any identity.”

“Find her.”

Abdallah looked aside in embarrassment; Ali’s terseness verged on disrespect. “If she makes a mistake, we will,” he said more quietly than ever. “If not … time is like the sand, Nephew. In the end, it covers everything.” “I don’t need—” Ali controlled himself with visible effort. “Thank you, Uncle. God willing, she’ll make that mistake, and you’ll find my son. If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

“God willing, we will.”

Ali rose. “I thank you again, Uncle. It’s been good to see you. Unfortunately, I must go. Another appointment …”

“Of course, of course. I know how busy your schedule is. But perhaps just one more word, while I have the pleasure of your company.” “Certainly.” Ali did not sit down. “What is it?”

“Just this, nephew. It is my deepest wish that you be reunited with your son. At the same time, if he and his mother are found, it would reflect badly on al-Re- mal—and on the royal family itself—if anything … untoward happened.”

“What do you mean, Uncle?”