Everyone in Riyadh knew about Hamid’s, the Scorpion thought. It was an information market located near the remains of the old mud wall in the seedier part of Riyadh. Hamid’s had become a local institution. The royal family kept it open despite occasional puritanical rumblings from the ulama because the young royal bucks would have staged an open revolt if anyone tried to close it. The copious bribes paid by Hamid didn’t hurt either, or the fact that Hamid served the best shawirma and mahshee east of Suez. It was said that on any given day more money was traded over dinner talk at Hamid’s than on the New York Stock Exchange.

“How’s the air-conditioning business, George?” the Scorpion asked. He sipped an iced Sehha water and tried to contain his impatience. Macready’s face colored and he looked away.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. Like a fugue, the expression offered a counterpoint to his life. The Scorpion felt like throwing something in his face. Instead, he ate another mezza and leaned forward.

“I chose this place because there’s a back way Hamid lets me use. After all, we don’t want another shoot-em-up at the OK Corral, do we?” the Scorpion said.

Macready nodded. A bit of techina clung to his moustache, the white giving him the odd appearance of a harelip. He began to stuff the mezza into his mouth, snatching greedily at the plate like a starving child.

“Your assignment’s been changed. Forget the girl. Concentrate on stopping the hit,” Macready said, his mouth full.

The Scorpion smiled. “I thought that might occur to Washington. Tell Harris the price is one million dollars in advance, tax-free; paid into my Swiss account,” he said, and was rewarded by seeing Macready almost choke.

“Are you crazy?” Macready managed to gasp.

“Not crazy enough to do it without being well paid in advance,” the Scorpion shrugged.

Just the thought of so much money stiffened Macready’s backbone. He dipped his fingers in scented rosewater and wiped his face and hands on a napkin that hadn’t been too rigorously laundered.

“That’s a lot of money,” he said thoughtfully, as if trying to figure out how he could get a piece of it.

“Just report the price accurately to Harris. Don’t get cute, George,” the Scorpion said.

“That’s still a lot of money,” Macready said slowly.

The Scorpion gave a Middle-Eastern shrug, as if to say ma’alesh. “What’s Arabia worth these days?” he asked.

Macready nodded. He cleared his throat, a sure sign he wanted to get down to business. He looked around suspiciously, then stared at his ashtray as if it were bugged.

“Any idea when the ‘incident’ is supposed to occur? None of our sources has come up with anything,” Macready said.

“Not yet, but you can feel it coming. There are a lot of Royal Army soldiers around Riyadh.”