“That’s already been reported,” Macready said. He leaned forward and half-covered his mouth with the cigarette as he spoke. “They’re getting very nervous in Washington. Very. The Russian connection seems very plausible since they found out Nuruddin once knew Philby and Maclean and that crowd at Cambridge. And they think the westerner in the photo is a Cuban. The idea that somebody might cut off the oil has them in a panic.”

“Then they won’t quibble on the price.”

“You’ve got to come up with something—and fast,” Macready added. His left eyelid began to twitch. From another table came the sound of harsh laughter and Macready almost winced. It was hard to remember what he was like in Saigon. Well, they had all changed since then, the Scorpion thought.

“It’s not so easy. It could happen anywhere. A deranged gunman at a public majlis, in a mosque, a few drops of cyanide in his coffee, a remotely detonated mine under his car. Anywhere. How do you protect a man from the members of his own family—the people he trusts most?” the Scorpion said irritably.

“Washington wants all the stops pulled out on this one. Too bad they’re stuck with me,” Macready said bitterly. His face was lined with failure, as if etched by acid.

“I agree, but then we all have to make do, don’t we?” the Scorpion said.

Macready’s head snapped back. His eyes were two pinpoints of candlelight. The Scorpion felt better now that their mutual dislike was out in the open. Maybe hate would motivate the son-of-a-bitch. Then Macready blinked as if he couldn’t sustain even hate.

Macready looked hangdog again. His face sagged like an old beagle. That way, he was too much of a danger. The only thing the Scorpion had left to motivate him with was fear.

“Don’t go all mushy on me, George. I like it better when you hate me. I’m alone out there with you tying one arm behind my back and I can’t afford it any more. You know too much, so either you’re in or out and I mean permanently out.

“Now, has Riyadh station come up with anything new on Abdul Sa’ad? Anything at all?”

Macready shook his head. Then he looked up startled, as the applause sounded again. The club darkened. Fatima was about to do another number. As the whining quarter tones began, Macready muttered, “Only that his eunuch is in town on some business or other. He’s staying at Abdul Sa’ad’s new condo on King Abd al Aziz Road.”

“Perhaps I should pay him a visit,” the Scorpion said.

“He’s well guarded.”