“Are you sure?” Macready whispered, his eyes reflecting a distant yellow streetlight around which swarmed squadrons of flying insects.

“Not yet. It’s just an idea. If it checks out, I’ll call you with confirmation at the usual time and place. Tell them to keep the embassy line open. And I want the money now, George.”

“I’ll try. It’s a lot of money,” Macready said.

“Tell them,” the Scorpion began, then froze. The dead Arab’s Magnum was in his hand even before Macready could blink. He had seen a shadow detach itself from the darkness across the street.

Macready suddenly heaved a long sigh, like the sound of air escaping from a balloon. “It’s all right. He’s one of ours,” he said in a shaky voice.

The Scorpion nodded. “Time’s running out, you said.”

“For both of us. Anything else?” Macready asked.

“Yeah. Braithwaite is working both sides of the street.”

For a moment, neither said anything. Macready dug at the rubbish in the alley with the tip of his shoe. “Why’d you wait so long? Do you want to see him get away?” Although he was trying to control it, the Scorpion could hear him grinding his teeth.

“Yes. That’s what I want, George.”

“You shit!” Macready hissed.

“That’s right, George. When you work in a sewer you don’t come out smelling like after-shave. You’ve got the data. All I had to do was betray an old friend.”

“What was Braithwaite to you?” Macready asked.

“Minor detail, George. He saved my life in the desert. Come to think of it,” the Scorpion smiled, “that all started because of Saud family politics, too.”

For the briefest instant the Scorpion looked very young as he remembered. Then he turned away and was gone. His receding footsteps were swallowed in the darkness. At the corner, insects spattered the yellow streetlamp, tiny kamikazis hurling themselves at the light.

Arabia, 1962

Arabia, 1962

“BUT WHY DOES A NEW KING have to be chosen from one of the surviving sons of Abd al Aziz and not the eldest son of Saud who is still king? Neither urf nor sharia law have such a requirement,” Nick asked.

They were camped for the night in a depression on the leeward side of a sand dune in the heart of the vast Nefud desert. The two youths were on their way back from their mission to the Rualla and Awazim sheikhs, where it was agreed that they would join the Mutayr in backing the ulama scholars and the emirs of the Sudairi family in deposing Kind Saud and placing Faisal on the throne. Youssef smiled, his teeth gleaming in the light from the river of stars above.