“Russia too,” the president said, looking around the room. For a moment he gazed at the sad homely face of Lincoln in the portrait over the fireplace. He was another president who had seen his worst fears come true, he thought.

“I want a full-scale alert, gentlemen. And I want a complete press blackout. God help the son-of-a-bitch who leaks even a hint of this,” the president declared, and started for the door. Then he turned back for a moment.

“How many Americans are in Arabia now?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“About forty thousand,” Harris replied crisply.

The president shook his head. “God help us,” he said. He put his hand on Allen’s shoulder. It was at once a friendly and a somehow pathetic gesture. “What do you think, Gary? Can this Scorpion pull it off for us? One man alone?” he asked.

Allen thought for a moment. When he looked at the president there was a faint trace of the young Yale undergraduate in his eyes. Allen shook his head.

“Does any man know what awaits him in the desert?” he said.

PART THREE

PART THREE

And when the unbelievers plot to shut thee up or to kill thee or to drive thee out they plot, but God plots also, and God is the best of plotters.

—The Koran

al Hofuf

al Hofuf

THE NIGHT WAS FILLED with stars. A new-minted crescent moon balanced like a metal shaving on a shelf of light which was the Milky Way. Beyond the red glow of the campfire the desert sands stretched endlessly, snow-white in the ghostly light of distant worlds. All was silence, except for the tinkling of camel bells which seemed a kind of star music.

The Scorpion sipped a thimble-cup of cardamon-flavored coffee and passed the cup back to his brother Youssef, who refilled it from the long-stemmed coffee pot seated directly on the embers. Youssef refilled the cup and drained it with a loud slurp.

Youssef had changed, the Scorpion thought. Once lean as a saluki, he had acquired a sleek successful look. He had married Farah, Safooq’s daughter, and had two boys. As was the custom, he had changed his name from “son of Zaid” to “father of Faisal,” his eldest son. No one spoke of Aisha.

Youssef leaned closer. His face glowed like burnished copper in the campfire light. For a moment he seemed ancient, like someone from another time.

“Much of what you say is true, my beloved. These are dangerous things. But what Prince Abdul Sa’ad says is also true. The West corrupts our soul. The noise of the auto salesman grows louder, but Allah’s voice is harder to hear every day,” Youssef said.

“Now the camel rides in the back of a Yapani pick-up truck as if it were a man. Is that not an oddity, my brother?” said Faisal, Zaid’s eldest son.