Harris leaned forward to whisper. “We have independent confirmation from both the Israeli Mossad and the Egyptian Moukhabarat of a PLO strike at Sea Island, which would shut off the oil. The Russian fleet is stationed off the Straits of Hormuz and there have been a number of bow-scraping incidents between them and our Indian Ocean fleet. The RDF and the 82nd Airborne have been committed and are en route to Masira Island. The Russians have the Caucasus Red Army Group poised at Yerevan. And the Cuban military advisors and Palestinians have suddenly disappeared from the streets of Aden. Just how bad do you want it? I’ll tell you, friend, anyone who bought oil futures is going to make a killing,” Harris said, then bit his lip as if he had said too much.

“We’re not friends, Bob. We just share the same lifeboat,” the Scorpion said quietly.

Harris’ face flushed. He looked at the Scorpion as if that was a remark he was storing away for repayment. Then he smiled bravely, like a heroine in a soap opera. He still needed the Scorpion. “How are you going to get away when all the action starts?” Harris asked.

“Why Bob, I didn’t know you cared?”

“I don’t. This is business. The embassy can’t be involved in any way,” Harris said, gathering up the cards.

“Good. For a second I thought I was going to have to listen to some of your less credible inventions.”

“Well,” Harris said, looking at his watch as if he had somewhere to go. Then he smiled to show how patient he was.

“I’ll try to fade in with the Mutayr in the desert. I’ll contact you,” the Scorpion said.

“Anything else?” Harris asked, rising briskly to his feet.

“Yeah. It feels wrong. It’s too straightforward. There’s a nasty surprise waiting somewhere, but I don’t know what,” the Scorpion admitted.

“It’s just your devious mind. Abdul Sa’ad’s nastier than he is clever. All you have to do is make sure you hit the right target,” Harris said, aiming his index finger like a gun at the Scorpion.

The Scorpion stood up and pulled his veil back across his face. “The next time you point something at someone, Bob, I suggest you make it more threatening than a finger,” he remarked. The two men faced each other, hatred naked in their eyes.

“If you miss the assassin, don’t bother to come home, Scorpion,” Harris said hoarsely.

“There’s no going home for any of us, Bob. Haven’t you learned that yet?” the Scorpion replied and headed for the tent flap.

“Forget about Macready. It can’t be that important,” Harris called after him.

The Scorpion stepped outside and blinked in the bright sunlight. So now it was all up to him, he thought.