He stepped inside the circle of Bandar’s frenzy, using a forearm to block against Bandar’s forearm and side-kicking at the inside of Bandar’s knee. As Bandar began to go down, he thrust desperately up at the Scorpion’s rib cage. The Scorpion chopped at Bandar’s wrist with the hard edge of his left hand as he simultaneously made a wrist-twisting slash with the khanjar, disemboweling Bandar with a single wrenching cut.

Bandar’s scream was not human. His insides spilled out on to the sand like tangled snakes. He slithered on the ground like a dying worm, slashing at the Scorpion’s feet in his final frenzy. The Scorpion danced out of the way and with a single savage slice, cut the forearm muscle of Bandar’s knife hand to the bone.

He watched Bandar writhing in agony on the ground, screaming unintelligible sounds. Suddenly, an M-16 opened fire. Bandar arched his back like a bow and was still. His good eye stared open and empty at the evening star rising over the dunes of Dahna.

“Now it’s over. Aisha is paid for,” Youssef said, standing over Bandar, the M-16 dangling from his hand.

Kelly came wordlessly up to the Scorpion and they stumbled back towards the Land-Rover, their arms around each other. Before they got into the Land-Rover she put her blistered lips to his ear and whispered:

“I have to know. Would you have let him kill me?”

The Scorpion caressed her long blond hair with his torn fingers and kissed her lips with great tenderness. His eyes were sparks of fire in the last red rays of the sun.

“No,” he said.

It was the first lie of their relationship.

Bub al Bahrain

Bub al Bahrain

THE MIDNIGHT SILENCE of the dark narrow street was broken by the barking of a small dog. It belonged to the owner of the dar, who kept it in the tiny courtyard shaded by eucalyptus trees that he shared with the Inglizi. The yellowish mongrel stood in the center of the courtyard barking at the shadows. A dark figure came out of the shadows and the dog flattened his ears and charged, yipping wildly. A sudden movement and the dog lay motionless in the shadows. The figure stumbled hurriedly across the moonlit courtyard and knocked at Braithwaite’s back door. The door was flung open and a rectangle of light splashed almost, but not quite, to the feet of the small carcass.

“Amair! C-c-come in, d-dear boy,” Braithwaite stuttered.

The young Shiite slipped in, glancing nervously behind him as Braithwaite carefully closed and locked the door. He turned and tenderly taking the Shiite’s hand led him to the divan. The Shiite leaned his expensive lizard-skin attache case against the divan. It looked out of place next to the threadbare upholstery.

“I fear for you,” Braithwaite said.

“You should,” the Arab burst out petulantly. “Your Scorpion has ruined us.”