Well, at least his immediate plans were set. He had to catch the Concorde flight to Paris, then on to Geneva with the help of sympathetic French communist intellectuals. Once in Switzerland—well, the Swiss knew how to treat someone with a large numbered bank account. Then he could safely gauge Moscow’s mood.

The Mercedes began to slow. Annoyed, Nuruddin began to lean forward to tap his driver. Didn’t the fool understand he had a plane to catch? Then he saw the flashing yellow lights of the police road block at the Bab al Bahrain.

Nuruddin frowned. Was it possible that al-Amir had reacted so quickly? He began to sweat. Then he relaxed. It was a standard police roadblock. Since the fighting in Arabia, Bahrain had been under martial law. There were roadblocks at all major intersections, he reminded himself.

He leaned back and reached for his well-upholstered wallet. Allah be praised, Bahrain was still a civilized place, where baksheesh could buy any official. With a familiar sigh, he began calculating how much he would need to bribe his way through the roadblock.

The two figures watched the white Mercedes approach the roadblock from the darkness of a parked sedan. One of the figures lit a cigarette. It glowed in the darkness like a firefly. They watched the Mercedes stop and said nothing.

A Bahraini police sergeant glanced in the direction of the parked car and spotted the cigarette glow. He motioned to his men as they approached the Mercedes, submachine guns at the ready.

The sergeant motioned for the windows to be rolled down, then demanded their papers.

The two figures in the sedan watched the nervously smiling brown face in the back seat of the Mercedes lean forward to hand over an identity card together with what was obviously a thick wad of riyals.

Suddenly, Nuruddin’s smile froze as the submachine guns swung into position. The sound of automatic fire shattered the night as the three policemen sprayed the interior of the Mercedes for a full thirty seconds, turning the car into a bleeding metal sieve. Then the police jumped into a patrol car and sped away. Other policemen quickly dismantled the roadblock and drove away in another car. It was over in seconds.

An unreal silence returned to the intersection blocked by the unmoving Mercedes.

The two figures in the sedan glanced at each other.

“Good job, lieutenant. I’m sure asayid al-Amir will be pleased at your efficiency,” the Scorpion said.

“I’ll tell him of your approval. And will you be leaving Bahrain shortly?” the young Bahraini police lieutenant asked, raising his eyebrow to indicate that this was al-Amir’s polite way of telling the Scorpion to get out.

The Scorpion nodded and said, “I have only to go back to the hotel and collect the woman, who has suffered much in all this.”

The Bahraini raised his hands as if in surrender.