He used the momentum to throw the Mustang into a diagonal skid back towards the road. The Mercedes had dropped back to watch and now it came on again as the Mustang buckled over rocks and slammed back on to the concrete in a series of small bounces, like a stone skipped across a lake. Just ahead were other cars moving sedately through the narrow main road of Sakhir. He could see people on the pavements, and lights from the cafés and dars along the street. The street was too narrow to pass the other cars. He was plugged like a cork in a bottle.

He hit the horn and bounced up on the pavement, honking savagely as he weaved through the pedestrians who were jumping for dear life. He smashed through the tables and chairs of a sidewalk café, the scream of metal grinding against the bumper, then swerved back on to the road to avoid smashing into a telephone pole. He floored it again and when he checked the rear-view mirror, the Mercedes had fallen about a hundred yards behind. A number of cars ahead were making a right turn and he angled off the road to cut them off, bouncing like an old flivver on the bumpy track. He saw lights ahead and suddenly found himself on an old abandoned air strip, filled with cars slowly wheeling in a giant oval pattern.

It was the après-dinner promenade, Bahraini-style, a kind of Middle-Eastern Van Nuys Boulevard complete with Egyptian music blasting from the car stereos. All the young blades in their shiny American and German cars were driving around the giant circle to spy the girls, many of whom were daringly unveiled. The girls came in giggling groups, or with a somber-faced male relative. There were lots of smiles and waves, but any real conversation or dating was unthinkable. In some of the men’s cars, faces were lit by the flickering blue light of a television, a further advertisement of affluence. In a way, with its buzz of engines and the headlights, the promenade reminded the Scorpion of the mating flight of fireflies.

The Scorpion weaved in and out of the lanes, the Mercedes right behind. He figured that with so many influential young Bahrainis around, they wouldn’t dare to shoot. A dark-haired Bahraini girl in a red Caddy waved seductively at him and she was so lighthearted he almost waved back. The Mercedes had dropped back a few feet and now he could see that there were two men in the car. The AK-47 was out of sight.