Suddenly a half-dozen Arabs in military uniform barged in and began jabbering excitedly in Arabic. Kelly stopped dancing in confusion. As the men glanced at her, she covered her naked breasts in embarrassment. One of them, an evil-looking man with a cataract in one eye, stared at her and a cruel smile lifted the corners of his mouth. Kelly covered her face and scuttled into a corner. She sat beside the cushion under which the opener was hidden.

Then the fat Arab who had examined her teeth came in, followed by a westerner with a Latin moustache, wearing a white suit.

“Our friend called. The intruder has been identified,” Nuruddin said in English, so that the westerner could understand.

“How fortunate for you,” Abdul Sa’ad said. The Arabs glanced uneasily at each other.

“He is an American agent,” Nuruddin said.

“Brilliant! I never could have guessed,” Abdul Sa’ad replied, looking skyward to Allah for assistance.

“He’s not in Bahrain any more. He seems to have disappeared,” the westerner added.

“Perhaps he’s hiding,” Nuruddin said. He gave a Ma’alesh shrug, as if to say “So what?”

“He hasn’t been hiding, you idiot!” Abdul Sa’ad shrieked, slapping Nuruddin across the face. The Bahraini staggered back, clutching his face. Abdul Sa’ad grabbed him and pulled him close.

“Don’t you understand? He could destroy us all. I want every airport watched. Every harbor and hotel. Most important, every foreign embassy, especially every American embassy. Not just in Arabia, but throughout the Middle East,” Abdul Sa’ad said.

He let go of Nuruddin, plucked a sugared fig from a gold bowl and ate it thoughtfully. Nuruddin stood stiffly, red fingermarks imprinted on his face. Abdul Sa’ad came over to Nuruddin and embraced him. He kissed Nuruddin’s bruise and stepped back.

“I know you think me harsh; but you are merely soldiers and businessmen. I must be a king,” he said softly to no one in particular. He picked up his prayer beads and fingered them thoughtfully.

“I have a feeling about this man. A bad feeling. We shall have to stop him before he stops us,” he said.

“My life is yours, your Highness,” Nuruddin said, and bowed. He wore the bruise on his face like a medal.

“What else do we know about him?” Abdul Sa’ad asked.

“They call him ‘the Scorpion,’” Nuruddin said.

At this the one-eyed Arab gasped. Abdul Sa’ad made a mental note to question him later, then turned to Nuruddin.

“Allah watches us. Even this very moment. You have the chance to redeem yourself. This Scorpion must be destroyed.”

Nuruddin kissed the tip of Abdul Sa’ad’s nose as a sign of respect. “He won’t get away this time,” he said.

“He had better not. Moscow does not like mistakes,” the westerner said.

“Neither do I,” Abdul Sa’ad said.

Moscow

Moscow