“Because he was raised among the Beduin in Arabia,” Harris said, an impudent grin creasing his cheeks.

Allen, who had been about to pick up the red phone, turned to Harris, annoyed disbelief written on his face as clearly as if Harris had told him that the Scorpion’s real name was Clark Kent.

“Just how in hell did an American kid wind up being raised by Beduin tribesmen?” Allen demanded belligerently, as if he felt he was being used as the butt of a joke.

“That …” Harris replied, “is a hell of a story.”

PART TWO

PART TWO

Prescribed for you is fighting, though it be hateful to you. Yet it may happen that you will hate a thing which is better for you; and it may happen that you will love a thing which is worse for you; God knows, and you know not.

—The Koran

Arabia, 1951

Arabia, 1951

THE BOY LOOKED DOWN at the man who was said to be his father and wondered if he was dead. The man lay face-down in the sand, a large rust-colored stain slowly spreading across the back of his sun-bleached khaki shirt. In the distance the boy could see the horsemen with the guns rapidly approaching. Tentatively at first, then more urgently, the boy plucked at the man’s arm.

“Dad,” he said. “C’mon, Dad.”

The man didn’t move. Was that death? the boy wondered. He’d never seen a dead person before. He looked around for the others, but he was the only one moving. Robby the geologist was slumped over the rig struts as though he was sleeping. Shwayhat, Dad’s Arab guide, lay crumpled in an awkward posture. Dad always called Shwayhat his “go-fer,” but Nick didn’t understand why he called the Arab that. Gramps had told him that a “go-fer” was a little brown animal, like a mouse. Billy, the rigger, was the worst. He lay staring at the sky, his arms flung wide like a picture of Jesus which Gran had shown him in the Golden Bible for Children. There was a big red wound on the side of Billy’s face and little black things were crawling on it. It made Nick feel sick and he turned away.

The shooting had come without warning and Billy had jumped on Nick, pushing his face into the hot sand. Billy was heavy on him and Nick tried to shove him away, but he couldn’t. Billy smelled funny. It was the same smell as Mom when she would come home from a date, bumping into the furniture and saying funny things in a slurred voice. Sometimes Mom would bring home an “uncle” and yell at him because he was still up. He had lots of uncles, but they always left in the morning.