The Master Falconer Read Free

Khalid,” Rocky said, gesturing to the dark man. “He’s with me because my father asked that he come along. Khalid, please greet Mr. Romanowski.”
    Khalid nodded his head, but never broke his stare.
    “Let me see your hands,” Nate said to him.
    Khalid shot a glance to Rocky. Rocky nodded back. The older man withdrew his hands from beneath the table and put them flat on the surface.
    “There,” Rocky said. “Are you happy now?”
    “Nope. Where are my birds?”
    “They’re safe. My father is admiring them.”
    Nate said, “Admiring them?”
    Rocky nodded.
    “Shorty, hit the trail,” Nate said, pushing the man aside.
    “I don’t have a vehicle,” Shorty protested. “I came out here with Rocky and—”
    “Hit the trail, Shorty,” Nate said. “And as you walk away from this place, forget you were ever here. If anybody ever asks you to bring them out here again, your answer will be that you don’t know where it is.”
    “They said—”
    “Hit the fucking trail, Shorty,” Nate said through clenched teeth.
     
     
    KHALID DROVE and Rocky was in the passenger seat of the rented white Cadillac Escalade. Nate sat in the backseat. Khalid had asked Nate to leave his .454 at home before he would drive them.
    “I’ve never seen a handgun like that,” Rocky said. “Five cylinders. I wish to fire it.”
    “Wish denied,” Nate said.
    Khalid shot a glance at Nate in the rearview mirror.
    “My father is looking forward to seeing you,” Rocky said affably, turning in his seat.
    Nate nodded. “Did he come here in his 727?”
    Rocky shook his head. “That was his old plane. The new one is a 737. It is very luxurious, very well appointed. He prefers staying on the plane because it’s more comfortable than the hotel accommodations you have here. You’ll like it.”
    “I just want my birds back.”
    Rocky laughed. “I’ll never understand the fascination you and my father have with falcons. It’s a mystery to me. I prefer fast cars and fast women. Blond women with big lips. And movies. I’m a great fan of American movies. Especially the gangster movies and the Westerns. I love the Westerns. I don’t see why your people don’t make them anymore.”
    Nate didn’t care what Rocky liked.
    Rocky gestured out the window at the sagebrush plains, the foothills, the slumping shoulders of the Bighorn Mountains. “This looks like a place for a Western movie. I expect to see a cowboy ride up any minute.”
    As they passed Shorty walking on the road, Nate looked out the back window. Shorty was chasing the car, his arms outstretched. Thinking that somehow they hadn’t seen him.
    Rocky said, “Poor Shorty.”
    Nate wondered if his birds were worth this.
     
     
    THE OUTSIZED PRIVATE JET sat brilliant white and gleaming in the morning sun on the concrete apron of the Saddlestring Regional Airport. Two-foot-high Arabic writing was scrawled the length of the fuselage along with green Saudi Arabian flags. Private small planes had been moved to accommodate the craft and were parked under the wings of the 737, looking like small white offspring.
    Khalid had a key to the lock on the gate and he drove the Escalade to the base of the aircraft.
    “Please,” Rocky said, gesturing to Nate to get out and ascend the stairs into the jet.
    Al-Nura Abd Saud, Rocky’s father, sat in an overstuffed leather armchair in a book-lined private office paneled with dark rich woods and gold fixtures. A monitor and DVD player were mounted on the wall next to stacks of movies. Nate glanced at the titles, noted pornography and dozens of old Westerns. Fort Apache , Red River , Shane , She Wore a Yellow Ribbon , The Searchers . Al-Nura was grossly fat and soft. His robes were cream-colored cotton and they shimmered and draped as he stood up. He wore the distinctive red-and-white-checked gotra head covering held in place with a common agal band, as befit a descendant of the Royal House of Saud. Al-Nura beamed and struggled to his feet when