predominate features, but he moved quickly and with an energy that belied his small frame. His eyes seemed to glow yellow from some inner furnace and al-Rahman wondered quickly how old the man was? He could have been 60 or 100, it was hard to say, for his face was blotched with liver spots but his eyes were young and intense. And though his face seemed ageless, he flashed a fast smile, his white teeth jutting brightly underneath a bony nose.
The old man pointed a slender hand to the east. “Your father is a fool,” he said without introduction.
Al-Rahman glared but didn’t answer. The old man waited, then ran a withered finger across his lips, wiping away a line of dried spit.
“Speak not evil of my father!” al-Rahman sneered angrily.
The old man scoffed, looked away, then glanced down the beach. “Al-Rahman, please, don’t play the loyal son with me. There’s no need to impress me. I know what’s in your heart, and I don’t have the time or inclination for role-playing right now. We need to focus on our enemies, those we both need to bring down.”
Al-Rahman shook his head uncertainly, then shot a quick look back at the resort. Three men stood at the top of the trail leading from the beach to the pool. Large men. Caucasian. Determined. Dark glasses and dark suit coats to hide their sidearms. None of the faces were familiar and he swore to himself. It was suddenly very quiet, as if the sound of the street traffic on the other side of the hotel had stopped. He glanced east, down the beach to a line of low trees and saw another stranger standing in shorts and an oversized shirt. An enormous beach towel was draped over his shoulders and al-Rahman knew where his pistol was concealed. Behind him, in the distance, barely a bird on the horizon, a gray helicopter hovered above the coastline.
He glanced left and right, feeling naked, his gut tied in knots and his underarms sweating. For the first time in his life, he knew he was alone.
Where had his men gone? Cowards! He would have them shot!
Al-Rahman glared at the stranger, then nodded toward the hotel. “Who are they?” he demanded.
The old man looked up and hesitated, as if he didn’t know.
Al-Rahman growled, “Come on, old man, tell me!”
The old man glanced at the bodyguards. “They work for me. That’s all you need to know.”
“Where are my people?”
“It seems they have left.”
Prince al-Rahman shook his head in disbelief. Could it be true? He will have them shot! The old man watched him, then reached down and adjusted his loose T-shirt, pulling it down over his bony hips. “Don’t blame your men,” he said softly. “They did their best. My people are better, that’s all.”
Al-Rahman felt the panic rising, a knot of fear growing tight in his throat. His eyes darted up and down the beach, thinking of how he might escape. Another man appeared near the tree line. Al-Rahman looked in the other direction where a small schooner had planted itself on the beach. The two men who worked the small anchor kept a focused eye on the intruder.
His mind began racing. Was this a kidnapping? A murder? One of his rival cousins? He swore and looked down at the sand, then glared at the old man.
The stranger read the look on his face. “No harm, no foul,” he said calmly. “You are not in danger. Your men are not far away. So relax and forgive me, but I wanted to speak with you alone.”
“Who are you?” al-Rahman demanded. “What do you want?”
The old man smiled, then reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a stick of chewing gum. He unwrapped it quickly and dropped the blue wrapper on the sand. “I want the same thing as you do,” he answered simply.
“How do you know what I want?”
The man smiled again, his glowing yellow eyes burning bright. “I know the hearts of most men. I know how they think and I know how they feel. I know what they desire and what they are willing to do. That’s what I know. And that’s what I know about
The old man pointed a slender hand to the east. “Your father is a fool,” he said without introduction.
Al-Rahman glared but didn’t answer. The old man waited, then ran a withered finger across his lips, wiping away a line of dried spit.
“Speak not evil of my father!” al-Rahman sneered angrily.
The old man scoffed, looked away, then glanced down the beach. “Al-Rahman, please, don’t play the loyal son with me. There’s no need to impress me. I know what’s in your heart, and I don’t have the time or inclination for role-playing right now. We need to focus on our enemies, those we both need to bring down.”
Al-Rahman shook his head uncertainly, then shot a quick look back at the resort. Three men stood at the top of the trail leading from the beach to the pool. Large men. Caucasian. Determined. Dark glasses and dark suit coats to hide their sidearms. None of the faces were familiar and he swore to himself. It was suddenly very quiet, as if the sound of the street traffic on the other side of the hotel had stopped. He glanced east, down the beach to a line of low trees and saw another stranger standing in shorts and an oversized shirt. An enormous beach towel was draped over his shoulders and al-Rahman knew where his pistol was concealed. Behind him, in the distance, barely a bird on the horizon, a gray helicopter hovered above the coastline.
He glanced left and right, feeling naked, his gut tied in knots and his underarms sweating. For the first time in his life, he knew he was alone.
Where had his men gone? Cowards! He would have them shot!
Al-Rahman glared at the stranger, then nodded toward the hotel. “Who are they?” he demanded.
The old man looked up and hesitated, as if he didn’t know.
Al-Rahman growled, “Come on, old man, tell me!”
The old man glanced at the bodyguards. “They work for me. That’s all you need to know.”
“Where are my people?”
“It seems they have left.”
Prince al-Rahman shook his head in disbelief. Could it be true? He will have them shot! The old man watched him, then reached down and adjusted his loose T-shirt, pulling it down over his bony hips. “Don’t blame your men,” he said softly. “They did their best. My people are better, that’s all.”
Al-Rahman felt the panic rising, a knot of fear growing tight in his throat. His eyes darted up and down the beach, thinking of how he might escape. Another man appeared near the tree line. Al-Rahman looked in the other direction where a small schooner had planted itself on the beach. The two men who worked the small anchor kept a focused eye on the intruder.
His mind began racing. Was this a kidnapping? A murder? One of his rival cousins? He swore and looked down at the sand, then glared at the old man.
The stranger read the look on his face. “No harm, no foul,” he said calmly. “You are not in danger. Your men are not far away. So relax and forgive me, but I wanted to speak with you alone.”
“Who are you?” al-Rahman demanded. “What do you want?”
The old man smiled, then reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a stick of chewing gum. He unwrapped it quickly and dropped the blue wrapper on the sand. “I want the same thing as you do,” he answered simply.
“How do you know what I want?”
The man smiled again, his glowing yellow eyes burning bright. “I know the hearts of most men. I know how they think and I know how they feel. I know what they desire and what they are willing to do. That’s what I know. And that’s what I know about
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