'He is a good man, ya Shaikh. Young, perhaps, but wise in many ways. We have come to learn that.'
'He is coming here, then?'
'He has arrived, sir.'
The bass-toned roar of a big powerful car broke the crackling intrusion of the campfire. The vehicle with tinted windows swerved in front of the ring of guards and came to an abrupt stop. Before the driver could emerge, the rear door opened and the sultan stepped out. He was in the robes of his royal office, but with the door still open he proceeded to remove them, throwing his aba into the car, the ghotra headdress remaining on his head. He walked through the circle of his Royal Guard, a slender, muscular man of medium height and broad shoulders. Except for the ghotra, his clothes were Western. His slacks were a tan gabardine, and over his chest was a T-shirt with a cartoon figure wearing a three-cornered American revolutionary hat bursting out of an American football. Underneath, the legend read: New England Patriots.
'It's been a long time, Evan Kendrick, ya Shaikh,' said the young man in a slightly British accent, smiling and extending his hand. 'I like your costume, but it's not exactly Brooks Brothers, is it?'
'Neither is yours unless the Brothers Brooks are into T-shirts.' They shook hands. Kendrick could feel the sultan's strength. 'Thank you for seeing me, Ahmat… Forgive me—I should say Your Royal Highness. My apologies.'
'You knew me as Ahmat, and I knew you as Shaikh, sir. Must I still call you “sir”?'
'That'd be inappropriate, I think.'
'Good. We understand each other.'
'You look different from what I remember,' said Evan.
'I was forced to grow up swiftly—not by choice. From student to teacher, without the proper qualifications, I'm afraid.'
'You're respected, I've heard that.'
'The office does it, not the man. I must learn to fill the office. Come on, let's talk—away from here.' The sultan, Ahmat, took Kendrick's arm and started through his circle of guards only to be stopped by the officer who had searched Evan.
'Your Highness!' cried the soldier. 'Your safety is our lives! Please remain within the cordon.'
'And be a target by the light of the fire?'
'We surround you, sir, and the men will continuously sidestep around the circle. The ground is flat.'
'Instead, point your weapons beyond the shadows, sahbee,' said Ahmat, calling the soldier his friend. 'We'll only be a few metres away.'
'With pain in our hearts, Your Highness.'
'It will pass.' Ahmat ushered Kendrick through the cordon. 'My countrymen are given to trivial melodramatics.'
'It's not so trivial if they're willing to make a moving ring and take a bullet meant for you.'
'It's nothing special, Evan, and, frankly, I don't know all the men in those bodies. What we may have to say to each other could be for our ears only.'
'I didn't realize…' Kendrick looked at the young sultan of Oman as they walked into the darkness. 'Your own guards?'
'Anything's possible during this madness. You can study the eyes of a professional soldier but you can't see the resentments or the temptations behind them. Here, this is far enough.' Both men stopped in the sand.
'The madness,' said Evan flatly in the dim light of the fire and the intermittent moonlight. 'Let's talk about it.'
'That's why you're here, of course.'
'That's why I'm here,' Kendrick said.
'What the hell do you want me to do! cried Ahmat in a harsh whisper. 'Whatever move I make, another hostage could get shot and one more bullet-riddled body thrown out of a window!' The young sultan shook his head. 'Now, I know you and my father worked well together—you and I discussed a few projects at a couple of dinner parties, but I don't expect you to remember.'
