'Besides,' interrupted Khalehla, 'Hamendi smells millions more where this ship came from. He's securing his turf and that's worth a minor risk.'
'I know what he's doing,' said Evan, speaking to Khalehla but looking at the young sultan. '“The Saudis wouldn't dare,”' continued Kendrick, repeating Ahmat's words. 'The Omanis wouldn't dare…'
'There are perfectly sound reasons to leave well enough alone where fanatics are concerned and let them sink in their own quagmires,' responded the sultan defensively.
'That's not the point.'
'What is?'
'We're counting on the fact that when all these people, especially the leaders from the Baaka Valley, find out that most of what they paid for is a bunch of crap, Hamendi will be called a fifty-million-dollar thief. He's a pariah, an Arab who betrays Arabs for money.'
'The word will spread like falcons in the wind, as my people would have said only a couple of decades ago,' agreed the sultan. 'From what I know of the Baaka, hit teams will be sent out by the dozens to kill him, not simply because of the money but because he's made fools of them.'
'That's the optimum,' said Kendrick. 'That's what we're hoping for, but he's got millions all over the world and there are thousands of places to hide.'
'What is your point, Evan?' asked Khalehla.
'Maybe we can move up the timetable and with any luck ensure the optimum.'
'Speak English, not Latin,' insisted the agent from Cairo.
'That's a circus down there. The soldiers can barely hold back the crowds. All that's needed is for a movement to get started, people shouting in unison, chanting until their voices shake the damn city… Farjunna! Farjunna! Farjunna!'
'Show us!' translated Ahmat.
'One or two crates prised open, rifles held up in triumph… then ammunition's found and handed over.'
'And shot off by lunatics into the sky,' completed Khalehla, 'but they don't fire.'
'Then other crates are opened,' went on the sultan, catching the shared enthusiasm. 'Equipment ruined, life rafts slashed, flamethrowers fizzling. And Hamendi's right there!… How can we get down there?'
'You can't, either of you,' said Kendrick firmly, signalling a member of the Masada team. The man ran over and Evan continued rapidly, not giving Ahmat or Rashad a chance to speak, only to stare at him, stunned. 'You know who I am, don't you?' he asked the Israeli.
'I'm not supposed to but, of course, I do.'
'I am considered the leader of this entire unit, aren't I?'
'Yes, but I'm grateful that there are others—’
'Irrelevant! I am the leader.'
'All right, you're the leader.'
'I want these two people placed under cabin arrest immediately.'
The sultan's and Khalehla's protests were drowned out by the Israeli's own reaction. 'Are you out of your mind? That man is—’
'I don't care if he's Muhammad himself and she's Cleopatra.
Lock them up!' Evan raced away towards the gangplank and the hysterical crowds below on the pier.
Kendrick found the first of the five Palestinian 'cargomen' and pulled him away from a group of soldiers and screaming awed civilians surrounding one of the Chinese tanks. He spoke quickly into the man's ear; the Arab responded by nodding his head and pointing to one of his companions in the crowd, gesturing that he would tell the others.
Each man ran along the pier from one frenzied group to another, shrieking at the top of his lungs, repeating the message over and over until the feverish cry was picked up for the command it was. Like an enormous rolling wave pounding across a human sea, the
