'What will you be doing?'
'What else?' said Kendrick, about to tell the truth. 'Stay with the English liar who claims to work for the Mahdi. If by any chance he does and his communications broke down, the meeting tonight will be easily arranged. But frankly, I don't believe him, and if he's the liar I think, I have to learn who he is working for.'
Azra looked at the man he knew as Amal Bahrudi and spoke softly. 'You live in a more complicated world than I do. We know our enemies; we aim our weapons at them and try to kill them because they would kill us. Yet it appears to me that you cannot be sure, that instead of firing your guns in the heat of battle you must first concern yourselves over who is the enemy.'
'You've had to infiltrate and consider the possibility of traitors; the precautions aren't that much different.'
'Infiltration isn't difficult when thousands dress like we do, talk like we do. It's a matter of attitude; we assume the enemy's. As to traitors, we failed in Masqat, you taught us that.'
'Me?'
'The photographs, Bahrudi.'
'Of course. Sorry. My mind's on other things.' It was, but he could not do that again, thought Kendrick. The young terrorist was looking curiously at him. He had to remove any doubts. Quickly! 'But speaking of those photographs, your sister will have to provide proof that she's ripped out the entire treacherous business. I suggest other photographs. Corpses in front of a smashed camera, with taped statements that can be circulated—taped confessions, of course.'
'Zaya knows what to do; she's the strongest among us, the most dedicated. She won't rest until she's torn apart every room, searched every brother and sister. Methodically.'
'Words, poet!' admonished Evan harshly. 'Perhaps you don't understand. What happened in Masqat—what was carelessly permitted to happen—could affect our operations everywhere. If it gets out and goes unpunished, agents everywhere will be flocking to infiltrate us, worming their way inside to expose us with cameras and recordings!'
'All right, all right,' said Azra, nodding, unwilling to hear further criticism. 'My sister will take care of everything. I don't think she was convinced until she understood what you did for us in the Jabal Sham, saw what you could do on the telephone. She will quickly take the actions she must, I assure you.'
'Good! Rest now, angry poet. We've got a long afternoon and night ahead of us.'
Kendrick leaned far back in the seat as though prepared to doze, his half-closed eyes on the back of Anthony MacDonald's large balding head in the first row. There was so much to think about, so many things to consider that he had not had time to analyse, even try to analyse. Yet above everything, there was a Mahdi, the Mahdi! Not surrounding and starving out Khartoum and General Gordon in the late 1800s, but living and manipulating terror a hundred years later in Bahrain! And there was a complex chain that led to the monster; it was concealed, buried, professionally fashioned, but it was there! He had found a terrorist appendage, only a tentacle, perhaps, but part of the host body. The killer beside him could lead to the main conduit as each electric cable in a building ultimately leads to the central power source. Five calls are made, ten times Jive to unlisted numbers in Bahrain and only one can reach the Mahdi: Zaya Yateem, who knew whereof she spoke. Fifty calls, fifty telephone numbers—one among fifty unknown men or women who knew where the Mahdi was, who he was!
He had created an emergency the way Manny Weingrass had always told him to invent emergencies when dealing with potential clients who would not or could not communicate with each other. Tell the fast bozo that you have to have an answer by Wednesday or we're moving on to Riyadh. Tell the second clown we can't wait beyond Thursday because there's a hell of a job in Abu Dhabi that's ours for the asking.
This was not the same, of course, only a variation of the technique. The terrorist leaders at the embassy in Masqat were convinced an emergency existed for their benefactor, the Mahdi, since he had arranged for East Berlin's 'Amal Bahrudi' to bring one of them to Bahrain. Conversely, the forces of the Mahdi had been told on international television that an 'urgent message' had been sent out ‘to friends' and it required an 'immediate response'—emergency!
Manny, did I do it right? I have to find him, fight him—kill him for what he did to all of us!
Emmanuel Weingrass, mused Evan, his eyes beginning to close, the dead weight of sleep descending. Yet he could not prevent it; a quiet laugh echoed in his throat. He remembered their
