“Indeed, sir. It is Monday. Still. Been a crypt in here all evening. But they’re all atwitter over at the Grill Room. Wait staff at any rate.”
“Really? What’s all the hubbub about?”
“Apparently, the Pasha of Knightsbridge will be dining with us this evening, sir. We’re all holding our breath.”
“Why?”
“Hoping we’re not the next target on his acquisition list.”
Alex laughed and nodded at his now empty glass. As Duckworth poured him another, he said, “I shall do all within my power to dissuade him, should that be the case.”
“You know this gentleman, m’lord?”
“I will in ten minutes. I’m dining with him.”
Duckworth almost dropped his glass.
“You, sir?”
“Don’t worry, Ducky. This escapade wasn’t my idea. Ambassador Kelly is the man behind this evening’s adventure. We’ll stop in for a nightcap after dinner, give you a full report.”
“Made my day, you have, sir,” Duckworth said smiling.
“Put this on my account, will you? Oh, and by the way, I’ve just had an idea. Ring the chef and tell him whatever this Pasha orders, burn it beyond recognition. Might cut this dinner short.”
Duckworth was still chuckling when Alex Hawke left the bar and ambled over toward the Grill Room. To his surprise, he found himself actually looking forward to the thing.
Chapter Fifteen
The Emirate
THE EMIR’S STARK FORTRESS STOOD AT SOME TWELVE THOUSAND feet, nestled between four craggy peaks rising like curved stone incisors at each of the four walled corners of the ancient fortress. Since the Emir himself knew he would never leave his citadel for any destination save Paradise, he didn’t care that it was virtually impossible to reach in any season. This was precisely why he’d chosen the inaccessible site in the mountainous heart of the Emirate. He had begun to enlarge and modernize this bastion some thirty years prior.
Remote as it was, security was sophisticated, and pervasive. A large monitor, one of many mounted above the small divan in the Emir’s day room, showed a small caravan now making its way upwards through the pass toward his gates, battered by a howling snowstorm. It was the camel train of Snay bin Wazir the infidel, the impious, the indispensable, the son-in-law. Although the Emir despised Snay bin Wazir, his impending arrival met with considerable anticipation.
His Excellency, the Most High, the Emir had but one burning lifelong goal. To establish Khilafah. Allah’s rule over all the earth. His fiery zealotry was deeply and purely religious. He wanted to purge the planet of every drop of the blood of the infidels, the unbelievers. Only then could humankind live in peace under the One True God.
Truly, a lot of infidel blood had already been shed. But this the Emir considered but a drop in Allah’s bucket.
The ice-coated bin Wazir, now making his way up the steep incline, shuddered with cold and anger. His loathing was predicated on far less righteous ideals than those of the noble Emir. Bin Wazir burned with envy. Jealousy. Humiliation. It was a source of great friction between himself and his father-in-law. In the late nineties, the Emir had found Snay bin Wazir’s highly publicized love of western luxury and the western mores of London debasing and disgusting.
Then one of the Emir’s British agents had sent him a taped BBC segment entitled:
“Beechum’s. A First Peek Inside The Pasha’s New Palace.”
Snay’s days as a bon vivant on the London scene were already numbered. This public humiliation of a member of the Emir’s household was one thing. But the Emir had heard through the grapevine that his son-in-law had recently attracted the attention of the police. Interpol and the Americans were looking into a series of brutal murders in London. Knowing Snay’s bloody proclivities, the Emir knew his guilt in the matter was more than likely. It was only a matter of time before the investigation would lead to the Emir’s doorstep. And so he’d had his network of sleeper agents inside Britain kidnap the infidel and his wife, the Emir’s beloved daughter Yasmin, fly them out of the country and transport them to his mountain fortress.
In a trial presided over by the Emirate’s sole authority, the Emir himself, bin Wazir had been found guilty of endangering the holy cause and bringing great shame on the House of the Emir. He was dragged away in chains, his fate sealed, his wife pleading with her father, to no avail.
On the morning of Snay bin Wazir’s scheduled beheading, however, the Emir had second thoughts about his despicable son-in-law. To execute him, however just, would kill his own daughter just as surely. She swore she would follow her husband to Paradise. The Emir could not imagine life on this earth without his precious child, no matter how cruelly she had disappointed him.
He would save two birds with one uncast stone.
His son-in-law was a vicious, vengeful animal with more cunning and raw intelligence than was typical of his low-bred breed. He could, the Emir considered, actually be useful. He could render service to Allah even though he was not remotely a true believer. He could become, with time and training, yet another swift sword in the Emir’s hand. He would have to be schooled ruthlessly until he had mastered the Arab warrior’s timeless arts of murder. After that, yes, this beast Snay could prove useful.
After some thought, the Emir made another fateful decision. He would recreate an age-old Arabic institution: the hashishiyyun. Once a secret sect of medieval Islam, this drug-crazed cadre of exquisitely skilled assassins was originally comprised of both sexes. In the Emir’s vision, this murderous clan would be comprised of the deadlier of the species. All seductive females, the better to insinuate themselves more easily into the enemy’s hearts and lives. And bin Wazir, who had a certain power over women, would be the ideal chieftain for such a secret army.
The ancient assassins would gladly hurl themselves from the tops of lofty towers at the click of the master’s fingers, just to demonstrate their contempt for life and absolute fealty to their lord. The Emir believed Snay could command that kind of loyalty. He had a strange power over women.
So Snay bin Wazir’s head, to his amazement and delight, remained affixed to his torso. So long as he trained faithfully, and ruthlessly executed the Emir’s evolving strategies for the creation of the new hashishiyyun, his existence would be tolerated. He would retire from public life in the west. He and his wife could live as they chose as long as they remained chiefly inside the Emirate’s borders. The Emir deposited one hundred million pounds sterling in Yasmin’s name in a bank in Zurich. Six months later, Snay and Yasmin began construction on their magnificent new mountain-top residence, the Blue Palace.
There, in splendid isolation, bin Wazir would create this new order of hashishiyyun. An army of perfectly trained female killers. Seductive and lethal, they would go out into the world, far beyond the borders of the Emirate, to do the bidding of their immediate master through the orders of Snay’s own exalted lord, the Emir.
“Shit!” Snay shouted to his camel boy, wiping a fresh coating of snow from his frozen beard. “How much farther?” His camels stumbled once more and he was nearly thrown from his tossing and pitching sedan. Camels were for the desert. Normally camels were the transport of choice in these mountains, too. But, ascending icy mountain ranges in a blinding snowstorm was not their strong suit.
The new millenium was already in its fourth year. Riding atop these bloody frostbitten camels was a far cry from gliding around Mayfair in the rear of his gleaming Silver Ghost, sipping a Pimm’s Cup with his old friend Attar. Ah, he’d been the toast of London for a while, his handsome face and glitzy lifestyle the stuff of glossy magazines and Sunday supplements.
Then, Beechum’s.
