“We are glad you are here,” he told Dog.
“My pleasure. Absolutely my pleasure.”
“Major Smith has regaled us with your achievements,” said the sultan. “You are quite a hero.”
“Not really, Your Highness.”
“No need for modesty among friends,” said the sultan, leading him from the large reception room. They walked down a hall, Miss Kelly and other dignitaries falling in behind them. The sultan pointed out some artworks and a letter from King George — it wasn’t clear which one — as they walked.
“I thought of being a pilot in my younger days,” said the ruler as they entered a room that looked somewhat like a fancy English club. It was filled with people, including Mack Smith, who nodded at Dog from the side. “But flying is a job for a young man.”
“You’re still young enough to fly,” said Dog. He hadn’t meant it as flattery; the ruler seemed about his own age.
The sultan smiled, then began introducing him to some of his government ministers, members of the legislative council who advised him on important matters. He and most of the country’s elite spoke English perfectly; Brunei was part of the Commonwealth, and had in fact spent much of the twentieth century under British rule. While Malay was the official language, a good number of the 336,000 people who lived in the country spoke English, and no member of the kingdom would consider himself educated if he didn’t.
Dog shook hands and nodded for nearly a half hour, continuing to do so even as the sultan stepped away to confer with one of his sons. Miss Kelly stepped up and whispered in Dog’s ear, identifying whom he was greeting — the British ambassador, the head of the British Army Gurkhas battalion stationed in the kingdom, and a number of prominent businessmen.
Waiters appeared carrying plates laden with food. Everyone seemed to stand back on some invisible signal. Dog realized they were watching him anxiously.
“You have to try the food first,” whispered Miss Kelly. “Manners.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said the State Department rep. “You’re the guest. Go.”
Dog took a fork and small plate from the nearest server. The hors d’oeuvre tasted somewhere between a pepperoni and an anchovy (it was a specially pickled shrimp), but Dog figured he would survive.
“This one,” said Miss Kelly.
“More?” he whispered.
“Smile, Colonel.”
“What is it?”
“Some sort of jellied curry fruit. I think.”
“You think?”
Dog speared the thick green curlicue. He’d just about gotten it into his mouth when Mack Smith appeared at his elbow.
“Hey, Colonel,” said Mack. “Try the monkey brains yet?”
“Mack. Where the hell have you been since last night?”
“You told me to make nice with the political types. I have been. Me and the sultan’s nephew are like that.”
He twisted his fingers together.
“Which nephew?” asked Dog.
“Unofficial head of the air force. Catch up with you in a bit,” said Mack, sliding away. Colonel Bastian started to take a step after him, but Miss Kelly grabbed him.
Not particularly gently, either.
“Eat,” she whispered.
“You and my grandmother have a lot in common,” said Dog.
“I hope that’s a compliment.”
Dog smiled at the latest waiter, taking a plate from him. This time the intricate creation — it was a collection of fruit in a tiny cup made from rice — tasted so delicious he actually wanted another. But apparently the protocol didn’t allow for seconds; he needed to try as many dishes as possible.
“You’re doing great, Colonel,” said Miss Kelly.
“If I don’t like it, what happens?”
“They chop off the cook’s head,” she said.
Dog thought it was a joke, but he wasn’t positive.
“I have someone you have to meet, Colonel,” said Mack, tugging slightly at his arm.
Dog turned. A youngish, slightly paunchy man wearing a perfectly tailored suit smiled and bowed his head. Dog bowed back, noticing the man’s large black opal pinkie ring and his thick Rolex.
“His Royal Highness Pehin bin Awg,” whispered Miss Kelly, a second before Mack could. “The sultan’s nephew. Unofficial head of the air force.”
“Your Highness,” said Dog.
“Colonel Bastian. We have heard much about you and your squadron,” said bin Awg. “We are extremely impressed, and deeply honored to have you in our kingdom.”
“The pleasure’s ours, I assure you,” Dog told him. “I’m glad that we could assist in the ASEAN exercises.”
“Most delightful,” said bin Awg.
“Pehin’s a collector,” said Mack.
Dog saw Miss Kelly stiffen. She had explained yesterday that “Pehin” wasn’t a name but rather an honorific used by important members of the government. But bin Awg ignored the faux pas, smiling and tilting his head.
“I have a few old airplanes,” said bin Awg. “It’s a hobby.”
“I see,” said Dog. “What sort of airplanes?”
“You’ll have to come to see for yourself.”
“I hope to,” said Dog.
“Hell, Colonel, Pehin’s got two MiG-19s, a MiG-21 from Yugoslavia, a Mirage III — piece of shit, take it from me — and, get this, a Badger. A Badger, Colonel.”
“Nice,” said Dog. He could practically feel the killer stare Miss Kelly was laying on Mack.
“I have been fortunate in finding old wrecks and restoring them,” said bin Awg modestly. “I also have a Catalina flying boat. A handsome aircraft as built, and I have added a few modern amenities. I’ve offered Major Smith the chance to fly some of my fleet,” added the prince. “Perhaps you would care to as well.”
“I’d love to,” said Dog. “When I get a chance. You really have an old MiG-19?”
“Yes, yes. The North Koreans will sell anything for food these days. It was in reasonable repair — if one overlooks the fact that it did not have an engine.”
“I told the prince he and his uncle could come up in a Megafortress for a spin tomorrow,” said Mack. “They’re psyched.”
It took every ounce of Dog’s restraint not to slap his erstwhile political officer across the face.
“Mack, let’s talk for a second,” he told Smith. “Excuse us, Your Highness.”
He took two steps backward. Miss Kelly stepped forward to chat with the prince, who sampled some of the food in Dog’s place.
“Are you out of your mind?” Dog asked Mack.
“Why?”
“We’re not here as part of a carnival show. We have a mission.”
“Yeah, but Miss State Department Bombshell says we’re supposed to make nice,” said Mack. “That’s what I’m doing.”
“Bin Awg is head of the air force?”
“Unofficially,” said Mack. “He’s more a consultant. See, the sultan is the head of the military forces. Then there are the professional officers and whatnot. My buddy Pehin is kinda between them and his uncle. Haven’t seen him fly yet. Great guy. Knows where the best clubs are. Doesn’t drink — that’s his only flaw.”
“Mack, you’re supposed to improve relations, not threaten them.”
“I am. So what do you say? We take him up for a spin in the morning? Morning’s around noon here, if you get
