Inside Straight

Bahir swung his cloak and teleported away as the riot began in earnest.

~ ~ ~

He reappeared on the grounds of the Mena House Hotel. The long shadow of the Great Pyramid fell across the date palms and jasmine-scented gardens. Bahir looked up at the rough sandstone blocks marching toward the pinnacle. The westering sun sent the shadows of the palm trees across the manicured golf course and up the walls of the hotel. The way the shadows fell created the impression of lines on paper waiting for a mighty pen to write a message.

And the message is—Britain is back, Bahir thought.

He closed his eyes and prepared himself. If teleporting left him feeling as if every nerve, bone, and sinew in his body had been plucked like a violin string, the transformation was even more disturbing. It burned along his nerve endings as he watched the skin on his hands lose the golden tan and the blond hair on the joints of his fingers turn brunette. His hair now brushed at his collar, and his face felt vulnerable as the beard vanished. He felt his body lengthening, as if invisible hands pulled at his flesh like the hands of a potter coiling soft clay. It pulled at his wounds and hurt like the very devil. Finally it ended.

Noel pulled off the cloak, folded it into a small square, and tucked it beneath his arm.

He sauntered toward the hotel accompanied by the whirr and clack of the sprinklers anointing the grass of the golf course with the waters of the Nile. He chose a service entrance, picked the lock, and slipped inside. The generators rumbled with a sound like the breathing of a massive beast, as they pushed the air-conditioned air through the hotel.

Back in his room, he washed away the dirt and blood and laid a sulfa-coated bandage over the wounds on his shoulder and belly. He hissed at the medicine’s bite, but felt satisfied. He had been hurt worse and for a less successful result.

He made a few phone calls and then dressed once more in his signature black leather jacket, black silk shirt and tie. Noel strolled down the main staircase. In the lobby, the desk clerks continued their work, answering the phone with soft voices, writing down messages, and placing the notes in room slots. A waiter paced cat-footed across the lobby, carrying a scotch and soda balanced on a tray. Only a few miles away Cairo was in flames, but here wealth buffered all.

Noel used a house phone to call Siraj. A few moments later one of the prince’s bodyguards appeared to escort Noel to the royal suite. Noel pushed past before the guard could knock, and entered without waiting for permission.

Siraj stood frowning at the television screen where Al Jazeera ran a constant kaleidoscope of changing images: the battlefield, the riots in Cairo, the fleeing armies of the caliphate, the great glowing lion, the jokers dancing on the ruins of Philae. Their twisted forms made it look like a scene from The Inferno.

“Hello, President,” Noel said, and he flashed a smile at Siraj. The prince’s frown didn’t fade. Noel walked to the table that held an array of bottles. He picked them up one after the other. Not one of them held an alcoholic beverage. It made him oddly uneasy, but Noel shook it off and continued. “A BBC camera crew is on the—”

“I prefer to announce that I’ve taken control on Al Jazeera.”

Noel pushed down the flare of annoyance that roiled briefly in his gut, then threw up a hand. “Fine. I’ll push back the time with the BBC.”

“You don’t understand me. I will not speak to any Western media outlet.” The prince’s tone was flat, and devoid of emotion. The anger was gone, replaced with a flutter of concern. Not in their years as roommates at Cambridge or in the years subsequent had Noel ever heard such a tone out of the Jordanian.

Noel decided to change the subject. Let Siraj have his little glamor fit. “You’ve got an ally in Bahir,” Noel said. “He killed Abdul the Idiot and declared for you.”

“That’s an ally I’m not sure I want,” Siraj said. “Isn’t he driven by religion?”

Noel shrugged. “Oh, here’s something else you should announce. Agents of the Silver Helix freed Jayewardene, so do take a bow for that as well when you assume control.”

“You should not have done that. He was our hostage. My hostage.”

“It would have been incredibly stupid for you to hold him. Look, old boy, I know—”

The rigid control broke. “Don’t call me boy!” Siraj thrust his finger at the screen. “For two days I’ve watched Arab soldiers dying beneath the blade of a Teutonic knight. An American ace burning them in fire, another crushing them, presumably in the name of his god. These were normal men whose only offense was to serve their god …”

And massacre jokers, Noel thought, but he kept the words behind his teeth.