Inside Straight

“… and follow a fool,” Siraj concluded. Bitterness hung on the words. “I would have protected those frauds, the Living Gods, and left their deluded followers in peace, but these mad children have made that impossible now.”

Softly, Noel said, “We’re not behind the aces. In fact, I tried to stop them.”

Siraj’s implacable expression did not change. “That doesn’t absolve you. You are still a Westerner, and one could say the worst offender. For a hundred years Britain has destroyed our governments.…”

“What governments?” Noel drawled.

“You have drawn countries in the sand, all in pursuit of our oil. And the UN has stood by while refugee camps have festered and children have starved. I would have done nothing for Jayewardene.”

It left Noel breathless. He had spent years cultivating this friendship. He had killed for this man. “You’re Cambridge educated, for God’s sake, you know how the world works. This is realpolitik. We’ve given you Arabia. It’s time you remembered where your loyalties lie.”

“I have.” A weight of decision was carried on the words. Geography, culture, and religion formed a vast chasm between them, and as if to physically drive home the gulf, Siraj took another few steps away from Noel. “For a thousand years we’ve staggered under the rule of despots. That changes now.”

Noel gave an elaborate shrug. “I’m sure you’ll be a paragon, but reality does intrude, and here’s one for you to consider—ruling with our support would have been much better than what you’re about to attempt.”

“Your problem, Noel, is that you don’t give a damn about anything. You never have. It’s all a game to you.”

The words stung in a way he hadn’t expected. No, you bastard, it’s about crown and country, and doing what’s necessary to protect them both.

Siraj said, “I’ve found my soul, and it’s Arab. A hundred million of my people are looking to me to lead them. I will deliver neither them nor their patrimony into the hands of Western imperialism and paternalism—whether it wears a corporate face or not.”

“Listen to yourself,” Noel said. “You sound like a street Arab.”

The slur hit home. Siraj stiffened, and Noel realized he had allowed his anger and pique to override his ability to read others and calculate every word and gesture he made. “I think you will not be leaving.” The words were forced between the Jordanian’s clenched teeth. “You will be revealed as a spy, and the courts will mete out your punishment.” Siraj raised a pudgy hand. From behind the elaborate carved wood screens four guards stepped out.

Noel glanced out the window. The sun was down, but the last light had not yet faded from the sky. He was trapped. Twilight had robbed him of his power, and there was no escape. Two of the guards grabbed his arms. A third one stuck the barrel of a rifle in his back. The final soldier quickly lifted the Browning out of its holster. “Take him to the Kanater Mens Prison,” the prince said.

They weren’t gentle as they bundled him into the back of a car. Noel looked back through the dust-covered back window at the receding angles of the Great Pyramid. He glanced surreptitiously down at his watch. He had at least eleven minutes until full dark when he could become Lilith. But he didn’t dare reveal her in front of the guards. He would have to wait for the cell. He resigned himself to an unpleasant hour.

It began almost immediately when one of the guards shot Noel a grin. His front tooth, a stainless steel rod, flashed in the last spill of light over the horizon. He had noticed Noel’s glance at his wrist. He grabbed and yanked off the expensive gold Baume and Mercier watch. Next his cufflinks went, and then the small ring he wore on his little finger that served as a distraction for audiences.

Noel realized that the soldier in the front seat was eyeing him oddly. Of course, they expect the British spy to do something, and not behave like limp prey. Yes, this is going to hurt.

Noel lunged forward and grabbed the man’s chin in one hand, wrapped his free arm behind his head, and yanked. The stitches in his shoulder tore free. The muscles in Noel’s back burned as he braced and pulled the soldier over the backseat. The man’s flailing legs kicked the driver and sent the car careening in a mad serpentine back-and-forth across the road. Everyone was shouting. A fist took Noel in the kidney, and he gagged from the pain. The muscles in Noel’s arm tensed. A quick twist would break the neck.

No, better not to kill one of them. I don’t want them too angry.