Aces Abroad

"If that's what Nur al-Allah wishes," Sayyid answered stiffly.

"It is," Najib said. "Misha, go back to your husband's house and make yourself ready to travel. You'll meet this delegation, and you'll tell me of them. Then Nur al-Allah will decide how to deal with them."

Misha bowed, her head to the cool tiles. She kept her eyes down, feeling the heat of Sayyid's gaze as she passed him.

When she had gone, Najib shook his head at Sayyid's sullen posture. "You think I ignore you for yur wife, my friend? Are you insulted?"

"She is your sister, and she is Kahina," Sayyid replied, his voice neutral.

Najib smiled, and the darkness of his mouth was like a hole in his bright face. "Let me ask you, Sayyid, are we truly strong enough to do as you suggested?"

"In sha'Allah, of course, but I wouldn't have said so if I didn't think it true."

"And would your plan be easier to execute in Damascus, or here-in our own place, at our own time?" Comprehension made Sayyid grin. "Why, here, of course, Nur al-Allah. Here."

TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 3, 1987, DAMASCUS:

The hotel was near the Suq al-Hamidiyah. Even through the chatter of the air conditioner's ancient compressor, Gregg could hear the market's boisterous energy. The suq was swirling with a thousand brightly hued djellaba, interspersed with the dull black of the chador. The crowds filled the narrow lanes between the stalls' colorful awnings and spilled out into the streets. On the nearest corner a water-seller called his wares: "Atchen, taa saubi!"-if you thirst, come to me.

Everywhere there were crowds, from the suq to the white minarets of 1200-year-old Umayyad Mosque. "You'd think the wild card never existed. Or the twentieth century, for that matter," Gregg commented.

"That's because Nur al-Allah has made sure that no joker dares to walk the streets. They kill jokers here." Sara, on the bed, laid her orange on the peels littering the copy of al Ba'th, the official Syrian newspaper. "I remember one tale we got from the Post stringer here. A joker had the misfortune of being caught stealing food in the suq. They buried him in the sand so that only his head showed, then they stoned him to death. The judge-who belonged to the Nur sect, by the way-insisted that only small stones be thrown, so the joker would have sufficient time to contemplate his many sins before he died."

Gregg laced his fingers in her tousled hair, gently pulled her head back, and kissed her deeply. "That's why we're here," he said. "That's why I hope to meet this Light of Allah."

"You've been edgy since Egypt."

"I think this is an important stop."

"Because the Middle East is going to be one of the main concerns of the next president?"

"You're an impertinent little bitch."

"I'll take the `little' as a compliment. A `bitch,' though, is a female dog, you sexist pig. And I can smell a story" She wrinkled her nose up at him.

"Does that mean I get your vote?"

"It depends." Sara threw back the sheet, scattering al-Ba'th, orange, and peels to the floor, and took Gregg's hand. She kissed his fingers lightly and then moved his hand lower on her body. "What kind of incentives were you thinking of offering?" she asked.

"I'll do whatever I have to do." And that's true. Puppetman stirred slightly, impatient. If I make Nur al-Allah a puppet, I influence his action. I can sit down at the table with him and get him to sign whatever I want: Hartma

"No sacrifice is too great, huh?" She laughed again and pulled him on top of her. "I like a man with a sense of duty. Well, start earning your vote, Senator. And this time, you get the wet spot."

A few hours later there was a discreet knock on the outer door. Gregg was standing by the window,- knotting his tie as he looked out on the city. "Yes?"

"It's Billy, Senator. Kahina and her group are here. I've told the others. Should I send her on to the conference room?"

"Just a second."

Sara called quietly from the open door of the bathroom, "I'll go down to my own room."

"You might as well stay here for a bit. Billy will make sure no one sees you leave. There'll be a press conference after, so you might want to head down in half an hour." Gregg went to the door, opened it slightly, and spoke to Billy. Then he stepped quickly to the door leading to the adjoining suite and knocked. "Ellen? Kahina's on her way."

Ellen came in as Gregg was putting on his jacket; Sara was brushing her hair. Ellen smiled automatically at Sara, nodding. Gregg could feel a mild a

Deliberately, just for the small pleasure that Ellen's hidden distaste would give him, he hugged Sara. He could feel Sara holding back in Ellen's presence. I can change that,

Puppetman murmured in his head. See, there's so much affection in her. Just a twist, and I could…

No! The depth of his response surprised Gregg. We don't force her. We never touched Succubus; we won't touch Sara. Ellen watched the embrace blandly, and the smile never left her lips. "The two of you slept well, I hope." There was nothing in the tone beyond the mere words. Glacial, distant, her gaze left Sara; she smiled at Gregg. "Darling, we should go. And I want to talk to you about that reporter Downs-he's been asking me the strangest questions, and he's talking to Chrysalis as well…"

The meeting wasn't what he'd expected, though John Werthen had briefed him on the necessary protocol. The Arab guards along the wall, armed with a mixture of Uzis and Soviet-made automatic weapons, were u

Kahina herself was a surprise. She was a small, petite woman. The ebony eyes above the veils were bright, inquisitive, and searching; her dress was plain except for a line of turquoise beads above her forehead. Translators accompanied her. In addition, a trio of burly men in bedouin dress sat nearby, watching.

"Kahina's a woman in a very conservative Islamic society, Senator," John had said. "I cant stress that enough. Her even being here is a break with tradition, allowed only because she's the prophet-twin of her brother and because they think she has magic, sihr. She's married to Sayyid, the general who masterminded Nur al-Allah's military victories. She might be the Kahina, and she's had a liberal education, but she's not a Westerner. Be careful. These people are quick to be insulted and very long on holding a grudge. And-Jesus, Senator-tell Tachyon to tone it down."

Gregg waved to Tachyon, dressed outrageously as usual, but with a new twist. Tachyon had abandoned the satins, too hot for him in this climate. Instead he looked as if he'd raided a bazaar in the suq, emerging as a movie-cliche vision of a sheikh: red, baggy silk trousers, a loose linen shirt and jacket with intricate brocade, bead and bangles jingling everywhere. His hair was hidden under an elaborate headdress; the long toes of his slippers turned up and curled back. Gregg decided not to comment. He shook hands with the others and seated Ellen as everyone found chairs. He nodded to Kahina and her entourage, who tore their gazes away from Tachyon.