My Brother

**Follow the drugs to the source, back from Athens to Riyadh to Calcutta to Singapore . Scouse — Mansouri — Radha — Drisco. The hint of something more than Nymphs… follow it west… take the package… to the Embassy… to the Limes… to England.**

A jumbled vision of my other self turning from the girl at the El Al desk in London Airport . Of myself seeing myself… of myself, seeing myself, seeing myself…

Rabiyah saved me from the endless loop down into the depths. Her hand had rubbed affectionately at my knee, then climbed like a knowing animal towards more sensitive areas. I jerked at her touch and the movement dragged me back to the present.

The slanting sunlight winked off the tiny box in my hand. For this, at least four people had died.

“You’ll come back later?” Rabiyah was ru

Her eyes closed. I patted her on the arm, stooped to kiss her lightly on the pale forehead, and caressed a rounded breast.

“Later. As soon as I have this lot in a safe place.” I meant it. No criticism from me of Leo’s tastes.

She smiled drowsily and released the curtain she had been holding, so that the room was once again in total darkness. I closed the lid of the little box and slipped it into the pocket of my jacket. It took both hands and a lot of blind groping to get me back to the door.

Narjes had disappeared. Like the young women, she normally slept through the afternoon. There was no sound from any of the rooms as I slipped back across the thick carpet and down the curving staircase.

The old waiter had deserted the coffee shop, to leave a solitary customer quietly sipping tea and staring out of the bottle-green window. Not much light came in now, even though the sun was shining past the awning. I looked at my watch. Six-thirty. If I could get no response from the American Embassy, the best bet was a direct run to the airport. My luggage could be forfeit, but the avaricious porter watching for Zan would wait in vain for his second hundred pounds.

I stepped towards the door, peering out at the empty street. Twenty yards and a massive pair of doors lay between me and the inside of the American Embassy. So near, so far. Leo must have stood here in this same spot, wondering how much time he had. His trail was well hid, but was it good enough? Had someone already followed him here?

While I watched the Embassy, the man on my left had set down his cup and pushed the loose headdress back from his face. He turned to look at me for the first time. I returned his glance casually. Then we both froze. His arms unfolded from the loose sleeves of his robe. He was holding a gun in his right hand, and the brown eyes were gleaming.

“How about that!” There was a little smile on his lips. “I sit wondering what’s keeping you so long in the Embassy — an’ you’re upstairs here, screwing your brains out. You’re a cool one, I’ll say that for you.”

It was Scouse.

A cool one. He was wrong about that. So near, so far. I was ready to sit down on the tiled floor and weep.

- 17 -

“Outside.”

Scouse jerked his head towards the door, but the gun held its aim at the center of my chest. He moved close behind me as I went into the street, near enough to frustrate any attempt at a sidestep along the wall, too far away for a backward kick or lunge.

“Turn left and head for the main avenue.” The joking tone had disappeared from his voice. “Make any fu

“I don’t know.” The flat box in my pocket seemed to bulge outward, shouting to be noticed.

The gun in his hand clicked to automatic setting, the trigger half-depressed by the pressure of his index finger. He grunted. “I don’t believe you. You were too keen to get to Riyadh to play i

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer. The sudden sunlight set up a tornado of images inside my head. Twisted beaches; a long run down a ski slope steeper and faster than anything I had ever dreamed of; flickering candles on a restaurant table, with unfamiliar Spanish music playing in the background.

The street came into focus, shifted, swam about me. After an indeterminate period of lost control I came back to reality and found we had walked along the little cul-de-sac and were standing now on the corner of the avenue.

“Left here.” Scouse still kept his distance, eight feet behind me. “All right. You’ve been asking for it — Des, an’ Jack, an’ then poor bloody Dixie . I gave you the chance to go easy — even gave you the chance to come in on it with us. Now you’ll go hard, an’ to hell with you. Here comes your friend.”

The sun had gone down behind the wall on our left, and the light in the avenue was fading fast. Towards us through the early dusk came a green Fiat with tinted windows. It crept along in low gear at no more than five miles an hour, and halted ten yards away.

“You should see her with a cigarette lighter,” said Scouse. “An’ she does things with a spoke from a bike wheel that you wouldn’t believe. I can’t stand to watch ’em. But you’ll see it first hand. I mean, for as long as you can see anything.”

The car door opened, and Xantippe got out. She looked more beautiful than ever in a green pantsuit and open-toed sandals. Instead of a handbag she was carrying a flat leather case about ten inches by five. Twenty feet away from me she halted.

“Got him easy as wink,” said Scouse cheerfully. “Now he’s all yours. Where do we start?”

Xantippe moved closer, so that she was only two paces in front of me.

“No closer,” warned Scouse. “We know he’s dangerous.”

She nodded, but her eyes never left mine. A flush of color was creeping into her cheeks, highlighting the exotic bone structure, and the look she gave me was erotic, the unfocused stare of sexual arousal. Her ta

“At Mansouri’s house — it will be quiet there.” Her voice was soft and husky.

Scouse had edged around to my left, keeping close to the wall until he was standing next to Zan. Where she was all unconcealed excitement, he was as cold and analytical as one of Belur’s computer chips. I looked hopelessly up and down the street. A tall figure was slowly approaching us. Pudd’n. No help from that quarter. Even if he didn’t approve of torture, he wouldn’t have the nerve to argue with Scouse. Not when Zan was there to punish disobedience.

“Want to tell us where it is now, an’ deprive Zan of a night’s fun?” asked Scouse.

I shook my head, while Zan frowned at him in outrage. “You promised this,” she said.

“Yeah — but that was before you an’ Dix screwed things up in Cuttack .”

He nodded his head towards the car. “Go on, Salkind, get in there. In the back. Pudd’n can drive us.”

The gun couldn’t be argued with. I took two paces towards the Fiat. Then there was a sudden angry hissing from behind Scouse, and he flinched and spun around as something cold touched the back of his neck.

It was seven o’clock . Accurate to the second under the control of the German engineering staff, Riyadh ’s evening irrigation system had turned itself on. A sprinkler had been set up to water the line of shrubs that grew along the top of the long wall. The first drops of clear water jetted out into the avenue and caught Scouse where he stood.

It took him only a second to realize what was happening. In a fraction of that time I was ru

I didn’t wait to see what lay on the other side. As I went over headfirst, four shots crackled out from behind me. I felt a tug in my left calf and a hard blow on my left heel. Then I was landing hard on my forearms and right shoulder, and rolling across baked earth and prickly scrub. A patch of gravel stripped the skin from the back of my left hand. I rolled, and rolled again.