The Storm

Otero looked at Matson, who was shaking his head.

“He lives in Yemen,” Otero blurted out. “That’s all I know.”

CHAPTER 14

IN THE COURTYARD OF A MOROCCAN-STYLE HOUSE, A STONE’S throw from the Gulf of Aden, the man known as Sabah enjoyed the evening. As dusk draped a cloak over the world, he savored a di

A servant arrived and whispered in his ear.

Sabah listened and nodded. A slight wrinkle of aggravation crossed his forehead at the news.

The servant took his plate, and Sabah reclined with a glass of black tea. The sound of approaching footsteps halted beneath the archway.

“I request an audience with you,” a figure in the shadows reported.

“I would say you already have one,” Sabah replied, “since you are in my presence, invited or otherwise.”

“I do not mean to disturb you,” the man said. “I waited while you dined.”

Sabah motioned to a seat. “Come sit with me, Mustafa. We are old friends, ever since the first war with Israel. The weapons you provided did not help us to win, but they allowed me to bolster al-Khalif and his family. My good fortune has followed.”

Mustafa walked over and sat down across from Sabah, who noticed a sense of trepidation in his steps. As Mustafa was normally the boldest of men, arrogant, feisty, Sabah wondered what could be shaking him.

“Good fortune is what I’ve come to discuss,” Mustafa said, “both yours and mine. And that of others who take the lion’s share for themselves.”

Sabah took another sip of the tea and then set the glass down. On a small plate beside it were freshly cut leaves of qat, or khat, a plant with stimulant-like properties. It was similar to a mild amphetamine. Sabah took one of the leaves, folded it and placed it in his mouth. He began chewing slowly, sucking on the juices of the leaf.

“Lions take the largest share because they are lions,” Sabah explained. “No one can challenge them.”

“But what if the lion is weak and arrogant?” Mustafa asked. “Or if it is blind to the needs of the pride? Then another will rise up and take its place.”

“Come now,” Sabah said, “there’s no need to speak in metaphors. You’re talking of Ji

Mustafa hesitated, wringing his hands as if in great turmoil.

Sabah slid the plate of leaves toward him. “Take one. It will free your tongue.”

Mustafa plucked one of the leaves and folded it between his fingers, much as Sabah had. He placed it in his mouth.

“What actions of Ji

“Three years of promises,” Mustafa said, “not one new drop of rain.”

“The changes take time. You were warned of this.”

“We’re ru

Sabah spat green saliva and the remnants of the qat leaf into a small bowl. He took a sip of tea to refresh his palate. Mustafa was correct. It was strongly believed the nation’s capital would run so low on water in the next year that no amount of rationing would save it. Forced migration was the only option, forcing people to other regions, but the rest of the country was in little better shape.

“It’s rained here three times in the last week,” Sabah said, “rains we normally don’t see. Even now, clouds linger over the mountains to the north. The change is coming. Ji

“Perhaps,” Mustafa said, “but what prevents him from reversing those promises?”

From the gleam in Mustafa’s eyes Sabah sensed he was coming to the point.

“Honor,” Sabah said.

“Ji

“I am a loyal servant,” Sabah replied.

“Even servants share in the master’s rewards,” Mustafa said. “In the courts of old, even a slave could become a trusted adviser.”

Sabah had heard enough. “Perhaps your tongue has been loosened too much, Mustafa.”

“No,” his guest replied excitedly, “just enough. I know the truth. Ji

“So it’s the money that disturbs you.”

“No,” Mustafa said, “it’s the power. Ji

Sabah took the measure of his old friend, trying to sense how far he would go. So far, Mustafa had stopped short of advocating betrayal, but that was clearly his purpose. If Sabah was right, he’d been put up to it.

“So a council has been taken among the investors,” he guessed. “Tell me who had the will to call it?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Mustafa said.

“It matters to me.”

“What should matter is your position,” Mustafa insisted. “I ask you to consider why are you here in Aden instead of with Ji

“Because he doesn’t need me at this time.”

“More and more, that seems to happen,” Mustafa suggested. “And what will you—the loyal servant—do when Ji

Sabah was taken aback, but the words struck him as honest and not merely posturing.

Mustafa continued, pressing, “When he was young, you controlled him with strength. As he aged, you controlled him with wisdom. What do you have left? You’ve given him everything, Sabah. Now is the time to take. To take what you have earned.”

“A palace coup of some type, is that it? Is that what you seek?”

“You built this empire,” Mustafa whispered, “you more than him. You should possess its keys, not stand outside the walls like the second-class member of the clan you’ve always been.”

Mustafa’s words hit the one emotional trigger Sabah had buried the deepest. He wasn’t part of the Khalif clan. No matter how loyal or hardworking or ruthless, he would never be anything more than a trusted hand.

Indeed, as Ji

In a sense, it had already begun. In the past year or two, Ji

But that alone was not reason for betrayal. Sabah reached for the qat, folded another leaf between his fingers and stuck it in his mouth. There was much to consider before making such a decision.

As he chewed, the stimulants released by the plant sent a surge of energy through his body.

He knew Mustafa would not change his mind, not after he’d voiced his plan. If Sabah did not agree in principle, there would be trouble right here and now. Perhaps Mustafa had men waiting nearby. Perhaps he believed he could kill Sabah on his own.