Florence of Arabia (14 page)

"Nor." Delame-Noir droned,
"would anyone welcome a return t
o the period of 1825 to '34! The discordant
interregnum of Ali bin Hawalli, and the conse
quent retrenchment of the Mohab, followed
by
the
nouvelle hejira
of the Bahim H
abb?"

Delame-Noir smiled serenely and arched an eyebrow by way of highlighting the Cartesian brilliance of this historical perspective. Maliq yearned to be in one of his Formula One cars, vibrating with speed down the hot asphalt
Straightaway
at one quarter th
e speed of sound, past adulatory
crowds screaming with all their might. "Maliq! Maliq the Magnificent!" Enough of this—
enough.

"1 am aware of all this you say," he said, putting down his Sevres china coffee cup on a table that had been made f
or one of Louis XV
's mistresses. "But I
have come to discuss the future of Matar,
not the past"

Delame-Noir touched him on
the sleeve with the tip of his f
ingers. "But exactly!"

Maliq stared.

"H
ow well you appreciate the historicity of the situation, perhaps alone among the contemporary
umara.
And how interesting to contemplate the parallel facing the present emir—your brother—and his and your great-great-great-uncle, Mustafa bin—"

“Yes,
yes,
yes,
Mustafa." Maliq groaned. "T
he parallel leaps out at one like a Sirhan adder.
But
what about the bank accounts?"

"Ah," Delame-Noir purred, aiming a l
ong linger toward the twenty
-
two f
oot ceiling, where fresco putti flitt
ed. "Your apprehension is total. For you, Maliq bin-Kash al-H
az. this is not a matter of mere political opportunity—no. no— but of
duty.
Consanguinity in perfect harmony with duty, within the gyrody-namic of historicity."

What was this old fool tal
king about? At least he seemed t
o be concluding this stream of elegant drivel.

"No. no, this we do not see every day. Bravo,
mo
n prince.
I salute you."

"The bank accounts." Maliq tried again.

"Yemeni," Delame-N
oir said. "It's all fixed."

"What about the American woman. Farfaf—ho
wever you pronounce it— Flor-ent
s."

Delame-N
oir was keenly interested in the American woman but for the time being was resolved, wise old spv master that he was. to keep certain details to himself, such as the fact that he had inserted one of his people,
the talented Annabelle. into Gazzy's U
m-beseir harem.

"We are of course keeping a close eye on her," Delame-
Noir
said, his speech now plain and to the point, stripped of rococo curlicues and acanthus leaves. "She is making a big success with her television station. Your brothe
r is making very much money. H
e seems very content, I must say."

"My brother is a debauched t
oad."

"The question is
how
to restore
Matar
to its true greatness. Now,
I think it would be a very good idea for you to begin the cultivating of the mullahs. I think you should start spending mor
e t
ime in the mosques."

"T
he
mosques'?"
Maliq snorted. "I'm a race-car driver."

"And a brilliant one. Twenty
t
imes
the champion!"

"Twenty-one."

"Exactly. But is this any reason not to have a religious conviction? Surely this—along with the Yemeni bank accounts—would make them see you in a new light?"

Maliq sighed. "My reputation isn't very religious."

Delame-Noir pretended to be thinking it over, when he had
actually planned every word of t
his conversation, every comma. He looked up at the ceiling as if searching for the answer. "You know the saying—it's originally F
rench, but the English stole it,
along with even thing else—'There are no atheists in foxholes'?"

"Yes?" Maliq lied.

"Is it not also true that there are no atheists in the cockpit of a Formula O
ne in flam
es, going four hundred kilometers per hour?" Delame-
Noir
smiled.

"What are you proposing?" Maliq
said with the annoya
nce of the slow learner. "That I
burst into flames and crash?"

A look of pain played across Delame-
Noir
's face. "Not at all,
mo
n
prince!
"
'T
he smile returned with a sly upturn at the corner of
the mouth. "I was thinking that
we could assist with certain technical details. Or perhaps your own technical crew is already profic
ient with certain, shall we say,
special effects?"

Maliq didn't like the insinuation, hut Delame-
Noir
's scheme was now apparent, and he rather liked it.

“The Prince Maliq is safe
!" TV Matar's news announcer Fatima Sham told viewers. "He is alive and safe! G
od he praised!"

Florence was watching the broadcast from the control booth with George and hobby and Rick. She still hadn't gotten accustomed lo hearing "God be praised" from the mouths of TV news announcers. It didn't ring right lo the
A
merican

ear.
The chairman of the F
ederal Reserve today said that he was culling t
he prime rate by a half point. G
od he praised!

Renard winced, too. PR types lend as a rule lo be godless, unless there's money to be made, in which case they can become very pious indeed But George had been adamant about having the anchors and reporters drop in the occasional
"Allahu akhar"
on the grounds that it
"gives us Arab Street cred." A little street cred was probably a good ide
a, given the babe quotient in TV
Matar's announcers. They were all women, and dazzlingly good-looking, and utterly Westernized.

In this particular instance. Florence thought "God be praised" might be appropriate. This war the Matar 500 had its most dra
matic finish ever. Prince Maliq’
s car—in the lead, as usual—had suddenly begun spewing black smoke. But rather than pull over, the prince had bravely kept going the two remaining laps. After he finished first, his car'
s rear end burst into flames. H
e slowed to a stop and leaped
out. blackened with soot. The f
ire-rescue team hosed him down with chemical foam. Standing there, black and foamy, he was a strange but triumphant sight. George declared that he looked like "a blackamoor Pillsbury doughboy."

Fatima,
the news announcer,
was reporting that Prince Maliq
had gone straight from the racetrack lo the mosque, "where he gave thanks for his miraculous escape."

"I suppose I'd do the same." G
eorge said, "though you wouldn't find me driving one of those things in the first place."

Bobby was intently wa
tching the interview with Maliq
on the monitor. It had been taped befo
re the start of the race. Maliq
was telling the reporter how "really great God is."

'He
's awful religious all of a sudden." Bobby said.

"Maybe he found God." George said. "It happens. People are always finding God in the desert. He doesn't have much competition out here. No one finds God on Madison Avenue."

"I found God on K Street." Rick said.

"What are you talking about?"

"T
he day I got the sultan of Brunei account. I walked out onto the street, and the whole heavenly choir was singing. My whole body was vibrating. It was a total religious experience. Fiffy-thousand-dollar monthly retainer. I felt
exalted."

"You know. Rick," George said, "every time 1 think about going into the private sector, you open your mouth, and my drab, colorless existence and niggardly paycheck suddenly seem noble."

"That
car he drives." Bobby said, still watching the monitors, now replaying in slow motion Maliq's accident, "its French-built"

"The prince is a major Francophile," George said. "Sp
ends a lot of time in Paris. H
e was just there. They all go there to shop. Everyone goes to Paris except poor old George, stuck in this
hole,
working for Queen Crue
la for slave wages."

“Why
doesn't poor old George go shop at the duty-free." Florence said, typing at her computer terminal. "Amazing bargains."

"I spent all my money on those slot machines at Infidel land. They're rigged. I'm telling you. This entire region is corrupt"

"Why don't you write a long c
able lo Charlie Duckett about it
?"

"Say what you will about him,
he didn't chain me to a desk the way you do. At least in Washington. I had a life."

Bobby stood and put on his jacket.

"Where are you going?" Florence said.

"Gonna go see if I can find God."

"Give H
im my regards." Renard said.

Florence watched him go. George watched Florence watching him go. "Are we developing a crush?" George murmured.

Florence blushed.

"Rather a nice package. I admit, but really. Firenze, not your type. I'm
sure the sex would be earthmov
ing and volcanic, but what would you talk about afterward? Alabama versus Auburn? How to crush someone's windpipe? Blowing up a car? Tapping telephones?"

"If you don't have anything to do, I'll find something for you to do."

"Why—why—did I let you drag me off to this macabre place?"

"Rick." Florence said, "can we run next week's episode of
Chop-Chop?"

Rick dialed it up onto one of the monitors. The three of them watched. In last week's episode, Princess Mahnaz was unjustly accused of adultery by her husband, the evil prince Wakma
l. She had found out that Wakmal
was secretly supporting a terrorist cell aimed at deposing his good brother, the king of Ambalah. Wakmal had thrown her in jail and was planning to cut off her head. Mahnaz's first cousin, the dashing young Tafas, had smuggled a message of hope to her in prison inside a chocolate bar, telling her that he and his commandos were planning to rescue her. But Wakmal had gotten wind of the escape plan and. unbeknownst to Tafas, had laid a trap.
Chop-Chop Square
was T
V
Matar's number one show, getting huge ratings. The Wasabis were not amused.

FLORENCE PEERED THROUGH
the fish-eye peephole on her apartment door. When she saw it was Bobby, she flipped the safety catch back on the pistol and opened the door. She was in her silk pajamas, as it was past two in the morning.

He looked sheepish, flushed. "Sorry to bother you. ma'am." "Ma'am" al this hour?
C
an I—would you like something to drink?" she said.

"It's not a social call." I le seemed nervous. "Are you all right, Bobby?" "I screwed up, I'm afraid."

"Let's have a drink anyway." She poured bourbon into two glasses and gave one to him.

"1 went to the racetrack." Bobby said. "I wanted to take a closer look at the prince's car. All that smoke. I don't know if you noticed, but it seemed kinda even on both sides. Anyhow.
I found his car. and sure 'nuff
, it was rigged with smoke makers."

"We
knew he cheats, right? H
e's won every race."

"Wasn't that got my att
ention. It was all that yakety-Yak about God being wonderful, runnin' off
to the mosque. His car bein' French-made. You have
to look at the whole picture. I did some checkin’,
Two week
s ago,
he went to Paris, and while he was there, he paid a visit to the Onzieme Bureau."

Flore
nce knew about the Onzieme. "H
e did? You know this?"

"Yeah. So I thought it would be worth checkin' out the car." Bobby looked into his untouched glass of bourbon. "It didn't go so well."

"What happened?"

"Had a little accident. Someone got killed. I didn't honestly have a lot of choice in the matter. They opened up
on me first." He looked at her,
and there was innocence to it. "I'm not—I don't—" He fidgeted. "I'm not one to kill non-combatants, y
’
understand."

"G
o on."

"I was lookin' inside the car,
and suddenly, someone's shootin' at me. Like I say, there wasn't anything else I
could
do. I'm sorry about this. I truly am. I rec
ognize that it
complicates t
hings. On the other hand, what I
found out was probably worth findin' out."

They sat for a moment in silence.

"It
could have been a burglary." Florence said.

"Not really."

"Industrial spying."

"I don't think so."

"It
could have been a relative—of one of the race-car drivers over the years who was killed racing against Maliq. They were breaking into the garage in order to sabotage his car. Revenge. What better motive is there in this part of the world?"

Bobby looked at Florence. He nodded thoughtfully. "That's all plausible, but there's two problems. First, that wouldn't go very far in a Matari court: second, it's worth even less if t
he other guv was to identify me
."

"The other guy?"

"There was another guy. He got away. My second
screw up. I'm not doin' all
that gre
at tonight. Point is. I've got t
o
go now." "Go?"

"Well,
yeah. I've gone from the asset to liability column. I feel bad about this."

"It couldn't be helped. But you can't just leave." she said. She realized that she had been leaning closer to him. He seemed aware of this lad as well and looked awkward.

"It wouldn't do your operation much good if they arrested me. This is a pretty liberal place by some Middle Fast standards, but he is the brother of the emir, and someone just killed one of his people while pokin' about his garage."

Florence considered, her mind racing. "But how's it going to look if you just disappear?"

"I think I can accomplish that part in such a way that it doesn't look suspicious." "How?"

"Do you want to know or need to know?" "Both."

Bobby looked at her. "I have someone at Immigration. He'll backdate my departure so that the record will show I left th
e country yesterday." "Oh. Well,
But how we you leaving, then?"

"Thought I might do some fishing. There's lot of
fish in these waters, you know." I le stood to leave. "Look. I'll be back as soon as I can, all right? You hang in there, Flo, hear?"

CHAPTER
TWELVE

N
ews of the killing in
Maliq
's garage ran on page one above the fold in Al Matar.
It was also duly
reported on TV
Matar. Florence had no choice in the mutter. Matar was uniquely peaceful among the countries of the region, and this murder, of one of the servants of a crown prince—on the day of his miraculous escape from death!—smacked of mischief. The police were said to be pursuing leads.

Florence found out what she could while appearing not to take too great an interest. Meanwhile, she put off having to face
Laila
for as long as she could, faking a cold. She decided for the time being not to tell George and Rick what had happened, in the event that they were hauled in and questioned. She felt very alone.

There was another development: Maliq announced that he was giving up professional racing and was pursuing a new passion—religion. He declared that the killing of his servant Abu Tash was nothing less than "assassination" undertaken by "the enemies of Islam." This l
eft a good many people in Matar,
even among the more conservative religious element, scratching their heads. It was unclear why a shooting in a garage was religiously motivated, but whatever. Moreover, Maliq asserted, the real target had been he. An advertisement appeared in
Al
Matar
,
offering a reward of five hundred thousand baba

($100,000
US.
for informat
ion leading to the a
rrest and conviction of the
"assassin."

"Where's Att
ila?" George asked a few days
alter Bobby had disappeared. "I
haven't seen him. Is he out blowing up bridges?"

"He went back to Washington." Florence said as casually as
she could. "You remember, he left
the day before the race."

"No, he didn't."

"Yes, George,
he did."

"Firenze. what are you talking about? He watched it with us right here in the control room."

"No. George, you're mistaken. He went home the day before." Rick chimed in. "No. he was here. I remember."

Florence looked at the two of them. "George. Rick, listen to me. Bobby went home the day before the race.
Do you understand'!'"

They stared at Florence. Fi
nally. George whispered, "Oh, G
od."

"K
eep smiling." Florence said. There were technicians present
.

"I knew this was going to happen."

"We're not going to discuss it now, George."

"And we're left to clean up after him? Typical CIA—"

"It was an accident, G
eorge." Florence said. She was trying so hard to make her expression look normal that it fell like a bad face-lift.

"Accident my—"

"George, please shut up. We'll discuss it at the appropriate time. Meanwhile, in the event you're asked questions, all you know is that he went home on some family matter. The day
before
the race. Don't say any more about it."

"They'll know."

"No, they won
't. It's all been taken care of,
Just concentrate on your work." "You might have told us." G
eorge said, sounding wounded. "I
was trying to protect you."

"Well, thank you. I
feel so
much safer." George stomped off
'. "Sorry, Rick."

"It's the Middle Fast." I le shrugged. "What can you expect. But look, if they start pulling out my fingernails, you might as well know right now: I'll tell them everything."

"I'll bear that in mind."

A moment later, he said, "Do they
.
..do
that sort of thing around here?"

"No. It's one of the most progressive countries in the region. The land where duty-free was born."

The doors to the control room op
ened. Laila entered, followed by
four fierce-looking men. "Florence, where have you been hiding? Are you better? You look a bit peaked."

"Just a cold." Florence regarded Laila's entourage, who had taken up stations ten feet away.

Laila tracked her gaze and explained. "Gazzy's orders. Because of the killing in the garage. Everyone is acting completely gaga."

"Have they found out anything?"

"You must understand, the Matari police are known around the world—for incompetence. There isn't much crime to speak of. They're out of practice. They have a description of some kind, but it was dark."

"Do they
know what the"—Florence forced the word out—"murderer was after?"

"Maliq's insisting it was some kind of assassination gone awry. I can't for the life of me think why anyone would bother assassinating him, unless"— Laila lowered her voice—"it was a relative of one of the drivers he beat."

"That had crossed my mind," Florence said, trying to give the theory a nudge.

"But we can't say that on TV."

"No,
" Florence said. "Of course not,
Maliq seems quite ... changed since his accident."

"You have no idea. He came to see Gazzy yesterday at the palace and in front of people began lecturing him on the Koran. Can you believe—Maliq
! Gazzy wasn't at all amused. H
e said, 'My
dear
brother, 1 think you must have bumped your head against the steering wheel.' Maliq became very demonstrative and began denouncing Gazzy for selling the country out to infidels. His exact words. Gazzy was
livid.
H
e ordered Maliq out of the palace. And now some of the moolahs are making an enormous to-do out of it all, encouraging pilgrimages to Maliq's garage. To touch the miraculous vehicle. It's straight out of a TV
Matar
soap opera. One of the moolahs has even issued a fatwa saying it's a religious duty! Do you believe? It has been a very long time since any fatwa was issued in
Matar
, Gazzy called in the moolah who issued it and gave him what-for."

"Laila." Florence said. "Is it possible that Maliq is up to something?" "It's more likely that he's down to something. But what do you mean?" "Is it possible that Maliq is trying to mount some kind of coup against the emir?"

L
aila stared at Florence. "Do you know something?"

"No. But sudden religiosity always makes my antenna go
ping.
And why are the moolahs suddenly so exercised? They've been pretty quiet up till now."

"G
azzv thinks thev just want new Mercedeses. I le's instructed the imam to tell them to behave or they'll find themselves walking to Mecca on their next h
ajj. Do them good. As for Maliq,
who knows, maybe he found God on the final lap. Who can fathom the mind of Maliq. Who would want to? So how's the new episode of
Chop-Chop Square?
I'm dying to see it."

"We were discussing whether to kill off Princess Mahnaz or have Tafas rescue her in time. What do you think?"

"I
myself love a neat happy ending, lots of ribbons, but then Mummy brought me up on Dickens. Is Bobby here?"