Florence of Arabia (17 page)

Florence sat in her
parked car looking out on the empty
beach and the moonless night. She felt very exposed here. She'd taken pains to make sure she had not been followed. She was tired, her nerves jazzed from caffeine and adrenaline. The inside of her head felt like a ball of crumpled aluminum foil. She wanted to be home in Foggy Bottom, in a hot bubble bath, not on a stretch of sand wriggly with venomous snakes.

At a quarter to eleven, she got out of the car and walked to the water's edge, keeping an eye out for slithering things. Presently, she heard the sound of an outboard motor. She signaled with her flashlight. The signal was returned. She could not make it out until it was almost ashore:
a swift inflatable boat, three
men with blackened faces holding automatic weapons. A figure with an unblackened face jumped olf the bow of the boat and approached. "Bit dramatic, isn't it?" she said.

"All the fl
igh
ts were booked." Bobby said. H
e turned to the men in the boat. "Thank you. gentlemen. My compliments to the captain."

'T
he boat backed into the surf, turned and buzzed off into the darkness.

"Man,
the size of these submarines today. Had a whole room to myself. In the old days, they'd have
you sleepin' inside a torpedo tube. How you been. I've m
issed you."

Something about him seemed different. It wasn't until they were inside the car with the interior light on
that
she realized just how different he was. His short blond hair was now black, lo
ng and tied at the back in a pony
tail. He also had a m
ustache. He grinned at her. "Say hello to Willie G
Underwood." The southern accent was gone, replaced with a western twang. "Reno. Nevada. Damn pleased to meet you. My card."

jackpots
international
gaming
consultants

"Our
Dice
Arc
Always
Hot."

"And what fresh hell is this?" Florence said.

"Slot-machine repairman! We don't call ourselves that. We prefer the term 'reward adjustment specialist.' We service the big machines, your Trump 7600 or the Bugsy 1200—the monster slots that pay half
or
a million bucks. The ones with whistles and sirens—
We
eoouoo! We have a winnerrrrrrr'
Why risk making some Dutch cigar salesman a millionaire, right? You with me?"

"Why, indeed."

"You mad at me or somethin'?" He lapsed back into his Alabama accent. "I've been getting a lot
of
questions about you. Even L
aila. Someone lingered you."

"Figured. That's why I'm here t
o fix slot machines. You got to blend in this business. It's all about blending." "Where are you staving?" "I'm booked into the Aladdin, on Infidel Land."

"You'll certainly blend there."

"I
’
ll really want to blend, maybe 1 should order up a couple Russian hookers. I'm startin' to like this assignment. You look beat. Flo."

"'T
he reason I look 'beat' is that I've been getting visits in the middle of the night from police looking for you."

"Sorry
‘
bout that. But they're about to have bigger things to worry about than a little shootout in a garage."

"What are you planning to do?"

"Gonna r
efocus the energy around here. I
see our friend Maliq has become quite the religious leader."

"Yes, and he's been doing a lot of preaching lately. Whipping up the moolahs."

"That happens when a man gets religion, puts aside his sinful past." Bobby mused. "Most of the founders of your major world religions were playboys of some kind before they found God. Then one day they
hear this voice, and there's a fl
ash of blindin' light, and the next thing you know, the hallelujah chorus is singin' and they've got a billion followers. When you think about it, Jesus was really the only one who founded a religion without first going thro
ugh a young-'n'-crazy phase. H
e can't have had that much fun bein' a carpenter.

"I got a messag
e for you from Uncle Sam. He's worried about you. H
e wants you out of here. I think he's right. Stuff's happenin' here, with more stuff about to happen."

"I'm not about to leave. This is my operation."

"I'm only the messenger. Ma'am."

"What's going on? What did you find out in Paris?"

"Since right around the lime of Maliq's miraculous escape in the car, seventy-eight bank accounts at the Banque de Cannes got opened up. The names on the accounts match the seventy-eight leadin' moolahs and were funded to a hundred thousand dollars each. Bet
ween what these guys are getting’ from the French, on t
op of the baksheesh their own gov
ernment here pays 'em, I'm con-t
emplalin' taking up the religious life myself."

"So it's true—they're mounting a coup against Gazzy?"

"That would be my guess," Bobby said. "They've been cultivatin'
Maliq for some time now, givin’
him fast car
s and pourin' enough Chateau Laf
ite in him to drown a cat. With Maliq in, they'd have what they've always wanted—shore-front. Naval bases, tanker terminals. Hell, by the time they're finished in Amo, it'll look like the Riviera. They'll probably even have film festivals. They'll say to King
Tallulah and the Wasabis, 'Okay,
we got rid of Emir Gazzir for you and installed the idiot brother.
Naturellement,
we'll be wantin' a discount on crude. But don't worry, you can make up for it chargin' the Americans double what they've been payin'.'" Bobby shook his head. "I really should
‘
ve fi
gured this out a lot sooner. If I
had, I sure as heck wouldn'ta used Air France for my fake flight-out of here. That was
truly
stupid of me. That's why they knew it was me killed that guy in the garage. They blew me to the
Matar
is. On the other hand, that's what led me to them. So in a way, we're even. But not for long, 'cause I'm about to open a can of industrial-strength whup-ass on our French friends."

"What are you going to do?"

"Flo—Florence, you really don't need to know that."

"You're still working for me." Florence said. "Aren't you?"

"I'm not sure this entire situation has a whole lot of coherence to it at this point. But listen, I think Uncle
Sam's got a point about you gett
in' out of here. TV
Matar was a great idea, but instead of liberatin' women, it appears to be plungin' the region into considerable distress."

"It'll be a nightmare here, especially for women, if Maliq takes over and the Wasabis are calling the shots. You know what they'll do."

Bobby looked out the window. "Yeah." he said, "if I was a Matari, I'd definitely be inclined to invest in companies that manufacture
abaayas
and veils. Th
ings could get quite ugly around here."

"The French ambassador told Gazzy there's a rumor going around that Laila and I are lesbians."

Bobby sighed. "Man, they are good. Gotta hand it to them. If
word
goes 'round here th
at you and the emir's wife are h
avin' a roll in the hammock, I'd better call that water taxi that just dropped me off and tell 'em to pick you up."

"I'm not leaving, and that's that."

"You're the boss." They rode in silence. "Uh..." Bobby said. "What?"

"This rumor—that's all it is, just a rumor?"

"I—where do you—how can you ask me such a thing?"

"I'm only askin'. As the person in charge of security here. 1 might as well have all the information." "Well, now you do." "All right, then."

"Just because I h
aven't made a pass al y
ou—"

"Flo"—Bobby sighed—"that has not
hin' to do with it"

"Would you mind not calling me that?"

"All right. Ma'am."

"Don't call me that, either. Why do I
have to sound like a cleaning woman or an old lady?"

"All right. Florence of Arabia. Is that what you want me to call you?"

"Don't call me anything." Florence looked over at Bobby. He was smiling. "What's so funny? I don't see anything funny."

"I was just thinkin'." Bobby said, "what great strides we're makin' toward pea
ce 'n' Stability in the Middle E
ast."

CHAPTER
SIXTEEN

F
lorence decided for the time being not to tell George and Rick that Bobby
was back in town. In the event of an interrogation, the less they knew, the belter.

"May 1 say something. Firenze?" "Yes, George." "You look awful." "Thank you."

"Maybe I
don't look so hot myself. May I say something else?"
"Yes,
George."

"I'm getting the distinct feeling that you're not telling me something. Renard also feels this way."

"There's
just, you know, lots going on." "Do you mind
I’
ll ask you something?"
"What.
George?"

"It's really none of my bu
siness. Don't ask, don't tell, I say,
but are you and
the sheika ... There's this rumou
r going around."

"No, George. I am not having a fl
ing with the sheika." "Not that I'd mind—"

"That's hardly the point. Really
. I wouldn't expect my own staff
to be gossiping about this. It's disinformation put out by the French, among others."

"Ah. Rather clever of them. They tend to look down on those of the Sapphic persuasion around these parts."

Renard walked in. "Hey
, Florence, you know anything about this rumor going around about you and the emir's wife?"

"We were just discussing it."

"Oh." Rick nodded tentatively.

"It's not true." Florence said.

"Hey,
you know, whatever."

Florence sighed inwardly. Did she now have to explain to Rick that because she hadn't made a pass at him. that didn't mean she and the emir's wife were— how had Bobby put it—having a roll in the hammock'.''

"Never mind." she said. "Why don't you put it out on the six o'clock broadcast that I'm not having an affair with the wife of the ruler."

"We ought." George said, "to give
some
thought to this. You don't want something like that going aroun
d. They may be liberal in Matar,
but they're still .Arabs."

"I'm wide open to any ideas y
ou have."

"I have an idea." Rick said. "I think you and I should be seen in public
paw
ing each other."

Florence stared at Rick. "Thanks for the input."

"I'm serious. If you
want to show them you're hetero,
what better way?" I le grinned. "We could sit at the Cafe Clementine and smooch."

George said. "They're not crazy for public displays of affection, hetero
or
homo."

"If it's a choice between having people think she's doing it with the emir's wife or with me ..." Rick shrugged.

Florence's secure phone went off. It was Bobby, or Willie G. Underwood, or whatever he was calling himself these days. She heard the sound of slot machines in the background.

"You alone?" he said.

"I'm sitting here with George and Rick. What's up?"

"There
's a situation developin' in Kaffa. No one knows about it,
so don't tell anyone about it. We jus
t received word that Princess H
amzin, King
Tallulah's second wife, bust
ed into the king's council meeting yesterday. That's bad
enough. The last time somethin’
like that happened in that country, dinosaurs were still walkin" the earth. As if that wasn't bad enough, she was wearing no veil, and pants.
Pants.
And if that wasn't bad enough, she started lecturin' the king and his council about improvin' the lot of women in the royal kingdom. Appears the princess is a real fan of TV
Matar. The king was reportedly taken to the hospital with chest pains."

"It's begun, then," Florence said. "The revol
t of the Arab women. This is
real news. Bobby."

"I'd say that depends on your definition of
'great.' 'Fhe Wasabis are mad-de
r'n adders. Our birds are picking up all
sorts
of chatter
. And it's pretty clear who they
blame for this. This is your revolution, Flo. My guess is someone's gonna walk into your office any minute now and take you to see the emir. That's why I'm calling—to put you in the picture."