Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (150 page)

Najib looked at the coffee service and shook his head. 'No,
thank you, half-uncle. I would prefer something cooler.'

'Cooler? Or stronger?' Abdullah's liquid black eyes
squinted shrewdly. 'Perhaps something alcoholic is more to
your liking?'

Najib shook his head, some deep instinct warning him off.
'No. Actually I would like some sparkling water with ice, if
that is not too much bother.'

A fleeting look of disappointment flicked across Abdullah's
face, and was gone so swiftly that Najib almost missed it. But
he, too, had been watching closely, and he realized that his instinct had paid off: his half-uncle was trying either to test him somehow or entrap him. The drinking of alcohol was,
after all, a major vice. Good Muslims did not drink, and the
imbibing of spirits was punishable by law, though it was common-enough knowledge that many Arabs drank up a storm
when they went abroad, and many even went so far as to have secret stashes of alcohol and wines in their homes. Najib would
have willingly bet half his fortune that somewhere within the
palace compound, the Almoayyeds had a wine cellar that
would have rivalled that of half the châteaux in Bordeaux.

'Over there.' Abdullah gestured to a white armoire which had been lacquered in so many layers that it shone with the
same smooth richness as the body of a Rolls-Royce. 'Inside
that is what I believe the infidels call a . . . "wet bar"?' Under his thin, pointy salt-and-pepper beard, his thick vulpine lips
twisted in distaste at the very words.

Najib rose to his feet, went over to the armoire, and pulled open the double doors. He had to smile. He would have won
his bet without even having left the room. The specially
designed armoire, outfitted with a small built-in sink, refriger
ator, and icemaker, was fitted with bevelled glass shelves hold
ing a bartender's ransom in spirits—everything from amaretto
to zinfandel.

He took a cut-crystal highball glass, some ice, and squirted
some soda from a siphon, then crossed back over to Abdullah,
looking abstracted.

He was glad of the distance he had to walk; it gave him
time to think, to ponder his half-uncle's attitude toward him. Abdullah's goading had recently become downright hectoring, as if he had found unimpeachable reason to suspect that
Najib was traitorously working against him—a suspicion that
was ridiculous, since it was groundless, but which to
Abdullah's twisted mind was probably very real. Perhaps
paranoia was the fate of all rebels who rebelled for too long,
Najib considered; Abdullah had become his own worst
enemy. Once he had at least been able to shoulder the blame
for shoddily planned disasters which were his fault, but now
he blamed his men; once he had delegated authority, but now
he listened to no one; once he had been trusting, but he now
regarded even his closest lieutenants and most faithful associ
ates with distrust; and once his actions had burned with
righteous fervour, but now they were all planned with but one thing
in mind—the glorification of his own infamy. Though he still
kept his pulse on the problems of the Mideast, and saw himself
as the only possible saviour for the Palestinians in the refugee
camps, the people were now merely the means toward an end,
and his own power-hungry schemes took precedence.

Abdullah had come to revel in power. He delighted in it, used it indiscriminately. Najib sipped at his iced soda and
decided to try to keep the conversation neutral: one had to
dance circumspectly around Abdullah, gauging his every change of mood. He sat back down and looked at his half-uncle. 'How did you come across this palace?' He gestured
with his tinkling glass.

Abdullah followed Najib's gesture with his eyes and then
looked back at him. 'For many years the Almoayyed brothers
have been lax in supporting our cause,' he said smugly. 'Now,
it seems, they wish to make amends for their past slights. They
have put this palace at my disposal whenever I so wish.' He
gave a thin smile. 'You would be surprised at how amenable
they have become.'

Keeping his voice mild, Najib said conversationally, 'Hamid said he expects the Boralevi woman to be brought here tomor
row.'

Abdullah nodded. 'She will be coming on the same plane
on which I am flying out.' He seemed to puff up visibly with self-importance. 'Muammar has invited me to Tripoli for a
week. A great supporter of mine, Muammar is. And I of him,
of course. The colonel is the one leader who has backed me
from the moment he came into office.'

Najib was starting to get angry. 'I wish you could have fore
warned me that you will be gone.' He couldn't help the note
of asperity in his voice. 'What am I supposed to do while she
is held captive here? Sit around and kill time until you return?'
He looked down at his glass and rattled the ice cubes. Then
he looked up again. 'In case you have forgotten, I have busi
nesses to run. I cannot see the point of having to wait around.'

'Ah.' Abdullah held up an index finger. 'But there is a
point.' He smiled with malice.

Najib waited in silence.

'I
t is a test. You do see that.'

Najib felt a stab of pain in his bowels, and the moistness
shone on his forehead. But otherwise he appeared outwardly
calm. He shook his head. 'I am sorry, but I do not see. Perhaps
you will be so kind as to explain.'

Abdullah looked at him craftily and placed his hands on the
carved white arms of the chair, 'I want to see whether you still
have it in you.'

Najib was suitably outraged. 'Have it in me? Have what in
me?'

'Najib, please.' Abdullah flapped a hand in a pacific gesture.
'Why do you insist we play these games? We both know very
well of what I speak. Your Westernization. The softness which
I suspect your life of wealth and position has lulled you into.'
He smiled mockingly, the sharp lower teeth showing in front.
'It is time for me to see if the injustices of the past still rage
like the fires of hell within you.'

Somewhere deep within himself Najib found a reservoir of careless fury. 'The past, the past!' His harsh voice tore up out of his throat. Suddenly he did not care what the consequences
of an outburst might be. He had had enough. 'You always
bring up the past,' he said grimly. 'You forget, perhaps, that it was my sister—
my
sister—they killed, and not yours.' He
glared at Abdullah.

'We are all brothers and sisters in the eyes of Allah,'
Abdullah quoted stiffly.

'Why is it that whenever things get difficult, you always use
Allah to hide behind?' Najib demanded. 'When things need
an excuse or an explanation, it is always Allah this, Allah
that.'

Abdullah's dark face went white with trembling rage, and
he was barely able to control himself. 'You are not only tread
ing the quicksands of treachery,' he screamed, 'but you blas
pheme as well! I have had men executed for less!'

Najib tightened his lips across his teeth in a kind of grim grin. 'Execute me, then.' His soft voice reflected a controlled
contempt. 'Kill off all your supporters, and one day you will
look around and find yourself alone, wondering what has hap
pened to all your friends.' He got to his feet, surprised to
find himself suddenly calm, and not really caring one way or
another what the consequences for this outburst might be. He
looked down at Abdullah. 'I have had enough. I will be in my
room. You can send for me when you have come to your
senses.'

'Sit down,' Abdullah said gloomily. His eyes had dimmed,
the maniacal light going out of them.

Najib stared at him, amazed. It was as if by standing up to
Abdullah, he had somehow managed to defuse his half-uncle's
temper. It was something he would have to remember.

Silently he sat back down.

'I did not send for you to argue with you,' Abdullah said wearily. 'There are too many important things to discuss.'

'Nor did I come here in order to waste time,' Najib coun
tered flatly. 'You know I have a business empire to run. I
cannot wait around forever until you decide to return from
Libya or whatever. Time is money, and I do not intend to
waste either. Now that you have the woman, either finish her off immediately and get it over with, or let her go. There is no need to pull the wings off the insect when killing it swiftly and
cleanly is safer for all concerned.'

Abdullah gave him an oblique look. 'I hope you do not think I went through all the trouble of capturing her only to kill her?
That could easily have been done at the airport. Or even more
easily abroad.'

Najib frowned. Then what is it that you want?'

'Money, for one thing.'

'Why get greedy? You know that we have millions at our
disposal.'

'More millions will not hurt,' Abdullah pointed out practi
cally. 'However, financial gain is not my real aim.'

'What is?' Najib asked economically. He lifted the glass to
his lips, but only ice cubes remained. He sucked one into his
mouth and kept it there, letting it melt slowly.

Abdullah rose to his feet and paced the flokati. 'Twelve of
our men are currently being held in Israeli prisons. Three men
are jailed in Greece because of that airline hijacking. I want
their unconditional release.' He ticked that point off on one
finger. 'I also want to gain the release of all Al Fatah,
Fedayeen, and PLO prisoners.' He ticked those three points
off on his hand also. 'And then, of course, there is a small
matter of fifty or sixty million dollars, to be distributed among
the refugees in the camps.' He folded his thumb down. 'That
is what I want.' He splayed his fingers. 'Five things.'

Najib could only stare. His mind was reeling. Abdullah's
mad ambition was even greater than he had imagined. He swallowed the half-melted ice cube. 'The Israelis won't stand
for it,' he said quietly. 'They have steadfastly refused to deal
with any and all ransom demands in the past.'