"That's because Nur al-Allah has made sure that no joker dares to walk the streets. They kill jokers here." Sara, on the bed, laid her orange on the peels littering the copy of al Ba'th, the official Syrian newspaper. "I remember one tale we got from the Post stringer here. A joker had the misfortune of being caught stealing food in the suq. They buried him in the sand so that only his head showed, then they stoned him to death. The judge-who belonged to the Nur sect, by the way-insisted that only small stones be thrown, so the joker would have sufficient time to contemplate his many sins before he died."
Gregg laced his fingers in her tousled hair, gently pulled her head back, and kissed her deeply. "That's why we're here," he said. "That's why I hope to meet this Light of Allah."
"You've been edgy since Egypt."
"I think this is an important stop."
"Because the Middle East is going to be one of the main concerns of the next president?"
"You're an impertinent little bitch."
"I'll take the `little' as a compliment. A `bitch,' though, is a female dog, you sexist pig. And I can smell a story" She wrinkled her nose up at him.
"Does that mean I get your vote?"
"It depends." Sara threw back the sheet, scattering al-Ba'th, orange, and peels to the floor, and took Gregg's hand. She kissed his fingers lightly and then moved his hand lower on her body. "What kind of incentives were you thinking of offering?" she asked.
"I'll do whatever I have to do." And that's true. Puppetman stirred slightly, impatient. If I make Nur al-Allah a puppet, I influence his action. I can sit down at the table with him and get him to sign whatever I want: Hartmann the Great Negotiator, the world's humanitarian. Nur al-Allah is the key to this region. With him and a few other leaders… The thought made him smile. Sara laughed throatily..
"No sacrifice is too great, huh?" She laughed again and pulled him on top of her. "I like a man with a sense of duty. Well, start earning your vote, Senator. And this time, you get the wet spot."
A few hours later there was a discreet knock on the outer door. Gregg was standing by the window,- knotting his tie as he looked out on the city. "Yes?"
"It's Billy, Senator. Kahina and her group are here. I've told the others. Should I send her on to the conference room?"
"Just a second."
Sara called quietly from the open door of the bathroom, "I'll go down to my own room."
"You might as well stay here for a bit. Billy will make sure no one sees you leave. There'll be a press conference after, so you might want to head down in half an hour." Gregg went to the door, opened it slightly, and spoke to Billy. Then he stepped quickly to the door leading to the adjoining suite and knocked. "Ellen? Kahina's on her way."
Ellen came in as Gregg was putting on his jacket; Sara was brushing her hair. Ellen smiled automatically at Sara, nodding. Gregg could feel a mild annoyance in his wife, a glimmer of jealousy; he let Puppetman smooth that roughness, lathing it with cold blue. He needed very little effort; she had had no delusions about their marriage from the start-they had married because she was a Bonestell, and the New England Bonestells had always been involved in politics in one way or another. She understood how to play the supportive spouse: when to stand beside him; what to say and how to say it. She accepted that "men had needs" and didn't care as long as Gregg didn't flaunt it in public or stop her from having her own affairs. Ellen was among the most pliable of his puppets.
Deliberately, just for the small pleasure that Ellen's hidden distaste would give him, he hugged Sara. He could feel Sara holding back in Ellen's presence. I can change that,
Puppetman murmured in his head. See, there's so much affection in her. Just a twist, and I could…
No! The depth of his response surprised Gregg. We don't force her. We never touched Succubus; we won't touch Sara. Ellen watched the embrace blandly, and the smile never left her lips. "The two of you slept well, I hope." There was nothing in the tone beyond the mere words. Glacial, distant, her gaze left Sara; she smiled at Gregg. "Darling, we should go. And I want to talk to you about that reporter Downs-he's been asking me the strangest questions, and he's talking to Chrysalis as well…"
The meeting wasn't what he'd expected, though John Werthen had briefed him on the necessary protocol. The Arab guards along the wall, armed with a mixture of Uzis and Soviet-made automatic weapons, were unnerving. Billy Ray had carefully beefed up their own security. Gregg, Tachyon, and the other political members of the junket were in attendance. The aces and (especially) jokers were elsewhere in Damascus, as President al-Assad toured the city with them.
Kahina herself was a surprise. She was a small, petite woman. The ebony eyes above the veils were bright, inquisitive, and searching; her dress was plain except for a line of turquoise beads above her forehead. Translators accompanied her. In addition, a trio of burly men in bedouin dress sat nearby, watching.
"Kahina's a woman in a very conservative Islamic society, Senator," John had said. "I cant stress that enough. Her even being here is a break with tradition, allowed only because she's the prophet-twin of her brother and because they think she has magic, sihr. She's married to Sayyid, the general who masterminded Nur al-Allah's military victories. She might be the Kahina, and she's had a liberal education, but she's not a Westerner. Be careful. These people are quick to be insulted and very long on holding a grudge. And-Jesus, Senator-tell Tachyon to tone it down."
Gregg waved to Tachyon, dressed outrageously as usual, but with a new twist. Tachyon had abandoned the satins, too hot for him in this climate. Instead he looked as if he'd raided a bazaar in the suq, emerging as a movie-cliche vision of a sheikh: red, baggy silk trousers, a loose linen shirt and jacket with intricate brocade, bead and bangles jingling everywhere. His hair was hidden under an elaborate headdress; the long toes of his slippers turned up and curled back. Gregg decided not to comment. He shook hands with the others and seated Ellen as everyone found chairs. He nodded to Kahina and her entourage, who tore their gazes away from Tachyon.
"Marhala," Gregg said: "greetings."
Her eyes gleamed. She inclined her head. " I speak only a little English," she said slowly in a heavily accented, quiet voice. "It will be easier if my translator, Rashid, speaks for me."
Headsets had been provided; Gregg put his on. "We're delighted that Kahina would come to make arrangements for us to meet with Nur al-Allah. This is more honor than we deserve."
Her translator was speaking softly into his headset. Kahina nodded. She spoke in a stream of rapid Arabic. "The honor is that you have even gotten this close to meeting him, Senator," Rashid's husky voice translated. "The Qur'an says: `For those who disbelieve in Allah and His apostle. We have prepared a blazing fire."'
Gregg glanced. toward Tachyon, who raised his eyebrows slightly under the headdress and shrugged. "We'd like to believe that we share a vision of peace with Nur al-Allah," Gregg answered slowly.
Kahina seemed almost amused by that. "Nur al-Allah, for this once, has chosen my vision. On his own, he might have stayed in the desert until you were gone…" Kahina was still speaking, but Rashid's voice had trailed into silence. Kahina glared at the man, saying something that made him grimace. One of the men with Kahina gestured harshly; Rashid cleared his throat and resumed.
"Or… or perhaps Nur al-Allah might have followed the advice of Sayyid and slain you and the abominations you bring with you."
Tachyon pressed back in his chair in shock; Lyons, the Republican senator, blustered, leaning over to Gregg to whisper, "And I thought Barnett was sick."
Inside Gregg, Puppetman stirred hungrily. Even without a direct mindlink, the surging emotions could be felt. Kahina's attendants were frowning, obviously upset by her candor but afraid to interfere with someone who was, after all, part of the twinned prophet. The guards around the wall tensed. The UN and Red Cross representatives consulted in whispers.