The Icarus Agenda

'I don't know your schedule, but you can't have much time.'

'Between eleven-thirty and midnight tonight,' said Kendrick, with no intention of revealing anything but a time span. 'A young man was with me on the plane. He's a terrorist from the embassy in Masqat.'

'He registered at the Aradous Hotel on the Wadi Al Ahd as “T. Farouk”.'

'How…?'

'Another co-operative driver,' answered Khalehla, permitting herself a broader smile. '“Let's say,'” she added.

'Whoever you work for has a lot of input in a lot of places.'

'Oddly enough, the people I work for have nothing to do with it. They wouldn't go this far.'

'But you did.'

'I had to. Personal reasons; they're off limits, too.'

'You're something, Cawley.'

'Khalehla—Kah-lay-la—in English. Why don't you call your friend at the Aradous? He bought clothes at the hotel and also got a haircut. I assume these were your instructions. But call him; relieve his mind.'

'You're almost too co-operative—like the drivers.'

'Because I'm not your enemy and I want to co-operate. Call Ahmat, if you wish. He'll tell you the same thing. Incidentally, like you, I have the triple five number.'

It was as if an unseen veil had been lifted off the Arab woman's face, a lovely, striking face, thought Evan as he studied the large brown eyes that held such care and curiosity in them. Yet still he swore silently at himself for being the amateur, not knowing who was real and who was false!

Between eleven-thirty and midnight. That was the zero hour, the 30-minute span when he would catch a link, the link to the Mahdi. Could he trust this terribly efficient female who told him only so much and no more? Then again, could he do it himself? She had the triple five number… how did she get it? Suddenly, the room started to spin around, the sunlight through the windows became a sprayed burst of orange. Where were the windows?

'No, Kendrick!' shouted Khalehla. 'Not now! Don't collapse now! Make the call, I'll help you! Your friend must know that everything is all right! He's a terrorist in Bahrain!. He has nowhere to go—you must make the call!'

Evan felt the hard slaps against his face, the harsh, stinging blows that rushed the blood to his head, his head that was suddenly cradled in Khalehla's right arm as her left hand reached for a glass on the bedside table. 'Drink this!' she commanded, holding the glass to his lips. He did so. The liquid exploded in his throat.

'Jesus!' he roared.

'A hundred and twenty proof vodka and brandy,' said Khalehla smiling, still holding him. 'It was given to me by a British Mi-Sixer named Melvyn. “Get someone to have three of these and you can sell him a gross of anything on the rack,” that's what Melvyn told me. Can I sell you something, Congressman? Like a phone call?'

'I'm not buying. I don't have any money. You've got it.'

'Make that call, please,' said Khalehla, releasing her prisoner as she retreated to the gold-rimmed dressing table chair. 'I think it's terribly important.'

Kendrick shook his head, trying to focus on the telephone. 'I don't know the number.'

'I have it here.' Khalehla reached into the pocket of her flight jacket and pulled out a piece of paper. 'The number is five-nine-five-nine-one.'

'Thank you, madame secretary.' Evan reached for the phone, feeling a thousand aches in his body as he bent over and picked it up, pulling it to his lap. The exhaustion was spreading through him; he could barely move, barely dial. Azra?' he said, hearing the terrorist's voice. 'Have you studied the map of Manamah? Good. I'll pick you up at the hotel at ten o'clock.' Kendrick paused, darting his eyes up at Khalehla. 'If for any reason I'm delayed, I'll meet you in the street at the north end of the Juma Mosque where it joins the Al Khalifa Road. I'll find you. Understood? Good.' Kendrick, trembling, hung up the phone.

'You have one more call to make, Congressman.'

'Give me a couple of minutes.' Kendrick leaned back on the pillows. God, he was tired!

'You really should make it now. You must tell Ahmat where you are, what you've done, what is happening. He expects it. He deserves to hear it from you, not me.'

'All right, all right.' With enormous effort, Evan sat forward and picked up the phone which was still on the bed. 'It's direct dialling here in Bahrain. I forgot. What's the code for Masqat?'

'Nine-six-eight,' replied Khalehla. 'Dial zero-zero-one first.'

'I should reverse the goddamned charges,' said Kendrick, dialling, barely able to see the numbers.

'When did you last sleep?' asked Khalehla.

'Two—three days ago.'

'When did you eat last?'

'Can't remember… How about you? You've been pretty busy yourself, Madame Not-Such-Butterfly.'

'I can't remember, either… Oh, yes, I did eat. When I left the el Shari el Mish kwayis I stopped at that awful bakery in the square and got some orange baklava. More to find out who was there than anything—'

Evan held up his hand; the sultan's buried private line was ringing.

'Iwah?'

'Ahmat, it's Kendrick.'

'I'm relieved!'

'I'm pissed off.'

'What? What are you talking about?'

'Why didn't you tell me about her?'

'Her? Who?'

Evan handed the phone to a startled Khalehla.

'It's me, Ahmat,' she said, embarrassed. Eight seconds later, during which the voice of the perplexed and angry young sultan could be heard across the room, Khalehla continued. 'It was either this or having the press learn that an American congressman, armed and with fifty thousand dollars on him, had flown into Bahrain without going through customs. How long would it be before it was learned that he flew in on a plane ordered by the royal house of Oman? And how soon after that would there be speculation about his mission in Masqat?… I used your name with a brother of the Emir I've known for years and he arranged a place for us… Thank you, Ahmat. Here he is.'

Kendrick took the phone. 'She's a biscuit, my old-young friend, but I suppose I'm better off here than where I might be. Just don't give me any more surprises, okay?… Why are you so quiet?… Forget it, here's the schedule and, remember, no interference unless I ask for it! I've got our boy from the embassy at the Aradous Hotel; and the MacDonald situation, which I assume you know about—' Khalehla nodded, and Evan continued rapidly, 'I gather you do. He's being monitored at the Tylos; we'll be given a list of the calls he's been making when he stops making them. Incidentally, they're both armed.' Exhausted, Kendrick then described the specifics of the meeting ground as they had been relayed to the agents of the Mahdi. 'We only need one, Ahmat, one man who can lead us to him. I'll personally turn the rack until we get the information because I wouldn't have it any other way.'

Kendrick hung up the phone and fell back on to the pillows.

'You need food,' said Khalehla.

'Send out for Chinese,' said Evan. 'You've got the fifty thousand, not me.'

'I'll get the kitchen to prepare you something.'

'Me?' His lids half closed, Kendrick looked at the olive-skinned woman in the ridiculously rococo gold-rimmed chair. The whites of her dark brown eyes were bloodshot, the sockets blue from exhaustion, the lines of her striking face far more pronounced than her age called for. 'What about you?'

'I don't matter. You do.'

'You're about to fall out of that Lilliputian throne of yours, Queen Mother.'

'I'll handle it, thank you,' said Khalehla, sitting upright, blinking in defiance.

'Since you won't give me my watch, what time is it?'

'Ten minutes past four.'

'Everything's in place,' said Evan, swinging his legs out on to the floor under the sheet, 'and I'm sure this garishly-civilized establishment can accommodate a wake-up call. “Rest is a weapon,” I read that once. Battles have been won and lost more through sleep and the lack of sleep than firepower… If you'll modestly look away, I'll grab a towel from what I assume is the largest bathroom in Bahrain over there, and find myself another bed.'