The Storm - Cussler Clive (книги без сокращений .TXT) 📗

Otero looked at Matson, who was shaking his head.

“He lives in Yemen,” Otero blurted out. “That’s all I know.”

CHAPTER 14

IN THE COURTYARD OF A MOROCCAN-STYLE HOUSE, A STONE’S throw from the Gulf of Aden, the man known as Sabah enjoyed the evening. As dusk draped a cloak over the world, he savored a dinner of lamb with fresh-made flatbread and sliced tomatoes. Around him gauzy drapes wafted in the soft breeze while the sound of waves crashing against the nearby cliffs played its soothing, repetitive song.

A servant arrived and whispered in his ear.

Sabah listened and nodded. A slight wrinkle of aggravation crossed his forehead at the news.

The servant took his plate, and Sabah reclined with a glass of black tea. The sound of approaching footsteps halted beneath the archway.

“I request an audience with you,” a figure in the shadows reported.

“I would say you already have one,” Sabah replied, “since you are in my presence, invited or otherwise.”

“I do not mean to disturb you,” the man said. “I waited while you dined.”

Sabah motioned to a seat. “Come sit with me, Mustafa. We are old friends, ever since the first war with Israel. The weapons you provided did not help us to win, but they allowed me to bolster al-Khalif and his family. My good fortune has followed.”

Mustafa walked over and sat down across from Sabah, who noticed a sense of trepidation in his steps. As Mustafa was normally the boldest of men, arrogant, feisty, Sabah wondered what could be shaking him.

“Good fortune is what I’ve come to discuss,” Mustafa said, “both yours and mine. And that of others who take the lion’s share for themselves.”

Sabah took another sip of the tea and then set the glass down. On a small plate beside it were freshly cut leaves of qat, or khat, a plant with stimulant-like properties. It was similar to a mild amphetamine. Sabah took one of the leaves, folded it and placed it in his mouth. He began chewing slowly, sucking on the juices of the leaf.

“Lions take the largest share because they are lions,” Sabah explained. “No one can challenge them.”

“But what if the lion is weak and arrogant?” Mustafa asked. “Or if it is blind to the needs of the pride? Then another will rise up and take its place.”

“Come now,” Sabah said, “there’s no need to speak in metaphors. You’re talking of Jinn and the project. You believe he’s failing us somehow.”

Mustafa hesitated, wringing his hands as if in great turmoil.

Sabah slid the plate of leaves toward him. “Take one. It will free your tongue.”

Mustafa plucked one of the leaves and folded it between his fingers, much as Sabah had. He placed it in his mouth.

“What actions of Jinn seem wrong in your eyes?” Sabah asked.

“Three years of promises,” Mustafa said, “not one new drop of rain.”

“The changes take time. You were warned of this.”

“We’re running out of time,” Mustafa said, “as are you. Yemen is dying. People are being forced from the cities at gunpoint because there is not enough water for all of them.”

Sabah spat green saliva and the remnants of the qat leaf into a small bowl. He took a sip of tea to refresh his palate. Mustafa was correct. It was strongly believed the nation’s capital would run so low on water in the next year that no amount of rationing would save it. Forced migration was the only option, forcing people to other regions, but the rest of the country was in little better shape.

“It’s rained here three times in the last week,” Sabah said, “rains we normally don’t see. Even now, clouds linger over the mountains to the north. The change is coming. Jinn’s promises will be kept.”

“Perhaps,” Mustafa said, “but what prevents him from reversing those promises?”

From the gleam in Mustafa’s eyes Sabah sensed he was coming to the point.

“Honor,” Sabah said.

“Jinn has no honor,” Mustafa said. “For proof, I point to you yourself. It’s well known that you, Sabah, are the reason for Jinn’s success. His wealth and power have been built on your wisdom. His family fortune has been made from your efforts, your labor, your loyalty. Many millions Jinn has: companies, palaces, wives. And what has he given you?” Mustafa looked around. “You have a nice home, a few servants. Fine foods to dine on. Is that all you get for a lifetime of dedication? No, it’s a trifle, and surely you deserve more. You should be a prince in your own right.”

“I am a loyal servant,” Sabah replied.

“Even servants share in the master’s rewards,” Mustafa said. “In the courts of old, even a slave could become a trusted adviser.”

Sabah had heard enough. “Perhaps your tongue has been loosened too much, Mustafa.”

“No,” his guest replied excitedly, “just enough. I know the truth. Jinn uses you just as he uses us. He takes much and gives only what he has to. We are at his beck and call. If he stops the project, we shall perish. If he asks for more, we have no choice but to give it.”

“So it’s the money that disturbs you.”

“No,” Mustafa said, “it’s the power. Jinn will soon pass beyond our ability to control or even bargain with him. He’s created magic like the genies of ancient times. But if he alone wields it, the rest of us are no longer necessary. There’s good reason why the Jinns of old were cursed. They were magicians who could not be trusted. If not held down, they make themselves into gods. This is Jinn’s goal.”

Sabah took the measure of his old friend, trying to sense how far he would go. So far, Mustafa had stopped short of advocating betrayal, but that was clearly his purpose. If Sabah was right, he’d been put up to it.

“So a council has been taken among the investors,” he guessed. “Tell me who had the will to call it?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Mustafa said.

“It matters to me.”

“What should matter is your position,” Mustafa insisted. “I ask you to consider why are you here in Aden instead of with Jinn at his genie’s cave in the desert?”

“Because he doesn’t need me at this time.”

“More and more, that seems to happen,” Mustafa suggested. “And what will you—the loyal servant—do when Jinn doesn’t need you at all?”

Sabah was taken aback, but the words struck him as honest and not merely posturing.

Mustafa continued, pressing, “When he was young, you controlled him with strength. As he aged, you controlled him with wisdom. What do you have left? You’ve given him everything, Sabah. Now is the time to take. To take what you have earned.”

“A palace coup of some type, is that it? Is that what you seek?”

“You built this empire,” Mustafa whispered, “you more than him. You should possess its keys, not stand outside the walls like the second-class member of the clan you’ve always been.”

Mustafa’s words hit the one emotional trigger Sabah had buried the deepest. He wasn’t part of the Khalif clan. No matter how loyal or hardworking or ruthless, he would never be anything more than a trusted hand.

Indeed, as Jinn’s sons and daughters grew, what had become a partnership would fade. The clan and the family bonds would become dominant. Sabah would be pushed to the side, his own offspring unable to reap what he had sown.

In a sense, it had already begun. In the past year or two, Jinn had spent less and less time in Sabah’s presence. His habits had changed. He seemed tired of listening to Sabah’s advice where he used to savor it.

But that alone was not reason for betrayal. Sabah reached for the qat, folded another leaf between his fingers and stuck it in his mouth. There was much to consider before making such a decision.

As he chewed, the stimulants released by the plant sent a surge of energy through his body.

He knew Mustafa would not change his mind, not after he’d voiced his plan. If Sabah did not agree in principle, there would be trouble right here and now. Perhaps Mustafa had men waiting nearby. Perhaps he believed he could kill Sabah on his own.