A Quiver Full of Arrows

“By midday tomorrow,” whispered Al Obaydi.

“At least Sayedi anticipated that eventuality,” said the Ambassador thoughtfully.

Al Obaydi admired the way his superior could always make the term “my master” sound both deferential and insolent at the same time.

“I must send a message to Baghdad to acquaint the Foreign Minister with the details of your triumph,” added the Ambassador with a smile.

Al Obaydi would also have smiled, but he realized the Ambassador would not admit to any personal involvement with the project while it was still in its formative stage. As long as he distanced himself from his younger colleague for the time being, the Ambassador could continue his undisturbed existence in New York until his retirement fell due in three years’ time. By following such a course he had survived almost fourteen years of Saddam Hussein’s reign while many of his colleagues had conspicuously failed to become eligible for their state pension. To his knowledge one had been shot in front of his family, two hanged and several others posted as “missing,” whatever that meant.

The Iraqi Ambassador smiled as his British counterpart walked past him, but he received no response for his trouble.

“Stuck-up snob,” the Arab muttered under his breath.

The Ambassador pulled his earpiece back over his ear to indicate that he had heard quite enough from his number two. He continued to listen to the problems of trying to preserve the rain forests of Brazil, coupled with a request for a further grant from the UN of a hundred million dollars.

Not something he felt Sayedi would be interested in.