The Storm (NUMA Files 10)

“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 hes

itated, 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.”