The Storm (NUMA Files 10)

“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.

Sabah would not give him that chance. “You have a strategy?”

Mustafa nodded. “We must see the horde in action even if it’s on a small scale.”

“By ‘we,’ you mean the others as well?”

“I will be the witness, along with Alhrama from Saudi Arabia. Jinn trusts us the most. We will report to the others.”

“I see. And how should I arrange this?”

“Jinn must grant us an inspection of the control room and the production facilities. He must give us access to the programming and the codes.”

Sabah pondered what they were asking for. He stroked his beard. “And when you have seen this?”