"She stepped on board less than ten minutes ago," announced Ibn, beaming. "I've placed her under guard in one of the female crew members' quarters."
"Allah is indeed kind," said Ammar incredulously.
"Yes, he has sent the fly to the spider," Ibn said darkly, "and given you a second chance to kill her in the name of Akhmad Yazid.
Just as darkness was approaching, a light tropical rain cleared the sky and passed northward. Lights were blinking to life along Punta del Estes streets and on board the ships in the harbor, casting flickering reflections across the water.
Senator Pitt thought it strange that nothing showed of the Lady Flamborough except her outline against the brightly lit glow of the ship moored behind her. She looked dark and deserted as the launch swung past her bow and came alongside the boarding stairs.
Carrying only a briefcase, the Senator jumped lightly onto the narrow platform. He had hardly climbed two steps before the launch turned away and headed back to the dock area. He reached the deck and found himself standing alone. Something was terribly wrong. His first thought was that he'd boarded the wrong ship.
The only sounds, the only sounds of life were a voice somewhere within the superstructure coming through a speaker system, and the generators humming deep in the bowels of the hull.
He turned to hail the launch but it had already traveled too far for him to be heard above the exhaust of its tired old diesel engine. Then a figure in a black jumpsuit stepped out of the shadows, holding an automatic rifle leveled at the Senator's stomach.
"Is this the Lady Flamborough?" the Senator demanded.
"Who are you?" the voice came back in little more than a whisper. "What is your business here?" The guard stood there, gun held rock-steady, staring with his head cocked at an angle while the Senator explained his presence.
"Senator George Pitt, you say. An American. You were not expected."
"President Hasan was informed of my arrival," said the Senator impatiently. "Please lower your weapon and take me to his quarters."
The guard's eyes glinted suspiciously from the glare of the lights on shore. "Anyone else come with you?"
"No, I'm quite alone."
"You must return ashore."
The Senator tilted his head at the retreating launch. "My transportation has left."
The guard seemed to be thinking it over. Finally he lowered the gun and silently walked a few steps down the deck and stopped beside a doorway.
He held out a frre hand and nodded toward the briefcase.
"In here," he said softly as though it was some kind of secret. "Give me your case."
"Mese are official documents," said the Senator flatly. He clutched his briefcase in both hands and brushed past the guard.
He walked into a heavy black curtain, slapped it to one side and found himself standing in a 2,000-square-meter ballroom/ dining salon. The vast room was paneled in oak and styled after an English manor. A small army of people, some standing, some sitting, wearing either business suits or crew uniforms turned and gazed at him in unison as though he were a ball in a tennis match.
There were nine men spread around the walls, silent, deadly serious men dressed alike in the black jumpsuits and matching jogging s
hoes; each slowly swept the muzzle of a shoulderslung automatic weapon back and forth over their captive audience.
"Welcome," came the amplified voice of a figure standing on a stage in front of a microphone, a man indistinguishable from the others except for a comical mask covering his face -but with that any sign of humor quickly came to a halt. "Please state your identity."
Senator Pitt stared in confusion. "What's going on here?"
"You will please answer my question," said Ammar with icy politeness.
"Senator George Pitt, United States Congress. I'm here to confer with President Hasan of Egypt. I was told he was staying on board this ship."
"You'll find President Hasan seated in the front row."
"Why are these men holding guns on everyone?"
Ammar feigned weary patience. "Why, Senator, I thought it obvious.