I put it up on the bar between us and snapped open the latches. "You're going to love this," I said.

"Not yet," said Frenchy, "but maybe in a few min-utes." He downed a third tumbler of Johnnie Walker.

"Whatcha got, Marid?" said Dalia, resting her elbows on the bar.

Frenchy glared at her, and his head wobbled a little. "Go wipe off some tables," he told her. He was beginning to feel the liquor. That was good.

I opened the lid of the suitcase and let Frenchy look at the datalink. It was a state-of-the-art terminal with just enough memory so that it wouldn't forget its own job. It was useless unless it was connected to a mainframe some-where. Friedlander Bey had contracted with an electron-ics firm in Bosnia to supply the datalinks at a price well below the fair market standard. That was because the Bosnian corporation was owned by an industrial conglom-erate with its headquarters in Bahrain; both the chief ex-ecutive officer and the vice president for sales owed their current positions of power, wealth, and comfort to Papa's intervention in local political affairs some ten years be-fore.

I reached over and poured Frenchy a fourth drink. "Merde alors," he murmured.

"Friedlander Bey wants you to be the first in the Budayeen," I told him.

The big Frenchman was sipping his whiskey now, not gulping. "First for what, and will I live through it?" he asked.

I snliled. "You're gonna get the chance to be the first on the Street to have one of these datalinks. You can set itup right down there on the end of the bar, right where people can see it when they first come into the club."

"Uh huh," said Frenchy. "The fuck do I want one?"

I glanced at Jacques to see if he was paying attention.

"These units will access more than the city's Info service," I said. 'Tour customers will be able to tap into a global data network that will provide almost unlimited informa-tion."

Frenchy shook his head. "How much is it gonna cost em?"

"One kiam. Just one kiam per data request."

"Minute, papillon! The city's Info service is free. All you got to do is pick up a phone."

I smiled again. "Not for long, Frenchy. Nobody knows this yet, so don't go spreading it around. Friedlander Bey's bought the Info service from the city."

Frenchy laughed. "What did he do, bribe the amir?"

I shrugged. "He persuaded the amir. It doesn't make any difference how. The amir has just come to believe that Papa will administer the service better than the previ-ous Public Service Commission. Of course, Papa's also explained that in order to give the people the service they deserve, there will have to be a small fee for each transac-tion."

Frenchy nodded. "So the free Info service is being phased out. And these datalink units will take its place. And you and Papa are gonna be in charge, doling out bits of information. What happens if someone wants the scoop on Papa's personal life?"

I turned away and casually drank half my White Death. "Oh," I said calmly, "we're unfortunately going to limit the free access of certain people to certain data."

Frenchy slammed his fist down on the bar and laughed. Actually, it was more like a bellow. "He is mag-nificent!"

he cried. "He's throttled the exchange of infor-mation, and he'll decide who may or may not benefit! Wait until Abu Adil finds out!"

Jacques leaned closer. "I didn't know about any of this, Marid," he said softly. "You didn't mention any of this to me, and I think that dissolves our agreement."

I indicated that he should drink up his beer. "That's why I came along with you today," I said. "I want you to be clear about all the ramifications. It's the dawn of an exciting age."

"But I don't think I like it. What am I getting into?"

I spread my hands. "One of the greatest commercial enterprises in history," I said.

A customer came into the club just then, a tall man dressed in a European-style business suit. He had gray hair that had been expensively cut and styled, and at his neck he wore a silver brooch set with many diamonds and a cluster of large emeralds in the center. He carried a briefcase not much smaller than my own, and he stood in the doorway letting his eyes adjust to the darkness in Frenchy's bar.

One of Frenchy's dancers went to him and invited him in. I didn't know the girl. She may have been new to the Budayeen, but if she stayed around any time at all I'd eventually learn more than I wanted to know about her. She was wearing a long gown of very sheer material, so that her small breasts and her dark pubic triangle were visible, even in that dim light. "Would you like a drink?" she asked.

The elegantly dressed man squinted at her. "Is your name Theoni?" he asked.

The dancer's shoulders slumped. "No," she said, "but she's over there. Theoni, this is one of yours."

Theoni was one of the sweetest girls on the Street, completely out of place in Frenchy's club. She'd never worked for me, but I'd be overjoyed if she ever came into Chiriga's looking for a job. She was small and lithe and graceful, and she'd had only a moderate amount of sur-gery. Her bodmods accentuated her natural prettiness without making her into the kind of caricature we saw too often around there. Unlike most of the dancers, she'd never had her brain wired at all, and when she wasn't entertaining a customer, she sat by herself near the back of Frenchy's, drinking Sharab and reading paperback books. I think it was her reading that I found most attrac-tive about her.

She emerged from the dark rear of the bar and greeted the customer, leading him to a table right behind where Frenchy, Jacques, and I were sitting. Dalia came over to take his order, and he got a beer for himself and a champagne cocktail for Theoni.

Frenchy poured himself another healthy round of Johnnie Walker. "Dalia," he said, "gimme a glass of min-eral water." He turned to me. "She's the best barmaid on the Street, you know that? You think Chin's a good bar-maid, I wouldn't trade Dalia for Chiri if you threw in Yasmin as well. Jeez, how do you put up with her? Yas-min, I mean.

Always late. She's pretty for a boy and she makes money, but she's got a temper-"

"Frenchy," I said, cutting off his drunken monologue, "believe me, I know all about Yasmin's temper."

"I suppose you would. How does she take working for you now that you're married?" He laughed again, a low rumbling sound from deep within his chest.

"Let's talk about the terminal, Frenchy," I said, trying again to steer the conversation back on course. "You're gonna want one, because everyone else on the Street is gonna have one, and without one you'll lose business. Like not having a phone or a bathroom."

"Bathroom only works on Tuesdays and Thursdays anyway," muttered Frenchy. "What's in it for me?"

I took that to mean what was in it for him if he ac-cepted the terminal. "Well, my friend, we're prepared to loan you some money if you'll do us the favor of letting us install our first datalink here in your club. One thousand kiam in cash, right here and now, and you don't have to do a thing for it. Just sign the order form, and tomorrow a wirecutter will come in and set up the unit on the end of j your bar. You won't have to lift a finger."

"A thousand kiam?" he said. He leaned close to me and stared into my eyes. He was breathing heavily in my face, and it wasn't a pleasant experience."A thousand. Cash. Right now. And the beauty part, FVenchy, is that we won't ask you to repay it. We're gonna split the take from the datalink with you sixty-five to thirty-five. We'll collect the loan payments out of your thirty-five percent. You won't even miss the money. And when it's all paid back, we'll loan you another thousand, in cash, up front, to do with as you will."

He rubbed his beard some more and squinted his eyes, trying to see what the catch was. "You're going to split the take with me every month?" he said.

"Thirty-five percent is yours," I said.

"So these loans are more-"

"They're more like a gift!" said Jacques. I turned to look at him.

There was .silence in the club for a few moments. From the corner of my eye, I saw Theoni sitting very close to the customer with the jeweled brooch. She slipped her hand along his thigh, and he looked very un-comfortable. "Where are you from, then, honey?" she said, sipping her cocktail.

"Achaea," he said. He lifted her hand out of his lap.

Frenchy heaved his huge body up and grabbed two glasses from across the bar. He poured them half full of whiskey, and set one in front of Jacques and the other in front of me. Then he took Jacques's bottle of beer and sniffed it. "Pipi de chat," he said scornfully. "Drink with me. I shrugged and picked up the glass of whiskey. Frenchy and I tinked glasses and I downed it. Jacques was having more trouble with his. He wasn't much of a drinker.

"Marid," said Frenchy, suddenly serious, "what hap-pens to me and my bar if I decline your generous offer? What if I refuse? This is my club, after all, and I say what goes and what doesn't go in here. I don't want a datalink. What is Papa gonna think about that?"

I frowned and shook my head. "How long we known each other, Frenchy?"

He just stared at me.

"Take the datalink," I said in a calm voice.

He was big enough to break me in half, but he knew this was a critical moment. He knew that throwing me out of his club was not the appropriate response. With a long, sad sigh he stood up. "All right, Marid," he said at last, "sign me up. But don't think I don't know what this means."

I grinned at him. "It's not so bad, Frenchy. Here. Here's your thousand kiam." I reached into the pocket of my gallebeya and took out a sealed envelope.

Frenchy snatched it from me and turned away. He stalked back toward his office without saying another word.

"This afternoon," I told Jacques, "you can offer the same thousand kiam to Big Al and the others, but they get theirs when the datalink terminal is actually installed. All right?"

Jacques nodded. He shoved the unfinished glass of whiskey away from him. "And I get a commission on each terminal?"

"One hundred kiam," I said. I was sure that Jacques would do a fine job selling the project to our friends and neighbors, especially with the inducement of a hundred kiam commission per sale, and with the weighty endorse-ment of Friedlander Bey. Papa's influence would make Jacques's job that much easier.

"I'll do my best, Marid," he said. He sounded a little more confident now. He slowly drank the rest of the Ec-uadorian beer in his bottle.

A little while later, the customer from Achaea stood up and opened his briefcase. He took out a slender, .wrapped package. "This is for you," he told Theoni. "Don't open it until after I'm gone." He bent and kissed her on the cheek, then went back outside into the warm sunshine.

Theoni began to tear the wrapping paper. She opened the package and found a. leather-bound book. As she flipped it open, my belt phone rang. I undipped it and said hello.

"Is this Marid Audran speaking?" said a hoarse voice.

"It is," I said.

"This is Dr. Sadiq Abd ar-Razzaq." It was the imam who'd signed our death warrants. I was startled.

Theoni jumped to her feet and pointed after the gen-tleman from Achaea. "Do you know who that was?" she cried, tears streaming down her face. "That was my fa-ther!"

Dalia, Jacques, and I glanced over at Theoni. Things like that happened all the time in the Budayeen. It was nothing to get excited about.

"I would like to discuss how you intend to clear your name," said Abd ar-Razzaq. "I will not stand for the breaking of any Muslim law. I will grant you a hearing tomorrow at two o'clock." He hung up before I could respond.

I slid the sample datalink terminal in the suitcase down to Jacques, and he closed the lid and went on his way.

"Well," I told Dalia, "I've talked with everybody I can think of who might be involved in the Khalid Maxwell case. So I've made the first circuit around the village."

She looked at me and cleaned off the counter with a bar rag. She didn't have any idea what I was talking about.

13.

I lay in bed reading another Lutfy Gad novel until it was about three o'clock in the morning. My stomach was upset, there was a loud ringing in my ears, and I realized after a while that I was swearing so much that the bedclothes were soaked. I was in the opening round of a full-fledged anxiety attack.

Well, heroes aren't supposed to go to pieces. Look at al-Qaddani, Gad's unstoppable detective. He neverwor-ried himself into helplessness. He never stayed up all night wishing he could run away somewhere and start over again. After a couple of hours of nervous trembling, I decided to get my life back in order, and immediately. I slid out of the drenched bed and crossed my bedroom, where I found my tan plastic pillcase.

It was crammed full of helpful medications, and I had to think for a few seconds about my selection.

Tranquiliz-ers, I decided at last. I was trying to end my old habits of recreational drug use, but this was a situation where my favorite pills and caps were legitimately indicated. I went with Paxium, taking twelve of the lavender pills and four of the yellow ones. That should take the edge off my anxiety, I told myself.

I went back to bed, flopped the pillows over, and read another couple of chapters. I waited for the Paxium to hit, and I admit that after half an hour or so, I did feel just the tiniest, most insignificant hint of euphoria. It was laid on top of my mental distress like the sugar frosting on a petit four. Underneath it, I was still eating my guts out with apprehension.

I got up again and padded barefoot to the closet. I opened the pillcase and dug out eight tabs of Sonneine, my favorite painkiller. I wasn't actually in severe pain, but I figured the opiate warmth would blot out the remainder of my anxiety. I swallowed the chalky tablets with a gulp of warm mineral water.

By the time al-Qaddani had been captured by the Is-raeli villain and received his obligatory once-per-novel beating, I was feeling much better. The anxiety was only an abstract memory, and I was filled with a wonderful confidence that later that day I'd be able to overpower Dr. Sadiq Abd ar-Razzaq with the force of my personality.

I felt so good, in fact, that I wanted to share my joy with someone. Not Kmuzu, however, who would certainly report my late night binge to Friedlander Bey. No, in-stead I dressed myself quickly and slipped out of my apartment. I went quietly through the dark corridors from the west wing of Papa's palace to the east wing. I stood outside Indihar's door and rapped softly a few times. I didn't want to wake the kids.

I waited a minute, then knocked more loudly. Finally I heard movement, and the door was opened by Senalda, the Valencian maid I'd hired to help Indihar. "Senor Audran," she said sleepily. She rubbed her eyes and glared at me. She wasn't happy about being awakened so early in the morning.

"I'm sorry, Senalda," I said, "but it's urgent that I speak to my wife."

The maid stared at me for a couple of seconds but didn't say anything. She turned and went back into the dark apartment. I waited by the door. In a little while, Indihar came, wrapped in a satin robe. Her expression was grim.

"Husband," she said.

I yawned. "I need to talk with you, Indihar. I'm sorry about the hour, but it's very important."

She ran a hand through her hair and nodded. "It bet-ter be, Maghrebi. The children will be awake in a couple of hours, and I won't have time to take a nap after that." She stepped aside, allowing me to brush by her, into the parlor.

By now, I felt terrific. I felt invincible. Fifteen minutes before, I decided to go to Indihar and have her say I was brave and true and strong, because I needed to hear that from someone. Now, though, the Sonneine was telling me everything I needed to know, and I only wanted to discuss my misgivings concerning strategy. I knew I could trust Indihar. I wasn't even concerned that she'd be angry with me for getting her out of her nice, warm bed.

I sat down on one of the couches, and waited for her to sit opposite me. She spent a few seconds rubbing her face with her long, delicate fingers. "Indihar," I said, "you're my wife."

She stopped massaging her forehead and glanced up at me. "I told you before," she said through clenched teeth, "I won't jam with you. If you woke me up in the middle of the night in some drunken-"

"No, that's not it at all. I need to get your honest opinion about something."

She stared at me without saying anything. She didn't look mollified.

"You may have noticed," I said, "that lately Papa has been putting more and more responsibility on my shoul-ders. And that I've had to use some of his methods, even though I personally deplore them."

Indihar shook her head. "I saw the way you sent bin Turki back to Najran on his ... assignment. It didn't seem to me that you had any problem at all ordering some stranger's death. Not so long ago, you would have been appalled, and you would've left it to Youssef or Tariq to take care of that loose end."

I shrugged. "It was necessary. We have hundreds of friends and associates who depend on us, and we can't let anyone get away with attacking us. If we did, we'd lose our influence and power, and our friends would lose our protection."

"Us. We. You've subconsciously begun to identify with Friedlander Bey. He's won you over completely now, hasn't he? Whatever happened to your outrage?"

I was starting to get depressed, despite the Sonneine. That meant that I needed to take more Sonneine, but I couldn't. Not in front of Indihar. "I'm going to have to find out who actually murdered Khalid Maxwell, and then I'm going to have to see that he's dealt with the same way as that sergeant in Najran."

Indihar smiled without warmth. "You've also adopted a cute way of speaking around the truth. He'll have to be 'dealt with,' instead of 'killed.' It's like you have your con-science on a goddamn daddy, and you just never chip it in."

I stood up and let out a deep breath. "Thanks, In-dihar. I'm glad we had this talk. You can go back to sleep now." I turned and left her apartment, closing the door behind me. I felt bad. I walked silently down the corridor past my mother's apartment. I turned into the gloomy passageway in the main part of the house, and a dark figure slipped from the shadows and came up to me. At first I was frightened-it was always possible that a very clever assassin might de-feat the human guards and electronic alarms-but then I saw that it was Youssef, Papa's butler and assistant.

"Good evening, Shaykh Marid," he said.