Ibrahim quickly backed away and closed the doors behind him.

Cars made their way slowly through the crowded streets below. The Old One imagined horns blaring, but the thick glass was soundproof. He thought of this boy Rakkim, this street rat grown to manhood now, Redbeard’s own creation. He wished he knew more about him. He had read Rakkim’s file, of course, but was unsure of how much to believe. Fedayeen files were top secret and notoriously unreliable, used for disinformation purposes as often as not. He wasn’t even sure of the boy’s real name. Redbeard valued him, that’s all that was important.

Redbeard and his older brother, James, had been thorns in the Old One’s side since the very founding of the Islamic Republic. James Dougan had been the first director of State Security, Redbeard his second-in-command. James had been the charismatic head of the agency, but Redbeard had provided the steel. At the chosen moment, the Old One had attempted to assassinate both of them, leaving his own mole, the number three man at the agency, to take charge. The attack had been only partially successful. James had died, but Redbeard, though shot several times, had clung to life, fighting off death as though hell awaited him. Stitched together like a stuffed bear, Redbeard had immediately assumed control of State Security.

Within days, Redbeard had ordered the execution of dozens of his own agents, the first of whom was the Old One’s mole. Over a hundred police and Fedayeen had also been executed, and even Black Robes had disappeared and never been seen again. Most of them were innocent of anything but the most tangential involvement in the attack, but forty-three of the dead were the Old One’s loyal followers. Two of his most trusted aides had been captured, men who had served him for decades. Had they not immediately committed suicide, the Old One himself might have been taken.

Redbeard’s brutality had set the Old One’s plans back years, and now the niece was threatening everything he had worked for. Truly there was something in that family, some dark seed sent by the devil himself to thwart his noble intentions. After the niece was brought down, incinerated with this new book of hers, then the Old One would send Darwin after Redbeard and put an end to them, once and for all.

The smile faded as he reminded himself of the task at hand. He was not looking forward to speaking with Darwin, but it was necessary. Phone conversation with the man was not dangerous, it was repugnant. The sour taste was back in his mouth. Getting prissy in your old age, he told himself. How many times have you welcomed one beast or another into your home? Pigs and monkeys have you dined with, and treated so graciously that none guessed your true thoughts. How many times have you ventured into the abyss itself, when it suited your reasons? Talk to the man, give him your orders, and listen to that laugh of his. Then wash yourself.

Yes, yes, yes. Enough. Doubts weaken the body and the soul, and the Old One could not afford a diminution in either. He watched the wind turbines along the mountains in the distance, the lights from the Strip a mere distraction now, feeling the peace of the infinite descend upon him like a kiss. The hardy nomads of the land of his birth believed that Allah had already written the book of life. Thus prayer to them was an obligation, but they harbored no illusions that God was influenced by their beseechings. He watched the power turbines spin in the cold desert air and thought of Redbeard, who had stymied him for so long. Matching him move for move. Now it was Redbeard’s turn to twist in the wind, at the mercy of fate and fearing for the safety of his niece. In this one thing only, Redbeard and the Old One were in complete agreement: they both wished fervently that Rakkim would find her.

“Sarah’s gone? What does that mean?”

“She ran away two days ago.” Redbeard checked his watch. “Make that three days now. She disappeared Friday morning, after teaching her first class.”

Rakkim put a hand on him. “You’re certain she wasn’t snatched?”

Redbeard slapped Rakkim’s hand away, walked off the main path. He moved a little stiffly.

Rakkim followed him deeper into the garden, ducking his head to pass through the elephant ferns and clumps of hanging lilies, flowers for the dead, cloying. Even with the full moon it was murky in the garden, but Redbeard knew where he was going. So did Rakkim. At a small clearing beside a rock waterfall, Redbeard sat down, supporting himself with one hand for a moment. Rakkim joined him.

Redbeard pursed his lips. “Sarah left on her own. I thought at first that she had gone with you, but she called Friday night. She said she was safe and I shouldn’t worry.”

“Why would she run away? What did you do?”

“I was looking after her,” said Redbeard, glaring. “I had arranged a marriage between her and a suitable man, not an easy thing at her age, particularly after the publication of that damned book of hers. The Saudi ambassador offered his fifth son, Soliman, a petrochemical executive, and I accepted. Soliman has two wives, but they live in the Kingdom, protected from the supposed moral taint of our nation. Sarah was to be his primary spouse and they were to live here in the ambassador’s compound. Soliman is well educated, cosmopolitan-”

“How considerate of you.” Rakkim had seen them together, followed them without Sarah’s knowledge. The Saudi held his coffee cup with both hands while he drank, as though not trusting his own grip. “You found a moderate for her. Sarah could still teach and go to movies. She might even be able to dance at her own wedding.”

“Should I have waited until someone discovered the two of you sneaking around in sin? Then Sarah would have had no prospects.”

Rakkim stayed silent. Rakkim could ignore Redbeard’s wishes, but in spite of her age and income, Sarah was expected to obey her guardian.

“I want you to find her.”

“You have plenty of agents. What do you need me for?”

“I trust you.”

“Why would I bring her back? I’m just sorry she didn’t call me first.”

“She’s going to get herself killed,” Redbeard said quietly. “An unmarried woman who leaves home without permission is always at risk, and Sarah’s writings have made her a target. She doesn’t appreciate the situation-”

“You think the Black Robes would dare go after your niece?”

“It would be foolish, but people in power do foolish things all the time.”

“Oxley is too cautious, too smart…” Rakkim stopped. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Mullah Oxley is cautious, but there are others among the Black Robes who do not consider that an admirable quality.” Redbeard fingered his beard. “I did my best to cover Sarah’s absence. She’s taken sudden sabbaticals before when her research required it. The chair of the History Department was fooled. Someone else was not.” A vein in his thick neck pulsed. “The day after she disappeared, I got word that certain bounty hunters had been given the commission to find her. Specialists in returning errant wives and daughters. My men intercepted two teams of hunters. One of my best agents, Stevens, whose nose you chose to break, led the captures, but I’m sure there are other teams looking-”

“Who hired them?”

“They were contacted anonymously. Their commission untraceable.”

“Don’t worry, Uncle, I’ll find her. I won’t bring her back so you can marry her off, but I’ll find her. Then you can send out Stevens to find us.”

“Spare me your threats. I’ve already made my excuses to the ambassador. I told him today that Sarah was in seclusion seeking spiritual guidance. That was reason enough for him to call off the wedding. The pious are always suspicious of devotion in others.”