The Old One fought back a cough. Yes, he had ample reason to be pleased. Things were moving rapidly now, hurried on by his own increasing desperation. Today's action in the Gulf would be a big step. Credit Ibrahim with the planning and execution of the action, as he would rightly be the first to claim.

The Old One coughed, kept coughing until there were tears in his eyes. Oh, the loss of Senator Chambers's defense appointment had been vexing, and he didn't need that pinched ascetic ibn-Azziz to tell him Rakkim was responsible. Idiot, who else could it be? The method of Chambers's undoing, parading him naked through the streets…The Old One smiled. Most men would simply have murdered Chambers, but Rakkim…the youngster loved his little jokes, and the Old One appreciated playfulness now more than ever. That was one of the reasons he had been so drawn to Baby. She was competent and creative and cold-blooded…but, even more, the girl enjoyed herself, which was more than he could say for Ibrahim, always fussing and worrying.

He closed his eyes, swallowed the bile brought up by his coughing spasm. Yes, there were many reasons to give thanks to Allah, but still…after all his efforts, all the many years, the Old One was not going to live to see the final resolution of his plans. That would fall to Ibrahim, or Baby, or someone else Allah deemed more worthy to carry the Caliphate forward. The Old One's triumph left a bitter taste.

Applause interrupted his reverie. The young family stood on the sand looking up, clapping their hands wildly.

The Old One didn't know how much time had elapsed, but the cloud sculpture was finished, at least enough of it for the beachcombers to recognize what it was: the new Brazilian luxury car, the Rio D. The black cloud car was long and sleek, with silver chrome trim, red and leather inside, green accents, a perfect simulation, and there…The Old One leaned forward, staring. The wheels of the Rio D were actually moving, going round and round over the deep blue sea. He was tempted to wake the Ethiopian girl and show her, but better she slept on. Perhaps later he would have use for her.

The Old One heard footsteps, turned and saw Ibrahim run up to the entrance to the cabana, stopping before the one-way security curtain. He wore a dark three-piece suit and lace-up shoes.

"F-F-Father."

The Old One shivered, returned his attention to the young family. The little girl was dragging a pail behind her…one of the waves caught her, filled the pail, the weight of it knocking her over. Her father pulled her into his arms, the little girl crouping up seawater.

"Father? It is nearly time."

The Old One opened the security curtain and Ibrahim scurried inside.

Ibrahim looked at the blank wallscreen. "You're not watching?"

The Old One shivered, covered it with a stretch. It would not do to show weakness in front of Ibrahim. "Go ahead."

Ibrahim rushed over, switched on the screen. He scrolled through the remote until the image of a packed ballroom came on, people dancing.

"Is the signal properly banked?" said the Old One.

"No need for security masking, Father," said Ibrahim, the screen showing a vast display of cut fruit, lobster and fresh fish, mounds of caviar and a whole suckling pig with an apple in its filthy mouth. "The signal is beamed from the Aztlan Board of Tourism channel, millions of people are watching."

"What's the name of the liner? The Yucatan Queen?"

"Yucatan Princess, Father."

"You vetted the crew of the speedboats? Made sure the registration is in order?"

"Yes, Father. I have attended to everything. Have I ever disappointed-?"

"Knockety-knock!"

The Old One turned, saw Baby standing outside the security curtain in a pale green sundress.

"Send her away, Father."

The Old One touched a button and Baby strolled inside, her bare feet bringing in sand. Her toes were painted bright pink, like the inside of a conch shell.

Baby glanced at the screen. "What are you boys up to?"

"It's none of your concern," said Ibrahim.

"Ibrahim has instituted a mission in the Gulf," said the Old One. "It's about to come to fruition."

Baby stared at the screen, saw a remote shot of the luxury liner churning across a flat blue sea, happy people on deck waving to the camera. "That's real pretty, but it doesn't seem like all that much, to me."

"I'm sure it doesn't," said Ibrahim.

The Ethiopian girl raised herself up on one elbow, rubbed her eyes.

"Go back to sleep," said the Old One, addressing her in her native tongue.

The Ethiopian girl rolled over, the sheet slipping down around her hips, already snoring.

"You don't look so good, Daddy," said Baby. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Well, I got something here that's gonna make you feel a whole lot better." Baby held up a thumb drive to the Old One. "Let me turn that thing off, and I'll show-"

"Don't you dare, woman," Ibrahim said quietly.

"Wait your turn, Baby," said the Old One. "Besides, I think you're going to enjoy the show that Ibrahim has prepared for us."

"For you, Father," said Ibrahim. "My efforts are all on your behalf."

Baby dragged a chair next to the Old One, sat down beside him as the tourism channel showed people gambling in the luxury liner's casino, bent over the roulette and craps tables. She looked at Ibrahim, sniffed. "Least you could do is serve popcorn."

CHAPTER 29

Mustafa bin-Siq leaned against the railing of the Yucatan Princess, watching the sunset over the Gulf, the water so warm you expected the sun to sizzle as it settled in. A poetic image for an engineer who wrote poetry and painted watercolors in his spare time, which, alas, there had been little of lately. Through the deck vibrations, he felt the port engine labor slightly, then smooth out. First assistant engineer Zapato should look into that, make a few adjustments to the fuel flow…bin-Siq stopped himself, half closed his eyes. No, there would be no need for that now.

"Hey, Paulo, can I get you some coffee?"

Bin-Siq jerked. He usually had this spot on the upper deck by himself, the passengers congregating on the lower decks where the bars and discos were.

The steward shifted, the gold buttons on his white jacket catching the sunset. "Didn't mean to startle you…sir."

Juan…that was the steward's name. Juan Tesca, a young man from Sinaloa, who always had his head in a book when he wasn't working. "Not your fault. I was just thinking."

The Yucatan Princess was one of a string of small Aztlan cruise liners that regularly sailed the Mexican Gulf Coast, with stops in Tampico, Havana, St. Petersburg, New Orleans and Matamoros. When the second assistant engineer got sick in Havana, as the Old One had planned, bin-Siq had presented his credentials and been hired. For the duration of the voyage, he was Paulo Maradona, an Argentinean engineer between ships.

"Nice, huh?" said the steward, nodding at the sunset. "Private too, I like that. You hear about tomorrow?"

"No."

"Captain called off the stop at New Orleans," said the steward. "Said it was too dangerous considering the noise the Belt's making about that church bombing in Texas. Lot of the passengers were plenty pissed off. They were hoping to dive the ruins, maybe come back with a hood ornament from a Cadillac or a string of Mardi Gras beads. They're talking about demanding a refund."

"Not our problem, is it?"

"Guess not."

Bin-Siq glanced at his watch. "You probably should get back to your duties."

"So…yes or no?" said the steward.

"Yes or no what?"

"Can I get you some coffee?"

"No…no, thank you."

"I guess you don't want to be kept awake."