“I hope that isn’t the case,” he replied softly. “Murdering so many people is a level of evil that chills me to the bone.”
Bash sighed, rubbing Sean’s arm in a comforting gesture. “I hope I’m just being paranoid too, but it has to be considered. As far as I’m concerned, everyone in Akkadia is a threat to you, and you know how I deal with threats.”
Sean nodded. “I do. Let’s hope this ends quickly, and before Faisal dies. Then the elders can figure out who takes the throne next. Because it won’t be me. I can’t live my life always looking over my shoulder, wondering who might want to kill me for a position I never wanted.”
“I’ll do my best to end this as fast as possible.” There was no mistaking the determination in Bash’s voice, and Sean once again leaned his head on Bash’s shoulder, allowing himself to feel safe, at least for the moment. Because he had the feeling moments of safety were about to become horribly scarce.
19
The Akkadian council chamber was a large room, richly appointed with tapestries and antique furniture. The artwork consisted of the vegetal and geometric patterns calledarabesque, which was so prevalent in Islamic countries, but there were also large, framed photographs of several of the kings of Akkadia, going back to black and white portraits and even a tintype from the mid-nineteenth century. It was rather fascinating to look at them and see facets of Sean’s features in his ancestors, the aquiline curve of his nose reminiscent of one, the strong line of his jaw similar to another.
But Bash couldn’t let himself be distracted from the task at hand, and he returned his attention to the door where the council members would enter. Normally the king arrived after everyone was seated, but Mansur had given in to Bash’s request to go over the room and make sure it was safe before Sean entered. He also wanted Sean to be seated and waiting, which would give Sean and Bash both time to observe the councilors one by one as they arrived. It might violate protocol, but as far as Bash was concerned, protocol could get fucked.
Sean was seated at the end of the table farthest from the door. His throne-like chair trimmed in gilt and set with gems seemed horribly ostentatious to Bash’s sensibilities. Nick was richer than even the King of Akkadia, but he didn’t believe in such displays of wealth; his leather office chair was the same one that was used by most of the Fortress members in their own rooms.
By comparison, Sean himself looked both handsome and very western in his tailored charcoal gray suit and silk tie. Nick had provided Sean’s wardrobe, and Bash wondered if Nick had anticipated the need for Sean to return to Akkadia long before the attempt on Faisal’s life. Several expensive suits and silk shirts, as well as more traditional Akkadian robes and keffiyeh had been in the luggage which had arrived the previous afternoon, and all of them fit Sean as perfectly as though made for him. Sean was also wearing the light but tough body armor Bash had brought along. Bash had also hidden GPS trackers in Sean’s shoes so he could keep track of Sean’s location if they were separated.
Bash was dressed in a custom-made dark suit and tie to fit his Interpol cover. He’d worn the same type of suits many times before, and he was grateful for the way they accommodated his concealed weapons. He couldn’t hold a machine gun in his hands as openly as the four big Akkadian guards stationed in the room, but he could bring his own weapons to bear on a threat just as fast as the guards could flip off their safeties and aim.
Bash was stationed next to and slightly behind Sean’s chair to the right, while Mansur occupied the same position on Sean’s left. Even though Sean was only the crown prince, Mansur felt it necessary to show solidarity with his nephew for this first meeting. The alternative would have been for him to send Hamid Al Daoud, as the next most senior male in the Rasheed line, so Bash had resigned himself to Mansur’s presence, since Bash could barely look at Al Daoud without glaring, remembering the beating he’d suffered at the little shit’s hands.
Mansur leaned down slightly to speak to Sean. “The councilors will enter in order of the position of their ministries, rather than by rank of nobility. Your grandfather instituted the practice long ago because there was too much squabbling among the chieftains about who had precedence over the others.”
Sean’s quiet huff revealed his opinion of such petty quarrels all too well, but he kept his expression neutral. “A sensible decision,” he said dryly. “Are we ready to begin?”
“We are.” Mansur straightened and nodded to the majordomo who stood next to the chamber doors. With a gesture from the majordomo, the two footmen opened the doors to reveal the hallway and several men waiting for admittance.
“His Eminence, Sheik Amir Al Bishara, Minister of Defense,” the majordomo announced, and an older man in a robe and keffiyeh entered the room, his dark eyes frankly assessing as he came forward, bowing to Sean before taking his position at the table. As leader of Akkadia’s military, he was a natural suspect in Bash’s eyes for being the traitor, especially since the arrival of Akkadian forces at the terrorist’s building hadn’t been explained to Bash’s satisfaction. The story of a “random tip” being provided to the local military base seemed thin, especially since no evidence of such a tip had yet been found.
“Sheik Khaleel bin Abdullah Al Rabiah, Minister of Internal Affairs.”
The introductions went on, and Bash scrutinized each man carefully. Most of them were older, having served under Faisal for many years. But one name made Bash narrow his eyes and focus on the new arrival intently.
“Sheik Majid Al Farhan, Minister of Transportation.”
The man who entered was tall and lean, with a weathered face and piercing gaze. He gave a token bow before claiming his seat, the insolence of the gesture obvious. Bash had flagged the sheik’s dossier from the start, because Majid had risen to control of his family after three older brothers had died, two of them in car accidents and one by a murder that had been blamed on a jealous mistress. He was ambitious, and the Farhan dynasty had been in a struggle with many other tribes for prominence in the last thirty years. Majid had also made no bones about his place in the Akkadian succession, since his grandmother had been a sister to Sean’s grandfather, making him Faisal’s nephew and a direct descendent of the Al Rasheed line as well. In Bash’s opinion, the man was dangerous, a possible murderer of his own brothers. Mansur had told him Faisal had given Majid a ministry to monitor him rather than from any genuine desire to have him running a part of the government.
“Prince Jamil Al Daoud, regional governor of the north.” The next arrival also held Bash’s interest. The man was just as short as his son, Hamid, with the same cold, dead eyes. It had come as an unpleasant surprise to Bash when he’d been acquainting himself with the key members of the Akkadian government that Hamid Al Daoud came from a prominent family, one that stood uncomfortably close to the throne. Jamil was Faisal’s brother-in-law, which made Hamid a nephew of the king.
There was something about Jamil that Bash didn’t care for at all — a cruelty to his gaze that was familiar, no doubt because Bash had seen the same expression in the eyes of his son. He was ambitious as well, and he governed the northern province with an iron fist. From what Bash had read, the people in his region hated him, but any protest was suppressed by jailing the leaders.
The rest of the regional governors were introduced, and then the chamber doors were closed.
Sean swept his gaze around the table, seeming to assess each person, and he greeted them with a polite smile. “I thank you all for coming,” he said. “I’m pleased to report that my duties as my grandfather’s representative will be short-lived. Our king’s condition has improved, and I will serve as his intermediary only until such time as he is recovered enough to resume his normal schedule.”
He delivered the lie with a straight face and a smooth voice that gave away nothing of his deception.
Bash was proud of how well Sean pulled off the lie, but his attention was on the council members so that he could see their reactions. Most of them were positive, surprise and relief evident on many of their faces. A couple of men, however, looked dubious, and Sheik Majid’s expression was outright skeptical. That was interesting to Bash, since there didn’t seem a reason for the Majid to disbelieve Sean’s announcement, unless he had some other source of information, and Mansur claimed to have been holding Faisal’s condition to a strict need-to-know basis.
It was hard to judge Prince Jamil’s reaction. His face betrayed nothing of his thoughts, but Bash wasn’t sure if it was because his son had informed him that Sean planned to lie or because he had an incredible poker face.
“That’s wonderful news, Your Highness,” one man spoke up, his lined face holding a joy that made Bash uncomfortable. He was Tawfiq Al Hadaan, and he was one of Faisal’s actual friends as well as the Minister of Health. “Not that we don’t appreciate your presence here and that you’re doing your duty to your country, of course.”
Sean inclined his head in acknowledgment. “I consider it wonderful news as well.”
The meeting went on, with the various ministries and regional governors reporting on the status of their areas. Bash tuned most of it out, especially when they lapsed into Akkadian, but he noticed they usually switched back into English quickly after throwing an apologetic glance at Sean. Bash realized with surprise they all seemed to assume Sean didn’t speak Akkadian.
At last the reports seemed complete, and Bash had filed away the interactions among the council enough to have a pretty clear idea about who among them were allies and who were enemies, both to each other and to Faisal. As far as he could tell, respect for the Al Rasheed family was fairly high among them, which might help prop Sean up when it became apparent Faisal wouldn’t recover.
