“All is ready to welcome the Christian devils?” Sheik Abdul-Basir Hakim asked.
Hassan Najid nodded. “As soon as they arrive, a table of salted beef and sweetmeats will be laid out for them, great lord.”
“And rum? I want the infidels to get drunk as hogs.”
“Two casks.” Najid smiled. “Rum enough for ten times their number.”
Hakim smiled. “And what of Abdullah, our brave warrior of Islam? He does not falter in his resolve?”
“No, sir. He eagerly looks forward to paradise and the company of many virgins.”
“Then all is well.” In a giving mood, Hakim said, “The Chinese girl I gave you, the one who will assist our holy martyr, did you enjoy her?”
“She amused me for an hour or two, lord,” Najid replied. “I will use her again.”
“Good, good. Then that pleases me.”
Hakim turned, stared out at the Gulf, and a frown gathered between his eyebrows.
Attuned to his master’s slightest swings in mood, Najid bent at the waist in question. “Something troubles you, lord?”
It took a few moments before the sheik answered. With some reluctance, he admitted, “The sea troubles me, Hassan.”
Najid was perplexed. “But, sire, you are the finest sailor in all of Islam.” The man’s voice rose into a shout. “You are the Sea Falcon, scourge of all the oceans of the world.”
As Najid knew they would, the sailors lounging nearby wildly cheered their captain.
After the noise died away, Hakim stood in thought, then said, “Here is a story, Najid. Once I met an old man in Jeddah who years before had lost both his legs to a shark. He told me that his fishing boat sank and, being a fine swimmer, he struck out for a distant shore. Now here is the interesting part—he told me he knew there was a shark in the water stalking him long before the beast attacked. He said he couldn’t see the shark or smell it, but he knew it was there, lurking unseen. Is that not strange, Hassan?”
“Indeed, lord, but what unseen thing troubles you so? Is it the American warship?”
Hakim waved a dismissive hand. “Pah. I do not fear the American carrion dogs. They are women.”
“Then what, sire?”
“I do not know. But it is out there in the deep and it stares at me with white, shining eyes as big as food platters.”
“Aye, my lord is indeed troubled in his soul. But once we kill the Americans and take their women, all will be well.”
Hakim nodded. “Perhaps you are right, Hassan. Allah willing, this will pass.”
Commander John Sherburne watched with approval as sailors polished the lenses of the two huge searchlights on either side of the bridge. The Kansas now had eyes to see in the dark.
“We’ll give then a try tonight, Mr. Wilson,” Sherburne said. “I suspect that’s when the rats come out of their holes.”
“Indeed, Captain,” Lieutenant Wilson agreed.
“I thought those lights were just so much damned ballast when I saw them loaded. Now they may prove their worth.”
“Indeed, Captain.”
The commander smiled. “You are still of the opinion that the Arab scow has left the gulf.”
Wilson took the smile to mean that he could be frank. “Sir, I believe she’s halfway to the East African coast by this time.”
“Then we’ll agree to disagree, Mr. Wilson.” Sherburne took a flask from his pocket. “You still don’t indulge?”
“No, sir. I promised my betrothed that my lips—”
“Yes. You told me that already.” Sherburne took a swig and wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand. “Give Sergeant Monroe my compliments and tell him I want his marines on deck tonight with full equipment. If we light up the enemy, the marines get a chance to land. I’ll command the marine detachment myself.”
“You, sir?”
“Me, sir.”
“I’m sorry, I just meant . . . well, you’re the captain and—”
“If I fall in the battle, Mr. Wilson, you are quite competent to take over command.”
“Thank you, sir. But I’d rather hoped to command the marines myself.”
“Why, Mr. Wilson? Glory? Promotion? Your name in the newspapers?”
His earnest round face flushed, Wilson said, “All of those things, sir.”
Sherburne pretended an anger he didn’t feel. “Be damned to you, sir. You’re trying to usurp my command.”
Wilson was flustered. “No, sir. Not at all, sir. I mean—”
“Go relay my order to Sergeant Monroe.”
“Aye, aye, sir. At once, sir.” Wilson hurried away as fast as his stocky legs could carry him, but Sherburne’s voice stopped him. “Oh, and Mr. Wilson . . .”
“Yes, sir?”
“Tell Sergeant Monroe that you will lead the marine detachment should it land.”
A grin split Wilson’s face. “Yes, indeed, sir.”