Captain Loren strode along the road alongside Pierce. Neither men spoke. They turned into Lorens’ private quarters and closed the door.

“Nick, please.”

“I know, Pierce. I’m sorry. There was no other way.”

“All the way from Cairo. Two weeks travel and not another message until this. Nick, I’m shaking, I-”

“The evening’s not over yet, Eugene.”

“How do you mean?”

The door to Lorens’ private study opened and the smell of cigar smoke drifted ahead of the lilting voice.

“Because is has not yet begun.” The two men stood before the Prime Minister, who sat in Loren’ reading chair. An amber-hued snifter of brandy sat on the small table to his side.

“It’s not you that has him. No. It’s not me, either.” His voice was gallant, his stature diminutive. The man, however, was in command. Pierce closed his eyes as the Prime Minister spoke from a thousand miles away. “It’s he who has