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Mike glanced over at Sabah, who continued to gaze forlornly at the overhead, a frown frozen on his features. One thing for sure; if the SEAL could make a clean break from the yacht, the last thing he would do before disembarking would be to cut the son of a bitch's throat.

The door suddenly came open and the large bulk of the bodyguard Alif filled the exit. He pointed directly at Mike. "Inta! Ta'al mail!"

Sabah turned his head to look at Mike. "He wants you to go with him."

Mike frowned. "What for?"

"I wouldn't ask," Sabah advised. "He is undoubtedly following orders from Sheikh Omar."

Mike got to his feet and joined the bodyguard. Alif turned and began walking down the passageway. Mike followed, noting that the Arab wasn't watching him closely. Evidently, this was not a summons involving anything too serious. They went up to the bridge deck and down to the sheikh's cabin. Alif knocked on the door, then opened it and peered inside. He turned back and nodded for Mike to enter.

The sheikh sat on a sofa, dressed in a tropical shirt, slacks, and sandals. For all intents and purposes, he looked like a wealthy Latin-American about to go out on a hot summer evening. "Come in, Mikael. Sit down."

"Thanks," Mike said, taking an indicated nearby chair.

"I wanted to have a chat with you," Sheikh Omar said. "I thought it might be beneficial for both of us if we became better acquainted."

"Sounds fine to me."

"Are you particularly religious?"

Mike thought that an odd question, and he responded in a manner that would not put him in an awkward position. "Not really, sir. My family, except for my grandfather, did not attend the mosque regularly. I haven't had a lot of religious education except for when I was at the training camp."

"That is interesting," the sheikh said. "I am not a devout person either. I suppose my lifestyle has made me more pragmatic and worldly than spiritual." He chuckled. "Well, since we are both fallen Muslims, could I offer you a drink?"

"You sure could," Mike said, grinning.

"Please go over to those panel doors. If you open them you will find a completely stocked wet bar. I would appreciate it very much if you would pour me a Grey Goose and tonic. Fix whatever you wish for yourself."

Mike went over and slid the doors open. A small but efficient bar was exposed, and he went around it. The* shelf was fully stocked with the finest and most expensive of international liquor. He mixed a strong vodka tonic for the sheikh and grabbed a beer out of the small fridge for himself. He checked the label and noted it was a Spanish brand called Cristal.

Mike returned to the sheikh and gave him the mixed drink, then sat down. Mike raised his beer to display it. "I'm a bit of a lowbrow."

"There is nothing wrong with enjoying beer," the sheikh said, "though I prefer the European over those watery American brands." He took a sip of the drink. "Ah! You do know how to throw a good drink together."

"Glad you like it, Sheikh Omar."

The sheikh took a couple of sips, smacked his lips, and smiled. "By the way, you did say that you did not accompany Commodore Mahamat to the battle with the American Navy, correct?"

"Sabah and I both stayed behind at the naval base."

"I see," the sheikh said. 'Tell me truthfully, Mike. What do you think of his version of the events?"

Mike had to be careful how he responded. If he were too glib and precise, it would reveal his own naval background. "Well, Sheikh Omar, I got to admit that it seemed kind of far-fetched. I ain't any kind of expert on this sort of thing, but I know from watching news on TV that the U. S. Navy ain't got near that kind of a force in this part of the world."

The sheikh chuckled. "My thoughts exactly. I believe the commodore is doing what you Americans refer to as covering his ass. Right?"

"Prob'ly."

"What do you know about the types of air-cushioned boats called hovercraft?"

"Well, they're real fast," Mike responded. "And can go just about anywhere since they raise above the water. I even seen pictures of Marines bringing them up on the beach. But I don't think there's a whole lot of 'em being used."

"You strike me as being particularly bright, Mikael. Perhaps if you had been raised in a part of the world where Muslims reign, you would have been given a chance to get a complete and advanced education."

Mike saw an opening. "As a matter of fact, I made good grades quite a lot when I was in school. But somehow, I just couldn't get along. It's hard to explain."

"I understand perfectly, my friend," the sheikh said. "I tell you what I would like to do, Mikael. I want you to become an advisor of sorts to me. I need a sharp fellow who is completely familiar with Americans and the ways they talk, think, and act. Do you think you could help me out?"

"Jesus! I'd be real happy to."

The sheikh chuckled. "You said 'Jesus!' Are you aware he is in the Koran? He is called Isa, and was not a messiah. He was a prophet according to Islam, and not the Son of God. Nor was he crucified and resurrected in Muslim beliefs."

"I have some vague knowledge of that," Mike responded.

The sheikh looked at his watch. "We shall be getting under way within a half hour. We are going to a place I use as a stronghold. It's a fortified port on the borders of Oman and Yemen. I call the place Mikhbayi. That name is Arabic for Hiding Place. We will figure out your job description when we get there. That's another American expression, is it not? Job description?"

"Yes, Sheikh Omar."

"I am going to move you into a cabin on this deck level. You will not have to share it with anybody else "

"That'd be nice," Mike said.

"And we shall get you some decent clothing and proper grooming at Mikhbayi," the sheikh added. "How does that sound?"

"Fantastic!"

Sheikh Omar pressed a button located in the arm of the sofa. An instant later, Alif stepped into the room. The sheikh spoke to him, then nodded to Mike. "Alif will take you to your new quarters. Make yourself comfortable and feel free to come out on the stem deck anytime you wish."

Mike recognized the dismissal, and he stood up. "Thank you, Sheikh Omar. Fm really happy you gave me this chance." He finished the beer and set the empty bottle on the bar. "Good evening."

"Good evening, Mikael. I shall see you tomorrow."

Mike followed Alif out the door.

.

2100 HOURS LOCAL

MIKE couldn't believe his good luck. He glanced around his new cabin with its own private head, a large bed, a wardrobe, a table suitable for intimate dining, a desk, and a settee and a couple of easy chairs. Twenty minutes after he arrived, two stewards showed up at the door. One had his suitcase from the quarters he had shared with Sabah, and the other carried a large silver bucket containing ice and a dozen bottles of Cristal beer.

Mike unpacked, noting that his attire looked drab and cheap in comparison to the plush surroundings. It would be nice to get some proper modem clothing when they arrived at that hiding place of the sheikh. The right garb would also help in any escape and evasion activities that might loom in the future.

The SEAL opened a bottle of beer, then settled on the settee to relax and think. The real plus side was that it appeared that a great opportunity for him to cut and run had just presented itself. However, over in the minus column of the situation was the time factor. Unless he could get back to American contacts quickly, the information he had to pass on could well be outdated. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. "Come in."

When the door opened, Mike's jaw dropped. A beautiful blond woman, carrying a liquor bottle and wearing a beach towel wrapped around her shapely body, stepped inside. She smiled, speaking English in a heavy German accent. "Hello. My name is Hildegard. Sheikh Omar sent me to see that bored you did not get tonight."