A Gentleman's Game

45

Saudi Arabia-Tabuk Province, the Wadi-as-Sirhan 22 September 0146 Local (GMT+3.00)

"I told you to take it slowly," Matteen said.

Sinan shot a glare at him, then turned the look on the front right tire of the SUV, deflated and useless.

"Get the spare and the jack," Sinan said.

Matteen sighed, gesturing around them at the expanse of sand. "We can wait until dawn, Sinan. We can sleep in the car."

"I want to get home."

"You wanting to get home is why we have a flat tire in the middle of the desert."

"Fine, I'll do it." Sinan threw his Kalashnikov onto the backseat of the Land Cruiser, went around to the back, opened the hatch. Matteen followed after a moment, grumbling, then reached inside to help him free the spare. They rolled it around the side of the vehicle, loosened the bolts on the flat tire, and then set about raising the car with the jack.

It had taken them far longer to get out of Egypt than it had to get in, and Sinan had been surprised by how swiftly and how viciously the Egyptian authorities had responded to the bombing, for all the effect Nia's death had had. It puzzled him, and it puzzled Matteen, and it was only by Allah's grace, Sinan was sure, that they had not been stopped in the airport in Cairo, where they had boarded the flight south to Hurghada.

Their contact had met them in Port Safaga and put them up for the night, then brought them to the fishing boat that would take them to Duba.

It was in Port Safaga that they learned what had happened to Muhriz el-Sayd, how he had been murdered by the police.

"They take our best from us," Sinan had lamented. "They take our best, again and again, and we make no gains."

"Our gains are not for this world but the next, Sinan," Matteen had answered. "Do not lose your faith."

Sinan hadn't responded, dwelling once more on Nia, telling himself he had done what he had to do, that he had done what was required of him. She hadn't left him a choice.

They'd crossed the Red Sea and made port in Duba, finding the SUV where Abdul Aziz had promised them it would be, the keys in the hands of a local imam who fed them and prayed with them before sending them on their way with their rifles once more at their sides. The drive was a long one, and while they made good time on the immaculate and barren highways for the first part of it, as they closed in on the camp the going was slower, and they were required to leave the roads. Before night fell, they stopped and prayed.

"Let's wait until morning, Sinan," Matteen had suggested. "I don't like driving in the dark."

"I want to get back home."

"If we get hung up on a rock or boulder, we'll end up stuck out here and have to walk."

"Allah will not let that happen," Sinan had said simply, and then climbed back behind the wheel of the Land Cruiser. • They had the tire changed in only a few minutes, and Sinan's dour mood was only slightly helped by the fact that Matteen didn't say "I told you so."

Once the flat was stowed, along with the tools, Sinan moved to get behind the wheel, but this time Matteen stopped him.

"No, I'll take it for a while."

"I can drive."

"I know you can drive, Sinan, but you're impatient, and we only had the one spare. We'll get there when we get there."

Sinan thought about digging in, being stubborn. Instead, he moved around to the passenger's seat, climbing in, waiting while Matteen got behind the wheel. The engine came back to life without hesitation and the headlights splashed onto the baked earth.

"I just want to go home," Sinan said to no one in particular.