Free The Pirate by Harold Robbins Page A

years earlier, Samir had made his pilgrimage to Mecca. His prayers had been answered with the birth of Baydr. But, despite his promise, Feiyad had still not designated the boy as his heir. Instead, he had insisted that Baydr be educated in Western ways and live and learn about the Western world. In many ways, Samir had been pleased. His son would become a doctor as he had been and together they would work, side by side.
    But the Prince had other ideas. There were others who could become doctors. Baydr had to be educated in more important matters—trade, investment. It was only through increased sophistication in commerce that the country, meaning himself and his family, would continue to grow in wealth and stature. He had the basic Arab distrust of the Western people he did business with: he felt they regarded him as somehow inferior, almost childlike in his lack of knowledge. And so it was that he decided that Baydr would not go to England to follow in his father’s footsteps, but to America, where business was the admired and respected profession.
    Samir looked proudly at his son as he stepped from the limousine. Dressed in traditional Arab clothing, the ghutra falling down his neck, the robes clinging to his tall lean frame, he was a handsome figure. The strong chin, prominent nose and blue-black eyes set deeply into high-boned, olive cheeks gave promise of the strength and character of the young man. The Prince would be pleased. Perhaps, now, he would designate Baydr as his heir.
    Mentally, he begged Allah’s forgiveness for his earthly hopes and vanities. It was enough of a miracle that he had brought a son to him in the desert. With that he should be content. Allah’s will be done.
    He gestured to Baydr, who followed him up the steps into the cafe. The Prince’s major-domo was at the door with two armed guards. He recognized Samir. He bowed in the traditional greeting. “As-salaam alaykum.”
    “Alaykum as-salaam,” Samir replied.
    “His excellency has been awaiting the arrival of his favorite cousin with great anticipation,” the major-domo said. “He has requested that I bring you to him as soon as you arrive. He is in his apartment upstairs.”
    They followed the major-domo through the empty cafe to the staircase at the rear of the great room. The cafe itself was quiet. The usually busy waiters stood around in clusters gossiping with one another, and near the stage, the orchestra sat smoking and talking. None of the singers or dancers was visible. Nothing would begin until the Prince gave the signal.
    The apartments over the cafe were reserved for very special clients and their guests who, after a night of amusement in the cafe, might be too tired to make the journey home or who wished to stay and partake of further pleasures that could be provided by the management. The major-domo paused in front of a door and knocked.
    “Who ith it?” a young boy’s voice answered.
    “The Doctor Al Fay and his son are here to see his excellency,” the major-domo replied.
    The door was opened by a young boy clothed in silken shirt and trousers. His eyes were heavily made up and his cheeks rouged and his fingernails long and painted. “Pleathe come in,” he lisped in English.
    Baydr and his father entered the room. The faintly sweet odor of hashish hung in the air. The room was empty. “Pleathe be theated,” the boy said, indicating the sofas and chairs. He left them and went into another room.
    Baydr and his father looked at each other without speaking.
    The boy came back into the room. “Hith exthellenthy will be with you in a moment. Ith there anything I can do for you? A thweet? A refrethment perhapth? We have Englith whithkey if you prefer.”
    Samir shook his head. “No, thank you.”
    The door opened again and Prince Feiyad entered. He was fully dressed in his royal robes, his head covered in white muslin. He crossed the room to his cousin.
    Samir and Baydr rose and made the traditional obeisance to their