Free Invasion by Dc Alden

reserved only for western guests. Cooper smiled as he recalled availing himself of some excellent Grand Cru on several visits.
    Yes, Geoffrey Cooper enjoyed a close, personal relationship with his Arabian friends. They listened to him, really listened. And, after too many glasses of the embassy’s equally impressive Burgundy, he impressed upon them his political ambition; to be granted a private audience with the Supreme Ruler of Arabia himself. Harry wouldn’t think him incompetent then.
    Cooper’s involvement with the Arabians had started just after Harry had come to power; at the time, Cooper had occupied the post of International Secretary for Trade and Industry. He’d flown to Egypt for a Euro-Arabian trade conference, landing at Cairo International, the only airport in the whole of Arabia that serviced direct flights from the west. Visas into the state were extremely hard to acquire for westerners and all travellers, no matter where they were headed in the Gulf region, had to pass through Cairo and continue their journey aboard the state airline.
    Not that there were many holiday-makers anyway. Since being assimilated into the new Arabia, the tourist sites at Luxor, the Pyramids, the magnificent hotels in Dubai, the Great Temple of Petra in Jordan and many other holiday destinations had been closed to non-Muslims indefinitely. Essential maintenance and architectural preservation programmes to combat the damage caused by endless tours parties were the initial reasons, but the truth was that western travellers were not welcome any more, their dollars and Euros no longer needed in the prosperous and unified Islamic state of Arabia.
    Cooper interpreted these actions another way. He saw all this religious and nationalist posturing as the predictable growing pains of a new empire. He prided himself on his ability to gain the trust of the Arabians and, after some initial contact, felt that they, in turn, warmed to his obvious charm and sophistication.
    But his ambitions didn’t stop at what he knew to be low-ranking Arabian delegates. No, the pinnacle of his career would be to gain an audience with the Supreme Ruler of Arabia, the Grand Mufti Mohammed Khathami himself. There was a possibility that, given the right circumstances and enough time, this secretive and powerful man would grant him, Geoffrey Cooper, a personal audience. Since his rise to power, Khathami hadn’t received a single Western diplomat on any official state visit. All meetings, appointments, state banquets and every other facet of diplomatic life were handled by emissaries, local dignitaries or other representatives. The man was a virtual recluse.
    It was rumoured that Khathami lived in an ancient Arabian fort by the azure waters of the Persian Gulf. Another rumour spoke of a desert palace in the hills of Jabal Sawda, in south-western Arabia. Or that he enjoyed a home in the marble city that was the newly-rebuilt Baghdad. In reality, no-one really knew. Invitations had been extended to him and his ministers by foreign governments, Britain included, and all were attended by the Cleric’s closest aides; the Cleric himself had always politely refused.
    His Holiness would see no-one, his responsibilities to his people and to the State were too demanding. But international diplomatic relationships were important. Why would he not see foreign representatives? The man had a dream for his people, his aides would answer. The moral and religious fibre of some Arabian states had been corrupted and westernised over the years. They’d lost their way. The Cleric was out there somewhere, deep in the desert or by the shores of the sea, spending his time in quiet contemplation or with other Holy Seers. He would be reading and interpreting the holy scriptures, forming new laws, new religious guidelines that would lead Arabia from out of the dark days of their recent past and into a bright future of Islamic Brotherhood. For not only was Khathami a great leader, but he