‘What did you say to your superior to change his mind?’ Al Ameen was in his early thirties, he guessed, with a good-looking, clean-shaven face and keen eyes that missed nothing. Unlike most of the grim-faced bastards who inhabited this place, he possessed an easy, almost disarming smile. The only reminder of his true age was his receding hairline, though he had cut his hair short to disguise this fact. ‘You can call me Rahul,’ the lieutenant informed him. ‘I told him you were not worthy of his time, and that I would relieve him of the burden of dealing with ignorant foreigners.’ ‘Very generous of you,’ he remarked. ‘Why are you so eager to help us?’ Keegan asked. ‘Men like Tariq are part of the older generation. They see the West as an enemy to be guarded against. I do not.’ ‘Yeah? So how do you see us?’ Frost pressed him. ‘As partners,’ he answered. ‘We work together, and we both profit. We work against each other, and we both fail. My country is the wealthiest and most developed in the Persian Gulf because of American money.
