to leave her unless she abandoned her career. He had even indicated, without quite promising, that they would marry. For years Adriana had rejected the idea of marriage, but now that she was in her mid-forties, the idea of permanence seemed liberating rather than inhibiting. Worn down by public demands, a hectic travel schedule, relentless concert appearances and Nicky’s almost-sadistic manipulations, she had finally surrendered and Nicky had won the battle.
He and Adriana would be together on his terms.
X was reporting from Cilek that Sadun was making excellent progress.
Seven hundred million dollars’ worth of oil was lying under the Egyptian desert just waiting to be taken.
Things couldn’t be better and, for now, Nicky was as content as a man of such consuming appetites could be.
It was during the following weeks that the trouble started.
14
“You should know,” X said to Nicky over the ship-to-shore telephone, “that Sadun asked for a newspaper this morning—”
“A newspaper?” replied Nicky. “Really?”
“
The New York Times
,” said X. “
The London Times
—”
“Did he say why?” asked Nicky who was well aware that Sadun’s usual literary tastes ran to pornographic magazines imported from Germany and England and the sexually explicit novels published by the Olympia Press in Paris.
“He spoke of the duty of a King to be informed—”
Nicky was surprised. More than surprised. “Sadun said
that
?”
“In those exact words—”
Nicky, whose tendency toward paranoia was never fully suppressed, didn’t know the meaning of Sadun’s new request but he was disconcerted by the information and wondered where it might lead.
“If Sadun has any visitors,” he said. “I want to know. Call me right away—”
“Understood,” said X.
“Do you have anything else to report?”
“Sadun has become very demanding,” said X. “If Dr. Jenkins is even a few minutes late for the shot, Sadun becomes enraged. Yesterday he smashed the mirror across from his bed—”
“Nothing to be concerned about,” Nicky said. “Sadun’s been spoiled since he was a child so he’s always been demanding. What else would you expect?”
Sadun had lost almost sixty pounds, and the loss of weight had not only affected his physical activities — he now swam every day in the villa’s pool — but it had changed him intellectually. He was reading newspapers from Rome, Cairo, and Paris; he was reading
Time
,
Fortune
, and
Newsweek
.
He had ordered Rudy to stop showing pornographic films at night, and requested, instead, newsreels. His sexual appetites had, if anything, grown as he turned from a grossly dissolute swine into a relatively trim and surprisingly intelligent human being. Shrouded beneath the layers of fat, Gavin had observed, lived a man of sensitivity, intelligence, and burgeoning ambition.
“I could be a king if I wanted,” he told Gavin one day as he prepared Sadun’s 6 P.M. shot.
“Could you really?” asked Gavin, concentrating on the mixture he was drawing into the hypodermic. As soon as Sadun was down to 170 pounds, Gavin would gradually withdraw the drugs. He wanted Sadun to be independently healthy and freed from any need for medication.
“Really,” replied Sadun. “I am still popular with the Egyptian people and there is a royalist movement in Egypt, underground to be sure, but it could be mobilized, if I wanted—”
“Would you want that?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
Gavin smiled slightly. “I wasn’t born to a throne—”
Sadun had begun to confide in him and talked about how worthless he had felt as a young boy. All the attention and praise had been lavished on his cousin Farouk, who would one day be king. The court hung on Farouk’s every word and moved quickly to satisfy each and every whim. Sadun’s distance from the throne accorded him inferior status.
He had fewer and less expensive toys than his cousin; he went to a school with regular classes, while Farouk was
He and Adriana would be together on his terms.
X was reporting from Cilek that Sadun was making excellent progress.
Seven hundred million dollars’ worth of oil was lying under the Egyptian desert just waiting to be taken.
Things couldn’t be better and, for now, Nicky was as content as a man of such consuming appetites could be.
It was during the following weeks that the trouble started.
14
“You should know,” X said to Nicky over the ship-to-shore telephone, “that Sadun asked for a newspaper this morning—”
“A newspaper?” replied Nicky. “Really?”
“
The New York Times
,” said X. “
The London Times
—”
“Did he say why?” asked Nicky who was well aware that Sadun’s usual literary tastes ran to pornographic magazines imported from Germany and England and the sexually explicit novels published by the Olympia Press in Paris.
“He spoke of the duty of a King to be informed—”
Nicky was surprised. More than surprised. “Sadun said
that
?”
“In those exact words—”
Nicky, whose tendency toward paranoia was never fully suppressed, didn’t know the meaning of Sadun’s new request but he was disconcerted by the information and wondered where it might lead.
“If Sadun has any visitors,” he said. “I want to know. Call me right away—”
“Understood,” said X.
“Do you have anything else to report?”
“Sadun has become very demanding,” said X. “If Dr. Jenkins is even a few minutes late for the shot, Sadun becomes enraged. Yesterday he smashed the mirror across from his bed—”
“Nothing to be concerned about,” Nicky said. “Sadun’s been spoiled since he was a child so he’s always been demanding. What else would you expect?”
Sadun had lost almost sixty pounds, and the loss of weight had not only affected his physical activities — he now swam every day in the villa’s pool — but it had changed him intellectually. He was reading newspapers from Rome, Cairo, and Paris; he was reading
Time
,
Fortune
, and
Newsweek
.
He had ordered Rudy to stop showing pornographic films at night, and requested, instead, newsreels. His sexual appetites had, if anything, grown as he turned from a grossly dissolute swine into a relatively trim and surprisingly intelligent human being. Shrouded beneath the layers of fat, Gavin had observed, lived a man of sensitivity, intelligence, and burgeoning ambition.
“I could be a king if I wanted,” he told Gavin one day as he prepared Sadun’s 6 P.M. shot.
“Could you really?” asked Gavin, concentrating on the mixture he was drawing into the hypodermic. As soon as Sadun was down to 170 pounds, Gavin would gradually withdraw the drugs. He wanted Sadun to be independently healthy and freed from any need for medication.
“Really,” replied Sadun. “I am still popular with the Egyptian people and there is a royalist movement in Egypt, underground to be sure, but it could be mobilized, if I wanted—”
“Would you want that?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
Gavin smiled slightly. “I wasn’t born to a throne—”
Sadun had begun to confide in him and talked about how worthless he had felt as a young boy. All the attention and praise had been lavished on his cousin Farouk, who would one day be king. The court hung on Farouk’s every word and moved quickly to satisfy each and every whim. Sadun’s distance from the throne accorded him inferior status.
He had fewer and less expensive toys than his cousin; he went to a school with regular classes, while Farouk was
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