The Scorpion's Gate by Richard A. Clarke

toward his boss.
    “I dunno, Rusty, I dunno. Stranger things have happened. It’s possible, it’s possible,” the Director of IAC mused. “Listen, if you were running Islamyah, wouldn’t you want some protection right now? Your weapons don’t work because the Americans all left and won’t send parts. Secretary Conrad is giving a speech a week about how bad the people in Riyadh are. The Iranians are screwing around in Bahrain again. Tehran’s got the Iraqis on their side now. Who knows?”
    “I feel like there are an awful lot of moving parts right now, too many pieces on the chessboard, three-level chess,” MacIntyre suggested.
    “There are. Lotta balls in the air at the moment. That’s when America needs really good analysis,” Rubenstein said, and then he sat up straight. “Here’s what I suggest you do. Fly over to London. They have smart guys there on this stuff, with good contacts, better than ours, stuff they don’t share through normal liaison channels with CIA. For someone of your rank, they’ll open up. Besides, it’ll give you a chance to buy Sarah something nice on Portobello Road. She’s into antiques, right?”
    “You are well informed,” Rusty said, rising out of his chair. “Does someone of my rank get to fly first class this time?”
    “No, business class,” Rubenstein said, going back to his papers on North Korea.
    MacIntyre walked up to Rubenstein’s desk and quietly placed a small blue device on it.
    “What the hell is that?” Rubenstein asked.
    “It’s a BlackBerry. It’s already programmed for you with a Yahoo account in your name. It’s also programmed to send me PGPencrypted e-mail at a Yahoo address that only you and a few others know. In short, it’s our own private communications system. I’ll stay in touch that way while I’m on the road.” MacIntyre handed him the BlackBerry.
    “I’ll never figure out how to work it,” Rubenstein said, holding the device as if it were some extraterrestrial artifact.
    “I know. One of my new analysts will help you. Susan Connor— very tech-savvy. Unlike some.” MacIntyre laughed as he walked toward the door.
    Finally, Rubenstein looked up. “You don’t mind, do you, going to talk to the Brits?”
    “I already told Debbie to book the flight,” Rusty said. “Just came in here to persuade you.”
    “Argh,” the Director bellowed. “Get the fuck out of here!”

    Salmaniyah Medical Center
Manama, Bahrain

    “ D r. Rashid, I am so glad you have joined us, and I want you to know that if there is anything we can do to help you get settled, you have only to ask.” The cute young Pakistani nurse was positively effusive as she said good night to the new doctor. It was the end of Ahmed’s first shift and he was bone-tired, but he could not rest. He had a lot more to do tonight.
    Ahmed bin Rashid walked to the nearly empty parking lot and started the battered Nissan that had been waiting for him, along
    with the apartment, along with the job. His brother’s people had seen to everything. He drove to his apartment building on the Manama Corniche and parked on the street, near the long coastal promenade, with its sweeping views of the bay. Entering the lobby of the modern structure, he went down the stairs to the basement and exited into the alley behind the building. There he found the motorbike where someone had left it for him. He drove it three miles to an old high-rise apartment block on the al Lulu Road near the Central Market. Ahmed entered the building through the service door, conveniently left unlocked. As soon as he stepped through the portal, a pair of hands grabbed him by his shoulders and spun him around, locking him in a tight grip just above the elbows. Stunned, his eyes unfocused in the dark, Ahmed tried to pull away, but whoever was holding him was much stronger.
    “A moment, please, Doctor,” a voice said calmly in Arabic. An instant later, another pair of hands expertly patted him down.
    The men were