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“And why would I wish that?”
Why, indeed? “Because I have his full authority. I can come to agreement on his behalf.” Cam offered a just-between-us smile. “No middleman, as it were, to slow the process.”
The sultan nodded. “An excellent suggestion. As it is, your predecessor and I have had some areas of disagreement. He wanted to make changes in the wording your father and I had already agreed upon.”
Bull, Cam thought coldly, but he smiled again. “In that case, it’s a good thing I’ve come, Excellency.”
“I am sure Adair explained that the gentleman in question has gone to visit the plains beyond the Blue Mountains.”
“He mentioned it.”
“It was my suggestion. I thought it might do him good to get away from the city for a while. Take a break, I think you would call it. The plains are very beautiful, this time of year.”
The lie bore no resemblance to what Adair had said, and ended any last hope that his father’s representative might still be alive. The desire to leap onto the platform and grab the sultan by the throat was fierce.
Cam forced a polite smile. “A fine idea. I’m sure he’s enjoying himself.”
“Oh, I can promise that he’s getting a good rest.”
The son of a bitch grinned from ear to ear at the double entendre. Once more, Cam fought back the desire to go for him. Outnumbered, he’d be dead before he got within ten feet.
“While he rests,” Asaad said, “you and I can finalize things.” The sultan clapped his hands. Adair hurried forward with a pen and a sheaf of papers that Cam instantly recognized. “All it takes is your signature, Mr. Knight. So, if you would be so kind…?”
Bingo. This was why the negotiator was dead—and why Cam was still alive. Asaad needed a signature on the dotted line to move forward with the deal.
“Of course,” Cam said smoothly. “First, though, I’d like to get some rest. It was a long journey.”
“Signing a document is not difficult.”
“You’re right, it isn’t—which is why, surely, it can wait until tomorrow.”
Asaad’s eyes narrowed but his tone remained smooth. “In that case, permit me to ease the stress of your journey. I have arranged a small celebration of welcome.”
“I appreciate the gesture, sir, but really—”
“Surely you will not disappoint me by turning down my hospitality.”
The sultan’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. Was the so-called celebration part of a plan to lure Cam into compliance, or was it for more sinister reasons? Either way, Cam was trapped. The sultan had planned a party. There was no way out.
“Mr. Knight? What do you say? Will you be my guest?”
Cam inclined his head. “Thank you, Excellency. I would be delighted.”
Three hours later, the festivities were finally drawing to a close.
The evening had started with a feast. Platters of grilled meats, sweets, pastries…and bowls of other things, easily identified and grotesque, eaten by custom in decades long past.
The first time such a course appeared, Cam felt his stomach roll. He managed a polite smile, began to shake his head—and realized that a hush had fallen over the several dozen armed men seated at the long table.
Every eye was on him.
The sultan raised his eyebrows.
“This is a great delicacy, Mr. Knight—but we will understand if you are not prepared to partake of it. Not all men can be like the men of Baslaam.”
Hell. Was this going to be a pissing contest? A Baslaamic version of “I’m tougher than you are”? If so, Cam couldn’t afford to lose. He smiled, leaned forward and scooped a ladleful of the quivering mess on his plate.
“A delicacy, Excellency? In that case, I can’t pass it up.”
