Big oil man from Arabia by Michael Sheldon Cheney

By Michael Sheldon Cheney

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Gotta "Khobar. The ice We riyals. " went to Al Khobar. The main road ran for five miles, past the airport entrance, to the Persian Gulf shore. Millius gunned the car over a sand dune that wandering had blocked the road and we fishtailed down the other side to a seaport lately sprung from a village of fishermen's huts. The road ended at a T-shaped pier guarded in an by a somnolent soldier propped empty packing one main street running parallel to the shore, backed by a warren of mud and thatch houses.

Khuiviyah. Amir's bodyguard; mostly are nothing, though. Wait until you slaves. These see the king's bunch. " Almost blind in the dim interior, we wound along passageways through a churchly hush broken only by the slap-shuffle-slap of sandals as white-robed figures slipped past in the cool gloom. brought up in an office whose bare walls rose to a ceiling striped with We mangrove poles, supporting palm-fiber matting which in turn supported the mud-plaster surface of the flat roof. Atop this shaky ceiling the amir was wont on ceremonial occasions to entertain several hundred guests at suspenseful soirees.

Nobody knew he was about it," Imbued with a false energy, I set off to hunt up friend Keatinge in the Aramco offices. Trudging along in a cloud of alcoholic steam, I reached the foot of King's Road and found myself at a loss. passing oilman kindly took me in tow, flagging down a large red bus that was approaching at speed. The door clanked open to reveal a dark face adorned with rows of slashed scars on each "Kinda surprised sensitive A cheek. "As salaam alaikum" this vision intoned. my escort replied, shoving me aboard, "Handsome character," I observed, under cover oi "Hi, AH," eruptive starting noises.

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