Sweet Revenge

as to discourage prying eyes. Philip saw three women dressed in traditional garb hurry up the steps and through the door. He also noted that beneath the
abaaya
the women wore Nikes and Reeboks.
    “Families are encouraged to have their women educated here in Jaquir. Traditions can be flexible, you see. Jaquir needs women doctors, women teachers, women bankers. For now, this is to make it less complicated for our women to receive medical treatment, to be educated, and to handle their money. It will not always be so.”
    Philip turned back from his study of the building. “You understand that.”
    “Very well. I work closely with the Minister of Labor. Itis an ambition of mine to see the people of my country, men and women, strengthen Jaquir with knowledge and skill. With education comes knowledge, but discontent comes as well, and a need to know more, to see more, to have more. Jaquir will be forced to adjust—and yet blood does not change. Women will wear the veil because they choose to wear it. They will cling to the harem because they find comfort there.”
    “You believe that?”
    “I know that.” After signaling to the driver, he folded his hands on his lap. He was a poised, erudite man not yet twenty-three. He would be king. Not from the moment of birth had he been allowed to forget it. “I was educated in America, loved an American woman, enjoyed many American things. But I have bedouin blood. Adrianne had an American mother and was raised in the West. But she has bedouin blood. It will course through her veins until the day she dies.”
    “That makes her what she is. It doesn’t change her.”
    “Adrianne’s life has not been a simple one. How much does she hate my father?”
    “Hate’s a strong word.”
    “But apt.” Fahid lifted a hand, palm up. It was an important question, and the main reason he’d insisted on having this private time with Philip. “Passions of love and hate are never simple. If you love her, take her away after the marriage. While my father lives, keep her out of Jaquir. He, too, does not forgive.”
    The prayer call sounded, a deep-throated song. With little confusion and no questions doors closed and men knelt to lower their faces to the cracked ground. Fahid stepped out of the car. His robes were silk, but he blended with the other men who submitted themselves to Allah.
    Restless, Philip stepped out into the afternoon heat. He could see the muezzin on the steps to the mosque calling the faithful. It was a strong scene, almost humbling, with the baking sun and the hot smells of sweat and spice from the suqs, the robed men with foreheads lowered to the ground. Women stood back huddled in what shade could be found. They might pray in silence, but were not permitted to answerthe call. A few Western businessmen waited with the patience of the resigned.
    As he watched, Philip began to understand Fahid. The people didn’t merely adhere or submit to tradition. They embraced it, they perpetuated it. This way of life revolved around religion and male honor. Buildings could spring up, education could be offered, but nothing would change the blood.
    He turned away from Mecca and looked toward the palace. Its gardens were a mist of color in the distance. Its green-tiled roofs shone in the sun. Somewhere within its walls was Adrianne. Would the prayer call draw her to the window?
    The device Adrianne carried was very sensitive. For this brief rendezvous she left the rest of her tools hidden in her room and took only the small amplifier, the brass key, and a file. For caution’s sake her black slacks and shirt were also left behind. If she were stopped tonight, it would be best if she were found in long skirts.
    She used the tunnel, making her way as women had for generations from their quarters to the main palace. Some would have gone gladly, others resignedly. Always with purpose, Adrianne thought, as she did tonight. Her sandals were silent on the worn floor. The way, as it had been from the beginning, was lit with torches rather than with electric light. Their low, sputtering flames added shadows, and romance.
    A man might pass there, a king or a prince. But at this hour the palace slept and she walked alone.
    She worried about Philip. It was always possible his rooms were watched. If he were caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, he would be deported before they could exchange a word. She might be beaten or confined to the women’s quarters, but that was a small price