Middle Man by David Rich Page B

Zoran’s forehead. It might have been there before, but I had not noticed it. His ears went back and his eyes sharpened. I wished I knew which chord I had struck.
    â€œIn serving His Majesty, I serve a great cause. Perhaps you feel the same way about your masters.” He stared at me to let me know he had more answers if I wanted to continue. “You will get dressed now, please.” He brushed past me and went into the bedroom.
    I considered further resistance, but Gill’s eyes met mine and this time his head moved slightly from side to side. I followed Zoran. He was checking out my closet.
    â€œNo blue jeans. Wear a suit.”
    He turned away while I got dressed, but I watched him. Zoran had muscles under his suit. His shoulders were hunched up and he bent forward slightly. The skin on his face was as tight as his personality, with pockmarks on his cheeks. His eyelashes were noticeably long, and the eyes were sunk deep in their sockets, shaded and hidden by his brow. He had camel eyes.
    ______
    The house was big as a resort and quiet as a church on Monday. The first drops of dawn splashed on pillars, porticoes, wings. Big iron gates at the entrance rose toward the center with sharp spikes on top to deter all but the bravest pole-vaulters. We drove past hedges and flower beds and a couple of enormous oak trees. The roof looked like it had about seven levels to it, some sloped steeply, some mildly. It was hard to shake the feeling that some forgotten prisoner was watching from one of the many gabled windows. It wasn’t a castle, not a palace, but bigger than a mansion, certainly fit for a king without a country.
    Zoran stopped me before we went in and said, “In all matters regarding dealings with the King or his family you will take instruction from me. The first time you meet the King, you will bow. You will address him as Your Excellency. He may or may not allow you to address him as Mr. Karkukli. You do not sit until you are invited to do so. Do you understand?”
    â€œI do.”
    â€œIt is an order.” He did not smile.
    The throne was a high-back chair upholstered in green silk. It looked like it would be uncomfortable, but His Excellency managed to sit straight up and relaxed at the same time. Out back, beyond gardens, was the pool, and past that the dim outline of a fenced-in tennis court was just catching the morning glow.
    Gill stood off to my right. Zoran announced me, placed me in front of the King, then moved to a spot beside him. The King did not exactly smile, but his lips curled up a bit in what he must have practiced as his pleasant look. Zoran nodded to me.
    I moved forward, extended my hand, and said, “Nice to meet you Mr. Karkukli.”
    The King craned around to look at Zoran. Zoran was busy making the vein bulge under his tight skin. His dark eyes showed some white. I waited. He hissed. “Bow to His Excellency.”
    Gill stayed as still and solid as a rock. The King resumed his relaxed posture and pleasant expression: Someone had used the wrong fork, but the gaffe had been corrected.
    â€œOh, you want me to bow,” I said directly to the King. “I’ll bow . . . You first.”
    That took care of the pleasant look. Zoran stepped toward me, but his main concern was apologizing to the King. The King did not acknowledge him. He wasn’t insulted, or outraged. His lips parted and he looked like a guy who had been through this before and knew it was coming again. I did not take my eyes off him to look toward the centurion, but if he moved, I would see it.
    The King spoke to Zoran in another language. It came fast and it surprised me. It wasn’t Dari, but many of the words were close; some were Arabic. I had to remind myself to keep a straight face, not let on that I understood. But I did understand the King: Worry about this later; question him now. The King returned his attention to me.
    Zoran took over.
    â€œYou met with His