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didn’t bother to read or edit From Here to Tehranity. But
now because of it his life is in danger. The irony is, Quimper is one of those
pro-Palestinian liberals. It’s driving him absolutely nuts that people he
basically agrees with want to kill him.”
    “Yes. I can
see why dying for someone else’s principles might be annoying. But I still
don’t know why you plied me with good food, drink and sex.”
    “If I recall,
the sex came first,” Emma said, smiling. “And it was your idea to come here.
Dad would like you to augment Quimper’s security at the Bascombee during the
Killerfest, which starts in two weeks.”
    Scarne was
unsuccessful in stifling a laugh.
    “Randolph
probably hopes I’ll take a bullet for Quimper.”
    “That’s
unfair, and you know it. Dad has mellowed in his opinion of you.”
    “Well, it’s
not like he could have gone much further in the other direction.” Scarne turned
serious. “But Emma, why in the world would I want to get involved with a
world-class jerk like Quimper?”
    “Other than
the ungodly amount of money we’ll pay you?”
    “Yes.”
    “Because I’m
asking you. Will you?”
    Scarne cupped
his snifter and then finished the cognac.
    “Yes.”
    Emma reached
across the table and covered Scarne’s hand with her own.
    “Thank you. I
knew I could count on you.” She smiled mischievously. “I hope it’s not because
I screw your socks off.”
    “Of course
not,” Scarne replied. “You had me at ‘ungodly’.”

 
    CHAPTER 4 – WESTERN CIVILIZATION
     
    “It occurs to
me that I’ve never properly thanked you for saving Emerald’s life.”
    Scarne could
tell from Randolph Shields’s tone that he had little practice in expressing his
gratitude.
    “There is no
need,” Scarne replied. “Besides, I had considerable help.”
    “Yes. The
mysterious assassin. I suppose I should thank him, as well. But I don’t imagine
that’s practical.”
    “I wouldn’t
think so. But if I ever run into him again, I’ll pass your sentiments along.
Assuming he doesn’t try to kill me.”
    “It’s amazing,
he spent a good deal of effort trying to do just that, and then you wind up
sharing a cab together.”
    “New York is a
great city,” Scarne said. “But cabs are expensive.”
    “So I’ve
heard,” Randolph Shields said, laughing.
    As he looked
out the helicopter window at Manhattan as they sped north two thousand feet
above the East River, Scarne wondered when Shields had last been in a cab. It
had been almost two weeks since Scarne’s dinner with Emma. She was already in
Europe.
    “Sheldon liked
the subway,” Randolph said.
    His voice had
changed at the mention of his brother. The two men exchanged glances. It was a
touchy subject.
    “Nigel,”
Shields said, turning to the trim black man sitting near them, “did you get the
books to Mr. Scarne as I asked.”
    Wow, Scarne
thought, a “Mr.” Could “Jake” be far behind?
    “Yes, Mr.
Shields,” Nigel Blue replied, in a tone used by every long-suffering adjutant
in the world: polite, efficient, with just a hint of exasperation. “Both From
Here to Tehranity and Life and Death in Polgradsky.”
    Blue had
picked Scarne up at his apartment that morning and taken him to Chelsea Piers,
where the Shields yacht, Emerald of the Seas , named for Emma, was
docked. There they met Randolph, who was already in the helicopter on the
200-foot ship’s small flight deck. They were clattering into the air a minute
later. It would have been almost as quick to drive to Greenwich to see
Sebastian Quimper, but Scarne knew that people like Randolph Shields didn’t
think that way. After all, what were yachts and helicopters for?
    “I’m almost
afraid to ask,” Shields said, “but what the hell is Life and Death in
Polgradsky? ”
    “The other
book Arhaut wrote,” Blue replied.
    “Who the hell
is Arhaut?” Shields said.
    Amazing,
Scarne thought. He decided to help Blue out.
    “Arhaut is the
co-author of Tehranity , the one