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telling Petra about the meeting. After all, she had no pertinent office at all. She had no particular right to be at the meeting, especially after their quarrel tonight.
    Don’t be spiteful and petty, Peter told himself. One spiteful act brings too much pleasure—it just makes you want to do another, and another. And sooner each time.
    So he picked up the phone and on the seventh ring she picked it up.
    “I’m not going to apologize,” she said curtly.
    “Good,” he said. “Because I don’t want some smarmy I’m-sorry-you-got-so-upset fake apology. What I want is for you to join me at five A.M . at the north door of the lobby.”
    “What for?”
    “I don’t know,” said Peter. “I’m just passing along what I was just told on the telephone.”
    “He’s going to let us see him?”
    “Or he’s sending thugs to escort us back to the airport. How can I possibly know? You’re the one who’s his friend. You tell me what he’s planning.”
    “I haven’t the slightest idea,” said Petra. “It’s not like Alai and I were ever close . And are you sure they want me to come to the actual meeting? There are plenty of Muslims who would be horrified at the thought of an unveiled married woman speaking face to face with a man—even the Caliph.”
    “I don’t know what they want,” said Peter. “ I want you at the meeting.”

    They were ushered into a closed van and driven along a route that Peter assumed was convoluted and deceptively long. For all he knew, the Caliph’s headquarters was next door to their hotel. But Alai’s people knew that without the Caliph there was no unity, and without unity Islam had no strength, so they were taking no chances on letting outsiders know where the Caliph lived.
    They were driven far enough that they might be outside Damascus. When they emerged from the van, it was not in daylight, it was indoors…or underground. Even the porticoed garden into which they were ushered was artificially lighted, and the sound of running and trickling and falling water masked any faint noises that might have seeped in from outside and hinted where they were.
    Alai did not so much greet them as notice their presence as he walked in the garden. He did not even face them, but sat a few meters away, facing a fountain, and began to speak.
    “I have no desire to humiliate you, Peter Wiggin,” he said. “You should not have come.”
    “I appreciate your letting me speak with you at all,” Peter answered.
    “Wisdom said that I should announce to the world that the Hegemon had come to see the Caliph, and the Caliph refused to see him. But I told Wisdom to be patient, and let Folly be my guide today in this garden.”
    “Petra and I are here to—”
    “Petra is here,” said Alai, “because you thought her presence might get you in to see me, and you needed a witness that I would be reluctant to kill, and because you want her to be your ally after her husband is dead.”
    Peter did not let himself glance at Petra to see how she took this sally from Alai. She knew the man; Peter did not. She would interpret his words as she saw fit, and nothing he could see in her face right now would help him understand anything. It would only weaken him to show he cared.
    “I’m here to offer my help,” said Peter.
    “I command armies that rule over more than half the population of the world,” said Alai. “I have united Muslim nations from Morocco to Indonesia, and liberated the oppressed peoples in between.”
    “It’s the difference between ‘conquered’ and ‘liberated’ that I wanted to talk about.”
    “So you came to rebuke me, not to help after all,” said Alai.
    “I see I’m wasting my time,” said Peter. “If we can’t speak together without petty debate, then you are past receiving help.”
    “Help?” said Alai. “One of my advisers said to me, when I told them I wanted to see you, ‘How many soldiers does this Hegemon have?’”
    “How many divisions has the Pope?”