Not on His Watch. Cassie Miles

is not, in fact, Javid. It’s his identical twin brother, Prince Zahir Haji Haleem. Notorious international playboy.”

      Her information came as a surprise to Quint, who generally kept up on events in oil-rich countries around the world. He knew there were brothers in Anbar, but he didn’t know they were twins.

      “Both Zahir and Javid are half-American and were raised here. Now, they both live in the Middle East. It’s important to keep in mind that Zahir is more than a jet-setter,” Whitney said. “He’s been involved with supposed freedom fighters in the Middle East, most recently with Khalaf when he deposed the government in Nurul. Which brings up another issue.”

      Quint leaned forward, listening carefully to this complex explanation. “Does this have something to do with Khalaf’s daughter?”

      “Good guess. Miah Mohairbi’s lineage links her to the throne of Nurul. If Zahir marries her, his claim is solidified.” Whitney brought up the map again. “Nurul is on the Red Sea by Yemen.”

      Law frowned at the screen. “I’m familiar with Nurul. Quantum isn’t buying oil from them until the political situation settles down. Other distributors, Petrol included, are following their lead.”

      “How does Zahir fit into the picture?” Quint asked.

      “If he’s allied with Imad,” Law said, “his tactics are questionable.”

      “As in terrorism?”

      Law shrugged. “There’s no stated U.S. position as yet.”

      Whitney spoke into the intercom that connected with the front desk. “Kathy, would you please escort our guest into the special-ops room?”

      While waiting for the electronic door to open, Quint scrolled through the data on his screen to a section with information on Quantum Industries. In his dealings with the megapowerful oil distribution giant, he’d met many of the principals, including the CEO, Henry Van Buren. He noticed an unfamiliar face in their briefing notes, a very lovely face. He paused on her photograph. Natalie Van Buren, vice president in charge of public relations. Her soft brown hair fell neatly to her shoulders. Her green-eyed gaze was cool and direct and somehow mysterious, as if she had a secret. Why was the photograph of a public relations vice president included in a briefing about terrorists?

      As soon as the electronic door whooshed open, their screens went blank.

      Whitney stood. “Gentlemen, I’m pleased to introduce Prince Javid Haji Haleem, future ruler of Anbar.”

      In person, Javid was impressive. Though he was probably only in his early thirties, he carried himself gracefully. As he shook Quint’s hand, he said, “I know you.”

      “No, sir, I don’t believe I’ve had the honor.”

      “We have not met. I know your reputation.” His slight accent made his speech seem formal. “You have led wildcat oil crews.”

      “Not for a long time.” In his twenties, Quint built the resources of Crawford Oil by wildcat exploration around the world, usually in Central and South America. He quit traveling when he settled down with Paula, five years ago on his thirtieth birthday.

      “You discovered oil in many nations,” Javid said. “Yet, you never exploited the local population. Instead, you created employment. In some cases, you won freedom for oppressed peoples. I admire you, Quintin Crawford.”

      “Thank you, sir.” Embarrassed by the tribute, Quint got back to the topic at hand. “How can Chicago Confidential be of service to you?”

      Javid strode around the table and sat beside Vincent. “I believe my brother, Zahir, helped in the overthrow of Nurul by Sheik Khalaf. It is no secret that Khalaf would like to put Zahir on the throne in Nurul. The alliance between these two is perilous for my nation. If Imad and Nurul combine their military resources, they could conquer Anbar.”

      “If they conquer Anbar,” Law said, “they might become the most powerful force in the Middle East.”

      “Unfortunately, yes.” Javid frowned. “I have come to you because I am also convinced that Zahir was involved in the Reykjavik bombing.”

      “Do you have proof?” Quint asked.

      “Not direct evidence.” A pained look crossed his face. “It saddens me to think my own brother is linked with terrorists, but I am not naive. Zahir is capable of…anything.”

      Quint said, “We just heard that Sheik Khalaf is coming to Chicago. How about Zahir?”

      “He will be here soon,” Javid said. “There are rumors he is betrothed with the estranged daughter of Khalaf, but his stated purpose in coming to Chicago is to meet with Quantum and to discuss the future sale of oil from Nurul. And possibly to convince them to buy from Imad.”

      “But he supposedly bombed Quantum in Reykjavik,” Andy said.

      “My brother negotiates with one hand,” Javid said. “He plots with the other.”

      Andy nodded, seemingly unconcerned about human treachery. “What can you tell us about the incendiary?”

      “If you’d like,” Whitney said, “we can review the specs right now.”

      Vincent nodded his assent, and the large high-resolution screen lit up with a three-dimensional blueprint for an incendiary.

      Once again, the door from the outer office opened, and Kathy the receptionist stepped inside. “Excuse me,” she said. “I have an urgent phone call for Quint.”

      “I’ll take it out front.” He rose from his seat, glad to be leaving a technical discussion of bombs and bombing.

      In the outer office, he winked at Kathy Renk. “Thank you, ma’am. All those switches and coils are way too much information for me.”

      “Me, too. When Andy explains mechanical stuff, it’s hard for me to stay awake.” A pleasantly plump woman in her late thirties, Kathy couldn’t be considered beautiful. But when she smiled, the world was a friendlier place. She pointed toward Whitney’s office. “You can take the call in there. It’s Daniel Austin.”

      Quint closed the office door behind himself, picked up the phone and said, “If it isn’t Daniel Austin, the head hound dawg at Montana Confidential.”

      “Surprised you can remember with that peanut-size buzzard brain of yours. How the hell are you?”

      “Can’t complain,” Quint said. “I’m in the middle of a briefing, so I got to keep it short. What’s up?”

      “What’s your take on Javid?”

      “He’s not afraid to look me straight in the eye. He seems a mite quick to turn on his brother, but I don’t know the family history. And, I’d have to say, Javid’s a real handsome fellow.”

      “You got that right.” Austin chuckled. “And don’t we sound like a couple of prancin’ Nancy boys?”

      “Don’t know about you,” Quint said. “I happen to be confident enough in my masculinity to notice when another guy is good-looking.”

      “Boy, you’re beginning to sound like Oprah.”

      “Well, perhaps that’s why I was sent to Chicago,” Quint said. “Now, was there a reason for this urgent call?”

      “The CEO at Quantum, Henry Van Buren, is an old friend of mine, and I’m worried about him.” All the joking left Austin’s voice. “I want you to take real good care of him and his family.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “Most especially,” Daniel said, “I want you to look out for Henry’s daughter, Natalie. From what I understand, she’s a single woman.”

      “You’re matchmaking,” Quint said. “Now who sounds like Oprah?”

      Austin gave a hoot of