Read Online The Pirate by Harold Robbins - Free Book Online

move in closer. A number of men dressed in semi-uniforms emerged from the first car. Each carried a submachine gun, and they ran to take up their assigned places around the plane. The doors of the second limousine remained shut. Baydr could not see into it because of the heavily shaded brown sunglasses. The landing ladder rolled toward the plane, pushed across the airstrip by four workmen.
    Baydr pulled the buckle and got to his feet. He started toward the door. Jabir held out a restraining arm. “If the master would be kind enough to wait for a moment.”
    Baydr nodded and let the servant advance toward the door in front of him. The copilot had come from the flight cabin and was standing with the stewardess at the exit. They made no move to open it. Jabir opened his jacket and from under his sleeve withdrew a heavy Luger automatic. He pulled back on the safety and held the gun at the ready.
    A knock came at the door. One, two, three. The copilot raised his hand. He looked at Jabir.
    “One, two,” the servant said. “They should answer with one, two, three, four. Anything else and we leave.”
    The pilot nodded. His fist rapped on the door. One, two.
    The reply was instant and correct. The pilot pulled the latch on the door and it swung open. Two guards with guns were already at the top of the landing ramp and two more were at the foot of the stairs.
    Baydr started for the door but again Jabir held out his hand. “With your permission, master.”
    He stepped out onto the ramp and exchanged a quick word in Arabic with one of the guards, then turned back to Baydr and nodded.
    The intense heat of the desert hit the young man even before he reached the doorway. Baydr stepped out into the sun, blinking his eyes in the white light. He started down the ramp just as the door of the second limousine opened and his father emerged.
    His father stepped out in front of his guards and slowly walked to meet Baydr. He wore the soft traditional robes of the desert sheik, and his head and neck were protected from the hot rays of the sun by his ghutra. Baydr moved quickly to his father and took the outstretched hand and pressed it to his lips in the traditional gesture of respect.
    Samir reached out and raised his son’s head. For a long moment, his eyes searched the young man’s face, then he leaned forward, to embrace him and kiss him on each cheek. “Marhab. Welcome home, my son.”
    “Ya halabik. I am happy to be home, my father.” Baydr straightened up. He was a head taller than his father.
    Samir looked up at him. “You have grown, my son,” he said proudly. “You have become a man.”
    Baydr smiled. “It is nineteen fifty-one, Father. One does not remain a boy forever.”
    Samir nodded. “We are proud of you, my son. We are proud of your achievements in the American schools, proud of the honors you have brought to us, proud that you have been accepted in the great University of Harvard in Boston, Cambridge, Massachusetts.”
    “I only seek to bring honor and pleasure to my parents,” Baydr said. He looked toward the car. “How are my mother and sisters?”
    Samir smiled. “They are well. You will see them soon enough. Your mother awaits you eagerly at home and tonight your sisters and their husbands will come and join us for dinner.”
    If Baydr felt disappointment at their not being at the airfield to greet him, he knew better than to show it. This was not the United States, where he had been living the past five years. Arab women did not appear in public, at least not the respectable women. “I look forward to seeing them,” he said.
    His father took his arm. “Come, get into the car. We will be cool in there. It is the latest model and air-conditioned against this unbearable heat.”
    “Thank you, Father.” Baydr waited politely until his father got into the car before he entered.
    A guard with a submachine gun ran quickly to the car and closed the door behind them, then got into the front seat beside the