Moving at the head of the column, he took them through the cows toward a small hill at the far west end of the pasture. A helicopter roared high overhead and passed beyond the crest, with its bright landing lights pushing columns of white through the gloom. Bilal looked at his wristwatch as he walked. Right on time.

“I NEVER THOUGHT I’D see this day,” the American secretary of state, Kenneth Waring, told Sir Jeff as the sleek helicopter touched down with barely a wiggle. The engines were shut down and the blade slowed its spinning.

“It is the inevitable outcome of the extremely difficult work by dedicated men and women of good will over many years,” Cornwell replied. His hands were moist from nervousness.

“Sir Jeff, your work behind the scenes was vital in this final stage of the negotiations. I doubt that we could have done it without your assistance. You know so many influential people and they all trust you to be an honest broker. Believe me, that sort of reputation is rare today.”

Jeff was uncomfortable with compliments. He felt he had just done his duty, keeping all of those hard-headed politicians and diplomats going in private meetings when they all had conflicting agendas. They had been arguing for years and Jeff had helped nudge them toward a decision. “The danger comes over the next few months, while the heads of the regional governments try to keep the fanatics under control.”

“Jeff, if anybody can pull this off, it is Prince Abdullah. Either he is successful or we probably get another century of Middle East misery.”

They were not the only ones having doubts.