"This doesn't mean a complete stop to my income, does it?"

"Not necessarily. A king who does not try to regain his crown can live very comfortably."

"May Allah bless the revolution."

"May Allah bless his majesty."

"Use the Swiss banks. They're more experienced in these matters. And don't worry about the legend of my family crown."

"What legend?" asked the colonel.

"It is said that when my family ruled Baghdad ... I am not a Berber, as you know."

"That helped considerably with the revolution."

"When we had the caliphate of Baghdad ... this was way before that sergeant declared himself shah ... well, in any case, it is said that when an ambassador from an eastern country wished to present the most magnificent gift he could think of, he gave my ancestor-the caliph- a promise. This promise, he said, was worth more than gold, more than rubies, more than the finest silks from Cathay."

"Get to the point."

"I'm telling the story," said King Adras.

"I don't have all day."

"Well, to make a beautiful, long story short and ugly, what he gave was the promise of the services of the finest assassins in the world. He who takes the crown from the head of any of the descendants of the great caliph will reap a whirlwind from the east. But it will come from the west."

"Anything else?"

"No."

"Long live the revolution. Good-bye." And the young colonel hung up the phone and did not think about the fanciful tale, one more tool of reactionary forces, until he held the industrialized world by a ring through its nose. And the ring was what the Tyrannosaurus's body had become. Oil.

And at first, just like the Tyrannosaurus, Colonel Muammar Baraka was afraid of nothing.

CHAPTER TWO

His name was Remo and he was ready.