Chapter 19: House Call

Over the weeks Sharon got into the habit of attending at least one public audience each week, and of taking coffee with the Emir in the Throne Room after the audience finished. She used these meetings as an opportunity to press America's view that he should set up an elected legislature, on the American model. He did not seem to be weakening in his belief that his country was better off retaining its own traditions.

"You see, we already have a strong democratic tradition here in Kobekistan," he claimed.

"What do you mean, democratic?" Sharon demanded with a sinking feeling that she was walking into a trap.

"Unlike some other heads of state who shall be nameless, I do not move about my country in what is virtually a tank disguised as a motor car, and surrounded by dozens of so-called Secret Service bodyguards. We have a long tradition that Emirs who are disliked do not live very long; someone rids the country of a bad ruler quite quickly. I must be thought of as being both good at my job and popular to have lasted twenty years."

"Well," she retorted, "You may be popular in your beautiful Golden Palace surrounded by sycophants and a harem full of women who depend on you for their very lives, but I bet you are not so popular out in the slums."

This last remark annoyed the Emir a little and he decided to show her how wrong she was.

"Come with me," he said, standing up and striding off down the corridor to the front of the Golden Palace, not even allowing time for her to don an abaya.

Standing at the door waiting when they reached it was the inevitable Rolls-Royce with Maktum in the driving seat. The Emir held the door for her to get in and then followed her. Her Marine bodyguard, taken by surprise at the move, was left standing on the side of the road looking very worried as the Rolls drove away and was out of sight before they could get the Embassy chauffeur into their car and moving.

The Emir said something to Maktum and they drove to a very shabby part of the city. Clearly the people who lived here were not the rich and powerful, but exactly the poor people whom she had mentioned.

"Just tell Maktum where to turn down a street or three and then stop whenever you feel like it," instructed the Emir.

"What for?" she asked.

"To show you how I am regarded. We will visit any house of your choice and ask them what they think of me. Could your President make the same offer?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, still bewildered.

"You claim that I do not understand and work for the poorer of my people, and that I am not likely to be as popular with them as I am in my palace with the rich and powerful Kobekistanis. Well, we'll ask at a random house, chosen by you, shall we?"

She digested this offer in silence and then decided to take him up on it. Maktum was driving aimlessly and slowly along these less than salubrious streets when suddenly she said, "Stop!"

The car slid to a halt at the kerb side. Opening the door, the Emir stepped out and was followed by the Ambassador. A group of children, all boys she noticed, were playing some game involving small stones and as the car stopped they had stared at it in awe. As the Emir approached then they all made obeisance in the dust and dirt of the roadside. Clearly they recognised the unlikely visitor to their street.