Meanwhile, somewhere across the Atlantic Ocean

Nasri Zubayr Hadad, otherwise known as the Sultan, sat in the stateroom of his magnificent yacht. It would be several days before he would reach his destination in Lisbon. He would spend the time gathering information about the meetings to come and continue to conduct meetings with his associates, when in range of the nearest satellite. Some of his new compatriots preferred the use of videoconferencing technology. The Sultan didn’t care for such devices, but he understood the appeal.

“Bring in Seymour,” the Sultan said to a nearby servant.

He didn’t have to wait long. Even with the massive size of his superyacht, it didn’t take long before anyone answered the Sultan’s calls—especially Seymour.

That man is insufferable, the Sultan thought, but he is a master at finding anyone.

“Yes, Your Highness?” Seymour said, entering the room.

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“I have a job for you. I need you to find this man,” the Sultan said as he handed Seymour a folded note.

Seymour caressed the note, held it to his nose, and inhaled. A faint grin of pleasure could be seen on his face.

“What are you doing?” the Sultan asked.

“Oh, I just like the smell of your royal paper,” Seymour replied. “The scent of your twenty-four-pound bond is particularly captivating.”

“I will need that person in my presence by the time we dock in Lisbon.”

“That’s less than four days’ time.”

“Deliver, or suffer the consequences. Should I start reviewing resumes for my next chief of staff?”

“No, Sultan. Forgive my impertinence,” Seymour said.

“Take the helicopter back to port—have a member of the Dark Angels take you. I think Gerry is available. This man must be in my presence in four days’ time.”

“I pride myself on my thoroughness, which takes considerable time—”

“He lives in the United States, somewhere in the Dakotas, I think. That should give you enough time to convince him. Oh, I almost forgot—give this to him when you see him. Tell him Nas gives his regards.”

Seymour took a sealed envelope from the Sultan, and Seymour’s expression changed.

“This feels heavy,” he asked. “What’s in it?”

“That’s not your concern—bringing him here is.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Seymour said as he hurried away.