High+ in the black tower that is the corporate headquarters
of Revere Oil， Bradford \"Bradboy\" Shane peered irritably into
the clear blue eyes of the young geologist who stood unflin-
chingly on the other side of Shane s enormous desk. Perry
Carlton s services were much in demand and Bradboy knew
it. Carlton took no erap from anyone， especially not from
one who so greatly enjoyed the sour pleasures of intimidation
as Bradboy. Bradboy， who had inherited his uncle s money
and meanness and voting shares of Revere Oil， but not the
old man s brains， was uneasy around people he didn t own or
couldn t buy. He needed Carlton and hated himself for it.
\"Wadi Darr?\" The Arabic name stuck in Bradboy s throat.
\"It s the sorriest little oasis you ever saw--two palms and
some scrub acacia and a few rocks. And more oil than any-
one s found out there since the big Saudi strikes in the
1950 s.\"
+ How big， exactly7\"
\"Big. You know we can t tell exactly， Bradboy， not yet.
But take my word for it. You get those Kassanian drilling
concessions renewed--and at iust about any terms. It ll be in
October， won t it?\"
Whe fifth.\" Bradboy shifted uneasily. The Kassanian oil-
lease concessions were the foundation of Revere s foothold in
OPEC. For fifteen years they d run along with the usual es-
calator clauses， filling thousands of tankers with that pur~
sweet Kassanian crude. Filling Revere Oil s annual repot
with ink blacker than oil:But now the original lease was up
Up for grab% maybe， even though old King Nayif E1 Khey
bar seemed friendly. Seemed. How could you tell， for God
sake? Those hooded dark eyes. Face like an old leathe
saddle. And a thousand years of silent desert pride behind i
all. Some Arabs you could buy. Bradboy knew that for
fact， because he d paid the bills. But that didn t work with el
Nayif. Bite your hand off if you tried.
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