Chapter 39
The concert, Muscat Harbour: 15 January
Irina stood on the upper deck of the Standard, which gave her an uninterrupted view of the concert venue and the Al Jalali Fort lit up like a stage behind it. Once a prison but now a private museum, the Portuguese fortification had protected Old Muscat for centuries and had a long and bloody history.
It should all be done by now, she thought and looked at her watch again. O’Hara had called several times already, desperate for news he could incorporate into his darknet gambling scenario, which was reaching a betting climax.
Initially, Irina had had second thoughts about O’Hara’s crazy plan and its obvious risks, but in the end she relented because the daring idea appealed to her as it reminded her of assignments she had successfully tackled in her younger years at the KGB. In some ways she wasn’t so different from an ageing rock star like Isis looking forward to a performance that would once again propel her into the limelight.
The invited guests had taken their seats in the cordoned-off area with rows of portable, tiered seating reserved for VIPs, but the huge crowd lining the harbour foreshores was getting restless and noisy while waiting behind barricades for the concert to begin. Free public concerts featuring a megastar like Isis were rare in Muscat, and eager spectators had arrived hours earlier to secure a place with a good view.
At ten o’clock sharp, the concert venue was plunged into darkness except for a spotlight illuminating the empty stage near the water’s edge, a clear signal the performance was about to begin. The conductor had taken up his position facing the orchestra in front of the stage. He raised his baton as coloured lights came on, flooding the symphony orchestra with light as the first bars of Rimsky-Korsakov’s stirring Scheherazade echoed through the loudspeakers and enthusiastic applause erupted from all sides. A few moments later, Khan walked up to the microphone on the stage and held up his hand. The music continued, but softer, and almost melted into the background as Khan began to speak.
‘A long time ago, a sailor called Sinbad set out on a long journey from Baghdad to explore the world. Along the way he had many adventures and supernatural encounters. On one occasion he landed on an island after a storm, only to find that the island was the back of a huge sleeping whale with palm trees growing on top.’
Khan paused as the sublime music became louder, conjuring up images of sea monsters, bloody battles and danger, only to fade away again after a while.
Bartolli turned to Jack sitting next to her. ‘Magic, don’t you think?’
‘Sure is. I wonder how Isis is going to fit into all this.’
‘You’ll find out in a moment,’ said Tristan. ‘Watch.’
‘According to stories still being told in the desert, Sinbad sailed past these very shores on a vessel very similar to this one,’ continued Khan. He turned to his right and pointed to the harbour as a beam of light raced across the dark water and came to rest on the slanted triangular sails of a traditional dhow sailing towards him. The music became louder as the vessel approached and tied up at a wooden wharf near the stage.
As Khan held up his hand again, the music stopped and the lights went out, plunging the stage and the orchestra into darkness, the sudden silence causing tension and anticipation, and making the illuminated vessel appear almost ghostlike and surreal.
