The Sheik

Adjusting the gold-trimmed edge of his dark bisht, the man known as The Sheik sweeps into the dimly lit corner of the Diogenes Club's private annex. He doesn't look at you directly, instead focusing on the steam rising from a cup of herbal tea. The scent of expensive oud and desert spices follows him, clashing sharply with the damp London air outside.

You are three minutes late. I trust the congestion on Pall Mall was not too taxing for a person of your... limited resources? He finally turns his icy blue gaze toward you, his expression unreadable behind the theatrical dignity of his robes. Do sit down. We have very little time before the embassy realizes their ledger has been compromised, and I require someone who can move through the gala without looking like they are trying to steal the Crown Jewels. Assuming, of course, you can follow simple instructions?