Rex Dalton Thrillers: Books 1-3 (The Rex Dalton Series Boxset Book 1)

by JC Ryan

  Rex had a description and name for all three. He owed the sad little man his peace of mind, because his information had been quite thorough, except that he knew only first names.

  Gara, meaning mastiff, was probably a street name. He was the muscle – the one who came to beat debtors or take their possessions. Iskandar usually accompanied one of the others and was there simply as backup. His name meant guardian. Alealjum, meaning toad, was spectacularly ugly, with an enormous hooked nose and ears that stuck straight out from the side of his head like a wingnut, was the collector of debts and the man Rex’s new friend had spoken to the night before. Of course, no one called him by that mocking name. His given name was Alula, meaning first born.

  It was Alula whom Rex expected to encounter some time this afternoon. He knew the Toad would be in a certain quarter of the city, either collecting from a gun shop or enjoying a meal. If Rex timed it right, he’d interrupt the meal. But he was already two hours late because of the morning’s errands.

  Unlike his first day in Saudi Arabia, this, the third day, although a little late with some milestones, went much smoother. And unlike the second day, things started happening relatively quickly. Rex had eaten and had given Digger an afternoon break in a park, followed by what was rapidly becoming a habit, a treat of half a roast chicken bone and all. Only a little spicy. Digger wolfed it down and followed it with a long drink from a nearby fountain. He eyed the koi in the fountain curiously and fortunately didn’t try to catch any.

  They were returning to where Rex had left the SUV parked when he spotted someone matching the description he’d been given of Toad, coming out of a shop whose sign indicated it sold hunting rifles and shotguns. In a country that forbade hunting, it was a puzzle. Rex knew that wealthy Saudis hunted in Africa and other foreign countries, though.

  He hurried to intercept the man he thought was Toad, slowing as he came into the man’s view so as not to appear to be trying to catch him. As they passed each other, Rex feigned a start of surprise.

  “Alula? Is that you?”

  The other man stopped, and his surprise was genuine.

  “Do I know you?”

  “Sorry, no, I doubt you do. However, I have business with your employer, and your name and description was given to me.” Rex didn’t bother to explain that the description included staggering ugliness. Up close, he realized his informant’s description of Alula was actually a bit flattering. The man was unsightly, the enormous nose was covered in vile, blackened pores the size of the Grand Canyon. Clearly, he didn’t indulge in skin care. Or baths. His stench was almost as odious as the bulbous nose.

  Toad, whose nickname was now completely understandable to Rex, looked down that monstrous nose at him. “I doubt that.”

  “Perhaps you weren’t read in on the deal,” Rex said smoothly. “It happens in the best of organizations. I’m with Acme Imports.”

  “Don’t know it,” Toad said brusquely. He tried to brush by, but Rex grasped his arm. In America, it would have been considered aggressive. In Saudi Arabia, it was acceptable.

  “Then put me in touch with Gara,” he said. “He would know about my company.”

  At the sound of his compatriot’s name, Toad paused. Rex could almost see the wheels grinding in his brain. After a moment, he acquiesced.

  “Come with me,” Toad said. “I’ll take you to him.”

  Rex knew he wasn’t out of the woods. When Gara failed to recognize him, he’d better be ready to take action. He’d cross that proverbial bridge when he came to it.

  Toad appeared ready to continue on his previous course, so Rex turned and matched him stride for stride, Digger at his heels.

  “Big dog,” Toad remarked. “My employer keeps mastiffs.” It was a veiled threat. Mastiffs would be bigger and heavier than Digger, and the plural suggested he’d also be outnumbered.

  All Rex could think of, though, was that the man they were going to see was also Mastiff, by name. He presumed by temperament as well. Rex had every expectation that Mastiff would prove aggressive. If necessary, he’d have to cut the man down to size in a way that would get Mutaib’s attention in just the right way.

  He didn’t want to make the princeling mad. He didn’t want to humiliate his henchmen, but he did need to let them know who was boss so that he could get their boss’s attention.

  The meeting with Gara went about as he expected. Toad became suspicious when Gara said he didn’t know the Englishman or his organization either. They both drew themselves up to their full stature and thrust their chests out to confront him.

  Rex asked, “Where is Iskandar?”

  It took a bit of the wind out of their sails. They couldn’t figure out why he knew their names, when they didn’t know him. Rex took advantage of the situation by assuming an air of importance.

  “Look, your employer isn’t going to be pleased that you have treated me rudely. Take me to him immediately.”

  Just then, a larger man, almost Rex’s height and considerably wider, joined the other two. Rex almost sighed in relief, it was another steroidal body builder whose brain functions would have been slowed down to a crawl from all the shit he’d pumped into his body to make his muscles grow.

  “What is going on?”

  “Iskandar, this man says he has business with the prince,” Toad said. “He knows our names, but I think he’s an imposter.”

  Iskandar looked Rex in the eye and said without inflection, “You had best be on your way, if you know what’s good for you.”

  That’s an elegant way to say, ‘get lost.’

  Rex replied evenly. “I think you have it wrong. One last time — take me to Mutaib or suffer the consequences.”

  Toad laughed.

  Rex hit him in the throat with his elbow. Gara moved in, but Digger growled. Iskandar stood back to watch the outcome.

  Toad was gurgling something. It sounded like kill him. No one moved. Rex moved his gaze from one to the other.

  Who’s in charge?

  A flicker of his eyes revealed Iskandar to be the alpha dog of his crew. Gara telegraphed his move just before his fist came flying at Rex’s face.

  Rex caught his fist in an immovable palm and started bending Gara’s hand down, which made him go down to his knees in front of Rex. “You don’t ever want to do that again,” he said. “Now gentlemen, before any of you get hurt, let’s all agree that I’m going to speak to your boss, one way or another. It would be much easier and of course less painful for all three of you if you cooperated.”

  Toad, however didn’t listen. He rose from where he’d crouched to nurse his bruised throat and threw himself in Rex’s direction. Rex stepped lithely aside, and Toad landed awkwardly on the ground, where Digger immediately took custody of him by putting his teeth around the back of Toad’s neck. This took all the fire out of him and he remained very still.

  Iskandar hadn’t made an aggressive move, and it was apparent that he was considering the odds. Rex hadn’t broken a sweat or dirtied his new suit. He’d prefer not to, so he watched Iskandar closely.

  The decision came down in his favor. Iskandar nodded. “I’ll take you to Prince Mutaib. If you are not who you say you are, or if you have no business to interest him, I will kill your dog while you watch, and then I will kill you.”

  Rex could find no fault with Iskandar’s pronouncement. It wasn’t said with bluster or threat. It was a promise.

  “I assure you, I will not give your owner a reason to be angry with you.” He chose the insulting word ‘owner’ purposely. Iskandar’s demeanor didn’t change, though Gara’s eyes narrowed and his skin darkened at the implication that they were slaves. Toad had nothing to say. He was cowering on the ground, his arms covering his head, and Digger was standing over him close enough to drool on him.

  “Get up, Alealjum,” Iskandar said with great disdain.

  Rex didn’t envy the man his fate in their quarters later.

  ***

  REX DIDN’T EXPECT to be taken to the p
rince’s home, and in that he was correct. Instead, Iskandar accompanied him to an office building while Gara took Toad to have his injury seen to by a medic. When Iskandar indicated Digger could not enter the building, Rex pushed back.

  “Wrong. My service dog goes where I go. Need I remind you…”

  “No, no, I need no reminder. He may enter.” Iskandar waved him toward an elevator and pressed the button for the top floor.

  “These delays are wasting valuable time, which your owner might not appreciate. I trust you won’t put any more obstacles in my path.” Rex was enjoying the role he was playing.

  “No sir, I won’t but when we get to the top floor I must ask you to wait while I announce your arrival to the prince. Will that be all right?”

  Rex didn’t want that. He knew there’d be trouble when the prince didn’t know his name. As they exited the elevator into a luxuriously-appointed reception area, he answered impatiently. “The prince is expecting me, and you have made me late. I will go in with you.”

  Iskandar gave a nod that was a half-bow and gestured widely with his right hand. “As you wish, sir. This way.”

  Rex walked ahead in the direction Iskandar had indicated, Digger on his left and Iskandar rushing around him on the right to open the door to the prince’s private office. As soon as Rex and Digger walked in, Iskandar backed out, closing the door behind him.

  The prince was lounging in a chaise situated among several lavishly upholstered chairs and ottomans. The prince, in his early to mid-fifties was about five-foot-five, with a rotund belly and the labored breathing of an asthmatic. An impressively-sized dark-wood desk with elaborate hand carved patterns, occupied the other side of the room. It was devoid of computer equipment, papers, or any other trappings of business. Rex’s instant impression was that all business the prince did personally took place in the more comfortable side of the room, verbally. It was validated when the prince lazily waved him to come forward.

  As soon as Rex stepped closer, into the bright square of light emanating from a large skylight in the ceiling, the prince sat up straight. “Who are you? What is the meaning of this?”

  Rex gave Digger a hand signal to relax, and he obeyed immediately, sinking onto his belly, back legs under him and front legs stretched out, his noble head resting on them. He answered, “Forgive me for barging in on you like this, Your Highness. I have been told about your remarkable business acumen, and I had no other way of getting an audience with you. It is on a matter of exigency that I had to take advantage of your men to get the opportunity to meet with Your Highness. Please don’t punish them.”

  The prince, somewhat mollified by Rex’s sycophantic demeanor and explanation, relaxed. “I appreciate your candor and courage. I forgive your unorthodox method. Did you have any motive besides standing in my illustrious presence for wanting to meet me?” He smiled as if in self-deprecation at his own little joke.

  Rex had no doubt it was a double entendre. By pretending to mean the opposite, the prince thought to be charming. However, he truly believed he was illustrious. It was evident in his expression. Many a truth is spoken in jest.

  “As a matter of fact, I did.” Rex raised one eyebrow and subtly rubbed the fingers and thumb of his right hand together.

  Mutaib’s expression sharpened. “I take it you have a business proposition to discuss? Sit down, my friend. Tell me your name.”

  Rex had a split second to remind himself that subterfuge was not his strong suit. He was good at finding the bad guys and dealing with them swiftly. Usually he didn’t have much to say to his targets, his tactics were surprise and overwhelming force. This one he had to play very carefully.

  Thus, began an elaborate dance of inuendo. Rex knew the players, knew the names Mutaib would recognize. Guns, armaments, weapons – none of those words would be used.

  “My name is Ruan Daniel,” he began. “But it is not the important name. Perhaps you remember Viktor Anatolyevich?”

  The Russian he referred to was Viktor Anatolyevich Bout, a notorious arms smuggler who had been extradited from Thailand to America in 2010 to face numerous accusations stemming from his trade, tried, convicted, and serving a twenty-five-year sentence for conspiring to sell weapons to a U.S.-designated foreign terrorist group. In dropping his name, Rex’s intention was to imply that he knew Bout, perhaps was a person who’d done business with him. If Mutaib bought it, Rex would have instant credibility.

  Mutaib bought it.

  “Of course, I remember him. A sad fate he faces.”

  Rex schooled his face to commiserate. “Indeed.”

  His true feelings were that the bastard deserved more than the minimum sentence for all he’d done. The blood of countless numbers had flowed, and many had died because of Bout’s delivery of arms to terrorist groups, rebels, and criminal gangs. But Rex had a role to play, so his thoughts didn’t reach his expression.

  Rex continued. “Anatolyevich’s absence has created a void in the market which had to be filled. And that, Your Highness, is the reason I’m here to seek Your Highness’s wise council and astuteness.

  Mutaib was enchanted. “Let us not be formal. You may address me as Mutaib. It is time for tea, my new friend. Will you join me?”

  Though it was quite early for dinner and late for lunch, Rex remembered he was posing as a Brit and assumed Mutaib was honoring his custom. He allowed a grateful smile to answer. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

  “No, no – you must call me Mutaib.”

  Iskandar was waiting outside when Rex and Mutaib emerged from the office. Mutaib instructed him to call his driver and bring the Town Car around. “Wait downstairs,” he said.

  Iskandar took the elevator down, but Mutaib hung back, so Rex did as well.

  “I understand your concern for my men,” Mutaib said. “But surely you understand I must show them the consequences for allowing a stranger to reach me unhindered. If you had been an assassin, I would now be dead.”

  Damn straight your royal scumbag. If I didn’t need you alive for a while longer, you sure would.

  Instead of speaking his mind, Rex nodded his assent without answering. It didn’t matter to him if Mutaib docked their pay, had them flogged, or killed them. They weren’t going to survive his mission anyway. If Mutaib executed them, it would save him the trouble.

  Not much later, the prince and Rex were enjoying a sumptuous meal in a private room in an exclusive restaurant where only the ultra-wealthy were served. Rex hadn’t even recognized it as a restaurant until they got inside. From the street, it appeared to be a large private residence. Inside, Rex spotted a prominent American actress wearing a shayla with her unusually modest western clothing, women in silk abayas paired with niqabs, and many self-satisfied men.

  Few of them even noticed Digger, who was making himself as inconspicuous as possible. The doorman had raised his eyebrows, but said nothing when Mutaib sailed through, mentioning that the man behind him was his guest. Digger had crept under the table in their private dining room.

  Rex surreptitiously fed him tidbits under the table while listening in apparent fascination to Mutaib’s monologue. The man liked his own voice. Rex’s mention of an infamous arms dealer’s name had led to the prince reminiscing about several others from the recent past, all from the Middle East.

  Rex periodically murmured his admiration as Mutaib claimed close association with one or another of them, no matter how unlikely the claim.

  Chapter Sixteen

  THE PRINCE HAD apparently been impressed by Rex with his implication that he knew the notorious arms dealer. After detailing his close friendship and business dealings with several others, he began boasting about himself and how shrewd a businessman he was.

  Rex played along and encouraged him to keep on blowing his own trumpet. It was obvious the prince enjoyed talking about himself, probably the result of his short-man syndrome, aka the Napoleon complex.

  As Mutaib droned on about his wealth, his three wives and thirteen children, his
beautiful home, and the business dealings that he claimed afforded him those luxuries, Rex mused on the insecurity that made some men who lacked the average physical stature of their neighbors behave like bantam roosters. Mutaib’s behavior smacked of it.

  His expressive eyes and soft hands might have attracted some women to him, but that would have been the exception not the rule. As his discourse moved to the subject of his ‘pleasure wives’ as he called them, Rex couldn’t help but believe his wealth was the real attraction, not his eyes or hands or any of his other physical features. Assuming any of them had been drawn to him rather than purchased on the black market, like Rehka.

  Rex sharpened his attention when he heard the term. Mutaib must have noticed it, and he began to expound on the beauty and exotic sexual talents of those he’d taken into his harem. Others, he explained, were his display pieces in Western countries, where beautiful women were an essential accessory, like expensive jewelry.

  Rex kept his expression neutral. Distasteful as it was to hear the crudeness of his host’s conversation, this was going much, much better than he could have hoped. His original plan, such as it was, called for him to be invited into Mutaib’s home, where he could study the layout, and then to get into the women’s quarters and extract Rehka.

  Rex was still waiting for an opportunity which would get him the invitation to the residence when Mutaib offered it. He didn’t blurt out an invitation to enjoy one of his slave girls. He hinted at it, then hid the hint in braggadocio and subject changes.

  The meal was one of the longest Rex had ever endured. When the muted sounds of the city’s muezzins calling the faithful to salat al-maghrib, the prescribed prayer just after sunset, penetrated the restaurant’s walls, he was relieved to see Mutaib rise.

  “You must join me at my home for supper,” the prince said. “I can promise you a most entertaining evening.”

  That was what Rex had been hoping for. “Thank you, Mutaib. I’ll be honored to join you for supper. I hope you will excuse me for a few hours so that I can see to my companion,” Rex pointed to Digger, “and of course I’ll want to dress for dinner. May I be excused?”