Death and Dark Money

by Seeley James

  We headed out I-66, making for West Virginia.

  I called the kidnapper. “One measure of how desperate you are: you gave up your cell number. I turned it over to the FBI and they’re searching for you right now. Best thing you can do—leave the kid wherever you are and meet me. But you’re in this too deep to think straight, so you probably won’t do that. Here’s the alternative: we’ll do the exchange at Memorial Tunnel, outside of Standard, West Virginia. Be there in five hours or I’m gone for good.”

  “Wait.” His voice-changer couldn’t mask his frustration. “I can’t be there in five hours. I need…” I sensed he was fumbling through his mapping app. “I need seven.”

  “Fine.”

  I clicked off. “He’s bringing more firepower.”

  Carlos put the hammer down and we flew into the dark. We drove the first hour in silence.

  “You ever have dreams about your destiny?” Carlos asked. “Like where you’re going to die?”

  “No,” I said. “But if I did, driving to an abandoned tunnel in the middle of the night to meet a kidnapper would be likely scenario.”

  CHAPTER 33

  The clatter and clanks of a nearby wharf coming to life in the morning began to filter through the dungeon’s thick stone. Pia had been through worse situations than a cold dungeon, yet this time a sense of desperation tried to pull her into that dark place where things spiraled downhill. Growing up, her friends were always jealous of her wealthy, single dad. She was jealous of the hugs their mothers gave them. She would never know, but she liked to dream that a mother’s hug could lift you from the pit of despair. But there were more pressing problems than hugs or despair.

  Prince Taimur held the keys to unraveling Koven’s funnel for foreign money pouring into American elections. That was her focal point, nothing else mattered.

  Tania paced their dark cell and smacked the wall again. “Why can’t we get a signal in here?”

  “Like I said last time,” Pia answered, “it’s the stone ceiling. Satellite phones can’t get a signal and cell towers can’t penetrate the walls. Besides, no one covers this tiny corner of the globe.”

  “Well, the Major better have a rescue operation going before I get hungry.” Tania paced some more. “And I’m hungry. How long have we been in here?”

  Before Pia could answer, a banging of doors and a tapping cane came from one floor up. She said, “Faiz, tell me you brought coffee.”

  “And a porta potty,” Tania said.

  “Yes, yes,” Faiz said. Dim lights snapped on in a stone room beyond the iron grate. “Coffee and potty.”

  “You want to explain why you locked us up?” Pia asked.

  “No, no. Prince say. Faiz do. No explain.”

  Their host appeared in the hall, twisting around his cane while carrying two awkward bundles in his free hand. He stopped at the iron door and shooed them back. He canted his head and smiled. “Be good to Faiz. Outside door locked, guard watches.”

  Pia and Tania backed up to the far end of the cell. Faiz opened a pass-through and pushed in a small plastic porta potty followed by a basket. They tumbled to the floor. Faiz clanked the portal closed. “Faiz back soon. Eat and fresh. Prince to see you.”

  He tapped away, mercifully leaving the lights on.

  Tania ran to the goods and looked them over. She grabbed the porta potty, gave Pia a look, and carried it to the darkest corner. She said, “Faiz will be the first to die. Motherfucker didn’t bring any toilet paper.”

  Pia dug in her thin pocket, produced two clean, crumpled tissues and offered one to her friend.

  “You carry tissues?” Tania asked. “My grandmother carries tissues.”

  Pia started to stuff them back in her pocket.

  Tania snatched one out of her hand. “My grandmother’s a smart woman.”

  The basket held a thermos, two cups, and two omelet-stuffed chapatis, the local variation on pitas.

  They ate, finished their coffee and waited. An hour later they heard clangs upstairs.

  Faiz appeared and opened the giant iron door. He carried in two large pillows and one chair. He placed them in the center of the cell, then smiled at the ladies.

  Behind him, Prince Taimur stepped out of the shadows carrying a briefcase.

  Tania drew her Glock and aimed at his striking face.

  “No need for violence.” The prince sat in the chair as if he owned it. “I left you armed because we are not enemies.”

  Pia put her hand on Tania’s wrist and pushed it down.

  The prince gestured to the pillows at his feet.

  Tania gave the prince a nasty look, gave Faiz a nastier one, and took up a defensive position against the far wall.

  “Do you need new bandages?” the prince asked.

  “I’m fine.” Tania crossed her arms with a sneer.

  Pia stepped into his line of sight. “Why are you holding us in a dungeon?”

  “To me, you are both good and bad.” He gazed at her with no emotion. “Yesterday I was very angry, but overnight I gave it some thought. When I was a guest in your house in Dubai, you protected me with your life, like a good Muslim. But later, you badgered me for what you wanted, like a disrespectful teenager. On the one hand, I admire your heroic efforts. On the other, I should have you flogged.”

  “You’d be dead before—”

  “I’ve come to understand your insolence and your reluctance to work with me.” The prince smiled with perfect, shiny teeth. “This deal was made with your father. My sources tell me you’ve taken over. Perhaps it would be best if we reviewed our goals.”

  “Your sources are wrong.” Pia squinted. “I’ve not taken over. My father is still the CEO.”

  The prince smiled knowingly and nodded. “You honor his position, regardless of who makes the rules. I respect that. It shows some form of humility exists inside that difficult exterior.”

  Pia clenched her fists behind her back.

  From upstairs, a woman’s voice called out in Arabic. Faiz looked up with a pale face and tottered down the hall.

  Prince Taimur opened his briefcase and extracted a stack of papers. “DHK insisted that our contract consist of two copies only, never to be photocopied and to be kept secure at all times. There are no electronic versions of this. These details are stipulated in the terms.”

  He handed her the papers.

  With some reluctance, she took it and glanced at the cover page and contents. It was all typed on a typewriter that left the paper with indentations. “This is your contract with them?”

  “Look it over. I think you will see how certain people are willing to help me.” He looked at her with sad eyes. “I love my country. I love my family and our traditions. I am loath to leave my homeland. But I do not live in a civilized democracy.”

  Pia flipped through a few pages of legalese. “What did he promise you? That these American legislators could influence immigration or something?”

  He leaned back in his chair and rested his hands on his knees. “In short, they would push through a bill that allows a certain company to register in the US as an American company while retaining the proven reserves it holds now.”

  Pia read several pages, then peered at him. “You would be transferring oil reserves belonging to the Kingdom of Oman into an American company, putting it under American protection. If someone hostile to American interests were to take over Oman, the USA would be obliged to protect the company, its officers, and its assets.”

  “The USA already protects Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, and several other countries.”

  A level above them, a door slammed and Faiz began tapping his way back downstairs.

  “The politicians who agreed to this are aware of these terms?” When he nodded, she gave it some more thought. “Then why involve Sabel Security? Why not have Koven distribute your ‘donations’ to the appropriate politicians?”

  “We already donate huge sums to think tanks, the ones you see giving opinions on the news and cited in maj
or newspapers. We also pay for university studies that prove whatever we want. That is all perfectly legal because it’s not an election. But we need someone to sponsor the bill, and that’s where the randomness of my birth place prevents me from giving money to those campaigns. I can’t donate, but unions and corporations can.” He pointed his finger at her. “You can.”

  Faiz tapped his way to them and stopped. “My wife say—this.”

  He held out a roll of toilet paper.

  Prince Taimur glanced at the roll, then saw the porta potty for the first time. He jumped to his feet. “How careless of me. I most humbly apologize for my manners. I had given instructions for your internment. I failed to realize how unseemly—”

  Pop-pop-pop.

  The unmistakable sound of automatic weapons echoed through the stone building.

  “Get behind me.” Pia pulled her pistol and crossed the hall to the stairs.

  Tania joined her. They proceed up the curved stairway. The prince and Faiz reluctantly followed.

  “Your friends from the Emirates?” Pia asked.

  “How do you know they’re not after you?” the prince asked.

  Tania hissed. “They would’ve sent more men.”

  Pia opened a heavy wooden door, took a peek outside, and retreated. “Two in black on the left shooting at three in beige on the right.”

  “My men wear beige,” the prince said. “They will win this.”

  “They’re pinned in a corner and it’s not looking good.”

  The prince shrank.

  “Is there another exit?” Pia asked Faiz.

  “Cheap Portuguese, door of one.”

  Pia turned to Tania. “The only cover is behind the old dhows.”

  Tania shrugged. “Open a second front, hope the prince’s boys figure out we’re the good guys.”

  Pia gestured the prince and Faiz back down the stairs. When they were a safe distance away, she counted down from three.

  Tania shoved the door open from floor level while Pia fired. Their darts bounced off the heavily armored men in black. Tania landed her last round in one man’s cheek. He dropped.

  Three new men in black ran through the outer gate. They mowed down the prince’s guard detail and turned their attention to Pia at the very instant she caught the nearest man in the small amount of exposed neck.

  Before she could celebrate, a storm of bullets flew at her. She retreated down four steps. Tania secured the door, skipped the stairs, and jumped to the dungeon floor below.

  “For the record,” Tania said, “Jacob’s right about darts versus bullets. We should carry more armor-piercing rounds.”

  Pia’s stairs followed the base of a round tower, bending away from the door. It was that curve that saved her from the onslaught of lead that blasted through the wood.

  The rounds kept coming. The men outside fired and reloaded and fired and reloaded until the door hung in tattered shreds of kindling. Blinding daylight poured in from outside.

  One head stuck through the gap, nothing more than a featureless silhouette. Pia fired at it anyway.

  He pushed through the door with his shoulder, raised the barrel of his weapon and aimed.

  Before he pulled the trigger, he fell, face first, to Tania’s feet on the stone floor.

  “Clear!” Miguel’s booming voice echoed in the courtyard outside.

  Tania ran up the stairs and squeezed through the remaining slivers of door. Pia grabbed the prince’s briefcase and waved for the prince and Faiz to follow.

  In the yard, Miguel surveyed the scene, unmoved by the carnage. “We gotta go. There’s ten more coming with heavier weaponry, missiles and grenade launchers.”

  Pia shuddered.

  Three Omani guards ran in and put their hands up when Miguel turned his AR15 their way.

  He turned to Pia and shrugged. “I already told them I’m after the Emiratis, not them, but I guess there’s a language barrier. Where’s Jacob when you need his Arabic?”

  Pia gave him a big hug. “I thought you were in Germany guarding my dad.”

  “It’s below freaking zero in Germany. I heard there’s a beach and sunshine here. But we gotta run.” He turned and sprinted for the gate.

  Everyone followed him.

  “Thank you for saving me—again. I owe you,” the prince called out as his men herded him into a Land Cruiser. He leaned out his window and shouted to Pia. “We should race jets again. But this time, I go first.”

  “Don’t take your jet!” Pia watched the prince speed down the road. Hearing her warning would’ve been impossible. She texted her message to him and watched the send bar proceed halfway before stopping.

  Faiz turned to her. “Faiz go with Pia, more safe.”

  “I’ll bet you’d like that,” Tania snarled and faced Pia. “You still have the Prince’s briefcase.”

  “We need to copy the contract and upload it to Emily at the Post. But I can’t even get a text message going.” Pia turned to Faiz. “Where can I find those smugglers you told me about?”

  “Faiz take you.” He pointed to his open Toyota.

  They piled in and took off in the opposite direction from the airport. He drove past a cruise ship and several docks of dhows and small outboards until he passed the last few ships.

  At the end of the harbor, a sambuk, the ancient boat design of deep-water ships in the Persian Gulf, took on cargo. The bow rose from the water with a curved swoop; the stern ended in an abrupt transom carved with elegant designs.

  Faiz gestured to the aging wooden craft. “Smuggler take any places.”

  “Does it have an engine?” Pia asked.

  “Sails and engines.”

  “Is it fast?”

  He shrugged with his arms out, palms up. “You say smuggler—I bring you smuggler.”

  “Will it outrun other boats?”

  “Maybe.” Faiz turned and shouted to men onboard.

  Across the harbor, two trucks pulled away from the fortress. One drove up the road toward the airport; the other crossed the bridge, bringing them to Pia’s side of the harbor.

  Faiz and a bearded man haggled over prices. Pia took a wad of hundred-Euro notes from her waistpack and handed it to the Captain. She said, “Now.”

  They climbed aboard and cast off.

  Within minutes, they were out in the open bay. Miguel perched high on the stern while Pia and Tania sat on a bench on the aft deck. Despite Tania’s repeated pleas to toss him overboard, Faiz wandered among the crew.

  The air was cool, the sea was calm, the sun was bright, and the breeze gentle. Without communications, it was a beautiful day. Yet that nagging sense of desperation tugged at Pia. She couldn’t shake it.

  The sound of a jet roared overhead. They looked up to see the red, green, and white stripes of the Omani flag on the tail. The wing dipped a salute. Everyone waved except Pia.

  “You’re going to help the prince, right?” Tania asked. “He seemed so nice. And he’s handsome. And he’s a prince. And you like him. And he’s a much better choice than Carlos.”

  From the shore, a missile whooshed over their heads.

  Two thousand feet above them, Prince Taimur’s jet exploded.

  CHAPTER 34

  Koven used both hands to grab the heavy curtains and throw them open with a violent burst, but it added no light to the castle’s dark bedroom. Instead, the vast countryside sucked the room’s warmth out through the glass, chilling his black mood. He turned to the lump of sheets and pillows. “Marthe, for god’s sake, get up. Enough of this moping.”

  A single hand emerged from inside the layers of blankets and comforters and shot straight up.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  Her voice came muffled from the pillows. “You don’t see it? My hand is stained.”

  “It’s as pale as snow.” He ripped back the covers. “You’re still wearing that filthy nightgown with the wine stain.”

  He stared at her unmoving form.

  “I need you now,” he
said. “I had to put Alan Sabel in the dungeon and those idiots from Velox took me literally when I joked about cutting up Benning. It’s all going to hell around here. I need your help.”

  She met his gaze with trembling lips.

  “What in god’s name is wrong with you?” He grabbed her shoulders. “Your eyes are black and swollen, you look terrible.”

  “All I see is blood.” She curled up to a kneeling position, held her hand out, and pulled up the sleeve of her nightgown. “I washed all night. It’s no good. I’m no good. I’m lost.”

  He looked at the back of her sagging head. They were strangers from different lands with no common language between them. He shared her desperation, but they were heading in different directions. He wanted a solution. She welcomed defeat.

  Her voice came down to a soft whisper. “What makes you so afraid that you need me, my big, strong war hero?”

  “That bastard Hyde showed up drunk.” He patted her back. “I think Jago is fond of that old goat.”

  She nuzzled him. “Don’t be so hard on the old man. He came to see me earlier. We have nothing to fear.”

  “Hyde came up here? Why?”

  “Looking for you. He tried to cheer me up.” Scratching at her arms, she wobbled like a drunk. “He said you have $100 million stashed away. We don’t have to worry about anything anymore because we’re rich. That’s what he told me. So why should I care that my arms are stained?”

  “Your arms are not … you need rest, my dear.” Koven gazed around the room. Clothing lay in clumps as if she’d tried to dress several times and saw nothing but futility in it.

  She sat still and sniffed. “Hyde said you’re invincible. We don’t need to be afraid.”

  “You didn’t take the sleeping pills?” Koven reached to the nightstand and retrieved the bottle. “You should take one of these. I don’t know anything about medicine but take something, whatever you need to get a good nap. Then get dressed and join me, there’s work to be done.”

  “If you didn’t kill Gottleib, who did?”

  “Where did that question come from?”

  “I don’t know. I’m tired and my mind wanders. But who killed him?”