The Saudi began to rapidly mouth some words, a mantra, a prayer, again and again, silently at first then to a whisper. From the front seat Cameron could make out the mantra clearly, “A-ozu billahi mena shaitaan Arrajeem, A-ozu billahi mena shaitaan Arrajeem.” Cameron understood the Arabic, a Muslim phrase, mainly used when one was feeling unsafe, or when scared by something. The phrase roughly translated meant, ‘I seek refuge in Allah from the cursed Satan,’ and the Saudi was repeating the mantra over and over. Pepe also understood the meaning of this phrase. The overall meaning was that the Saudi was right where they wanted him.
In a still soothing tone, Pepe spoke again, “You pray for Allah to be with you.” Pepe nodded his head, “The great Allah is with you. My friend and I, we are not the cursed Satan. Do not feel unsafe, do not feel scared, try to relax.”
The Saudi opened his eyes, large and round, wanting to escape Pepe. “Relax?” he said. “You could have killed me. You killed Faheem! You could have killed me!”
“Whoa, whoa, ‘could have’ is not the same as did,” said Pepe. “I did not wish to kill Faheem.”
“Then why did you shoot him in the head?”
“My goal was to scare him off the road. You did not have bulletproof glass. Who does not have bulletproof glass? I cannot believe you did not have bulletproof glass.” Pepe lifted his hands in frustration, sighed, clasped his hands, and then continued, “Very unnecessary, you know we have bulletproof glass. This is only a rental.”
The Saudi sank into his seat, now appearing more a boy and less a man. The blood sprayed upon him was already beginning to dry in the cool air of the Mercedes.
Cameron found a loading dock behind the stadium and pulled the Mercedes down the concrete ramp. The Mercedes lowered from the surrounding view. He stepped out of the car closed the door and inspected the bay. With the loading bay doors closed, they were essentially parked in a concrete box. Above Cameron spied two cameras. Someone could be watching. They would need to be prudent. He walked to the rear door of the Mercedes and pulled the handle.
The Saudi did not move.
“Go on,” said Pepe from inside the car. “Out of the car.”
The Saudi sat solid staring at the headrest in front of him per chance Cameron and the open door would disappear.
Pepe’s voice softened further, his always-calming deep accent possessed an additional quality of assurance and he placed his hand onto the Saudi’s, “It is okay Taufiq.”
In a meek voice the Saudi, Taufiq, replied, “You are going to shoot me now.”
“No my friend,” said Pepe soothingly, “I promised I will not shoot you.”
“Then your friend will,” Taufiq closed his eyes again. “A-ozu billahi mena shaitaan Arrajeem, A-ozu billahi mena --,”
“Now, now. Do not be silly,” said Pepe. “Neither of us will shoot you. We need your help. We only want to talk to you.”
“Really?”
“Really. Now let’s go.”
“Okay,” said Taufiq. He placed his arms by his sides to upright his torso and then swung his feet out of the Mercedes, standing as tall and elegantly as he could to regain stature, to save face. He spread his fingers wide and smoothed the front of his no longer pristine thobe and then, without looking down, indifferently brushed away any of the dried rust colored blood that may have gotten onto his hands. Cameron stood tall as well, respectfully holding the door for the Saudi as he exited the Mercedes and performed his little ritual. Pepe opened his own door on the other side of the Mercedes and then slowly joined the two, giving the Saudi a further chance to compose himself.
His back to Cameron, Taufiq peered forward as if he could see through or over the top of the ramp to the vast parking area and immensely vaster desert beyond.
“So,” said Pepe, approaching Taufiq from the rear of the Mercedes. “Can we now speak?”
“Abbo will kill me for telling you his location.”
“You are telling us Abbo’s location so that we can kill him. Abbo will not be a threat to you.”
“And,” said Cameron. Startled by a voice from behind, the Saudi spun on his heel to face them both. Cameron was still standing behind the open rear door, leaning forward on one arm. Cameron continued, “Your debts will be clear. Abbo will not have sold them. Your slate will be clean.”
Taufiq backed away from between the two. He moved toward the sidewall of the loading bay, and then spun on his heel again. He placed a hand flat against the concrete and then faced them, “How do I know you can pull this off?”
Cameron dropped and shook his head chuckling then gazed up at the Saudi, “Well, you had a back seat view of what we did out there moments ago and let me tell you, we were not really trying.”
Taufiq drooped his head, “Oh yeah.” He raised his eyes to Pepe, “Not even trying?”
Pepe, sauntering toward the Saudi, shook his head, “Not really.”
“Okay, okay. Yes, I guess that is right.” Suddenly pensive the Saudi stared at the ground, placed his thumb to his mouth and bit. Cameron and Pepe let him spin his wheels and a brief moment later, the Saudi lifted his head. His eyes shifted between the two mock Arabs in front of him. “Who are you two? Why do you want Abbo so bad?”
Pepe stepped closer to the Saudi, “Let’s say Abbo took something that does not belong to him.”
“And it doesn’t really matter if I want to tell you does it?”
“Not really,” said Cameron.
* * * * *
Chapter 28
Sevens Rugby Stadium, Dubai
Taufiq’s forehead had gained an oily sheen. His attempt to maintain a confident air was compromised by his feeble and distant words. “You’re not going to shoot me?”
“We are not going to shoot you,” said Pepe. “Though you can make this easy, or hard on yourself.”
“Yes, I understand clearly. I will tell you but it will make no difference. You will never be able to get to him.”
“Try us,” said Cameron.”
“He is at the Burj Khalifa,” said Taufiq. “You know this place, the world’s tallest building.”
“Of course we do,” said Pepe. “Can you be more specific?”
“He has a luxury residence in the Armani Hotel, a huge villa suite there. Like a palace really, up in the air, he is safe like a bird in the sky.”
“You are sure that is where he is?” asked Pepe. “That does not sound very secure. The Armani is on the lower levels.”
“And relatively public,” said Cameron. “Like our friend in London.”
“But you see,” said Taufiq, “he is not in the Armani residences that everyone knows of. He is high like a falcon on the 105th floor. The residences between floor 77 and 110 are very secure. You must be friend or family to access those levels.”
“Or have a key,” said Cameron.
The Saudi peered at Cameron.
“Do you have a key?” asked Pepe.
“He has a key,” said Cameron. “He has a very special key. Don’t you?”
“Taufiq,” said Pepe. “Let me see your key.”
“It will not help you,” said Taufiq.
“Probably not. Let me see anyway.”
The Saudi reached his hand into his thobe, removed a golden keycard, and then handed the card to Pepe.
“Hmm,” said Pepe. “There is an electronic chip in here, and the card is engraved. Do you mind if my friend takes a look?” Pepe held the card out for Cameron to inspect. The Saudi stared at the ground.
“Well I’ll be, that is nice,” said Cameron. He held the card up in the air, “A little holographic paint, a chip, engraving. Let’s see what this says.” He pulled the card closer, “It says here, wow, you live there. That must be nice.”
The Saudi, his head still drooping and eyes beginning to well, spoke quietly in almost a murmur, “It is a family residence.”
“I bet you have to use a code with this too,” said Cameron. “A pin number maybe?” Cameron peered over the card to the Saudi.
/> The Saudi began to weep.
“Is that true Taufiq?” asked Pepe. “Do we need a code?”
The Saudi subtly nodded his head.
“What is the code Taufiq? Tell us the code. We need your help.”
The Saudi spoke in a whisper.
“I am sorry,” said Pepe. “I did not hear you.”
“823,” said the Saudi. “The code is 823. The card works for the elevator and the residence door on the 102nd floor.”
“That’s what the card says,” said Cameron, “102nd floor.”
“You see,” said Pepe. “That was not so bad. Now we can be close to Abbo. The task is almost complete.”
The Saudi nodded again, tears streaming from his eyes.
“And the new woman?” asked Pepe. “The one with chestnut hair and green eyes that has been brought into the harem.”
“Also at the Armani Hotel. He keeps his harem there.”
“On the same floor?”
“No, one floor below.” The Saudi lifted his head, “That key will get you to those floors as well. Except…”
“Except what Taufiq?” asked Pepe, “Except what?”
“I will need to be with you. Sometimes, not always, sometimes the elevator requests more security.”
“Another code?” asked Pepe.
“Or something biometric?” asked Cameron. “Like a voice imprint, a handprint, maybe even a retinal scan.”
The Saudi hesitated then said, “A retinal scan,” he paused to gauge Pepe’s reaction and then began to speak quickly. “Particularly if you are visiting floors other than your own, it is all very random, hardly ever actually, that’s why I didn’t think of it, but I will help you I swear.”
“I see,” said Pepe.
The Saudi watched Cameron press a thumb to his forehead and make a deep frown.
“I will help you,” said the Saudi. “To get Abbo I will help, tonight, now. We will go right now.”
“That will not be necessary,” said Pepe. “You have helped enough. We are finished here.”
“Are you sure? There must be more I can do.”
“No, you have done enough.”
“I have?”
“Now Taufiq, you must understand we need to be confident that you will stay silent. If you were to go to Abbo, or run into Abbo, or if Abbo were to come looking for you there is too great a chance you may say something.”
Again the orbs of Taufiq’s eyes, plump and pushing from his skull, fought to escape him, “I swear I will say nothing. By Allah I swear, by Allah I swear, Wallah, Wallah.”
Pepe placed his hand on the Saudi’s shoulder, “I believe, you believe that.”
“You promised not to shoot me!” said Taufiq, his face was wet and dripped with tears.
“Shhh,” said Pepe. He leaned in close and placed his cheek near Taufiq’s. “Shhh.”
Taufiq felt a poke in his neck and then great warmth. Pepe pressed on Taufiq’s shoulder easing him slowly down the wall to his knees. Taufiq placed his hand on his neck where he felt the warmth. His fingers immediately became hot and wet and when he massaged them into his neck, sticky. He pulled them away to see his own bright crimson leakage and attempted to cry out, no sounds came.
“Shhh,” said Pepe again. Pepe’s face was warm and kind, “Allah waits for you. Close your eyes and go to him.”
* * * * *
Chapter 29
Old Town Dubai
Alastair sat at a table near the edge of the promenade overlooking the Burj Khalifa Lake, the building of the shared name towering above them from across the water.
“You didn’t bring him with you,” said Alastair.
“In a sense we did,” said Cameron. He pulled a chair away from the table and then sat down. “Pepe has his eyes.”
“Bloody hell. So it came to that.” Alastair’s lips pulled tight and the entirety of his face shifted to the side, a scowl that Cameron recognized and always took as a judgment, and a faux disgust. Cameron had adopted many cues from Alastair over the years. Alastair had an upscale upbringing and recognized when to behave in a fashion.
“It always comes to that,” said Cameron. “That’s why I got the hell out of the game.”
A waiter approached Cameron and bowed his head, “Coffee Sayyed?”
“Yes, coffee please, with lemon and sweet. Do you have artificial?”
“Certainly,” said the waiter.
“That will be all then, thank you.”
The waiter bowed his head again and backed away from the table before changing direction for the bar.
Alastair picked up where they were a moment before. “You got out of the game for the same reason as the rest of us. You were getting too old and too poor to be doing what we were doing.”
“I was tired of killing innocents.”
“Collateral happens and you know that. Besides, I would hardly consider Taufiq Sawar an innocent. The man may have lost his money gambling but he made it as a human trafficker, a slave trader. He will not be missed.”
“Hmm,” grunted Cameron. “Viva Legionne.”
“Need I remind you that in combat you act without passion or hatred,” said Alastair.
“You are not the only one that can quote the code of honor,” said Cameron. “Respect vanquished enemies, I remember that part too.”
“I do as well,” said Alastair, “collateral, we’ll have a drink for the bastard later. Does that suit you?”
Cameron flashed a glance and a twisted half smile smirk across the table to Alastair for bringing him back to reality.
“So everything was as we thought?” asked Alastair.
Cameron lifted his hands above the table, “Once again our friend in London had the information right to the tee. The secret Armani residence on the 105th floor of the Burj Khalifa, the golden keycard security, the elevator retinal scanner, and he was even right, unfortunately, that Taufiq would try to double cross us.”
“And Christine?”
Cameron sucked in a deep breath, “Right Christine, he said he saw her, or rather a new girl with chestnut hair and green eyes that had recently been brought into the harem.”
“Harem?”
“Yeah.”
The waiter returned to the table and set Cameron’s coffee before him. To the side he set a plate of assorted sugar cubes and sachets of artificial sweeteners. “Shukran,” said Cameron.
The waiter bowed his head said, “Afwan,” in response and then again backed away from the table.
Alastair watched the waiter from the corner of his eye until he felt he was clear, “Please tell me this harem is on the same floor.”
“Close, a floor below,” said Cameron. He picked up three yellow sachets from the plate, tore the ends at once together, and spilled the contents into his coffee. He shifted his eyes up toward the tower across the lake, “You come up with any new ideas as to how to get in and out of there while we were gone, or did you spend the whole of the morning with the blonde you disappeared with last night?”
“No and yes, no new ideas and yes I spent a good part of the morning with the blonde. She could not get enough of me.”
“I cannot believe you are still using that same line, ‘I’m from Kenya’.”
“Well I am, and the ladies love it.”
Cameron twisted and tossed the sliver of lemon rind from the side of his saucer into his cup and then gave a quick stir with the demitasse spoon.
Alastair watched Cameron’s ritual and when finished he asked, “Why the artificial sweet?”
“Are you serious?”
“Well yeah. That raw sugar is good sugar, besides you’re a chef.”
“I’m a chef. I eat too much sugar. I am trying to watch my intake.”
“Hmm,” said Alastair.
“What? I’m getting older. You should watch your diet as well.”
“My bloody diet is fine thank you.” Alastair gazed out across the lake. At that moment the Dubai Fountain, the massive choreographed water system that
spread across the manmade Burj Khalifa Lake, erupted and projected water into the air at different heights along the intricate path of the piping.
“Would you look at that,” said Cameron.
“Beautiful,” said Alastair. The high-pressure water jets and shooters of the fountain pushed streams of water to and fro across each other while the water robots made other streams spin and twirl in such a way that they appeared to dance. “You know that fountain can spray 83,000 liters of water in the air at any moment.”
“You don’t say,” said Cameron, and then sipped from his coffee. He was well aware of where this was about to go.
“I read they installed more than 6,600 lights and 25 color projectors.”
“Uh, huh.”
“They even had fire shooting out one year.”
“Did they?”
“Can you imagine if that was your job, to be the fountain man?”
“Here we go.”
“I mean what a responsibility to be the man that runs the fountain. What a specialized job. All of that pristine knowledge for only a handful of fountains.”
“I’ve told you before,” said Cameron. “These fountains are run by firms, teams, computers.”
“But there is one man Kincaid, one man for each fountain that knows that fountain, that keeps the whole thing running like clockwork. A handful of master fountain men around the world, sure the Dubai Fountain is the largest, but think, there is another guy that runs the Bellagio Fountains --.”
“Yeah, that reminds me, I read an article in the Times that the same people that built the Bellagio Fountains built the Dubai Fountain, they build all of these fountains.”
“That’s what I’m saying,” said Alastair, “the Fountain of Wealth in Singapore, the Magic Fountain of Montjuic, Kincaid the Big Wild Goose Pagoda Fountains were built in 652.”
“652 I know, you’ve told us a hundred times, your fountain fetish is well known and noted, and what I meant was that a firm built these things to be run by firms. I don’t think there is just one fountain guy.”
“Sure there is.”
The Somali Deception Episode II (A Cameron Kincaid Serial) Page 4