Chapter 12
It took six months for the dreaded call to come in. Bill had returned, nominally, to his law offices, where his colleagues had pestered him to no end on his mission to Somalia on behalf of Wastend. They didn’t know that Wastend had nothing to do with the actual mission, but Bill figured even hinting otherwise would land him in a military prison somewhere. ‘National Security’ and ‘Top Secret’ had been flung at him so many times since his return that he felt jumpy just thinking about it.
His cracked ribs had healed nicely, thanks to a military doctor that General Hynes had secured for him. Gardner suspected that the doctor had been ordered to get the ex-marine back into tip-top shape, for the man acted more like a drill sergeant than a doctor when it came to ordering Bill around. He found himself running more and doing more exercises than he thought appropriate for a man healing from injuries.
But Bill was under no illusions. He knew that as soon as something concrete could be determined regarding the whereabouts of the component the Chinese had managed to acquire, he would be shipped off to deal with it.
Surprisingly, there had been little fallout as to his vigilante actions against Luk Bol. Either Lorna had failed to report the incident—highly unlikely—or the military really didn’t care what happened to a pirate mercenary working for a nominal government likewise filled with rebels. Bill suspected the latter. At any rate, he was just glad that he didn’t have to listen to a lecture or spend time in jail as a result of his actions.
Sighing, Gardner picked up the special cell phone Hynes had given him. “Hello?” he answered. “Pizza Hut. How may I help you?”
“Very funny,” said the not so funny voice of General Hynes. “Pack your bag, Captain Gardner. You are leaving tonight.”
That undoubtedly meant a long flight. “Ah, can’t this wait? I’ve got a hot date tonight—”
“Cancel your imaginary date, Captain. This is an order.”
“How’d you know it’s imaginary?” There was a pregnant pause over the phone. “You’ve been watching me?” Another pause. “Now General!” he started to protest.
“Pack your bag. A car will pick you up outside your apartment at 6 tonight. Don’t be late.”
Gardner sighed. “Where am I going?”
“United Arab Emirates.”
“The UAE?”
“Correct. There is a military exhibition being held there in Abu Dhabi, the capital. Purportedly, some of the regions most advanced technological advances will be on display. We’ve just received intelligence that the Chinese have decided to participate at the last moment.”
“Oh? I suppose this is significant?”
“Yes. They are going to display a new stealth fighter jet for sale.”
“Ah. They’ve managed to plug your little device into one of their systems.”
“So it would seem.”
“You want me to steal it back or blow it up?”
“Right now we just want you to verify that it is our technology being used in the aircraft. We think the Chinese are trying to sell it. They know they can’t manufacture more than the one they have, so politically, the technology is a liability. It will hurt future relations with us, and they know it. So, they’re trying to pawn it off to the highest bidder, knowing that eventually we’ll get around to destroying it.”
“But in the meantime the Chinese manage to win some concessions from one of the oil powers in the region,” Bill finished.
“Exactly. Find out if it is our tech being used and anyone interested in buying it. Once we know, we’ll be able to track the aircraft easier, and either intercept it before transfer or hit it on route.”
“You sure you just don’t want me to blow it up in the UAE?”
“That would be a political nightmare if it got traced back to us,” Hynes replied. “The seven sheikhs who control the emirates are friendly to the US right now, and have allowed us to stage operations against Afghanistan from their country. We would lose all of that if we blew up that plane while on their soil.”
“I hate politics.”
“Don’t we all. Pack your bag, Captain.”
“How will I know which aircraft is the Chinese’s?”
“They are only bringing the one. Look for the one with all the Chinese guarding it.”
“Sounds easy enough.”
“Perhaps. Don’t get killed or caught.”
Bill sighed, and clicked off the cellphone. He understood the implied warning. If he was caught, he would be disavowed, nothing more than an American tourist on his own. He stood up from his desk and walked to his office door. “Cassie, I’m going out of the country again.”
Cassie looked up from her own desk. “Again?”
“Yep.”
“But you have appointments all this week.”
“Cancel them.”
“Okay, but should I reschedule?”
Gardner shook his head. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. Recommend Aaron or Valery to them, and have Victor pick up the rest of my caseload for the time being.”
Cassie raised an eyebrow. Effectively, Bill was cancelling everything. Well, it couldn’t be helped. He hoped that the government would compensate him somehow for all of this. Cassie, ever curious, cleared her throat. “Uh, is this for Wastend again?”
The gridlock between Wastend and the union had finally been settled by the governor. He had stepped in and dictated the terms to both the company and the union, by basically warning that if the entire lot wasn’t back to work in two days, he would shut the company down for good. The net effect was a compromise between the CEO, Frank Vellore, and the union. The employees had gone back to work with a pay raise and additional benefits, if not everything they had wanted. Vellore just grumbled, knowing full well that if he didn’t cave in, General Hynes would bring him up on criminal—if not treasonous—charges for his neglect in the disposal of the TACAIR prototype.
Personally, Bill thought Vellore should go to jail for a long time, but Hynes had decided to use Vellore for his own purposes, and the CEO found himself in a position where he could hardly refuse.
“Yes. Vellore has some legal matters he wants me to attend to in the UAE.”
Cassie blinked. “What business does he have with them?”
Gardner shrugged. “I’ll get all the details later. All I know is that I’m being paid a lot of money to go…so going I am.”
Cassie looked vaguely relieved, figuring that if her boss was being paid, then so would she. She dropped the issue and began calling up Gardner’s schedule on the computer. Bill grabbed his briefcase and trotted out the door. It was 4:30 in the afternoon. He didn’t have a lot of time.
Bill looked at the smiling man and tried his best to smile back. “I have a reservation for Bill Gardner,” he once again told the hotel attendant. The little man bobbed his head and slowly poked one finger at a time on the keyboard.
“Beel Gardenar,” he repeated slowly, butchering the name. Bill could see that the man was typing in the name all wrong.
“No,” he leaned over the counter and typed the name in himself. “Bill Gardner. Bill Gardner. Like that.”
“Ah,” the Arab man’s eyes brightened and he hit the enter key. Bill’s name must have come up for the man’s eyes brightened. “Here you are! Room 216.” He scanned a keycard and handed it across the counter. “Welcome to Dhabi! Welcome to the Park Hyatt Hotel!” He said the name like ‘hi-ate,’ but Gardner got the drift.
Bill accepted the card and smiled back. “Thank you, my friend.” He handed the man a twenty dollar bill, knowing that this was the best way to get the hotel staff to be willing to do favors in the future. The man positively beamed in pleasure.
When he got to his room, he deposited his luggage on the bed and ran a hand through his hair. He was tired, hungry, and irritated. Still, he felt it was best to take a look at the Military Exhibition before he turned in for the night.
The Park Hyatt was located only three or four blocks from a
series of government warehouses where the exhibition was being held. Even from this far away, Gardner had spotted the sheikhs’ security forces patrolling the streets. Bill had a legitimate reason for being in town, but he wasn’t so confident about a reason to attend the exhibition. He knew that any American who just wandered over would be turned away, or watched so closely that anything he did would be analyzed by several intelligence agencies across the world. No, he needed a better reason to be at the exhibition. He needed an invitation.
Fortunately, one of the seven ruling sheikhs’ sons was staying at the hotel and was reputed to be around Bill’s age. Hynes’ intelligence reports painted a picture of a man drunk with power and ego. It was to this latter part, the ego, that Gardner needed to leverage in order to get the necessary invitation. From what he understood, the man would be playing at a game of cards down in the hotel lobby this very moment.
Taking some time to freshen up, Bill eventually found his way to the roomy lounge downstairs. A group of boisterous men sat near the hotel bar, hunched over a deck of playing cards. Two other men stood nearby, obviously bodyguards. One watched the table and the men playing, and the other watched everyone else.
One of the players sported a well-trimmed goatee and wore several gold rings on each hand. His clothing looked expensive, so Bill marked him as the sheikh’s son, Fareed. He wandered over to the table, both bodyguards turning their attention to him as he approached. “Is there an open seat?” he asked in his weak Arabic.
Fareed looked up, saw the American and smiled. “Sure, pull up a chair,” he said in fluent English.
“Thanks,” Bill replied, pulling a chair over from a nearby table.
“By the way,” Fareed said, “you asked if there is a chair opening.”
“Blast. I’ll never get your language down!”
Fareed laughed. “True. Arabic is so much more expressive than English.”
Bill didn’t rise to the bait. He had spent long hours on the flight over, studying the man, and knew that his desire to prove himself superior to anyone else—particularly westerners—often got the better of him. His father had to bail him out of trouble more often than not, and Gardner suspected that the bodyguards had a dual role in this regard—keep the son out of trouble!
“I’ll just have to trust you on that one,” Gardner said. “Since I haven’t mastered your language yet. Maybe, I’ll be better at cards.”
Fareed grinned and began dealing out the cards. “Poker, Mr…?”
“Gardner. Bill Gardner. Just call me Bill, and Poker is fine.”
“Call me Fareed.” He introduced the other three players at the table and soon all five fell to looking at their cards and eyeing one another like tom cats.
Hynes had provided enough money to lose—winning wasn’t the idea here—but Bill had been warned not to get too extravagant. Since he was at best a mediocre poker player, he wasn’t worried about winning much. As they played, he began talking.
“You have a very quaint little country here, Fareed. This is my first time here, so it’s all new to me.”
“Quaint?” Fareed asked, pronouncing the word as if he wasn’t quite sure what it meant.
Bill shrugged, “Well it isn’t the United States, but it seems pleasant enough.”
Fareed’s hands tightened around his cards, bending them slightly. “The greatness of a nation is not determined by its landmass,” he retorted.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Bill agreed cryptically. He threw his cards down on the table. “I fold.” The sheikh’s son grinned at that, raising the stakes by a hundred dollars. Bill continued, “Still, it’s a good thing you have powerful neighbors who wish you to stay independent. I imagine a lot of countries would love to get their hands on your oil reserves.”
“We don’t need them!” he shot back. One of the other players called, and Fareed lost, irritating him further since the man he lost to looked to be from Europe somewhere. “We are strong enough to take care of ourselves.”
“You are?” Bill asked as if this bit of news was completely surprising. “I would have thought that if someone like Saudi Arabia decided to invade, you would be powerless to stop them.”
“They wouldn’t dare.” The card game was ignored as Fareed focused his anger on the American. “We may be small, but no country on earth would dare to invade us.”
Bill made sure his demeanor and tone didn’t reflect a challenge, just doubt. “I suppose so,” he said as if reluctant to believe. “I just didn’t think the UAE had the military technology to pose much of a defense in the face of a determined enemy. I thought you relied on treaties with other nations to protect your borders.”
Fareed stared at the innocent looking American for a long time. Finally, he slapped the table hard enough to cause the deck of cards to tumble over, spreading them across the table. “Come with me, American,” he snapped, standing to his feet.
Bill stood up more slowly. “Uh, where are we going?”
“I want to show you something. The United States looks down on everyone that she doesn’t control. I want you to see that we are more than capable and able to compete on a military level.”
“Fareed, I didn’t mean any insult. I was just led to believe—”
“Lies!” the Arab snapped. “We are strong. Come. I will show you.”
“Where are we going?”
“There is a military exhibition being held right now in our city. You will see technology there that will rival anything that the US can field.”
“Uh, should I be going to something like that?”
Fareed waved it aside. “You will be my guest. I want you to see and take word back to your people that we are strong.”
“My people?”
“No doubt you are a spy.” He stopped Bill from interrupting with a protest. “Most Americans who come here are, but it is of no consequence. We have nothing to hide and it is good for the US to know how strong we are. Come.” He looked at one of the guards. “Get my car. We will be taking the American to see the exhibition.”
Without waiting to see if the American followed, he marched towards the front door. Bill followed, and found that the bodyguards had fallen in step behind them. They didn’t protest this impromptu tour, so Bill figured they were used to their charge’s impetuous behavior. So far, the planned had worked—all except for the accusation of being a spy. That had hit too close to home, and he wondered if it wouldn’t land him in hot water later on.
Fareed’s car turned out to be an expensive luxury car rather than the expected limousine. The deep blue Rolls-Royce Phantom rolled to a smooth stop at the curb. The Arab waved for the driver to get out and jumped behind the wheel himself. “Get in,” he ordered.
Bill noticed that four other vehicles, SUV’s to be precise, were pulling up and around the sheikh’s car. “Your body guards won’t object?”
The man snorted, smiling. “They do what I tell them to do. If they thought you were a threat, they would have already killed you.”
Bill chuckled at that, not sure if the man was joking or not. Nevertheless, he determined not to do anything that might cause the bodyguards to react in a negative manner. He moved to the other side of the car and jumped in beside the spoiled young man. The car certainly lived up to its reputation. His job as a lawyer had brought him into contact with many wealthy men and women, and he had seen his share of expensive cars over the years, but this one took the cake. He couldn’t believe how expensive everything looked, and the v-12 engine purred like a lion.
A bodyguard jumped lightly into the backseat, an action that Bill’s new young friend ignored. Bill ignored him too.
Laughing suddenly, Fareed hit the gas pedal and the car shot out into the street, leaving the more lumbering SUV’s behind. He glanced over at Bill, who sat in astonishment. He had never experienced such power in such a car before. “You like? Yes?”
“Yes!”
Pleased that he had made an impression on the American, Fareed broke every s
peed law and arrived at a large domed building not too far away. The building looked to be a gigantic coliseum of sorts…certainly large enough to hold any number of aircraft and military vehicles. A dozen guards wearing indeterminate military uniforms stood outside the main entrance, carefully scrutinizing the various people who came in and out of the building.
Leaving the bodyguard to deal with the car, Fareed waved one of the soldiers away as he approached the pair. “The American is with me. I will see that he causes no problems,” he said in Arabic.
The soldier hesitated, and Bill guessed that the guards had orders to make sure few Westerners got into the building. He suspected that any Westerner actually inside was an arms dealer, dealing in illegal weapons. But seeing who the American was with, put a whole new light on things. The guard nodded, saluted and returned to his post.
Bill and Fareed walked in unmolested.
The First End Page 12