World of Trouble (9786167611136)

by Needham, Jake

  Keur and Shepherd exchanged glances.

  “Do you have an exact time of arrival yet?” Shepherd asked.

  Rachel’s eyes flicked across her screen and traveled up to one corner. Then she glanced at her wristwatch as if to confirm what she had seen on the screen.

  “You timing is really quite remarkable. It’s probably on final right now.”

  Rachel pointed to the windows.

  “You ought to be able to see it land any minute.”

  Rachel bent down and opened a desk drawer. When she straightened up, she was holding a pair of powerful-looking field glasses. She held them out toward Keur, but he shook his head and pointed to Shepherd.

  “Mr. Shepherd then,” Rachel said. “I gather you are the officially designated plane spotter for today.”

  The glasses were Leica 10x52s. Big and tough and expensive. They were exactly the kind of glasses Shepherd would expect Rachel to have. He took the glasses from her and walked over to the windows.

  A British Airways 747 was just touching down on the runway closest to them. Its huge undercarriages gave off tiny puffs of smoke when they kissed the concrete, like smoke signals rising from Indian country in some old black-and-white movie. Off on the other side of the terminal, there was another set of parallel runways probably a half mile away. After another minute or two, Shepherd saw the white 737 lining up for a landing over there.

  “Harvey’s here,” he said.

  The plane was still too far out to make out any details, but he had no doubt he had the right airplane. He lifted the glasses and nudged the focus wheel until the image was sharp, and then he watched the 737 slip down the glide path onto one of the far parallels like a four-year-old coming down a playground slide. Just above the runway’s threshold, the pilot lifted the nose slightly and the plane flared and settled so smoothly onto the concrete that its arrival was entirely smokeless.

  Shepherd was watching the airplane and didn’t realize Keur and Rachel were standing behind him until Rachel spoke.

  “Who’s Harvey?” she asked.

  “It’s what Jack calls the airplane we’re looking for,” Keur said.

  “He has given this airplane a name?”

  “Yeah. Named it after a big white rabbit.”

  Rachel fell silent after that. Shepherd could hardly blame her, but he didn’t bother to explain.

  He lowered the glasses and they all watched as the white airplane rolled about halfway down the runway, slowed, and turned off onto a taxiway.

  “Where is this parking spot it’s been assigned to?” Shepherd asked.

  “Over past the end of the cargo terminal,” Rachel said, pointing. “You see that big DHL sign, the yellow one?”

  Shepherd’s eyes followed her finger until he located the sign.

  “Got it.”

  “Now follow the parking apron to the left, all the way to the end. There’s a yellow line pointing toward that hanger with the green roof. That’s the marker the pilot follows to dock at 211A.”

  Shepherd lifted the glasses and studied the area Rachel was indicating. It was isolated, just as she had said it was. That end of the parking apron was recessed slightly behind one end of a long white building that was so huge they might have been building 747s inside it, but he knew it was probably the airport’s primary freight facility. Sitting at the edge of the apron, the hanger with the green roof was tiny by comparison, but it was still large enough to swallow a couple of pretty good-sized airplanes and close the doors behind them. Right now the doors were open. There was one small airplane inside that looked like a Gulfstream executive jet, although he wasn’t sure since he didn’t know all that much about private airplanes. Other than that, the hanger appeared to be empty. Which left plenty of room for a 737.

  “Who owns that hanger?” Shepherd asked.

  Rachel didn’t reply right away so he lowered the glasses and looked at her.

  “Officially,” she said, “it’s a UAE military hanger.”

  “And unofficially?”

  Rachel glanced at Keur, but he was watching Harvey and didn’t appear to notice.

  “Unofficially,” Rachel said when she looked back at Shepherd, “it’s used by the American embassy. Some people say it’s actually a CIA facility.”

  Harvey continued to taxi across the field and the three of them watched it in silence. When it reached the freight building, it turned left, followed the apron to the end, then swung around and lined up its nose wheel with the yellow line pointing to the hanger with the green roof. Shepherd raised the glasses again.

  A man in white coveralls had appeared from somewhere and was using a pair of red paddles to direct Harvey into its parking position. He was standing on the seat of a little vehicle that looked like a lawn tractor painted yellow. Waiting off to the side was a pickup truck with a metal box on top about the size of a small shipping container. The truck was unmarked, but it looked to Shepherd like one of those aircraft catering vehicles that are common around all airports.

  The man with the paddles had his arms extended over his head and was pulling the paddles repeatedly back toward himself, a gesture obviously meant to tell Harvey’s pilots to keep coming forward, which they did. Then the man stopped waving and crossed the paddles over his head in the form of an X and Harvey came to an abrupt stop. The man with the paddles jumped down from his little tractor and tossed the paddles inside, then took out a pair of yellow wheel chocks and trotted forward to wedge them under both the front and rear of Harvey’s nose wheel.

  As soon as the chocks were in place, the pickup started moving toward Harvey. The truck swung around and lined up with the door just behind the cockpit. The door popped open and Shepherd could see a man in khaki pants and a white golf shirt pushing on it with both hands from inside the aircraft. It swung all the way back against the side of the fuselage, the man gave the ground crew a friendly-looking wave, and then he disappeared back inside.

  The truck stopped at the aircraft door and the steel box on top of it lifted, scissoring upward on a pair of yellow-painted struts. When it was level with the door, another man dressed similarly to the man who had opened the door of the plane leaned out of the box and pushed a ramp forward until it bumped up against Harvey. Two men immediately emerged from Harvey, walked across the ramp, and disappeared inside the metal box. Then it was lowered back onto the top of the truck.

  As Shepherd watched the truck back away from the aircraft and then turn and drive into the hanger with the green roof, he ran the scene he had just witnessed back and forth through his mind. He was not absolutely certain he believed his own eyes. The men had moved quickly out of the aircraft into the catering truck and he had only gotten a glimpse of them as they crossed the short ramp. Perhaps he was mistaken. Perhaps he only thought he recognized them.

  Who was he trying to kid? He had recognized both men. He didn’t have the slightest doubt about it.

  The first man out of Harvey had been Robert Darling. That Darling had been in Thailand and was flying into a CIA facility in Dubai on an aircraft operated by a CIA front company wasn’t that big a surprise to Shepherd. Perhaps it should have been, but it wasn’t.

  The real bolt from the blue was the second man he had watched emerge from Harvey. His appearance on the scene was so entirely unexpected that it opened up a whole new and deeply nasty can of worms.

  The second man Shepherd had seen leaving Harvey right behind Robert Darling was Tommy.

  Tommy who was not a Thai spy, but merely the deputy spokesman for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

  THIRTY-NINE

  “ARE YOU ABSOLUTELY sure, Jack?”

  Keur had already asked the same question three or four different ways and Shepherd was tired of answering it. It was Tommy he had seen getting off that plane. He was certain of that. He just wasn’t certain what that meant.

  “Tommy’s a little weasel,” Shepherd said. “If he’s hooked up with the CIA, he’s operating on his own. It can’t have anything to do wit
h NIA. And it can’t have anything to do with Kate.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I just do.”

  Keur just shook his head. “You mean because she’s a good looking woman—”

  “Kate’s not involved with the CIA,” Shepherd interrupted. “Believe it.”

  “Okay, let’s just assume you’re right,” Keur said. “But this guy who works for her is, what’s his game?”

  “I don’t know,” Shepherd conceded.

  There was a silence after that. Keur eventually broke it.

  “Why do you even care what’s going on here, Jack? None of it as anything to do with you.”

  That was a good question, Shepherd had to admit. And he wasn’t sure how to answer it.

  That he cared because he had a lot of friends in Thailand and he was growing increasingly concerned about what might happen to them? Yes, of course. That he cared because he had personal attachments to both Kate and Charlie and didn’t want to see them square off against each other? Yes, that, too. That he cared because the poor, benighted little country of Thailand might not deserve much, but it did deserve more than to be ripped to pieces and have its bones picked over by faceless men who only cared about lining their own pockets? Sure, that as well.

  That was all part of it, of course, but Shepherd knew there was something else, too. Something that had more to do with him than it did with Thailand.

  Once upon a time he had been a player, a master of his own corner of the universe. He had held a place in the world that he thought mattered. But for nearly a year now he had done nothing but push papers and shuffle money for Charlie. Shepherd knew he was still up to doing something more important than that. At least he wanted to believe he was.

  Stopping a civil war in Thailand wasn’t his cause, that was true, but it was a good cause. And right then, he needed a good cause as much as any good cause needed him. Maybe more.

  Shepherd didn’t have a clue how to explain any of that to Keur, so he didn’t even try. Instead, he shifted his eyes to Rachel.

  “Can you get me onto the field?”

  “Should I ask what for?”

  “Probably not.”

  “You won’t be able to get anywhere near that hanger, Jack. And those two men are probably long gone by now.”

  “What difference does it make anyway?” Keur asked. “What are you going to do even if they’re still there. Walk right in, baffle them with bullshit, and then break their little airplane?”

  Shepherd let his eyes drift to the big flat panel monitors hanging on the wall and watched the silent images for a moment.

  “If you wanted to keep that plane here for a few days,” he asked Rachel, “how would you do it?”

  “A mechanical problem would ground it, of course,” she said. “Anything serious enough for spare parts to have to be flown in would keep it here for a day or two.”

  That was getting back to the Bruce Willis thing again and Shepherd knew that wasn’t going to work. He shook his head.

  “And I suppose,” Rachel went on, “some kind of law enforcement order might work.”

  “Law enforcement order?”

  “You know, the police could prevent the plane from leaving on some kind of legal grounds.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t really know,” Rachel said. “I was just thinking out loud. Maybe some kind of national security threat?”

  “Couldn’t they just take off anyway? It’s not likely Dubai would scramble jet fighters and shoot it down, is it?”

  “They wouldn’t have to. There are a lot of moving parts involved in getting a big commercial jet into the air. The process involves way too many people to do it without the necessary approvals. It’s not a car. You can’t just get into it and drive away.”

  As Shepherd thought about what Rachel was saying, he could feel the beginnings of an idea stirring in his mind.

  “How would an order like that be put into effect?”

  “The authorities would inform the airport administration that an order had been issued barring the plane’s departure,” Rachel said. “Then they would notify air traffic control not to accept any flight plans for the plane or grant any take off clearance. They would also instruct ground handling not to fuel or load the aircraft.”

  The idea stretched a little and moved up to the front of Shepherd’s mind.

  “And they couldn’t just fly the plane out without clearance?”

  “They’re not going anywhere without fuel.”

  The idea rose to its feet and strutted back and forth a few times. Shepherd had to admit he liked the look of it. He would have liked to reflect on it a little more before introducing it around, but there wasn’t enough time for measured reflection.

  “I think I can get an order issued to impound the plane.”

  “Why would the cops, do that?” Keur asked. “You got nothing on anybody. Even if you did, once they figure out they’re fucking with the CIA, the locals won’t do jackshit.”

  “Not the cops. I mean a civil impoundment order.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about, Jack?”

  “The courts in Dubai are very sensitive to demonstrating to the international business community that the rule of law prevails here,” Shepherd said. “What if I seek an emergency order impounding Harvey because the operator hasn’t made its payments to the owner under the terms of the aircraft operating lease?”

  “How do you know they haven’t?” Keur asked.

  “I don’t have the slightest idea whether they have or not. I’m making this shit up as I go along.”

  “It might work,” Rachel said, nodding slowly. “It would take the operating company a day or two to show that the lease payments had been made, maybe more than that if the real operator of the aircraft actually is the CIA and they want to stay out of the picture. Meanwhile, the plane would be held here under a civil impoundment order. That would get you a couple of days, maybe a little more.”

  “Good enough.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Keur shook his head. “It’s all just academic. The owner of the airplane is the only person with standing to apply for an order like that. You couldn’t do it since you’re not the owner.”

  “But I am,” Shepherd said, “in a manner of speaking.”

  Keur and Rachel just looked at him.

  “The Kitnarok Foundation is the registered owner of the plane. I’m a trustee of the Kitnarok Foundation. As a trustee, I have the legal authority to act for the foundation.”

  Keur burst out laughing. “You’re going to use the Kitnarok Foundation to stop Harvey from flying back to Thailand to deliver arms to Charlie Kitnarok’s troops?”

  Shepherd nodded.

  “That’s beautiful, absolutely beautiful,” Keur said. “I love it. I fucking love it.”

  “I know a local lawyer I could call for you,” Rachel said. “Sharp guy, and he’d never bat an eye at doing something like this. He really hates Americans.”

  Wonderful, Shepherd thought. I’ve got to have somebody I can rely on here, somebody whose tact and discretion I can depend on absolutely, and I’m about to trust a big-busted German woman I met an hour ago to put me into the hands of an anti-American Arab lawyer.

  That was what he thought, but that wasn’t what he said.

  “Get the guy on the telephone,” he told Rachel.

  FORTY

  RACHEL PLACED THE call and made the introductions, then she put Shepherd on the telephone. Shepherd explained to Rachel’s anti-American lawyer pal what he wanted to do. He thought the guy sounded young, smart, and capable, and he seemed to get it immediately. So Shepherd decided not to worry about the lawyer’s political views. As long as he delivered on the impoundment order, he could have all the fun he wanted.

  The guy didn’t seem to think it would be any problem at all to get an order issued. He casually mentioned that he would take it to a judge who was a good friend of his. Shepherd got the idea without making him say it a
second time. After all, he had lived in Thailand. He knew how this kind of thing worked in third world countries. The price the lawyer quoted was astronomical, of course. Having a friend who’s a judge tends to run up the bill pretty quickly in almost any country. But Shepherd didn’t care. The bill was going to the Kitnarok Foundation anyway.

  The lawyer asked Shepherd to email him a statement of facts and an affidavit. He said that if Shepherd could do it immediately he would file the petition before the end of the day. Shepherd wrote down the guy’s email address on a pad on Rachel’s desk. Then he thanked the lawyer and gave the telephone back to Rachel.

  While she and Shepherd’s new pal were talking about something else, Shepherd pulled out his telephone and drafted an email with the materials the guy had asked for. Since he was making most of it up, it didn’t take very long. He added the email address he had written down and hit send. Rachel and the lawyer were still talking when he was done, so he and Keur just sat and stared at the flat panel monitors on the wall on which CNN and BBC continued to flicker in complete silence and waited for her to finish.

  ***

  THE DEPRESSING MONOTONY with which people all over the planet were laboring to kill each other seemed slightly less horrific when it was reduced to a silent movie, but Shepherd wasn’t entirely certain whether that was a good thing or not. Maybe it would actually be better if somebody could find a way to make it more horrific instead. Perhaps that way some of the hideousness of mankind’s collective savagery might eventually penetrate people’s desensitized minds and shame them into behaving like human beings again.

  Shepherd and Keur sat quietly like that for several minutes while Rachel continued to murmur into the telephone. Keur didn’t seem anymore interested in conversation than Shepherd was, each of them content to wait silently in the company of their own thoughts, until after a few minutes of sitting like that something on CNN caught Shepherd’s eye. It registered immediately as familiar, but it took a moment or two for his brain to catch up with his eyes.

  When it did, Shepherd realized that CNN was broadcasting a headshot of Liz Corbin, the Bangkok bureau chief for The New York Times. Below Liz’s picture was a single line of white type: On the Telephone from Bangkok. And across the bottom of the screen was a much larger caption, all in red letters. It read: TERROR IN THAILAND.