by Jay Deb
Rosania nodded. “So where is this bar?”
“I will mail you the details in a secure email. But you don’t really need to know right now. You will be escorted there.”
“And what should I tell this man, Ahmad, when I meet him?”
“Tell him that you are an American on a business trip. Show him your beautiful side, and tell him how lonely you feel in the hotel and how you wished that you had a man to sleep with. I’m sure he will follow you like a squirrel looking for nuts. Many men here think a lonely American woman would fuck anyone.”
“I’m not going to sleep with some old Arab dude,” Rosania said emphatically and angrily kicked a piece of stone as her face became red. “I’m not going to sleep with anyone, end of story.”
“When did I say you have to sleep with him? You don’t have to unless you want to. All you have to do is bring him to the safe house, and I will take over from there.”
“Bring him to the safe house? How am I going to do that? If he is Halim’s right-hand man, then he is no dumbo, I think.”
“Correct, that’s why we brought you in this project. If you can’t get him in the safe house, then bring him to a hotel room. And we can work with that.”
Doerr and Rosania were near the taxi stand; six men and two women stood in a line, waiting for cabs to show up. Rosania said, “One last thing. I don’t think I should introduce myself as an American. Ahmad might recognize that I’m not, and it might break my cover. I will introduce myself as an Italian woman.”
“Don’t worry. Those men sometimes cannot tell the difference between a goat and a woman, let alone an American woman from an Italian one.”
“Okay. Got it. I will get him to a room, and then what are you going to do to him?”
“I’m going to ask him a few questions. Before that, we need to administer a truth serum to that bastard. I don’t think he will talk without some help.”
“We are going to use that sodium pentothal stuff?”
“No,” Doerr said. “We have an advanced version. When the car comes to pick you up, there will be someone who will show you how to use it.”
Rosania turned to Doerr after a few moments of silence. “Is it true that an American woman will fuck anyone when they are lonely?”
“What do you think?”
“I’m not sure. You tell me.”
A cab stopped at the top of the line; another passenger was already inside. The first man in the queue got inside. Doerr tried to see the person who was inside the vehicle already. He looked like a Western man. Doerr took a step toward the cab and noticed the man inside looked like Samuel.
“Hey!” Doerr screamed and rushed to the cab. But the cab started moving and then sped away.
Doerr felt a pang in his chest. The pain, which had subsided to some degree during the last few days, came rushing back. Billy’s dead face flashed in his brain.
“Who was that?” Rosania asked.
“I thought it was someone I used to know. But I can’t be sure.”
“Wow. You have friends here in Dubai, too?”
“No. He lives in America,” Doerr said. “And he is not a friend. Far from it.”
When I see him, and I will, I will kill him, Doerr thought. The son-of-a-bitch deserves to be killed, and the world will be a better place without him.
Doerr was in Dubai doing this and that, tracking this guy or that guy, just so that he could use the CIA’s resources to go after Samuel and take him down. Going after him alone, which he had considered, would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.
HALIM WAS EXPECTING Faizan in the conference room of his favorite hotel in Dubai. Halim did not want anyone else to be present. The windows were closed and the blinds drawn; the only source of light in the room was cast from the dim ceiling light at the center of the room.
He was ready to give the big news to Faizan. Everything had fallen into place: all the paperwork was complete, all accomplices had been alerted, dates communicated, and all arrangements had been made, including the hundred thousand dollars cash he had withdrawn the day before, which now sat inside the black briefcase placed before him on the shiny wooden table.
Halim waited in the room, wondering if he had indeed chosen the right man for this operation. An operation, if executed as per the plan, that would shock the Western world, make all Muslim brothers proud, and the rest of the world cringe with fear for their lives and prospects.
Halim looked at the door and then at the briefcase, wondering why Faizan was so late. He checked his watch; it was time for a prayer.
He rose from the table and then knelt down on the floor and started the ritual with his eyes closed.
After ten minutes, he took a deep breath and opened his eyes. He saw Faizan sitting next to him, his eyes shut.
Faizan drew his palms to his chest, eyes still closed but lips moving, obviously saying his prayer silently.
Faizan finally opened his eyes; Halim was looking at him with a smile on his lips.
“What did you pray for?” Halim asked.
“I prayed to Allah to give me enough strength so that I can go to the infidel country and teach them a lesson they will never forget.”
“My son,” Halim said, “Allah has already given you that. The Almighty will reward you very soon. Now, come and sit here, and tell me why you were late.” He pointed to the chair across the table and sat back on his chair.
Faizan sat down. “It was my cab driver’s fault. He took the wrong route and delayed me. I broke his jaw and plucked his teeth. I have his teeth right here.” He opened his palm and showed Halim the pair of broken teeth he was holding.
Halim looked at Faizan affectionately, and whatever doubt he had about the young man was gone. He was sure that he had chosen the right man. Faizan was a brilliant student, a quick learner, strong and well built, revengeful, dedicated to the cause, and most importantly, now he was not afraid to die. The mullahs had done a good job on Faizan.
“I have everything right here,” Halim said as he rested his left arm on the chair arm and lifted his right hand to touch his chin. His beard glistened, and his lips were pursed. With a click, Halim opened the briefcase. On one side were the bundles of twenty and hundred-dollar bills, in the middle a stack of papers, a few maps, two pens, a passport and two books.
“Let’s go through the plan, in detail, one more time,” Halim said and patted the dollar bills. “Tomorrow you will be flying to Mexico City.”
HALIM STOOD IN front of the window of his Dubai hotel room. He felt satisfied that his dream of striking the great Satan inside America was about to happen. He had confidence in Faizan and faith in all the folks who would be helping Faizan in the big operation.
His cell phone rang, and he checked the caller ID. It was one of his guys from Paris.
“Hello,” Halim answered.
“I am afraid I have some bad news, boss.”
“What happened?”
“Raafiq.” The man paused.
“What? What happened to Raafiq?” Halim asked anxiously.
“Boss, Raafiq has been picked up by the French police. And they have locked him up.”
“What? Haven’t you talked to a lawyer?”
“Yes, boss. We contacted three lawyers. All of them said it does not look good for Raafiq. Police found more than a kilo of cocaine and seven high-value stolen paintings in his flat. Raafiq is looking at five to ten years in jail.”
Halim sighed. “Can’t we bribe the jailor and get him out of there?”
“Yes, we have already talked to the jailor through someone. He is asking for a million euros. We offered a quarter mil, then increased the offer to half a mil. But the jailor is standing his ground on a million euros. He says he will have to get his entire family out of the country after this.”
“You are negotiating on my brother’s freedom? You asshole.”
“Sorry, boss. But we don’t have that much cash. And that’s why I’m calling you.”
“Let me tu
rn my laptop on. The fucking cash will be in your account in less than an hour. I want to see Raafiq freed within twenty-four hours.”
“I will do my best, boss.”
“Now,” Halim said, “do you have a plan to get Raafiq out of France?”
“Yes, boss. We made a plan already. I will drive Raafiq out of the country myself. He will be disguised as my wife in traditional Muslim dress.”
ROSANIA WAS PICKED up by a black sedan at exactly six thirty p.m. Inside the vehicle, there was another man, apart from the driver, who gave her the truth serum and told her how to administer it.
The sedan dropped her at the bar thirty minutes later. The bar was in an office area, and the road was nearly deserted. The sun had set nearly an hour ago, leaving the place at the mercy of the lights hanging from the tall posts that stood exactly ten meters apart.
The bar was between a bank and a restaurant. The door was made of dark glass with a red neon ‘open’ sign on it. From outside, the bar looked like another restaurant. Rosania could tell that it was a secret bar where local men came to booze.
Rosania wore black jeans and a loose striped shirt, underneath which she had tightly wrapped bands that flattened her breasts. She wore a fake mustache and beard to give her a manly look and hide her femininity.
She put her hand inside her jeans pocket and pulled out a photo and took one last look at Ahmad’s picture. She pushed open the door. Inside, two men stood in traditional attire and checked her appearance. The men nodded and showed her inside.
She walked in and took a quick mental scan of the area, where about thirty patrons were sitting and drinking. There were six tables with four chairs around each of them, most of them occupied. About fifteen stools lined the bar, behind which three bartenders stood serving alcohol.
The bartender came by to take her order. She simply pointed to the picture of a beer bottle, indicating that was what she wanted. She did not want to talk.
She saw Ahmad, who was enjoying a glass of red wine, sitting alone on a stool. Other customers were talking and enjoying their drinks. Some were alone. In the opposite corner, two men sat in thobe, drinking and engaged in some serious talk.
Rosania sipped her beer and threw Ahmad a few stares, and Ahmad looked back at her. The plan is working.
She was feeling tight in her bladder, but she knew it would be too much to handle in a men’s room. Bathrooms in such places were usually not well maintained anyway.
Rosania finished her beer, took out a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and looked around. It was time for action. She held the cigarette pack in one hand; she gave an impression that she was searching for a lighter. When Rosania looked at Ahmad, the man was staring at her. She slowly rose from her chair and proceeded toward him.
The man had a thick nose, but because of the size of his beard, it was not conspicuous. He wore a white tunic with large chest pockets, out of one of which he took out a gas lighter and offered it to Rosania as soon as she reached him.
She lit her cigarette and let out some thick smoke. She started to talk, saying how she found Dubai to be such a comfortable place and everyone was so friendly.
Ahmad took a sip of his drink. “People here help out each other all the time. And if an outsider needs anything, we help out in every possible way.”
Rosania took another deep drag. “It’s a bit stuffy here. I’m going out to finish smoking. Do you want to join me?”
The man rose slowly. Together, two of them walked out of the bar. The road was deserted, just like before when she had entered there. Occasional cabs drove by. Rosania offered Ahmad the Marlboro pack, and he took a cigarette and lit it.
“Where you from?” Ahmad asked.
“I am from America.” She took off her beard and showed him her face. “I am a woman. I like drinking and company, but the bar people don’t allow women inside; that’s why I dressed like this.”
Ahmad nodded. Let the charade begin, she thought. “I am here for business; I work for an oil company. And the hotel is so boring. So I came here for some company. Would you like to come and visit me at the hotel?”
Ahmad appeared to be mulling over the offer.
“We can have a few drinks. I’ve got a bottle of Le Pin wine and some Cuban cigars. We can smoke, drink and talk. What do you say?”
Ahmad’s facial expression told Rosania that the lure of the expensive wine and cigars was too much for him to resist. Perhaps the biggest allure that hung in the air was the unspoken possibility of sex. Rosania raised her hand when she saw a taxi approaching.
Soon they were in the vehicle, headed for the hotel where Rosania was staying. There were plenty of people in the lobby when they arrived; some were sitting, reading newspapers, and some watched the TV and drank coffee or wine.
Rosania and Ahmad took the elevator to her room.
Once inside, Rosania said, “Have a seat, please,” and pointed to the recliner chair that lay three feet away from the large glass window, through which a picturesque view of the city skyline was visible. It was a fairly big room, maybe thirty by twenty feet wide. She turned the TV on and moved to the area where the fridge and the queen-sized bed were. The bed was made up with immaculate sheets and two large pillows.
Ahmad sat down and started watching the TV as Rosania took out the bottle of wine. She poured two glasses and surreptitiously added the serum from her ring into one glass and glanced at Ahmad, who was amused by whatever was being shown on the TV. The serum dissolved into the wine without a trace. She was told that the chemical would make a person lose eighty percent of his ability to imagine.
She sauntered to Ahmad and handed him the medicated glass. “Here you go. I hope you like it.”
Ahmad smiled as he took the glass.
Rosania took a sip and said, “Tell me whether you like the wine.”
Ahmad raised the glass to his lips and drank. He waited a few seconds.
“Excellent,” he said.
“Give me a sec,” said Rosania and headed for the bathroom. Once in there, she took her cell phone out and sent a text message to Doerr – ‘man locked in cell,’ the agreed-upon code phrase.
She threw water at her face and then dried herself with a soft white towel. She took two cigars from a box, opened the bathroom door and stepped out. As soon as she saw Ahmad, she froze.
Ahmad held a pistol in his right hand and the glass of wine in his left hand. He gave her a sharp look as she took steps toward him.
“Ahmad!” she said.
“Tell me who you work for,” Ahmad said in a menacing tone and pointed the gun at her.
DOERR RECEIVED THE text message from Rosania. It meant Ahmad was ready for questioning in her hotel room. Doerr dialed the number of a taxi company and made arrangements to be picked up. He took his 9mm Glock from his suitcase, checked its magazine and then tucked it into the waistband of his jeans. He took a piece of paper from the table. It had all the sixteen questions that he wanted to ask Ahmad. He folded the paper twice and placed it inside his pocket. He had memorized all the queries but took the paper with him anyway.
Forty minutes later, Doerr knocked on Rosania’s door.
Chapter 19
Faizan took an early flight out of Dubai International Airport, heading for Mexico City. Sitting in an economy seat, he flipped through the pages in his Egyptian passport as the pilot read the safety procedures, and the flight attendants demonstrated them. During the long flight, Faizan could not stop thinking about Halim, who was the epitome of power, success, and sacrifice. Halim could easily carry on a luxurious life; he could have twenty wives and thirty kids. But that was not what he had done. Halim had chosen a hard life. He traveled across the globe, helping brothers, and he had only one wife, for business reasons, and no children.
Faizan felt grateful to the mullahs who had put him on the right course. “Your life is for the purpose for which you were created, my son. Islam teaches you to donate and give. So give for the cause that the great leader Halim sets for y
ou. Giving does not exclude giving your own life. And the Great Satan has to be punished,” the mullah had told him.
Faizan had realized the truth in what the mullah was saying. He had to sacrifice his life and walk the path shown by Halim. Faizan was ready to teach the Great Satan a great lesson, and if he had to give up his own life, so be it.
Faizan landed in Mexico City in the evening of the same day. It was an arduous day, but the next day would be more so, and the day after – even harder. Faizan knew that.
At the airport, he was picked up by three rough-looking men. It was all part of the plan that Halim had explained to him the day before. Faizan got into a white pickup truck driven by the three men—Diego, Felix and Rodney—in shifts. Diego was the tallest of them and seemed to be their leader. Felix was a little shorter, perhaps five feet eight inches tall, and had tattoos all over his arms, shoulders and even his face. Rodney was the same height, but he was the friendliest. Rodney spoke to Faizan a lot, in broken English.
Faizan understood that he was not the only one who was headed for America. Those four bags in the rear cargo area would be traveling into America along with him. He had no doubt about what was in those bags – marijuana. He had smoked it in college a few times; the smell was unmistakable. Rodney explained it to him – Faizan and those bags would be transported together. Although traveling with marijuana bags was not detailed in the plan, he did not mind as long as he reached American soil to do what he had been sent to do.
They drove through the night and took sporadic breaks. The ride was bumpy, so no one slept, except Rodney, who slept like a baby, and his head wobbled whenever the tires ran into a pothole. But as soon as Rodney woke in the morning, he started talking nonstop till the leader, Felix, shut him down with a loud, ‘Hey, shut up your fucking mouth. Let me focus on driving!’