by Ian Walkley
Mac took the towel from her hair. “Oh, get over it.”
She turned to face him. The towel was around his waist. Her eyes dropped to his bare chest, and she breathed in sharply when she saw the scars. Forgot what she was going to say.
Mac grasped her upper arms with his strong hands. “Look, Tally, you want to end up in a Dubai prison for life? You want Mai and her son to be killed? Well? Do you?”
His tight grip unleashed a wave of panic as images of Austin’s violence overwhelmed her. She was shaking, wanting to throw up. Then suddenly, from somewhere inside, the rage took over.
“Let. Go. Of. Me.”
He released her and stepped back, crossing his arms. “Well?”
Tally could hear herself breathing hard, exhaling out her nose like a raging bull. “Don’t you ever do that to me again.”
He raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms. “Or what, you’ll throw a tantrum? There’s no HR Manager to run to here, girlie. You’re in the field now, and we have killers just about up our arse. Deal with it. Now, are you up to it or not?”
She shifted position on her feet to kick out between his legs, but he uncrossed his arms, was clearly expecting it. “You’ll find out if you ever fucking grab me like that again,” she said in a low tone, glancing towards the door. She took a deep breath and brought herself under control. “You go. I’m staying.”
“We can come back again when it blows over.”
She shook her head. “I need to wait for Khalid so I can drop a keylogger on his computer. I’ll call Derek. He can decide.”
Mac said: “I’m listening in. Put him on loudspeaker.”
They went into the bathroom and closed the door so they could listen out of Mai’s earshot.
Wisebaum was livid. “Christ, Mac! You and trouble are like a donut and its fucking hole!” There was silence for a moment. “Okay. You both need to get the fuck out of there. Now! Lock down the computers and I’ll have some CIA guys come over right away and collect them. Leave your room keys in an envelope at the front desk addressed to Mr. T. Woods. Call me when you’re out.”
Tally said: “What about Mai’s husband, Bill? He’s—”
“The first fucking plane out!”
Wisebaum hung up.
~ * ~
41
As Sadiq helped Fanning from his cabin, Ziad returned to his laptop and the email sent him by Rockfire. Whoever Rockfire was, he was not the first one to use that code name. The first had been the man who had recruited Ziad for Al Qaeda, an engineering lecturer at Karachi University. But his recruiter was long dead. Ziad had heard that he had been killed four years ago by a US drone in South Waziristan. Still, Rockfire continued to email him, like a ghost. This did not matter to Ziad, because whoever Rockfire was now, it was someone close to the current leader. Even more so since the Americans had been using the drones, cells of Al Qaeda were deliberately maintained with minimal linkages to avoid detection by intelligence agencies.
Now, as he sent off his reply to Rockfire, Ziad was convinced that Al Qaeda had arranged Abu-Bakr’s death. He wondered which of Khalid’s guests at the banquet had passed on the information about the girl’s rare blood type. Clearly, the man requiring the organ must be important. Rockfire had not even bothered to ask the price. After some consideration, Ziad decided it would be best to wait several days before discussing the matter with Sheik Khalid, in case he became suspicious about the request coming so soon after his father’s death.
His phone squawked its ringtone, jarring him back to the present. It was Ali, who’d gone to check why the Russians were so late. They should have arrived two hours ago with the woman. He hoped there wasn’t a problem with his man at Dubai Immigration. It was probably just a traffic jam on Sheik Zayed Road.
“Yes.”
“Ziad, come quickly! The walkway near the hotel!”
“Ali?”
Ali had disconnected.
Irate at being spoken to in such an impudent manner, Ziad hurried down the pathway. Ali materialised through the smoky fog. “Why do you call me out like this?”
Ali pointed towards the thicket of bougainvillea.
He squinted, trying to make out what Ali was pointing at. Then he saw the two bodies. He crouched down and rolled the first body over. The dead eyes belonged to Evgeny. No pulse, and the body was cool.
“Y’Allah! This happened some time ago. Look around!” He withdrew his weapon and scanned the area, in case of an ambush. “Did you see the woman and child?”
Ali shook his head. “Gone.”
“Y’Allah!” Was this a plot to free Fanning? He dialled Sadiq. “Is Fanning still in his cabin?”
“Yes. Shall I bring him to you?”
“No. But be on alert. Someone shot Evgeny and Oleg and took the wife and child. Don’t say anything to Fanning.” He stabbed the button to disconnect. “Ali, fetch two laundry trolleys. I’ll look for the woman.”
He ran to the car park and as he looked around, he dialled Captain Jergah, ordering him to arm the crew against any raid. It was impossible to see more than a few metres in the cursed fog. He hurried inside the Arabian Castles Hotel. Offering the senior duty porter one hundred dirhams, he said: “Have you seen an Asian woman with a small boy?”
The porter took the money and nodded. “I have, sir. They left about an hour ago. With another couple.”
“A couple?”
“A man and a woman.”
“Where were they going?”
The man shrugged.
“Luggage?”
“Yes, sir.”
He slapped another hundred in his hand. “Find out their names. Another two hundred when you bring them to me. Five hundred for their room key.”
The porter nodded. “Thank you.” He sauntered off and disappeared through a Staff Only door.
Who were these meddlers? Was it the Israelis, who Sheik Khalid had said were threatening his father? Regardless, he would suffer a severe loss of face if he didn’t recapture Mai. They had luggage, so they probably went to the airport. He might still be able to stop them.
His phone rang. It was Sadiq, who told him that two crewmen had been found attacked and badly injured down near the cells. They were still unconscious and Dr. Gammal said they would need hospital care. An ambulance was on its way.
Ziad closed his eyes against the pounding that had started in his head. He didn’t speak for a long moment. Why would these intruders be down in the hold rather than trying to rescue Fanning from his cabin?
“Are you there?” came Sadiq’s voice through the phone.
“Search the ship. Tell the crew there’s a reward if any intruder is captured dead or alive. Check the security cameras. I want pictures.”
The porter returned almost fifteen minutes later. “It was difficult,” he said, discreetly passing him a folded sheet and room key. “Room 1221.”
He entered the elevator. Three tall westerners in suits ran to catch the elevator with him and stood facing the doors, their backs to him, saying nothing. One of them pressed the button for 12.
“What floor?” one of the men asked him.
Suddenly, Ziad had a bad feeling about these men.
“Twenty-five,” he said. The restaurant floor. He would come back later with reinforcements to check the room.
Back outside the hotel, he dialled Inspector Fareed Al Bohameed, his man in Dubai Police. The phone went to voicemail. He dialled again, cursing the man, and left an abrupt message. Bohameed was paid to be on standby at all times. By the time the police inspector returned his call the next morning, with profuse apologies and weak excuses, it was too late.
~ * ~
42
While Tally went with Mai and George to the transit gate at Heathrow, Mac made two calls. Despite his and Tally’s assurances, Mai had insisted on continuing on to Thailand. Her family lived on Phuket, she had explained. They would hide her and George. She refused to divulge anything more about her husband’s work, saying she’d take up
Bill’s situation with the British Embassy. That was probably her best bet, Mac thought, but he wondered how she would explain her escape. Mai had bowed slightly, her hands in the position of Buddhist prayer, and told them that she was extremely grateful for helping them. But until Bill was safe, she said, she couldn’t tell them any more.
Mac gave her his number, just in case.
He knew he had to call Wisebaum, but put it off a little longer. He dialled Bob’s cell phone. Elena answered, and immediately Mac felt his pulse notch up a rate. “Where’s Bob? Is he okay, El?”
“He’s in hospital again, Mac. He needed surgery to repair lacerations in the hamstring that weren’t properly fixed in Martinique. The doctor said it’s not serious. Any news I can pass on? Wade and I are about to go in to see him.”
“I wish I could report back something more specific, El, but tell him I believe we’re getting closer. I don’t want to raise any false hope. I’ll call again soon.”
“Thank you, Mac. You’ve no idea how much what you’re doing means to both... to all of us.”
Derek Wisebaum was not as appreciative.
“Let me tell you, Mac, the Director is not impressed. Me neither. One helluva lot of resources go into an operation like this... And don’t think I don’t know about the guy you offed with the bolt cutter on Martinique. If you end up on Interpol’s wanted list, you’ll be no fucking use to us at all.”
He stayed silent. Wisebaum hadn’t mentioned Emil Bladelescu. Tally mustn’t have told him, and that made him feel good.
“You got that, Mac?”
“I got it.”
“You two are finished in Dubai. I’m gonna have to send Rosco over to try and patch up the mess. I’ve spoken to the Director. He’s embarrassed, Mac. Embarrassed that he selected you for this job. I had to strongly argue against you being returned to Fort Bragg. And you know what that means, buddy.”
“You want me to quit?”
“Fuck it, Mac. You can’t quit! I thought that was made abundantly clear. The options are prison or do as you’re told. Now, the Director wants you and Tal to hightail it down to Andaran, before Khalid goes there again. Your task is to report back on what’s going on at the Yubani Resort. Tally will handle the network penetration thing. You are not to kill anyone. Is that clear?”
“Crystal.”
Wisebaum gave an audible sigh. “I hope so. Remember, you’re on strike two, Mac. I’ll organise some gear and a cover story. Andaran’s run by the military. They don’t exactly encourage tourists. Which is why our friend Khalid has based himself there.”
“We’ll be fine.”
“Okay. We’ll send the gear on ASAP. I suggest you play the role of a developer of tourist hotels on his honeymoon. That’ll give you the opportunity to ask questions about the resort. And just in case you didn’t get my drift, I reiterate what I said before: another incident like Dubai will be strike three. Back to Fort Bragg. Or should I say Fort Brig.”
Why the hell does this guy try to manage me by bullying? “Derek, you should know by now that I don’t respond well to threats. In any case, I’m out of the Army and just a contractor, remember? I can just quit any time.”
“You think you can quit? Listen, Mac, think again. All we need to do is change a few pieces of paper on your file so it says that you’ve been AWOL all this time, trying to escape justice. No, you can’t just quit, buddy. And I’ll tighten the leash farther if I have to. So I suggest you suck it up and behave.”
~ * ~
43
Locals displayed only a passing curiosity as two minders from the Yubani Resort escorted Sophia through the narrow stone walkways of the medina, the old city, to the Kimba souk. The market was close-packed with colourful stalls, all operated by men, even those selling women’s clothing and lingerie. They squeezed through the crush of customers negotiating purchases with a noisy banter amid drifting clouds of apple-scented tobacco.
She was not restrained, but her minders stayed close. They were fit-looking guys who could easily catch her if she ran. Still, she kept a lookout for fair-skinned tourists and signs or places that might prove useful. She just needed the right opportunity. They stopped at a stall selling music CDs and DVDs, which was next to a butcher displaying a cow’s head with its eyes turned back in death, only the whites showing.
One of the minders gestured towards the CDs. “You look at these,” he said in English.
She had asked Dr. Xi if she could go to the market again, this time to buy some music CDs. She had promised not to try to escape. He’d agreed, apparently in the belief that the music might cheer her up. She had lost five kilos since being taken, which, after noting the date on Dr. Xi’s desk calendar, was twenty-two days ago. After the Princess Aliya had sailed away, she and the other remaining eight captives had been moved from the huts to a secure wing at the resort. Dr. Xi had ordered that they be weighed every day and have their eating supervised, and be exercised daily on the beach.
Sophia and the other captives had swapped stories and personal details in case any of them escaped, although they maintained a degree of detachment. It didn’t help to become too close. At first, when guards came to take one of them away, there were tears and sometimes physical confrontations. But as the numbers dwindled, the chosen ones began to walk out as their name was called, and those remaining had no choice but to accept it. Michael, from Ohio, one of the more outgoing of them, had joked that it was like elimination in a reality show, but none of the others laughed.
Michael and Adrian, a well-built Australian who’d been abducted in Italy, tried to escape during an exercise session by running along the beach and climbing along the base of the rocky cliffs that skirted the bay. The guards just watched and laughed, until they saw Adrian jump into the water. They raced out in a motorboat and brought him back, barely conscious and bleeding where the skin had been cut and torn. Dr. Xi told them later that Michael had been captured after falling and breaking a leg. Sophia didn’t see either boy again.
Dr. Xi warned them that barnacles and shellfish would tear their skin to shreds as waves pounded them against the rocky cliffs. “So it is no use trying to escape this place,” he said. “You will get your turn to leave eventually. You will do better to try to escape from your new owner. Just be patient.”
They’d stopped trying to escape after that. And now Sophia was the only one left. Any day now she too would be sold, probably to some horrible old man as a sex slave.
In the outdoor market, at the stall displaying the CDs, Sophia paused to watch a group of boys playing a game with polished stones. Nearby, at a butcher’s open air meat display, a man was pulling fluffy quail from a cage and shoving them into a sack. It seemed blatantly cruel to Sophia, but nobody else seemed bothered. A flat tray truck tooted its horn at two boys in ragged shorts and bare feet who were racing bicycle wheels along the road with sticks. They just missed a young woman with a bundle of firewood on her head and a child in tow, causing her to almost lose her load.
Sophia’s minders turned briefly at the distraction. This was her chance.
Moving closer to the counter to hide what she was doing, she reached under the abaya and took out the note she’d written using drawing materials they’d been given. It said that she was being held captive at the Yubani Resort and asked the finder to call her father, with her home phone number. As she flicked through the knock-off music CDs, she slipped the note between two CDs, then replaced them on the shelf, hoping an upstanding person or perhaps a foreign tourist would find it. Then she handed four other CDs to one of the minders. Not the solution she’d hoped for, but she hadn’t spotted any westerner tourists to slip the note to.
Still, as they headed back to the resort, she felt more upbeat than she had since they kidnapped her. That night, she ate a full meal and prayed harder than ever that God would send the right person to find the note.
~ * ~
44
Ziad watched the exchange in silence as Fanning avoided his gaze. It was
amusing to see the change that had come over the engineer since he’d returned the stolen plans and been told he could go. But he’d had to wait until Sheik Khalid returned from the funeral to formalise things.
“Bill, I understand you’re leaving us,” Khalid said quietly, as Fanning stood in front of him. “I was hoping to see Mai. Some other time, perhaps. Regrettably, I must fly out to Paris tonight on urgent business.”
Fanning was shifting his weight from side to side, looking very relieved. “Yes, next time perhaps, Highness. We’ll look forward to it. I’m very sorry about your father’s passing.”
“He was an old man. But he lived a full life, I think. That’s the main thing that Allah requires of us.”
“Yes. Of course.”