Chapter 9
“Marhaba, habibi. How come you no longer want to have lunch with me?”
Tarek had been waiting for the call from Rasim Al-Manna for a few days.
“Marhaba, Rasim. You know I am always at your service. What if we meet at the Intercontinental Dubai tomorrow? That way we can use your private suite for protection.”
Rasim Al-Manna was a Palestinian with a Jordanian passport, in his mid-forties. He had survived the Lebanese war of 1982 while most of his family had been killed in the Sabra refugee camp, during the massacres carried out by the Lebanese Christian militias. To take care of his only remaining older sister, he had volunteered for the Fatah security service, which served as the bodyguards of Yasser Arafat, the late Palestinian leader.
He owed to Fatah his education, his career, and the well-being of what little family he had left. For this, he stayed loyal to Yasser Arafat up until his death in 2004. He was one of the few allowed to stay with the controversial leader during his last days in the military hospital of Clamart, France.
After, he spent some time in Paris and was approached by the emissaries of the Al-Nahyan family, the rulers of Abu Dhabi, who needed a professional from outside the country to join their counterintelligence team.
The Emiratis were looking for a secular Arab, who was impassive to the radical Islam beliefs, able to move internationally, and had a proven track record of loyalty to his employer. Rasim was their guy, and like many other fellow Palestinian nationals who were rebuilding their lives after moving to the Gulf monarchies, he accepted the proposal.
Beyond the generous salary and the security of the Arab Emirates, he felt the Al-Nahyans were creating a new image for the Arab world - crafting a new model of society beyond those of failed dictatorships or rogue theocracies.
After almost eight years of service, Rasim had moved up the ranks and now was the head counterintelligence, with direct access to the ruling family members. He respected Tarek, because they both had similar backgrounds and, most importantly, because Tarek had never failed him in many years of business. At least up until now. As soon as Tarek entered the privy suite, they greeted each other, as close friends.
“Happy new year 2012, by the way, even if it may be January 9th,” said Tarek.
They sat in the living room. The waiter served appetizers of Falafel balls, labneh salad, and hommous, and then swiftly walked away.
“I guess you want to hear something about a certain gentleman named Sean Ewals, who entered the country last November 8th, and has seemingly disappeared into thin air after not returning to his hotel in Abu Dhabi…but before getting to that, just tell me…did you receive a request from the Americans or was it your initiative, maybe with local French persuasion?”
Rasim appreciated people who never got caught off guard because they were so rare, even in their world of spies, and Tarek was always expecting the unexpected.
“Let’s put it this way, you know that since we got the Mossad raid in February of 2010 where they killed Mahmoud Al-Mahbeh, the Hamas officer, right in the center of Dubai, I am more and more nervous about having unknown foreigners in the country. At the time, the ruling family of Dubai assumed I let the Israeli do their job because the target belonged to the Islamists of Hamas while I used to belong to the opposite party, the secular Fatah.
I risked my place, and maybe a bit more, and I was put through a few miserable weeks before it was clear I was not involved at all and the plan could only be the work of that devil, Meir Dagan, at that time the big boss of Mossad - may he burn in hell for eternity.
Anyway, from that moment on I urge foreign residents to tell me everything. Our friend Jean-Paul, in particular, is very cooperative and told me about the American probe in our December meeting, as well as the chat he had with you. You can imagine my reaction when I saw the name of Sean Ewals in the passenger list of the Etihad flight from Heathrow, and then finding out he missed the outbound flight to Istanbul. Where and why are you hiding him, Tarek? Was he part of the brigade you took on the desert tourist trip two months ago? I was told they all spoke French fluently, so this makes me think it was not a place for the average American, but in our business you never know.”
Tarek felt relieved. They still had an edge on the CIA, so he had more time to get Rasim and the rulers on his side.
“He is out of the country now. He took a flight to Singapore from Dubai the day after Christmas, with a different name and nationality. It is far more interesting to know who he really is and what he can offer to you. Both the Americans and the Mossad are after him because he has found the recipe of a new drug that can block aging and they want to control it. I do not know if it is his invention or he has stolen it somewhere - the point is it works. I have been using it on myself for several years. Now the man has two of the nastiest secret services on his back and is looking for protection.
Maybe out of desperation, he asked me to take care of him a few years ago, but I can no longer do it alone against both the CIA and the Mossad. I need your help, Rasim. I need to talk to the rulers. This country can become far more than an airline hub or a bunch of oilfields. It can become the beacon of a new era. However we need the support of the ruling families, at least the most important ones. And in case you have doubts, ask one of your experts to try to analyze one of these.”
Tarek placed four white pills next to the plate of shrimp cocktails. They were about the same size as an aspirin, with a small T carved on the top. He took the fifth one and drank a glass of water.
“Now I beg your pardon, but I have to go. It has been more than two months since I have had a decent fishing day.”
Two days later Tarek received an anonymous text message with just an address and time, 11:30 PM. The address was one of the gates of Zayed, a military base in Abu Dhabi. There was no need to specify the day, these messages always referred to the same day. The time suggested that he would most likely be the last person to be received. He took this as a good sign, considering the ruler would have had more time to make immediate decisions without having the distraction of future appointments.
Which ruler, by the way? Like all Arabic ruling dynasties, the Al-Nahyans were a large family, with hundreds of members. For sure, it would not be Khalifa, the President. There was a high chance it would be one of his sons, born between the late sixties and seventies, who were helping to manage the country.
Tarek parked his Audi right in front of the gate at eleven and twenty-seven, and after the security check, he was shortly admitted into the rulers room in Building A of the military base.
The room was furnished in luxurious Arabian style, covered by carpets and tapestries, with a rectangular mahogany table at the center of the room, surrounded by cushions. The table was about one yard wide and two yards long, a sign that few guests were expected to attend meetings there. There were no windows on the walls, but with the room size, the bright lighting, and the rich arabesques engraved on the walls it was warm and inviting. Tea, coffee, and dates had already been served - removing the need for the server.
As Tarek expected, Rasim was in the room sitting at the head of the table. On the right side, to the surprise of Tarek, there was not one, but two rulers - Hamdan and Mansour, respectively the Deputy Prime Minister and the Minister of Foreign Affairs. With a calm, gesture they invited him to sit on the side of the table opposite to them and poured him tea.
Tarek performed the ceremonial greeting and took a sip of it. Then Hamdan turned his head toward Rasim, who started to brief the Al Nahyans on the conversation he and Tarek held in Dubai, and finally added the results he had received this morning from the brand new pharmaceutical lab at the University of Abu Dhabi.
The lab director, a Pakistani citizen with a PhD in Pharmacology at Harvard, reported that the pills were of an unknown strain, and engineered by a pharmacological genius, after seeing the active molecule break down while going through the deformulation process. The scientist also ruled out that the pills were some
sort of synthetic drug, like ecstasy, as none of the typical hallucinogen compounds were present.
The two Sheikhs looked at each other. Then Mansour, the younger, started to speak.
“Dear Tarek, we appreciate your loyalty and we know you have never done anything against the interest of our country. You have to realize, though, that with this request you are asking us to cross a border.”
He stopped and his brother continued.
“Even if you lead a secular lifestyle - and we do not have anything against it because it is only up to God to judge men - you must realize that this new invention clashes with Islam and the teachings of our Prophet, may peace be upon him. Many in our community will protest.”
Tarek waited for the sheikh to finish, then waited another few seconds until Mansour gave a small nod and stared at him, to signal he could answer.
“Your Highnesses, I fully share your concerns and that is precisely why I am asking for your help. Like the Prophet - may peace be upon him - I come as a messenger. I am certainly not the messenger of the Almighty, but of a more mundane and possibly evil force. The inventor of this drug has set up things in such a way that if he dies, the formula will be spread all across the world, and the consequences would be dire.
He also understands the risks and wants to keep it hidden, but now there is the imminent danger that it falls in the wrong hands. He believes that your approach to modernity, open, yet very respectful of tradition, is the best guarantee to keep the risk of contagion under control.
We know we are asking you alot, to become the guardians against chaos, but we also know how well you have watched over your country and therefore we are convinced your family can take up this challenge.”
The Sheikhs stayed silent for a while, then Mansour replied.
“Indeed, we know when we must accept a responsibility...you can ask Rasim from now on about anything you need. There are conditions, though, so listen very carefully.
First, we do not want this drug to be produced or sold in our country. Not even nearby us.
Second, we want to know on a regular basis the progress of its diffusion and any other relevant development, especially here in the region.
Third, if you break any of the above conditions we will consider you to have betrayed our trust and that will have serious consequences.”
Tarek repeated each rule, whispering them to himself loud enough for the others could hear. He then raised his eyes to Mansour, and then to Hamdan.
“It is clear, your Highnesses. I just have one final question; can we leverage the country logistics? For example, the Jebel Ali free trade zone?”
Mansour looked at Hamdan. They spoke by exchanging half winks, and then Mansour turned back to Tarek and nodded.
“Yes, this is allowed. For all other needs, please refer to Rasim. He has heard the conditions and will be the guardian of our pact.”
Before standing up, Hamdan made the final comment.
“I want to make it clear that we believe this drug is extremely dangerous and we accept your help request out of our sense of responsibility toward our country, our people, the community of Muslims, and first and foremost, God the Almighty. I think you are right when you say this is an evil matter and has to be controlled with firm hands. And as for us, personally, we will never make use of it.”
But Tarek got the feeling that this was exactly what the two Sheikhs desired most.
The Last Enemy - Part 2 - 2011-2023 Page 9