Transition

by Ethan Arkwright

  28

  Madrid

  The morning sun broke over Madrid, turning the whole city a kind of paella yellow.

  Jonathan and Julie both admired the golden light out of the café window. They had checked out of the hotel early and walked to a local breakfast spot for a quick coffee and whatever was closest to some form of pastry.

  Jonathan took her hand in his and pulled her attention back to the present moment.

  ‘Big day,’ he said, smiling. ‘Big day, I’m excited.’

  For the first time since his torrid ordeal had begun, he felt in control of what was happening to him. He had woken up early, regretfully left Julie to sleep a while longer, and sat down at the hotel desk to sketch out a plan on paper.

  During his planning for the day, he had intuitively fallen back on his consultant training and begun to approach the day as though it was a consulting project plan. He started with the fundamental questions that the project needed to answer: Who was trying to kill him? Why? This was followed by questions to build a plan: Who could help uncover the fundamental question? The Dichotomy – the Arab and the Israeli. Why would they help? To gain insider information on the largest oil company in the world. How would this mutually beneficial exchange take place? He would have to personally get in front of them and quickly demonstrate that he was a trustworthy source and had something they would want.

  With all this clear and organized in his mind, he was able to sketch out an action plan to achieve his targets.

  Through taking action he felt a part of the course of events, which was infinitely better than sitting still, just waiting for a bullet to enter his body somewhere.

  Leaving the restaurant, they got directions to a nearby internet café, and walked there to look up the best and most luxurious hotels in Madrid. The search was easy, and he narrowed it down to three hotels of five-star quality in the central district. They printed the pages and took a bus to the city centre.

  They had decided to leave the clapped-out old Renault Five at the back of the hotel. It had French licence plates, but apart from that they were wary of the thing breaking down or being involved in an accident, which could draw unwanted official attention to them, so they opted for public transport instead.

  As they sat close together on a forward-facing seat, the suburbs began to give way to taller buildings and offices.

  Jonathan explained his plan.

  ‘I was thinking about this early this morning,’ he started. ‘The difficult part when we get to the first hotel is how to ask for what we’re looking for. I mean, asking about Arabs and Jewish-looking gentlemen at reception wouldn’t go down well.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Julie replied, nodding her head. ‘So what are you thinking?’

  ‘Well,’ Jonathan continued, with a glint in his eye. ‘Who knows everything that’s going on in a hotel, and who sees everybody go in and out? The porter. We’ll stop in the shopping district, and get you a load of big fashion bags and a pair of sunglasses. The plan is that you go into the hotel looking weighed down by the bags, and cast a plaintive look at the concierge desk. A pretty lady like you: sure enough, the porter will come out to help with the bags. I’ll call ahead at the hotel and ask to be put through to room four zero two, or something. Just so we can establish such a room number exists. Otherwise, again, it’ll look suspicious.’

  Julie nodded again. ‘Sounds okay so far,’ she said.

  ‘Right, you go up to the room with the porter, but as you get to the room door, you say you’ll take the stuff from there.’

  ‘I could also pretend to take a call on a mobile phone, if we get one.’ Julie suggested.

  ‘Great idea,’ Jonathan said. ‘Then give him a huge tip and ask if he knows of any Arab men staying in the penthouse. Then go back to talking on the phone while pretending to search through your purse for the room key.’

  ‘That bit could be a little risky, but it might work: porters don’t usually challenge people who look like guests in these kind of places,’ Julie said.

  ‘Exactly. He’ll leave, and when he does, you go down the stairs and out any back way you can find – some kind of fire exit that’s not alarmed. Maybe even through the kitchen.’

  ‘I’m sure I can sort something out,’ Julie said.

  ‘Good. I’ll go in and sit in the lobby with a newspaper five minutes before you walk in. This way, I can watch you go up in the elevator while checking for anything suspicious.’

  She took his hands in hers.

  ‘Jonathan,’ she smiled. ‘That’s so sweet.’

  He smiled back. ‘It’s nothing. I just want you to be as safe as possible in all this – ooh! We need to get off the bus here.’ He was looking out of the window. ‘It’s the shopping district.’

  An hour later they were ready for the mission.

  Julie was kitted out in a long cream overcoat and laden with designer bags. The pièce de résistance was her oversize Hollywood sunglasses. With her hair flowing over her shoulders, she really did look movie-star material.

  They had a final coffee in the café across the plaza from the hotel, to steel themselves.

  ‘Right,’ Jonathan said firmly, tucking a folded newspaper under his arm while swigging the last of an espresso. ‘I’m going in. Wait five minutes and enter the lobby. Then just go through the plan. Okay.’

  ‘Okay, chief,’ Julie said, with a mock salute. Jonathan smiled. He picked up her hand, kissed it, then spun on his heel to head towards the hotel.

  Julie put on her sunglasses and watched him walk across the square. She tilted the glasses forward to get a better view of him walking away, and tracked him as he walked into the shade of the street on the opposite side of the square, and into the hotel.

  Julie knew she should feel nervous about what they were about to do, but strangely, she felt excited. There was always the threat that they could die, yes, but for her, this was still infinitely better than sitting in the office of an oil company.

  She glanced at her watch: there were three minutes before she had to start walking. To pass the time she dwelled on the vicissitudes of fate. Little twists and turns that had brought her to this point. The biggest had been the decision to go clothes shopping that day in Paris. It was one of those weird incidents where you bump into someone from work in a public place – and it had just happened to be Jonathan, whom she had always liked and who had desperately needed her help.

  She had been more than happy to oblige, and still was. To her, this was a great adventure, like the games she used to play with her brothers growing up in the countryside. They used to invent quests and raid imaginary forts. This present quest to save their lives and expose the truth of what was happening to Jonathan was certainly laced with danger, but because it harked back to her rough-and-tumble childhood, it actually felt more positive than negative.

  The clock on the wall over the counter caught her attention. The five minutes was up. It was time to go.

  Julie exited the café and walked across the square, her air of determination showing she intended to make this work. Her eyes focused ahead on the hotel entrance and the task at hand. Her mind was rushing through what she had to do and all the different scenarios she could encounter once she crossed the marble threshold. As she approached the shadow cast by the hotel over the edge of the square and the surrounding road, her thoughts were jolted by the vision of Jonathan walking briskly toward her.

  This wasn’t how the plan was supposed to go, Julie thought.

  Her steps faltered as confusion set in. Jonathan’s face looked tight as he came close to her, and directed her away from the hotel by hooking his arm through hers.

  ‘Change of plan,’ he said, looking forward as they walked away from the hotel.

  ‘Why?’ she asked, still confused. It had all been so well rehearsed in the morning.

  ‘This is definitely the place,’ he said, ‘I walked in and was about to sit in the lobby when I saw a man in a business suit walking out of the lift, holding hands w
ith an Arab wearing the full flowing robes. Within a minute, I saw three or four Arabs dotted around the floor, all in the robes – it’s the place.’

  Julie turned to look at him, ‘So what do we do now?’

  Jonathan slowly turned their walking route back toward the hotel.

  ‘You go in and follow the next Arab guy going into the lift. Go to his floor, and walk past him when he stops at the door, then come back out of the hotel like we discussed before. Let me know which room he goes into. Okay?’

  ‘Sounds less risky than before, if anything,’ she replied.

  ‘Good, best of luck. I’ll wait for you back at the café. Go!’

  With that, he gently broke the link of their arms and started heading back across the square. Julie continued to clatter forward over the cobblestones in her high heels, to disappear into the darkness of the hotel entrance.

  Once inside the hotel lobby, Julie stopped to coolly slip her sunglasses off and re-adjust the bags she was carrying. She surveyed the scene. Her entrance had not gone unnoticed, and she counted at least ten men who had stopped in mid-conversation to look at her. She didn’t immediately see any Arabs.

  Trying to stay unfazed, she figured that the best thing to do was to walk a lap of the place, like she used to do with her girlfriends when they first arrived at a nightclub.

  She started walking in a circle around the lobby, and just got past reception when an Arab dressed in full Arab dress walked out of the bar in front of her and started walking towards the lifts. Julie quickened her pace to get closer to him, then slowed once he reached the wall and pressed the button to call the lift.

  She ambled up beside him nonchalantly while pretending to look through one of her shopping bags. The silver doors slid open and the Arab motioned for her to enter first. She flashed a smile and tilted her head in acknowledgement as they both entered the lift. As the doors closed the Arab turned to fully face her.

  ‘Good morning, madam,’ he said in a deep, accented voice.

  Julie smiled blankly as she tried not to panic – this was definitely not part of the plan. She was trapped in the rising lift. If something were to go wrong ... there was no escape.

  ‘If you are in the hotel later,’ the Arab continued, without smiling. ‘My employer is having a party in room six zero two, the penthouse. Please knock four times. He is very wealthy. You will not be disappointed.’ He ended with a ceremonial bow.

  Julie was stunned: she was being propositioned in the lift!

  ‘Uh, thank you,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I will certainly consider it.’

  The Arab made another bow as the lift came to a stop on the sixth floor and the doors opened. They both exited and Julie paused long enough once she had walked out to see in which direction the Arab was heading, and then turned to head in the opposite direction down the corridor. As she walked away and realized the worst moment of danger was over, she felt another surge of adrenaline and turned back to call after the Arab: ‘Room six zero two, knock four times, did you say?’ He bowed again in acknowledgement.

  ‘All right. I like a good party. I’ll see you later.’ She winked and flicked her hair coquettishly as she spun on her heel to walk away.

  When she was sure she was out of sight of the Arab, she hurriedly started looking for the stairs to take her one floor down, where she could then take the lift back to the lobby. The plan had worked – not quite as they had thought, but she had the result she wanted. Now she just needed to get out of the hotel and back to Jonathan.

  Jonathan was fretting in the café across the road. He had nervously ordered a tea, and was now continually looking around the café and then back to the hotel across the square. He surveyed the other diners and drinkers. Were any of them watching him? To his surprise, he caught himself starting to bite his index fingernail. This was not something he had done in years. He was really worried about Julie. She was only doing this because of him. Now he had intentionally put her in harm’s way. He wanted to sprint across the plaza into the hotel foyer and scream at her to get out of the hotel.

  A waitress disturbed his thoughts by clattering a burnished pot of tea and ceramic mug onto the table in front of him. He thanked her and turned to look across the square again. Julie was halfway across it, walking towards him. His heart soared and then plummeted. She was okay – but was back far too quickly. What had happened? He couldn’t wait for her to close the agonizing distance between them.

  Leaving a few euros on the table to cover the tea, he hurried outside and towards her. As she approached she smiled that beautiful smile of hers that made the Spanish day even brighter. His heart soared again. It meant she was okay.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked, as they came together.

  Julie quickly relayed the story of how she was propositioned in the lift and given the room number they needed.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ was all he could say after taking it all in.

  All his complex scenario-planning from the morning had nearly been undone by the targets coming to them through lust.

  29

  Madrid

  Half an hour and a pot of tea later, the plan had been reformulated.

  They left the café and crossed the sun-baked plaza once more towards the hotel.

  Julie entered first and Jonathan followed her at about ten paces behind. Julie coolly walked across the ornate lobby to the bronze lifts in the far wall. She pressed the button to go up and once the lift arrived and Julie entered, Jonathan briskly walked towards it to just make it through the doors before they began closing.

  They got out on the sixth floor and headed toward room six zero two, again with a space between them. Once Julie arrived at the door, she took a deep breath and knocked four times, then started smiling. There was a moment when nothing happened, when someone in the room was clearly looking through the peephole. Loud yelling in Arabic was heard through the door, followed by the metallic clinking of locks being undone from the inside.

  This was the crucial part of the plan: once the locks were heard they would no longer be looking through the peephole. Julie bolted right toward the fire escape to go down and wait in the lobby, while Jonathan, who had been pressed against the wall on the same side as the door, rushed up to stand in her place.

  The door opened to reveal the largest Arab Jonathan had ever seen. Before he could open his mouth to utter a syllable, a nine-millimetre Parabellum pistol was hovering two inches from his face.

  Jonathan had expected something like this, and knew he had to be bold.

  ‘I need to speak to your bosses,’ he said in a deeper voice than usual, in the hope it carried some semblance of authority.

  The huge hairy hand in front of him cocked the hammer on the weapon.

  ‘I bring them valuable information about an oil deal that’s going to happen.’

  The Arab’s eyes narrowed, and Jonathan thought he was going to finish the job that all those assassins in France had started.

  More Arabic yelling emanated from within. The guard never took his eyes off Jonathan, just tilted his head slightly and yelled back. A single word came from within. The guard stepped back and two other Arabs in white robes materialized from nowhere to thoroughly pat him down for weapons. They nodded to the larger man, who motioned for Jonathan to step in but also glanced quickly down at the gun to reinforce the message that any wrong moves would result in a troublesome hole being added to his body.

  Jonathan tentatively stepped over the threshold to into the plush hotel room.

  The first thing that struck him was that all the way around half of the outer walls, with a space of approximately one metre between them, stood Arab guards dressed wholly in sheets of white, with large scimitar swords stuck through red sashes around their waists. All their dark eyes followed Jonathan’s every movement in unison. Covering the other half of the room were well built men in grey suits and soldiers haircuts. They too tracked his every move.

  In the centre of the room was gold coloured couch with two m
en sitting on it. One was tall Arab with in a smart crème suit and light brown brogues. He tilted his head forward to look Jonathan up and down over an alpine noise and a neatly trimmed goatee beard. The other seated man was smaller, was dressed in a black suit and had a yarmulke on his head. He tilted his head to the side inquisitively to inspect Jonathan through rimless glasses and keen analytical eyes.

  Jonathan had to assume he was looking at The Dichotomy.

  Trying to get over the bizarreness of the room, he waited for them to acknowledge him.

  ‘Sit,’ the Arab commanded, motioning to a chair that was being placed in front of them. ‘You have five minutes with your proposal. If we do not like, you will be removed.’

  Jonathan swallowed hard and sat on the chair.

  ‘Right,’ he began, in what he hoped was a strong tone. ‘I work for one of the largest international oil companies in the world. All right, the largest. Recently I stumbled across a plot, of which I do not yet have all the details, but I believe some of your contacts could complete the picture. I also believe that two gentlemen such as yourselves could profit handsomely from it.’ He spoke almost in one breath as nerves got to him. He ended the sentence with a large intake of air, trying to gauge their reaction as he paused.

  The Arab’s left eyebrow arched two millimetres..

  The colour drained from Jonathan’s face.

  ‘You may continue,’ the small Jewish man said. ‘We are intrigued.’

  ‘Right, ah, here it is then … ’ Jonathan said hesitantly.

  He had no choice but to continue and hope the story impressed, so that he could hopefully leave with some help – or at least with his life.

  30

  Madrid