by J C Ryan
A few minutes later, they were all smiles. The wolves had sniffed them all, licked their outstretched hands, and allowed them to scratch their backs. One of Keeva and Loki’s pups, which Mackenzie had named JR, after James Rhodes, instantly took a special liking to John. He was all over John, playing with him.
After playing with the young wolf for a while, John said, “Okay, let’s see if there is any truth in the notion that wolves can be trained as easily as dogs.”
Everyone, including the rest of the wolves, watched as John got onto his knees so he could look JR in the eyes.
When he got JR’s attention, he moved his hand up and over its head, pointing down while repeating the word sit measuredly. JR’s eyes and head followed John’s hand, and as he did that his butt started to lower. Once he was sitting, John made a big fuss. “Clever boy. You are so clever.” He patted him and scratched him behind the ears while he brought his face close to the animal, touching its wet nose with his. JR was in wolf heaven.
John repeated the exercise a few more times and then got up. He walked a few paces away, JR following him in anticipation. John stopped, turned to JR, looked down into its eyes and said, “Sit.” JR sat down immediately and waited for his reward.
The audience was gawping. “Wait till I tell Mackenzie about this.” Carter smiled. “She is going to love the idea of teaching her wolves a few tricks.”
“Well, as I said before” —John was obviously a lot more relaxed now than half an hour ago— “I’ve been told that wolves can be trained to be war-dogs as well as or better than any domesticated dog. From what I’ve just experienced, I think that could be true.”
“I can believe that,” Carter said. “Remind me to tell you what these wolves have done for us over the last year. It is an amazing story.”
“Okay guys, let’s get moving,” Dylan said. “We’ve got Wolf Camp to build, and I’m pretty sure the nine of them are not going to help us, although I suspect they might want to supervise our progress. After all, they inspired the name Camp Tala.”
Dylan would have been surprised if, at that moment, he knew how precisely his prophecy about the wolves’ involvement in their camp construction would be fulfilled in the days and months to come.
Over the next fourteen days, Camp Tala started to take shape. The hydroelectric plant was set up in the river and worked like a charm, supplying them with more than enough electricity to operate their power tools and domestic appliances. The virtually noiseless electric pump kept the water reservoir, which they located on a cliff ledge about twenty feet above ground level to get good pressure in the pipes and camouflaged properly, filled with fresh water from the stream.
By the end of the first week, Camp Tala was ready to take in the first occupants under the cliff overhang, which they had converted into a sleeping area and kitchen. They had to use a bit of concrete to level the floor and wood panels to cover the front opening, but other than that, the natural features of the area suited them perfectly.
Chapter 23 -
Did you know . . .
While the men were occupied with the construction of the camp, Liu and Mackenzie got busy with translating the Sirralnnudam.
“Well, Mackenzie, my first observation is this is a much better work environment than the last one you and I were in when we were doing translations,” Liu remarked with a bit of gallows humor.
“Can’t agree with you more, Liu.” Mackenzie smiled. “Which reluctantly takes my mind back to our rescue, resulting not only in our freedom, but also got you and Dylan acquainted.”
Liu had a slight blush growing on her neck and cheeks. She knew which way Mackenzie was heading.
“It must have been something, having him sweep you off your feet into his arms and carry you out of that building.”
Liu nodded and hemmed and hawed for a moment before she said, “You are my best friend, and I’m going to tell you something about that night that no one except Dylan and I know.”
Although it was just she and Mackenzie and Beth in the house, Liu leaned in closer and whispered, “Did you know, Dylan saw me naked even before he knew my name?”
“What? Liu. How is that possible?” Mackenzie chuckled. “Don’t tell me you had enough time . . .”
“No, Mackenzie” —Liu giggled— “get your mind out of the gutter. There was definitely not enough time for that!
“I was fast asleep when he pulled me out of bed and told me he and others were there to rescue us. I was so bamboozled I acted like a zombie and just followed orders. So, when he told me to put clothes on, I didn’t even think. I just pulled my nighties off and looked for my clothes.
“But he was so modest, he turned his head away. Although he fervently denies he saw any part of my nudity, I’m sure he must have seen something. Otherwise, why did he turn his head away?”
By now Mackenzie was screaming with laughter. “Of course, he saw something. And he must have liked what he saw. This is a story for a Hollywood romance movie, Liu. I can’t think I’ve ever heard a more romantic version of a first date than yours.”
Liu now sported a full blush.
Mackenzie managed to stop laughing. “You know the man is besotted by you. Don’t you?”
Liu smiled and nodded. “So am I, Mackenzie. I’m just waiting for him to say it. But how do you know?”
“Well, he told us in so many words when he was here last time with Sean, James, and Irene.”
“What did he say?”
“His exact words were ‘yes, I’m in love with her.’”
“Damn, what is it with men that they can’t say how they feel?”
“Don’t you worry. Irene and I read him the riot act and told him to say those exact words to you. He agreed. So just hang in there he’ll do it. Maybe he’s just waiting for the right moment.”
“Okay, I’ll take your word for it,” Liu said.
“Now let’s get going with the Sirralnnudam. After all, this book was part of the reason why we got abducted to that desert hellhole. The least we can do now is to find out what it was all about.”
Over the course of the next few days, they studied Carter’s notes, and Liu got a feel for the language, which was related to Arabic. After a few days, she started to read it with more ease.
“Liu, you and Carter, with your ability to pick up and learn new languages, are incredible. I’m able to speak English and French, the latter with a lot of difficulty and effort. You make it look so easy. How do you do it? Or is it all to do with genetics?”
“That’s a question that’s kept scientists scratching their heads for ages. It’s a lot like a tool, say a pencil. All or most of us can learn to use a pencil to draw, but not all of us can draw equally well because we don’t all have the same artistic talent. All humans are born with the ability to learn a language. However, the aptitude to use a language well is not necessarily innate.”
“So, are you saying it’s one of those either you have it or you don’t situations?”
“No, aptitude is only to do with your use of a language. Just like drawing a picture. Some have the ability to draw better than others, although we can all learn to draw. When it comes to learning a new language, we all have the innate capability to learn it.”
“Why then is it so easy for you and Carter and others, and so difficult for me and many others?”
“Well, scientists have used tools, such as magnetic resonance imaging (MRI) among others, to study what’s happening in the brain while people are learning a new language.
“A Swedish study compared the brain activity of students studying languages with those studying medical and cognitive science subjects, and found specific parts of the brain in the hippocampus and areas of the cerebral cortex are related to language learning. Those areas in the brains of the language students increased in size, whereas the brain structures of the control group remained unchanged.
“They found that the areas of the brain that grew were linked to how easy the learners found languages, w
hich means if you study a new language, those areas will develop, and the more you study, the easier it would become for you to learn a new language.”
“Hmm, motivation to learn a new language I guess is the keyword there,” Mackenzie murmured.
“Kara Morgan-Short, a professor at the University of Illinois at Chicago, and her colleagues conducted an experiment where they taught one group through explanations of the rules of the language, while they taught the second group by immersing them in the language, similar to how we all learn our native languages.
“They found that all participants learned some of the language, but the immersed learners, whose brain processes were most like those of native speakers, did much better than the others, even six months after they stopped learning.
“There is a lot more to it. For instance, students who were adept at picking up sequences and patterns learned grammar particularly well through the immersion technique. Of course, the study could help teachers to determine the best method for students to learn a new language.”
Liu paused for a breath before she concluded, “I probably don’t have to tell you there is overwhelming evidence showing that people who speak more than one language have better memories, are more cognitively creative, and are more mentally flexible than monolinguals. Some Canadian studies even suggest that the onset of diseases such as Alzheimer’s and dementia are delayed amongst bilinguals when compared with monolinguals.”
“Phew, that’s good to know. I’m bilingual,” Mackenzie laughed. “As for better memory, I don’t have to look any further than Carter with his eidetic memory to know what you are saying about languages and memory is true.”
“Well, there you have all the motivation necessary to take up language learning as a hobby.” Liu sniggered.
After the morning tea break, they returned to the study where Liu started reading the translation of the Sirralnnudam into her voice recognition software, which was typing the words as she was reading.
Every now and then she would pause to look up a few words and meanings before she continued. But it was clear she was gaining speed. By the end of the day she was doing more than thirty words a minute — about six pages an hour.
Chapter 24 -
The million-dollar question
Perrin Durand was watching the taxi carrying Mayon and Aisha as it came through the security gates of the private clinic situated in the affluent Appia Antica neighborhood of Rome. The taxi’s windows were slightly tinted, so it was nearly impossible for him to get a good view of their new looks. He gave the taxi a few minutes to get away before he started his car and made his way to the hotel where they were heading. He didn’t try to follow them, as he’d gotten the address while listening to Mayon’s phone call when he’d booked their room in the Rome Cavalieri, Waldorf Astoria on Via Alberto Cadlolo. A five-star hotel catering to the rich, the place offered picturesque views of Rome, extravagant rooms, opulent furniture, artwork, VIP elevators, rooftop balconies, and marble bathrooms with whirlpool tubs and chic toiletries. It was close to well-known historical sites such as the St. Peter's Basilica, the Piazza Navona, and the Roman Forum.
Durand was waiting inside the hotel lobby when Mayon and Aisha arrived at the check-in counter, and he was stunned to observe their metamorphosis. If he hadn’t known who they were, he would have lost them. He quickly took a few pictures of them with his mobile phone, pretending he was snapping the frescoes and luxurious foyer. The blond hair, nose jobs, altered jawlines, skin bleaching, and blue contact lenses had turned the two of them into a young couple who would have convinced any uninformed observer of their Scandinavian roots, or, as Durand was soon to learn, French-speaking Canadian citizens from Quebec. He smiled as the thought crossed his mind that his own disguise would also have fooled anyone who knew him.
Durand waited until they had checked in before he got a bit closer so that he could hear the room number when they told the porter where to take their luggage. Once he had that information, he left and went back to his motel room to change his disguise to match one of his fake passports and legends and check out. Three hours later, Durand, now known as Julio Romeres, a Spanish businessman, checked into the Rome Cavalieri and insisted on a room with a view on the fifth floor.
By two a.m. the next morning, he was inside the room of his subjects, who were again unconscious thanks to the effects of the potent knockout gas. He worked quickly but methodically to place the surveillance bugs around the suite and replace the old ones on their laptop and mobile phones. Fifteen minutes later, he was back in his own room three doors away from his subjects.
Before he went to bed, he typed a report to his handler, included the pictures of the new Aisha and Mayon, now known as Jean and Olivia Girard, as well as pictures of their new passports. He copied it all onto a flash drive, which he would leave at a dead drop location later in the day.
On the second day of the mind-numbing surveillance, Durand overheard something that immediately pitched his ears.
“You know, Mayon, I’ve always been very proud to be an Algosaibi, and this information our father gave us on this flash drive is just proving that I’ve not been living in a fool’s paradise. You and I have all the reason in the world to be proud of our bloodline.”
Durand’s mind kicked into overdrive. Algosaibi . . . Algosaibi . . . that name sounds very familiar. Why is that?
Within seconds he had Googled the name. Top of the results were a news article about Xavier Algosaibi, one of the ten richest people in Saudi Arabia, and his fall from grace when his plot to end the reign of the House of Saud was uncovered.
Xavier Algosaibi is or rather was the father of these spoiled brats . . . now it makes sense . . . that’s why someone is so interested in them.
Who?
Durand searched for the names Mayon and Aisha Algosaibi and smiled when Google instantly returned the information, which included their pictures, and most alluring of all, the one and a half million price tag on each of their heads.
Three million dollars . . . I’ll retire with that. This could be my last job.
His mind was working overtime, the vision of him in Thailand on a beach in Pattaya being served exotic cocktails by scantily clothed, sexy young girls had become vivid in his mind’s eye. But he hadn’t survived so many battles and missions to get to this stage because he made rash decisions — this had to be planned with great care. He decided not to raise any suspicions with his faceless handler. The best was to give him or her all the information and make sure he did not set off any alarm bells until it was time to make his move.
Durand diligently reported to his handler, including audio files of the conversations, as well as video recordings and still pictures. Apart from the three-million-dollar windfall waving at him, he was beyond surprised to learn about some of the information on that flash drive. He caught pieces of a lecture in human origins and history that, even if only a fraction of it was true, would turn the scientific world into chaos. Durand often found himself with an open mouth as he followed the ensuing conversations of the Girards. At times, he got so carried away he was almost tempted to jump up and join them to partake in the discussions.
On the third day after his discovery of the real identities of his subjects, he picked up another interesting tidbit.
“Aisha, I think it’s time for us to move on. As best I could tell, we are not being followed by anyone, so I feel it’s safe for us to make the trip to Zürich to talk to our banker and then move on to Paris.”
“Agreed,” she replied tersely. “I’ve had enough of the damned Italians, and since I became a blonde, their disrespectful staring at me and sexually suggestive remarks have increased to the point it’s freaking me out completely. So, the sooner we get out of here the better.”
Mayon chuckled. “Aisha, I’m sure you have forgotten how amorous the French can be when they are around a beautiful woman such as yourself.”
“Yeah, well, as you know, I’m not into men. So, the sooner I get mysel
f a girlfriend when we get to Paris the better. Maybe that will help shoo the insolent men away.”
“With your new looks, I’m sure you won’t have any trouble finding someone to be interested in you,” Mayon replied while trying his level best to hide his utter disgust at his sister’s self-confessed sexual preferences. Although he always suspected it, it was the first time she’d openly talked about it.
In different circumstances, back home in Saudi Arabia, if this were discovered, he would have had an unavoidable duty to defend the Algosaibi family honor and have her stoned to death.
Durand’s interest on the other hand, had nothing to do with Aisha’s sexual inclinations. His interest piqued when he heard the words “Zürich” and “banker”. It didn’t take a genius to conclude that the two of them must have a secret bank account in Zürich. He was staring out the window while he listened very intently for more information.
Which bank? Give me the name of your banker . . . come on tell me . . . I’m waiting.
It was as if Mayon could hear him and wanted to oblige when he phoned the bank in Zürich and, after providing some information, was transferred to the personal assistant of Mr. Mathieu Nabati, the manager of a small boutique private bank. A few minutes later a meeting was set for them at ten a.m. Zürich time the next Monday — four days from now.
Durand’s otherwise serious expression turned into a big smile when he heard the woman on the other end say to Mayon, “Make sure you bring with you the special security card to access your accounts. Without it, Mr. Nabati won’t see you.”
The million-dollar question is, how much is in that account?
Shortly after the telephone conversation, the Girards went out for a walk, and Durand used the opportunity to create his report. A plan was taking shape in his head. After he dropped the thumb drive off at the dead drop, he returned to his hotel room, got himself a cold beer from the fridge, pulled an old-fashioned writing pad and pencil from his luggage, and sat down in one of the comfortable reclining chairs in the lounge to start planning.