It took three weeks to get his visas and by the time he could leave he was wishing he’d waited until the day before to tell his people. It would have been easier. His apartment was secure and the fridge empty and ready for a long absence. The alarm people were notified and his car left with a friend to keep it operational by using it occasionally. To leave it in airport storage indefinitely would be madness.
If he left that was the only way he could think of it - he'd be leaving them behind. They could sink or swim but he had no doubt he'd be going forward. That sort of drive was his nature.
When the boarding call came for first class David tossed the rest of his coffee in the trash and grabbed his single small carry-on. The exit for the lounge opened right on the jet way and he was visible for a handful of steps to the economy travelers waiting in the public concourse. He searched the crowd for familiar faces and noted a lot of them inspecting him. None registered recognition since he wasn't a movie star or a sports hero. Space electronics and military communications paid well but it didn't get you in the tabloids or attract groupies - unless you got really greedy and screwed up - David reflected, thinking of an ugly corporate scandal last year that brought several people unwanted recognition.
David set his belt snug enough to do its job and loose enough to allow it to stay fastened the whole flight. The coffee in the lounge guaranteed he'd get up at least once, but he always re-fastened the belt on returning to his seat, aware turbulence or an unexpected maneuver could toss him about.
The numbers said their company would benefit from a small private jet. If it were just used for business that would be true but he’d seen what happened when a company owned a plane. The thing was always tied up carrying the officers of the company and their families to vacation spots or shopping trips. His people would be just as bad as the rest of them. If he wanted a jet he was determined he'd have it available full time for himself and not do it by half measures, just so he didn't have to use his own money. If he did buy one he'd take the time and qualify to fly it too.
David leaned back and closed his eyes relaxing and feeling all the subtle changes as the jet came alive. There was a slight thump as the pilot disengaged the plane’s brakes and taxied on wheel motors. There were slight pitching motions as the aircraft waddled over the seams on the concrete and then a pause as it got in line to turn onto the runway.
After a few short rolls forward the flight crew announced they were next in line to depart and he heard the engines spool up. There was the slight rumble of a flight that passed over them landing, then he was pressed back in his seat hard as they accelerated. The crew seemed sharp, the landing gear thumping back up into the plane within a second of the wheel noise cutting off, as the tires lifted from the pavement.
Then, instead of the slight cutback in power he was used to they seemed to ease it on a bit harder, as they continued to climb out steeply. David wondered what instruction from the controllers or concern of the pilot caused that. Every time a few extra hundred gallons of fuel were used it cut into the always precarious finances of the airline. He opened his eyes and looked out the window where he could see the rear of the wing. The flaps were easing in but they still had the power set high, picking up speed without sacrificing the angle of climb. That didn't concern him, because they were nowhere near the pitch that would put them into a stall.
Out there beyond the wing he saw the answer to his question. There was a dark wall of dirty brown clouds and as he watched a fractal tree of lightening etched briefly on its face. The pilot was pouring it on climbing above incoming bad weather. He'd climbed out under full power in other places with far bigger worries, dropping flares behind them for any missiles climbing up their butt unseen. David trusted the man up front, having learned to do that or be constantly concerned with things that were out of his hands.
As Atlanta dropped away he looked out over the suburban houses. If these people knew the information accessible to him many of them would be upset. The latest generation of satellites could look down on a house and see the electrical activity inside. You could tell when somebody was home, what room they were in and if they ran a computer. The thermal image was detailed enough to tell if they kept a dog or a cat. He had no idea how yet, but he figured the day would come soon when they could capture the key strokes off the computer and eavesdrop on the land line, not from a van down the street but from orbit. The cell phones were certainly no challenge right now.
Combine that information with credit reports, phone logs, automobile tag scans, and public surveillance cameras and anyone's life was an open book. David's life was too, but the huge difference was he knew it and could take it into account. He didn't talk on a cell phone for anything critical and his ceiling at home and work was a shield for any emissions he knew how to detect, then a spoofed set of activities was substituted. A data hole attracted as much attention as unusual readings. His car got scanned like anyone's but the laser didn't see what the eye did. There had to be others who still had a measure of privacy, but not many.
This was after all what his company did. Unless somebody else was carefully hiding it, they were ahead of everybody else in that field. One of the reasons the company did so well, was they used the same sensors they sold the military for satellites, to gather industrial intelligence with their own drones. A security drone was easy to license and once it was up there it had a side looking capacity to cover most of a city. If it didn't cover the area they needed, a small satellite office across town might be leased to use for storage, providing a reason to broaden their coverage.
They might not have the data processing capacity of the military, but it was astonishing what you could learn from seeing such mundane external activities such as the arrival of supply trucks and who worked over late at night, even if you never collected a word of dialogue occurring inside the building. Sometimes the number of trucks leaving their docks each week was sufficient intelligence alone to buy a company's stock, or short it. His father wasn’t alone in doing well with the market.
Once they were above the weather they turned east and it wasn't long before the clouds were behind them and the ocean underneath. There was a rush to the toilet once the seatbelt light was off and he waited until the initial rush was over and used the facilities himself. David refused another round of coffee, or anything stronger, positioned his phone so it would rouse him if somebody tried to touch it, and tilted his seat back. It was a long flight and he was dressed for it, with loose clothing and soft shoes. Sleep came easily.
* * *
London was familiar to him, holding no particular fascination or surprises anymore, but comfortable, more so really than Atlanta. Nobody assumed him an American here, much less any sub-category of American. He knew where to stay, where to eat, and could live here and be happy if there was reason to do so. He had a day to kill before he flew to Paris and Istanbul. He didn't want to take British Airways direct. There was some tension right now between Britain and Djibouti. At the moment Americans were viewed more favorably and France was still held in fairly high regard. Nobody would hold a stamp on his passport against him. He'd only be in Istanbul a few hours, never leave the airport in fact. And by the time he reached Djibouti he'd be tired, jet lagged to some degree even with the pills and altering his sleep schedule. He'd hole up in the Menelik, a hotel one of his employees recommended as reasonable, clean and in a safe location close to much of the city's financial services. Crenshaw was notified he was finally on his way to fulfill his duty. Once there, he'd spend a day or three until he felt acclimated to the time.
Chapter 3
The airport at Djibouti was old, in the sad form that had once been modern, but with none of the grace that classic architecture displayed when it aged. It was 1970s old with bare aluminum and enameled panels that were probably impossible to replace if they were damaged. The floor was certainly not the first generation of tile by many years. The plane had stairs rolled to it rather than a sealed boarding tube. The sun was bri
ght, the air warm, and very dry walking to customs.
He greeted the customs official in French, he wasn’t eager to be seen as American in culture even if that was the passport he carried. He’d found that got him off on the wrong foot too often. It wasn't any strain to be friendly. He was in a good mood today, if tired. The fellow looked surprised at his passport.
"You don't sound like an American," the fellow objected.
"My family has long roots both in France and here," David admitted.
"Ah, is it family then, that brings you here?" the fellow asked smoothly.
It was his job to inquire and David had nothing to hide. His real reason for being here was actually about the least objectionable politically, so he answered truthfully.
"Yes, my father died recently and he charged me with making a pilgrimage of my heritage and religion in his final words."
"I am sorry to hear of your loss," the fellow said, stamping his passport. "I hope your visit brings you comfort." He had a serious expression and seemed sincere. It was a bit touching actually.
"I have never been here, but I intend to see the things my father said shaped him."
"Do you require any assistance?" the man asked, practically. Undoubtedly he had a relative, or several, willing to be a guide and driver.
"I am staying at the Menelik. It has been a long journey and I need a couple days to let my body grow accustomed to a new clock and place. But if you know a trustworthy local person who can drive a motor car and knows the land, not only the city, but outside in the countryside a bit, have him call on me a couple mornings from now," David offered.
"That I do, I'll have a man of my family present himself to your hotel in two mornings. He'll say he has been sent by Juste."
"Thank you, I appreciate your care," David told him. He noticed the man didn't get so sentimental about his trip that he missed the fifty dollar bill in his passport. His small carryon bag was never opened. It wouldn't have really mattered, he only had a change of casual clothing, a few toiletries, and two paperback novels. But it was a courtesy.
* * *
The taxi driver gave him no trouble once he told the man his destination in Arabic and asked the price. The man probably didn’t actually speak it but would know enough for his business, and those speaking it would be among his better fares. David enjoyed the rare chance to exercise his memory of another language. He didn't have a meter and quoted a fee in Euros not Dollars or Francs. His Arabic had a slight French accent so he wasn't surprised. He had a few Dollars, some Euros, a hundred thousand Djibouti Francs, and four Canadian Maples in a plastic card. He paid in Euros with a proper tip for good service. The green cab was clean, smelled good and the fellow didn't try to extort anything extra from him. He drove with an actual hand on the wheel, very laid back for a taxi driver, not even chewing Khat, and had a few other cars pass him going into town. David appreciated a taxi ride that wasn't a thrill.
The hotel was squared off, almost like a blockhouse, the upper part overhanging a bit. The desk was efficient and the room larger than he was accustomed to in America. The floor was big ceramic tiles instead of carpet. The bed was firm, but David liked it that way. He went to lunch in the hotel, having fish skewers grilled on acacia wood with a different sort of delicate flat bread and a dish of tart fruit salad. It was light, which was just fine, because he planned to return to his room and nap.
Something about the dining room bothered him. It took him awhile to figure out the ceiling was lower in the large room than he was accustomed to. Especially since the lighting fixtures were not in the ceiling. It made the room seem darker even though there were lots of light fixtures on the walls.
His room had rather substantial drapes, which he appreciated, making the room dark enough to sleep soundly. He didn't put the air conditioning on. Laying on top of the sheets it was quite comfortable without it and he fell asleep easily.
When he woke up there was no light showing around the edges of the curtains. It was night out, but he had no sense of the time until he checked his phone. It was past ten PM, local time. It was probably too late for the dining room, but he'd seen a bar and they must serve some food. Perhaps if he was up a bit and ate again he'd be able to get back to sleep some more before morning.
The bar did serve food and had a quieter side room where the music was muted. The clientele there were quieter too. He had a dish of marinaded goat skewers with onions and some peppers that had a little heat to them. There was a dipping sauce and more of the odd bread like at lunch. He had a German beer, and given the choice, had it served cold.
It was near eleven when he came out of the bar into the lobby. He hesitated and started for the door, just curious to take a look outside. The desk man looked alarmed and asked if he could call a cab for him.
"No I just wanted to look outside. I assumed it wasn't a good idea to go off walking. I intend to stay just outside your door, in sight of your doorman."
"Good. If you have any needs, please, let us know rather than wonder about. I'd be concerned for your safety. You might even get accosted standing at our door. A taxi will run a bit extra after dark, but if you want to go to a club or anything we can get one. I’d recommend it."
"No, no thanks," he replied smiling. When he stepped outside the doorman who had been standing inside went out with him. David noticed he had his phone in his hand.
The moon was up and the city was illuminated. The square in front of them had floods on several of the buildings, but there were almost no windows showing lights. They must not have cleaning crew working nights like in the west.
"Do you mind standing a minute?" he asked the doorman. "If even this short an excursion is foolish I can go back in rather than endanger both of us."
"No, this is fine. Where are you from sir? You speak French well, but you don't sound French to me, unless you are from some odd place I don't know well. The Ivory Coast maybe? Is it safe to walk about late at night in your home?"
"I'm recently from Atlanta Georgia in the United States, but I travel for business. There are places in Atlanta where it is fairly safe to walk to and from your car at night, for the theater or a restaurant. I almost always go armed, having the proper permit to do that in Georgia, but there are places I wouldn't go without a security detail. A few places I wouldn't dare drive through in an unarmored vehicle."
That got a genuine chuckle from the doorman.
A couple locals, perhaps twenty years old, maybe even a bit younger, but dressed far too flashy and European came down the side walk.
"Oh my, what do we have here?" the one asked her companion in Afar. To David she called out in French, "Are you lonely love? We are on a mission to mend broken hearts if your lady didn't show up."
The doorman looked irritated, but before he could chase them off David replied.
David only knew about a dozen words of Afar and wasn’t even positive that’s what she’d spoken, so he answered in French. "Does your mother know you slipped out of the house again? She'll give you a beating and make noise all day long so you can't sleep if you don't sneak back in quietly."
The fact he said it smiling and waggled a finger at them made them laugh as they passed. If he'd been harsh or crude they'd have cursed him.
"Well, you didn't say you were a social worker," the doorman quipped.
"I run a business, with supposed adults, but sometimes it does seem more like a child care facility than I'd like."
The doorman was still smiling, but not really interested.
"Thank you for watching me. I think I'll try to get some more sleep," David said. He slipped the man a thousand Franc note and got a thank you.
The door man followed him back inside and the desk clerk looked relieved. Dave read the first few chapters of a paperback before he turned the light out and slept again.
* * *
Breakfast was served buffet style and David tried a few of the dainty pancakes, almost like crepes, lacey with holes. They served them with Ghee instea
d of butter and choice of a light syrup or honey. There was a platter of sliced fruit, rolls that looked ordinary, and a sort of soup that didn't appeal at all. There were none of the things like eggs he was used to having. He took the tea from an urn rather than order coffee and was impressed with how strong it was. He was not usually a tea drinker, but there was nothing dainty about it.
A few light pancakes and some fruit was not how he usually started his morning. He went out walking, feeling safe in the daylight, hoping to find something more substantial. The morning doorman just tipped his uniform hat to him. Once David got away from the square there were little shops and street vendors. He came to a small neighborhood market and found a woman selling flat breads stuffed with meat. The substantial sort a construction worker would buy not an office clerk. A couple of those made him feel like he'd had something. He felt little hands going all over his pockets while he finished his meal.
"Go away, you won't get anything from me but a smack on the head, if you try again," he said in Arabic. If the kid didn't understand the language he did the look.
"You look too prosperous for this neighborhood," the street vendor warned him. "You need a worn shirt and old loose pants with a belt and sandals, or slippers, to fit in. Then they'll leave you alone," she predicted.
"And broken down heels on the slippers," David added, amused.
"Well yes, from going to prayer. You are an observant one," she allowed.
"Thank you Aunt," he said, because she was an older woman, "but I will be back in my hotel soon and they're so fussy they'd probably bar the door and not recognize me if I dressed as you said. If I were going to live on this street I'd have to make some changes, but I'd buy breakfast from you every morning," he flattered her.
The Way Things Seem Page 2
