Bimat--A Vietnamese Adventure

by Robert A Webster

  He arrived in London during the early hours of the morning and after hiring a car, drove to Daniel Farquharson’s house in Cambridge.

  “Good morning Daniel.” said Grimes with a beaming smile when the Professor answered the door.

  Daniel smiled, invited him in, and led him into the living room, where a thin leather-bound bundle of papyrus lay on the table. Grimes took the pile of papyrus, and whilst Daniel made a pot of tea, he unfolded the small roll and inspected a sheet of Daniel’s handy-work.

  The aged writing looked perfect and even though Grimes couldn’t understand the text, he felt certain that Farquharson would have written something poignant.

  Daniel brought in the tea tray and poured the tea into bone china cups,

  “What have you written Daniel?” asked Grimes

  “Oh, as you instructed, conversations between Judas and Jesus, with one in particular about the Messiah asking Judas to grass him up, which would cause a stink in Rome if it ever got out,” said Daniel and chuckled.

  After an hour chatting, Grimes stood up, thanked Daniel, and handed him $200.

  Daniel looked at the money and then glared at Grimes and said, “Huh! Same as the last time. That doesn’t look to be £2000 you promised me, and this took weeks of hard work.”

  “No, its $200,” said Grimes, who stared at Daniel and sounding angry said. “That’s all I got from my buyer. Now take it or leave it.”

  Daniel frowned and said, “What can I do with dollars? Don’t you at least have sterling?”

  Grimes just glared as he held out the money and Daniel sighed as he reluctantly took it.

  Grimes grabbed the leather bound bundle and left. He got into the car, smiling at the stupidity and weakness of Farquharson, who was watching from the window as Grimes pulled away.

  Daniel smirked and said aloud. “Shame me once, shame on you. Shame me twice, then shame on me.”

  He refreshed the teapot and fiddled with the mobile phone that he had taken earlier from Grimes’s jacket pocket, which he’d hung in the hallway. He turned on the phone and went through Grimes’s contacts.

  Grimes flew to Cairo a few days later and again met with Tariq and Fayed. Tariq handed him a copy of a newspaper, and Grimes handed them both a wad of cash. He then boarded a flight to King Khalid International Airport, Saudi Arabia, and went to Mohammed’s palatial residence.

  Mohammed apologised for rushing his search, but it had been many months since his search began and had so far cost the Sheik a small fortune. However, unbeknownst to him, Grimes had gambled away or snorted most of it.

  Before Grimes handed over the papyrus, he told the Sheik about his difficult search, recovery, and how he’d obtained the lost gospels under dangerous circumstances and how he now feared for his life.

  Grimes then took the leather-bound scrolls from his briefcase and handed them to him.

  The Sheik unravelled the scroll and stared at the scripture on a sheet of papyrus and Grimes told him. “The information on those pages will rock the Christian religion to its core.”

  Sheik Mohammed, looking delighted, said, “Excellent work Julian… well done.”

  Grimes then gave the Sheik the newspaper that Tariq had given to him, written in Arabic. The front page had a photograph taken inside a small cave with empty catacombs and a few small pieces of ancient papyrus scattered around the floor.

  “Here Sheik Mohammed,” said Grimes, and looking puzzled shrugged. “I don’t know what it says because it is written in Arabic, but I know it has something to do with my discovery.” He then smirked when the Sheik looked at the newspaper.

  The Sheik smiled as he read the article.

  ‘A cave discovered two days ago on the outskirts of the village of Minya Beni in the district of Mazar, contained several empty catacombs. Evidence suggested from remaining fragments of papyrus that these may have been the long rumoured parchments from the Gnostic gospels and scriptures of Judas Iscariot. The cave was almost empty and the Egyptian police believe this to be a recent plunder and are following several leads.

  The Sheik looked thrilled and handed Grimes a suitcase containing a million dollars in cash. He leant back into his chair and said to Grimes, “Why don’t you take a well-earned break Julian until the heat dies down. You can call me when you have another acquisition.”

  Grimes smiled, thanked the Sheik, took the money, and flew back to Vegas.

  Several days later, Grimes was again losing at the roulette tables when a concierge from the Riviera Casino came up to him.

  “Sorry to disturb you, Your Grace, but there is a phone call for you in reception. We transferred it to booth number 1 and the caller is on hold.”

  Grimes furrowed his brow and looking worried said. “Nobody knows I am here.”

  The concierge shrugged and Grimes went over to the reception desk and into a phone booth 1. He picked up the receiver and with his voice trembling, said, “Hello?”

  “Hello, Julian. Or perhaps I should call you Duke Phillip of Southerby,” said a familiar voice on the other end of the phone.

  Grimes, surprised, stammered, “Oh err, Hello, Mohammed. What can I do for you?” He felt confused as to how the Sheik had found out where he was.

  Mohammed, sounding aloof, said. “If you look outside your booth, you will see a large Arabian gentleman.”

  Grimes kept the telephone receiver to his ear as he looked outside the booth and saw a giant Arab leaning against a marble pillar glaring at him.

  “That is my bodyguard, Mophi. He has been following you for a few days now,” said Mohammed.

  “Why?” said Grimes with a quiver in his voice, “I don’t understand. You have the papyrus and the newspaper.”

  “Ah, yes, the fake newspaper,” said Mohammed. “The one written by the late Mr Tariq.”

  Grimes gulped now terrified. “What do you mean by the Late Mr Tariq?”

  “Nasty accident, Mr Tariq drowned in his pool,” said Mohammed and paused before telling him. “As for the papyrus written by Judas Iscariot; shall I tell you what it said?”

  Grimes, now trembling, listened as the Sheik continued. “After receiving a tip off, my translators deciphered the following: baked beans in tomato sauce, cheese, bread etc. Need I go on?” said the Sheik sounding angry. “Oh!” he added, remembering something else, “Along with the shopping list, there was also an item that my research team couldn’t understand. A friend of yours from England, Daniel Farquharson who had called to tell me about the documents being fake, kindly pointed out that it was the instructions for using your mobile phone.”

  Panicking, Grimes hung up and rushed over to Mophi.

  The intimidating Arab glared at Grimes as he tried to sound calm, smiled and said, “Hello Mophi. Mohammed and I have sorted out our differences and he would like to speak with you now.” He pointed at the booth.

  Mophi grunted and went into the booth, picked up the phone, and spoke to the bewildered Mohammed, who knew Mophi had fallen for Grimes’s ploy.

  “Find him and deal with him,” said Mohammed sounding enraged and hung up the phone.

  Mophi looked outside the booth but Grimes had scarpered onto the casino floor.

  Mophi went onto the gamblers floor, but Grimes was nowhere to be seen.

  He continued searching for him until he got a tap on his shoulder from two in-house security guards.

  Mophi glared at them as they told ordered him to go with them to their office within the inner section of the casino.

  The two burly security guards of similar size to Mophi led him into a warehouse and told him to sit down on a plastic stool.

  Mophi stood and glared at the guards as they stared at him. With their hands on their batons as they told him that a high roller customer had seen him picking people’s pockets.

  Mophi said nothing as the guards looked at one another and one slipped his baton from its holder while the other looked at Mophi and asked. “Do you speak English?”

  Mophi glared at the pair, smiled
, and struck the guard who had his baton out hard in the throat, and before the other guard could react to the surprise attack, Mophi hit him hard on the jaw, knocking him unconscious.

  He then went behind the choking man and sharply twisted his head, snapping his neck. He repeated the process with the unconscious guard and then calmly walked out through the casino and into the hot Vegas air. He then rang the Sheik for further instructions.

  Grimes spent the next few years terrified and sneaking around Vegas. His money soon ran out, and he amassed a fortune in debt. He didn't care, he knew that he was a dead man walking. He figured that the Sheik would assume that he had bolted far from Vegas and search elsewhere, so he stayed in Vegas.

  However, the Sheik never cared about the money, which meant nothing to him. He respected Grimes for being able to fool him for all those years and quite liked this toffee-nosed Englishman. He had only sent Mophi to scare him and then return to Saudi, which was accomplished at the cost of only two lives.

  Grimes eventually turned himself in to the police, admitting to conning nearly every casino in Vegas out of millions of dollars by selling non-existent plots of real estate and fake castles while posing as the English Duke.

  Because of his previous spending and elaborate cons, every casino gave him large credit facilities. Grimes wanted to be caught, knowing that the safest place for him would be prison.

  He confessed to everything, even for crimes that he didn’t commit. Arrested under his real name, John Crawford, and sentenced to seven years in Clerk County Detention Centre, Grimes felt relieved.

  Because of his arrogance and posh English accent, the other inmates targeted him. The guards hated the fact that he had wasted and gambled away more money in two minutes than they could earn in a lifetime, so they turned a blind eye when he got bullied.

  Grimes’s only ally was a friendly Arab named Akhim who had recently moved into the next cell. Akhim said he had been transferred from another prison to serve the short time remaining of his sentence.

  Akhim told Grimes that he had come to Vegas on holiday from his home in Egypt and befriended some Egyptians living in Vegas. They had duped him into being a mule for supplying cocaine. The police had arrested him when he was delivering what he thought were Bibles to a local priest, but it turned out that each bible was hollowed out and stuffed with cocaine. Although he never mentioned how long he had been in prison, Grimes never asked, presuming it had been many years.

  Grimes and Akhim spent many hours in conversation through his cell bars passing codes for a chinwag. He found Akhim to be intelligent and articulate especially with his knowledge on forged artwork, which Grimes found fascinating. The only time they lost contact for a few days was when a new cellmate arrived in Grimes’s cell. The man from a local biker gang intimidated Grimes and hated Arabs, so their conversations ceased.

  However, they continued to correspond a few days later after prison guards found the lout dead in the shower block, his throat slit with a shank. Rival gang members were suspected of the murder and Grimes never had another cell mate.

  ****

  Grimes had just given away his food again and was sitting in his cell, staring into space. He missed Akhim who had been released several days earlier, and as he thought about their chats, a prison guard came to his cell door.

  “Crawford,” he barked. “Pack your belongings and come with me. You’re being released.”

  Grimes looked taken aback and stammered. “I don’t understand. I am not due to be considered for parole for at least another three years.”

  “I don’t know,” said the guard sounding impatient. “Now do as you are told and pack your gear.”

  Feeling confused, Grimes packed his meagre prison belongings and trudged to the release section where he was given his personal effects. Although his clothes now smelled musty, it felt good to get out of prison fatigues and into a mouldy suit.

  A deputy sheriff came over and, along with the prison guards, escorted him out. A large gate opened and the deputy and Grimes walked outside.

  Grimes panicked, something felt untoward, and as the deputy walked him over to a squad car, he said, “I demand to know why I am being released early.”

  The deputy put his hand on his head and pushed him into the rear of the car. “You certainly have friends in high places, now shut up,” he said as he slammed the door shut, got into the front seat, and drove away from the prison.

  “Where are you taking me?” asked Grimes sounding nervous as the car drove along the desert highway towards Las Vegas city centre.

  The deputy didn’t speak as he pulled the squad car into the car lot of the South district police station and took Grimes inside.

  An embassy official stood in the waiting area at the police station and introduced himself as the UK attaché to the US in Las Vegas. He thanked the deputy and told Grimes to sit.

  Grimes thought the middle-aged man looked friendly as he smiled and said. “Would you like a cup of tea Mr Crawford? I just need to finish your paperwork here and we can be on our way.”

  Grimes smiled and felt pleased to hear an English voice after all the years he had spent cooped up with Americans and other foreign nationals. “Thank you,” he said. “Yes, I would love a cup of tea.” Grimes then looked puzzled. “But why have I been released early and what happens now?”

  The attaché smiled and said. “You will be deported to the UK once we have all the paperwork, and I will be escorting you to the airport.”

  “But why have I been released early,” said Grimes furrowing his brow.

  “I’ll get you that cup of tea,” said the attaché avoiding the answer. “You can drink that while I collect the paperwork and then we can go.”

  Twenty minutes later, Grimes and the attaché left the police station and got into a saloon car, which sped off towards McCarran airport.

  Four kilometres before they reached the airport, the car pulled into a diner car park, and the attaché said to Grimes. “We still have a few hours before the flight Mr Crawford, so do you fancy a last taste of US cuisine at its finest?” he chuckled.

  “Okay,” said Grimes, sounding relieved and feeling happy to be going back to England, he smiled and thought. “Marvellous, I can set up some scams and then deal with that snake Dan Farquharson.’

  They sat in a booth and Grimes ordered a burger as did the attaché, who then excused himself and went to the washroom.

  Their burgers arrived a few minutes later and Grimes looked at his stacked burger, smiled and took a bite. He savoured the flavour of the beef, fried onion and grease covered bacon and salad. He chewed the succulent greasy burger as the attaché returned and sat back down and looked over behind Grimes.

  Grimes stopped eating, realising someone stood behind him.

  “Slight change of plan, Mr Julian Grimes,” said the attaché and smirked.

  Grimes puckered his brow and spitting out bits of burger said, “My name is John Crawford, so why are you now calling me Julian Grimes?”

  The attaché grinned. “Because that is the name my employer knows you by,” he said and pointed to the figure stood behind him.

  Grimes spun around and looked up at the intimidating face of Mophi glaring down at him.

  “Shall we go?” said the man posing as the attaché.

  Mophi grabbed Grimes shirt and lifted him off his seat. Like a condemned man walking to his execution, they walked outside.

  Grimes was taken outside to the back of the diner where Mophi shoved him into the back of a waiting limousine.

  ****

  Sheik Mohammed Del Alaz lay in his hospital room museum, gazing at his treasures. The room, under a large golden dome was built on the top of his Mecca wing, a large building that faced S.S.W towards Mecca, 700 kilometres away. The centre of the dome was in exact alignment with the centre of Mecca.

  Glass vaults housed 130 tempered glass cases, with all but one containing a religious icon or precious treasure. With each housing temperature regulated
and vacuum sealed to avoid decomposition.

  The treasure rows filled the back of the room with tempered glass tinted windows around the dome. It looked like a large public Aquaria with various size glass containers housing precious religious treasures. The ceiling of the dome was adorned with paintings, murals, and collages created by the best modern-day artists.

  Central in the vast room was Mohammed’s hospital bed with its array of life-preserving and monitoring apparatus, along with a plush study area with sofas, desks, and a computer. Another small piece of equipment that looked out of place hung on a plain painted wall

  Both internally and externally, the dome not only looked like a work of art, but also held a sinister secret that Mohammed had included.

  This would ensure that unlike the Egyptian pharaohs who left their treasures to be plundered, the same would not happen to his.

  Reinforced Carbon-carbon, RCC tiles and a layer of laminated Graphite resin, which could withstand temperatures exceeding 1260°C, lay underneath the golden dome’s ceiling and was reinforced with steel and concrete, which was plastered and painted.

  Mohammed’s treasure room and hospital ward was a bunker. However, it was not designed to protect from any outside attack; this protected the outside from events that would occur within.

  Two small, silver canisters, engraved to match the decor, hung on the wall. These sinister containers were full of Tritium and deuterium gas, which, although harmless on their own, when mixed they became a detonator for the fusion-boosted fission bomb, which Mohammed had installed into a small space under the floor beneath his hospital bed; a Russian layer cake he had bought from Saddam Hussein at the height of his power.

  The bomb’s kiloton yield would destroy the room and turn the treasures into plasma, encasing the room, making everything unsalvageable and radioactive for years. Mohammed’s legacy to the mortal world would be... nothing.

  A Doctor came into the room, checked the monitors, and said. “Everything looks fine Sheik Mohammed. Do you need anything else sir?”

  Mohammed nodded and pointed to his wheelchair that the Doctor then wheeled over. Mohammed got into the chair and the Doctor pushed him to the large windows around the dome where Mohammed looked out over the city and waited.