“Right, the people riding rigs on the tops of the Land Cruisers. There are so many.”
“I once saw a race with forty SUVs, they will not allow more.”
“Too many camels?”
Rehan laughed at Cameron’s comment, “No of course not. The Bedouin will race a hundred camels. The sheikhs race with the SUV. More than forty is too many Land Cruisers.”
“Ah,” said Cameron.
Pepe leaned into Cameron’s ear, “Are you ready?”
Cameron nodded.
“We need to go now little one,” said Pepe. “Take us to where the man’s car is parked.”
“Can we see the end of the race?” asked Rehan.
Cameron patted the boy’s shoulder, “We will watch from the monitors. Let’s go while we can.”
“This way then,” said Rehan, already in motion.
Rehan had a sense of the crowd. He moved through the openings behind and around the large gathered groups instinctively avoiding the bottlenecks at the stairwell landings and the congested entrance to the interior concession area, where those that had been lining the corridor in wait for the bathrooms were now pushing out toward the track. Cameron and Pepe stayed close behind, choosing to mimic the boy’s snakelike maneuvers rather than lose pace and have to awkwardly chase after him. Still Cameron and Pepe were grown men and though agile, young boys they were not. Fortunately, the Al Marmoom guests were focused on the last minutes of the race, intoxicated by the elixir of the finish line.
The concession area in the belly of the grandstand was predominantly empty with the exception of a few men scurrying from the kitchens. Each carried a brass pot of cardamom-infused coffee, fresh brewed for the regal passengers of the four-by-fours about to finish the race. The monitors covering the walls featured the high definition live action of the camels up close, their tongues loosely draping their ears, and pasty saliva spewing from their mouths. The small bulk of the robot jockeys on the camels’ backs were clearly visible and the attached whips, engaged for the final stretch, could be seen rhythmically striking the rear quarters of the lumbering beasts.
Above the three, the excitement of the crowd began to build.
“It is almost finished,” said Rehan.
The roar and movement from above amplified to thunder in the concrete cavern of the concession space.
Cameron raised his voice, “And then what?”
“As soon as each race finishes, the Sheikhs and Royals step out of their cars to greet spectators, and the people rush to them, eager to congratulate the winners.”
“Everyone rushes down?”
“They may all win a prize,” said Rehan. “Sometimes the Sheikhs are very generous. Like the great Oprah.”
A new image dominated all of the monitors, across which flashed first a purple, than an orange, and then a blue-blanketed camel, none of the three belonging to the Saudi. The hollers and applause that had been gradually building now peaked in a raucous crescendo, a final outburst of excitement that expired to a murmur and the uniformed sounds of an exodus from the seating area above.
“This way,” said Rehan, leading Cameron and Pepe to the back of the concession space. Once free from the cavernous echo of the interior the midday drew new calm. Eyes widened and jaws slacked, Cameron and Pepe attempted to refresh their hearing. The space not enclosed by the concession area was used for private parking, which extended to the further portion of the grandstands and wrapped around to access the racetrack. The palatial back of the grandstands opened out into an oasis of precious green lawn and palm trees, the centerpiece of which was a large round pool fountain, an aesthetic bridge to the outside parking area beyond.
“I don’t think I have ever seen so many Maybachs and Mercedes at once,” said Cameron. “This place looks like a dealership.”
“Billboard included,” said Pepe, referring to the oversized digital monitor mounted above the parked cars.
Rehan was not fazed, “The camel minders wait for their camel to cross the finish line so they can escort him off the track. The trainer will be with the four-by-four leaving your man to come through here. Everyone else will be trackside with the winners for some time.”
“You’re sure of that?” asked Cameron.
“His highness Sheikh Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum was a winner today, so he will be greeting admirers. Everyone will be lining up to congratulate him. His highness is very generous.”
Pepe smirked, “The number one guy himself. You know I truly and honestly respect and admire him. From what I hear, on many accounts across sources, he really is a nice person, cares for his people, and for the reputation of his country.”
Cameron rolled his eyes, “I’ll take note of that.”
Rehan reached into his pocket and retrieved a black key fob, “I parked your Mercedes there. That Maybach over there belongs to the man from the Kingdom.”
“The white Maybach there?” asked Pepe.
“No,” said Rehan. “The black one.”
“Okay,” said Pepe. He held his hand out for the key fob and the boy pulled his arm away.
“Don’t worry,” said Cameron. He held two hundred dirham bills up and the boy slapped the key fob into his hand in exchange. Cameron grinned at Pepe. Pepe scowled and then peered up at the monitor.
“What are they smearing all over those camels?” asked Pepe.
“The heads and necks of the three top placers from the race are smeared with saffron paste before being paraded in front of the spectators,” said Rehan.
“Saffron,” Pepe glanced back at Cameron, “saffron is expensive, oui?”
“I believe the winning camels are ceremoniously doused in turmeric,” said Cameron, “essentially low quality saffron.”
Pepe grunted then shifted his eyes past Cameron’s shoulder. The Saudi and his driver, a giant of a man, were walking along the far edge of the parking structure toward the black Maybach. The Saudi was speaking on his mobile phone and had not yet noticed Cameron and Pepe near the concessions entrance. “There he is,” said Pepe, “right on time. Good job little one. Get along now.”
“Call my mobile if you need anything else,” said Rehan, then he slipped past the two men back through the entranceway.
“Call his mobile,” said Cameron.
“Don’t worry, I have his number. Things are different here you know.”
Cameron pursed his lip, “I guess, you ready?”
Pepe nodded, “Yeah, let’s go.”
* * * * *
Chapter 25
Al Marmoom Camel Racetrack, Dubai
Cameron and Pepe sauntered across the aisle of the parking area to the black Maybach that Rehan had told them belonged to the Saudi. As there were at least three other black Maybachs in this small section of the structure alone, there was a chance that the boy may have been mistaken.
The Saudi and his driver were steps away before they realized that Cameron and Pepe were waiting beside the Maybach to greet them. The Saudi said something into his mobile that they could not hear and then slipped the phone into his bag. He then gazed at Pepe with a closed smile, a smile of contentment and satisfaction.
“Ahlan wasahlan,” said the Saudi.
“Ahlan feek,” said Pepe.
“I honestly did not think I would see the two of you so quickly.”
“You mentioned you needed an answer after the race,” said Pepe.
The Saudi clasped his hands together in front of his chest, “So I did.”
Cameron took one half step forward, “How was the race by the way.”
The corners of the Saudi’s mouth dropped. He slowly faced Cameron.
Cameron continued, “I mean, you didn’t even place did you?”
The Saudi let both of his eyes briefly rest shut and then reopen, “No I did not. My robot did not respond accordingly.”
“Yeah, funny things electronics,” said Cameron. He reached into his thobe and removed a small object, which he then tossed to the Saudi.
The
Saudi opened his clasped hands enough to catch the object, “What is this?”
“Just a piece of electronics.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You see I know why you are running out of here so quick. I mean ahead of everyone else.” Cameron raised his hand and extended his finger, an insult alone, and then he began to wave his finger, a further insult. “You made a wager didn’t you, and you lost that wager.”
“How do you know?” asked the Saudi.
“Oh I know,” Cameron nodded at Pepe, “tell him.”
“He knows,” said Pepe.
“You made a huge bet that you cannot cover,” said Cameron.
“You do not know what you are talking about. Gambling is forbidden here,” said the Saudi.
“Maybe so, maybe so.”
“No maybe. Forbidden, I am no fool.”
“I have a feeling that you are in a position to make a deal and give us Abbo,” said Cameron, “and that little piece of electronics tells me so.”
“What are you saying? What is this?” The Saudi held the small piece up, a black plastic cube with small pins protruding from one side.
“That there is the device, or like the device that tells me you are in trouble. Or maybe, that is the device or like the device that tells your camel he is in trouble.”
The Saudi’s eyes now pierced Cameron. “Did you tamper with my robot?”
“Doesn’t matter, you lost and you owe and we are the only friends you have,” said Cameron.
Pepe smiled at the Saudi, “What do you say we take a moment. Things have changed from half an hour ago. Our mutual friend will not be happy with you. Maybe you see things our way now.”
The Saudi closed his eyes briefly again, “Perhaps you’re right. Meet me tonight.” From his bag, he retrieved a card. “Here, call this number this evening and I will tell you where I can meet you.”
“That’s not necessary,” said Cameron. “All we need to know is how to get to Abbo and your problems and our problems are solved.”
The Saudi composed himself and for the first time signaled his driver to step forward.
“Call me,” said the Saudi. “We will eat, start over.”
Cameron took another step forward, “I would rather --,”
The Saudi threw up his hand in a gesture for Cameron to stop and the driver slipped his hand into his thobe and revealed the top half of a submachine gun.
Cameron threw his hands up and stepped back, “Okay, okay. Dinner then.”
“Dinner then,” said the Saudi.
Cameron and Pepe stepped from behind the Maybach to allow the Saudi into his car without further discussion. The luxury car backed out of the parking space.
“What was that electronic thing you gave him?” asked Pepe.
The car slowly moved past the two men. Cameron and Pepe smiled, offered a gentle wave, and then bowed their heads at the dark tinted windows of the Maybach.
“Part of the electric eye sensor from the concession entrance. I figured that would throw him.”
“Clever. I believe you succeeded.”
“Thank you, I think so too,” said Cameron, he lifted the key fob Rehan had given him and tapped a button. The taillights of the Mercedes flashed.
“You know,” said Pepe. “He is going to try to make a deal with Abbo to trade us for his debt.”
“Well he thinks he is,” said Cameron. “We are about to talk him out of doing such a foolish thing.”
* * * * *
Chapter 26
Al Marmoom Camel Racetrack, Dubai
Cameron let the Mercedes idle in the shaded entrance of the parking structure as he and Pepe watched the Saudi’s Maybach follow the service road out of the Al Marmoom Camel Racetrack. When the Maybach reached the first grandstand near the complex edge, Cameron accelerated into the sunlight.
Pepe leaned over the front seat, “How far do you want to follow him?”
“Not far,” said Cameron. “Clear of the racetrack, before the Dubai Highway.”
“How about that stadium over there, behind us? The entrance is on the left, right before the Highway 77 ramp.”
Cameron glanced into the rearview mirror. “You want to get him into that large stadium back there?”
“That’s the Sevens rugby stadium. The place was empty when we came in.”
“Sounds good,” said Cameron. “Hold tight.” They turned toward the Alain-Dubai road. “This will only take a minute.” The engine revved as Cameron punched the pedals, shifting to a higher gear.
To reach Dubai Highway, Highway 77, vehicles turned right out of the racetrack complex onto the Al Marmoom service road, traveled the opposite direction of the highway a few hundred meters, and then turned to cross the parallel two-lane Alain-Dubai road, properly Highway 66, to reverse back.
The Maybach would be turning onto Highway 66 in seconds and driving directly back toward, and then passing the Mercedes. If Cameron’s timing was correct he would be turning right onto the service road at the precise time the Maybach exited, giving him the opportunity to catch up before his quarry turned back. Cameron’s timing was most always correct. He evaded out of habit rather than necessity. Providing an evading pursuit out on this stretch of road really did not matter. The black Mercedes Cameron was driving could have been any one of the many from the parking structure or on the highway. The only vehicles more numerous than the luxury sedans this far from the city were the myriad of high-end four-by-fours.
In less than a minute, the Mercedes was on Highway 66 behind the Maybach and closing fast.
“Are we clear?” asked Pepe.
“Not another car on the road,” said Cameron.
“This will be like the Algarve job then?”
“Right, I will pinch the quarter and you --,”
“Close the deal.”
“Viva Legionne,” said Cameron.
Pepe responded, “The Legion is our strength.”
The driver of the Maybach could not have known what was happening until too late, if he ever realized at all. Cameron’s years of training and experience made the deadly task effortless in execution, and essentially that is what the maneuver was, an execution. In a country notorious for reckless speeding the driver of the Maybach most likely took no notice of the black Mercedes rapidly approaching from behind to pass on his right. He probably could have responded better than to jerk the steering wheel to the left when the black car cut him off by too quickly moving into his lane, had his head not been removed from his body by two gun blasts from the other vehicles rear window. Odds are he never saw Pepe or the muzzle flash, both appearing in the brief instance that the corner of the Maybach’s windscreen aligned with the back seat of the Mercedes. Cameron was actually surprised as well. The maneuver anticipated bulletproof glass and was meant to jar the driver into a wheelhouse jerk of the steering wheel. Despite the overkill, the Maybach went exactly where Cameron and Pepe had wanted, a billiard ball to Pepe’s bullet cue, right into the stadium side pocket. One thing that Cameron and Pepe had not anticipated was that there was no exit to the Sevens rugby stadium from their far lane. This portion of the Alain-Dubai road was a proper multi-directional highway split by a median. Fortunately, there were no dividers of any kind, so coupled with luck, the Maybach made the journey across the median, over the other lane, and onto the Sevens Stadium service road.
Cameron spun the Mercedes around and crossed the median to follow their target. The Maybach traveled a few hundred meters toward the stadium, eventually slowed, and then finally came to a full stop.
“He’s going to run,” said Pepe, again leaning over the front seat, his handgun dangling in his clutch.
“They always run,” said Cameron. “That was an amazing shot.”
A light grunt was the only sound Pepe made.
Mere meters away the rear door of the Maybach flung open and the Saudi awkwardly poured himself out of the car.
“There he is,” said Cameron. Cameron tapped the accelerator t
o shorten the tedious task of apprehending the Saudi.
“Oui,” said Pepe, “please make this quick. He is tripping over his thobe. Very pitiful.”
The Mercedes swerved up next to the Saudi. Pepe swung open the rear door in front of the man. The Saudi, his pristine white thobe now sprayed bright crimson, threw up both of his arms and stumbled backward, then dropped to his knees.
“Calm down,” said Pepe.
The Saudi veered up at Pepe and then projected thick vomit onto the asphalt.
“Oh, that is disgusting,” said Pepe. “Listen, I promise you I will not shoot. See I give the gun to my friend.”
Cameron reached up behind his head to take the handgun from Pepe.
“Are you sure?” asked the Saudi, his face also speckled with bright red spatter.
“Very sure, now get in before I change my mind.”
The Saudi moved toward the Mercedes, slowly at first, and then scampered into the backseat with Pepe, perchance for safety.
“Excuse me,” said Pepe, as he reached over the man to close the door trying not to rest his own thobe against the blood of the Saudi’s.
“We all in?” asked Cameron.
“Oui,” said Pepe. “Uh, take us around the back of the stadium where we can talk in private.” He furrowed his brow to the Saudi, “Relax we are only going up here a bit. Maybe we should buckle you in.”
* * * * *
Chapter 27
Sevens Rugby Stadium, Dubai
Cameron glanced into the Mercedes rearview mirror. The Saudi had undergone a metamorphosis, caustic and threatening at the track, he had become something other.
The Saudi rested his eyes closed, letting his face and jaw go helplessly lax. He appeared ill, his facial pallor accentuated by brilliant crimson spatter. He drew in a deep breath through his nose that did not give rise to his chest, his body rejecting the cooler air of the Mercedes. His full upper body quivered.
“He’s going to wretch again,” said Cameron.
“No,” said Pepe in a soft voice. “No, he is calming. Go ahead and breathe.”
The Somali Deception Episode II (A Cameron Kincaid Serial) Page 3
