Sudden Deception

by Judith Price

  “We're here to meet with Frank Wells.” Jill said before he buzzed them in.

  More security guards manned the embassy anteroom —it looked like one you would find at an airport. “Passports and mobile phones,” the Filipino guard was curt. They obliged by placing their mobiles and passports in the tray before walking through the metal detector. The guard locked their stuff into one of the several dozen small compartments on the wall, and handed Jill the key.

  “Frank Wells,” Jill said to the receptionist through a slot in the bulletproof glass. “He's expecting us.” They signed in, were buzzed through a door, and had to wait several seconds for it to close before a second door opened into the embassy offices. A casually dressed woman, whose glasses slid up and down her nose greeted them crisply, “Please follow me, Miss Oliver.”

  She led them though a series of corridors, and finally into a large office with floor-to-ceiling windows covered with metal blinds; it was brightly lit by florescent lights.

  A youngish-looking man with red hair sat at one end of the table. He was dressed in blue jeans and a green golf shirt that that sported an alligator logo stitched over the top left breast.

  “I'm Frank.” He stood, reached out to shake their hands, and gestured for them to have a seat before offering them a glass of water from the jug sweating on the table. He sat down again, glanced at his laptop, then looked back up at Jill.

  “Thanks for meeting us so late Frank,” Jill offered.

  “I just got back from the airport and was wrapping up a rather long report when I heard from Eric. I read the brief he sent me about you, Jill.” He smiled genuinely. “So you're a remote viewer. I've heard of this type of intelligence. Actually, to be honest, I've read quite a lot about it. Ever heard of Ewin Sands?”

  Jill nodded. “Yeah, he's a pioneer in the field of RV.”

  “I thought they called it virtual viewing now?” Frank replied. Jill shrugged. “Eric says you're in Dubai because of information GSG gave you. Is that right?”

  “Yeah, David and Stan Brown,” Leila piped in.

  “David is my husband.” Jill said, then recounted the highlights of her search for David. Including her misadventures in Afghanistan, the Chechens that were chasing her, and what Zayed had told them about Grozny. Jill watched Frank for a reaction or hint of what he might be thinking. He was clearly listening, but his relaxed body language reflected mild disinterest until Jill said, “I think all of this is somehow tied to Operation Silhouette and Ochrana, but I haven't been able to connect the dots yet.”

  “What did you say?” Wells sat a little more upright, and seemed to stiffen a bit.

  Leila repeated the words back to him. His eyes shifted to her for a split second. “Sorel,” he said, looking back at his computer screen. “Leila Sorel.” He tapped on the computer keys and without looking at them said, “Where did you ladies hear these terms?”

  Jill waited for him to make eye contact before she said, “In one of my remote viewing.”

  Frank leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “What exactly was in the viewing?” This seemed more of a demand than a question.

  “Well, in my first viewing I saw what seemed to be a group of men meeting in secret for some reason. They were discussing controlling the Russian oil. And after what Zayed told us, it makes sense that it might have something to do with Grozny. In my second viewing there was a man, who I believe may be Stan Brown, buying uranium from a guy who looked very much like named Petrovich.”

  “We believe they're going to use Operation Silhouette as a ploy,” Leila added. “You do know what Operation Silhouette is, right, Frank?”

  Wells gave her a sharp look and circled his hand for her to continue. “Go on.”

  “We think Operation Silhouette and Ochrana are related, and we think Stan Brown now has the uranium in his possession. Well, maybe not on him personally. That would be unlikely I think,” Jill finished and waited to see Well's reaction.

  He said nothing, just stared at them blankly. He was thinking, but Jill couldn't figure out by his body language exactly what. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the crumpled napkin. “We think whatever is going on has to do with this.” She flattened the napkin on the dark wood table.

  It only took a nanosecond for a wave recognition to race across his face. “Where'd you get this?” Wells sat up a little too fast.

  “When I was in Kushka, Afghanistan. I found a schematic like this. It was in Russian or Chechen maybe, and it was in the process of being translated in my office back in Tucson.”

  “That’s before your goons showed up and confiscated it,”. Leila said snidely.

  “My goons?” Wells parroted.

  “As in CIA,” Leila answered. “They took the schematic before Jill could have it translated.”

  “I see. Was this schematic the only one you found? Were there others?” His red sideburns moved as he ground his jaw.

  “Why would the CIA confiscate the schematic Jill found?” Leila demanded softly.

  “Well, Miss Sorel, based on your security level, I'll give you two words: It's classified.”

  Leila glared at him. He ignored her.

  He looked back at the screen and then to Jill. “And as for Stan Brown, Miss Oliver, I highly doubt this story of yours is accurate.”

  Leila jumped up, “Come on, Jill, this asshole is wasting our time.”

  “Now, now, Miss Sorel,” Wells was smug. “In Dubai you can be arrested for insulting behavior.” Leila turned around flipped him the bird and stormed out the door. Jill picked up the napkin from the table, stuffed it back in her pocket and followed her.

  “That guys a jerk-off,” Leila huffed minutes later as the taxi they were in swerved around a roundabout. Jill kept her mouth shut. She was too deep in thought to worry about Wells. He didn't believe Jill's theory either. First GSG, then Eric, and now this guy. Who was she kidding? Maybe she was off on her viewings. After all, they had been her first since McGregor. How accurate could they actually be? Jill began more than ever to second guess her gift. Second guess herself. Maybe she did interject her thoughts and feelings into what she viewed. She had gotten the Burj Khalifa building right, but who wouldn't think of the world’s tallest tower when they were going to Dubai? For a moment Jill felt stupid.

  She reached into her pant leg pocket and pulled out a scrap of saturated paper. “What are you doing, Jill?” Leila queried.

  Jill squinted at the note, found the number and punched the keypad of her mobile. “Hello Nasser? This is Jill Oliver. Johan Rhein from GSG gave me your number. He said you could help me. Can we meet?” There was a pause. “When?” Another pause. “Okay,” and Jill closed the phone. She aimed her next words at the taxi driver, “Take us to Madinat Jumeriah.”

  “Where are we going now, Jill? Haven't you had enough for one night, for one week? No one believes us. Hell, I'm starting to wonder if I even believe us,” Leila eyes glossed over, as she gazed out the window.

  “It's the IB that Johan gave us, remember? We have to at least try.” But Jill was starting to feel the same hopelessness.

  Leila tilted her head back and yawned. “Better not be any Chechens, or I'm going to kick your ass this time.”

  The city seemed busier than it had been earlier, like a Middle East Vegas, it was more alive at night. Café-lined streets seethed a hodgepodge of colorful hordes.

  Madinat Jumeriah stood rock solid and imposing like an old Arabian fortress. Huge, thick, sand-colored walls with timber-like dowels protruding from the rooftop protected a labyrinth of shops, restaurants and bars within. A couple laughed as they stumbled out the front door of the high-end marketplace as Leila and Jill walked in.

  “Wow, impressive.” Leila whistled. The inner souk boasted high ceilings supported by massive darkly stained wooden beams. Little shops littered the sides of its maze of walkways. The heady smell of Arabic perfume mixed with incense wafted in the air. It was as if Jill and Leila were walking in an old Arabian market�
��but inside instead of out.

  “Where are we meeting this guy? And how will we recognize him?”

  “He said he'd be in an outdoor courtyard on the water canal, smoking shisha under a pergola. And Leila, follow my lead. I'm not going to ask him to find Stan at this point. All I care about is finding David.”

  “Good call, girlfriend,” Leila agreed. “And Jill, even if your viewings were accurate, I don't think anything can be blown up that fast. These things take time. Find David and then save the world. In that order!”

  Jill marveled at how Leila could think so nonchalantly about nuclear devices detonating. But what did she expect Leila didn't know what Jill knew.

  Jill scanned the surroundings. But what was she looking for? The Chechens were not here. There was no way they were followed. But Leila was right. She was paranoid and there was something about meeting this guy that felt seedy.

  They walked along the canals full of people partying. The turquoise water reflected glowing lanterns, and small boat taxis ferried passengers to the dock. The canal was lined with restaurants and bars. People everywhere. Music thrummed and competed with laughter. There were people everywhere. Jill and Leila threaded their way through the milling crowds, and eventually reached the pergola, which was about twenty-five feet in diameter. A young couple quietly chatted on the left side of the structure.

  To the right sat a well-dressed man in a shimmering gray suit. His long hair and flounced onto his shoulders. He was definitely an Arab. Jill profiled him as Leila inhaled sharply and whispered, “Man candy.”

  Jill gave her a sidelong glance as they approached the low cushioned seats. “Nasser?” Jill said.

  He sucked on the tip of the bong's coiled hose, causing the water therein to bubble and gurgle, then puffed out a ball of smoke and replied, “Miss Oliver, come, please sit down. “Shisha? It's apple,” and he offered her the tip of the hose.

  “No thanks,” Jill politely refused, trying not to snub him.

  “After you called, I spoke to Johan. He vetted you. But what he said about Miss Leila does not do you justice,” he said as he moistened his lips and looked appreciatively at Leila before returning his gaze to Jill. “How can I help you? Johan said you were looking for your husband. Is this what you need my help with?”

  Jill nodded. “Yes, Johan said he had intel that David was in Dubai. We need your help to find him. His name is David Brown and he's a journalist. I don't have a picture of him. Sorry.”

  Nasser sucked another hit then answered, “In my business we don't need pictures. All I need is cash. Dubai is rampant with spies, with contractors, with all sorts of people who are willing to help in such matters. But everyone wants a piece of the pie.”

  “How much?” Jill had expected his answer and counted out the five thousand from her money belt that Nasser had requested as a down payment.

  “You'll bring the other half when I give you his whereabouts.” His voice slick.

  “How long will it take you?” she asked. Leila was looking at him so intensely she was on the verge of gawking. Jill nudged her foot to break the spell.

  “I'll call you when I find him. Don't worry, Miss Oliver. If he's in Dubai it won't take me long,” he promised.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  21:13 Zulu Time—DUBAI, UNITED ARAB EMIRATES

  “I've made a decision,” Leila said as she kicked off her shoes in the swanky hotel room. “Arab men are yummy. I think I'll have one for dessert when this is all over.”

  It only took Jill ten minutes to shower. It was well after two a.m. now. Her hair was spiked neatly as she walked barefoot across the room and shoved the mouse, pulling the computer screen from sleep mode. “Nothing,” but Leila didn’t hear Jill as she was softly purring, now cocooned in the overstuffed bed.

  ***

  The sound of the phone ringing startled Jill alert. “Oliver,” Jill said instantly, still half-asleep. On the other bed Leila opened one eye and groaned.

  “Miss Jill,” Nasser whispered confidently. “I have what you need. Meet me back in the same place we met last night. Six p.m.” Then he hung up the phone. Jill looked over at the clock on the nightstand, which blinked 15:18. “Shit.” She whipped off the covers and jumped out of bed. Her movements were so fast it startled Leila awake.

  “What?” Leila grumbled.

  “Look at the time. Did we sleep all day?”

  “We didn't get back here until two, so by my calculation we still have a few more hours of sleep to make up.” Leila was sitting up now, her long hair tangled from the sheets.

  “That was Nasser,” Jill said excitedly as she headed towards the bathroom. “We have to meet him at six o’clock today. Same place.” She could hear Leila ask about David as she shut the bathroom door behind her. David. He hadn't mentioned David, but he did say he found what she had been looking for. Jill’s heart began to pound harder. Had he found him? She could only hope. But she wasn't up for hoping right now. She was done with that. She was done with caring about everyone, everything. After showering, brushing, and flushing, she exited the bathroom and tag teamed it to Leila.

  She sat in front of the computer screen and heard the familiar chime of … you've got mail. There was only one message and it was from Karine:

  No news on the schematic. Been hard to reach Eric, which is strange.

  Be safe, K

  “Enough of this already.” Jill marched over to her carry-on and grabbed her notebook and pouch. She thought she heard a faint “what?” from the bathroom. Jill didn't respond. She pushed the computer back, squashed down her notebook, and opened it to a blank page.

  She felt herself going fast after the five-minute chant. She was moving fast through an energy channel. And there she was … viewing.

  ***

  The bright light with a yellow hue lit up a ten-meter radius. Men were moving jerkily in the light. They were shouting. Shouting in Arabic. A silhouette of the fat man blocked most of the view.

  To the left of the silhouette knelt a man on the sand. His hands were tied behind his back. He was naked from the waist down. His head was lowered; his hair covered his face. The fat man said something in Arabic, and the bound man slowly lifted his head and looked in his direction. The look on Zayed's face was one of betrayal. Vile malice. His face was swollen and it was a wonder he could even see.

  The desert was pitch dark. The fat man tilted his head slightly as if to get a better look. It was just enough of a movement to see a head-shot of a man. A head-shot of David Brown. His look was one of forlorn. His face dawned a week of hair growth.

  The fat man jerked his head back when a man suddenly grabbed Zayed by the hair. David was no longer in view. The man tilted Zayed's head back and stuffed a mitt-full of sand down his throat. It only took a second before Zayed was engulfed in flames.

  ***

  “Jill, Jill!” Leila screamed as she shook Jill. “You okay? Jill! You're crying. What happened?”

  Jill blinked herself back from the bio-location and looked down to the page. There before her was a sketch of the Star of David. It had the same points, same folds as the one she drew before, but somehow it seemed smaller.

  “I, ah, I viewed,” Jill said, now a trembling mess.

  Leila took the pen from Jill and lowered it onto the page. Then she guided Jill to her bed and gently nudged her onto it. “Sit here. Tell me what you saw.”

  Jill sat and swallowed hard, trying to make sense of what she'd just viewed. “It was horrible, Lei. It was in a desert, at night. I connected so vividly I thought I was there standing, watching. I felt things I have never felt in a viewing before. This time I felt it, it was so strong.”

  “What? What did you feel?”

  “Evil.” Jill shivered and wiped her nose on the sheet.

  “Your hands are shaking.” Leila, now sitting beside Jill, clasped her hands around them. “Tell me, Jill, what did you see?”

  “I viewed men in fatigues. They were torturing a man.”

  �
�Chechens? Who was being tortured?” Leila held her breath.

  Jill recalled the military men. “They didn't look like Chechens. They almost looked… well, American. And the man being tortured was Zayed.” Jill’s voice grew angry. “They beat him so bad, Lei, I don't think he could see. His face was swollen. Then they stuffed sand down his throat and then lit him on fire.”

  “What the …?”

  “On fucking fire, Lei, like poof.” Jill’s hands shot up in the air.

  Leila didn't say anything. The shocked look on her face said it all.

  “The fat man was there again.” Jill’s teeth began to grit. “It was like he gave the order to kill Zayed. He spoke in Arabic.” Jill paused trying to summon the courage, trying to find the strength to continue the story. “That’s not the worst part, Leila. I saw David. I think the fat man was going to kill him next. I think Stan is going to have David tortured and beaten and then set on fire.” Jill jumped up frantically, moved fast to the desk, and smashed her arm across it. Her computer, notebook, and numbers flew across the room. Jill was hysterical now. With a sudden start she grabbed her notebook off the floor.

  “You see this,” she growled as she tried to rip her notebook in half. It was too thick. “And I can't do a Goddamn thing about it.” In frustration she pitched the notebook across the room. It smacked off the door and landed on the ground. Then she plopped down onto the chair, wrapped her arms around her head, leaned over, pressed herself hard down onto the desk, and sobbed.

  Leila walked over and put her hand on Jill's shoulder. Several minutes of Jill wailing passed before Leila handed Jill a cappuccino. The smell of coffee interrupted Jill's outburst and Jill lifted her head. Leila gave her a comforting look. “You okay?”

  Jill looked at her but all she could do was laugh. Snot ran from her nose as she grabbed a tissue and blew. “I guess that exorcist moment made the record books.”