“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.”
“Yup, your head was about to spin off.” Leila sat down on the other chair and put her hand on Jill's lap. “David's fine, Jill. We just heard from Nasser. He knows where David is. Besides, I don't think Stan speaks Arabic, do you?” That thought hadn't occurred to Jill because she was too busy having her own nuclear meltdown. “Besides,” Leila continued, “we just saw Zayed yesterday and he didn't look like he was going anywhere anytime soon. Maybe what you saw was not a viewing but like a premonition or something like that.”
“Yeah, or maybe I am just Goddamn losing it!” Jill’s thoughts haunted her. Maybe I lost my gift too. I lost pretty much everything after Matthew McGregor. My job at the FBI. Peace. And now David.
“What was David doing?”
“I only saw him for a second. I just saw his face. That stupid fat bastard's head was in the way. If only I could have dropped kicked his fat ass out of the way.”
Leila rolled her eyes.
“He looked weathered. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week or hadn't had a shower.” Jill conjured an image of David. That last day she saw him. That smile. The way he looked at her. The way he made her feel.
A warmth began to fill Jill. It consumed her soul so strongly, for the first time since David had been missing, she felt a hint of peace. Jill looked over at the clock and back to Leila. Then Leila said, “Come on, Jill. Let’s go meet Nasser. Let’s go find David.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The taxi smelled of curry and smelly feet. Jill reached over and put her hand on Leila's and mouthed the word 'Thanks'. Leila smiled back. She really was truly beautiful, both inside and out. They were only ten minutes into the trip when Jill's phone rang.
“Jill, it’s Eric. I wanted to call you myself. The police have Stan Brown in custody now. I just got the call. Got a pen?”
Jill motioned to Leila for a pen. “Yup,” Jill said as she steadied the small piece of paper on her lap.
“Call this number … you’ll be speaking to Colonel Mohamed Al Jaber. He’s with the Abu Dhabi police.”
“Abu Dhabi police?”
“Stan checked into the airport at Abu Dhabi.”
Jill recalled the giant octopus building. “Where was he going?”
“Georgia,” Eric responded. “Tbilis, to be exact.”
“Georgia in the US?” Jill queried.
“No, by Russia. It’s a sovereign state, former Russian … well sort of. Anyway, Jill, don't get too excited. I know what you're thinking. But they are only detaining him for potential money laundering and the UAE only cares if he's laundered through any of their banks. Nothing more. Mr. Jaber is expecting your call. He's agreed to speak to you. And Jill,” Eric’s voice warned, “don’t mention your remote viewing; that’s enough to land you in the clink over there.”
“They got Stan,” Jill announced as she closed the phone. She repeated what Eric had said. “I guess he's with the Abu Dhabi Police because he was apprehended in Abu Dhabi.”
“For what?” Leila asked.
“Potential money laundering. That's it. You'll never guess where he was flying to.”
“You mentioned Georgia in the US?”
“Nope, Georgia the country. It borders Russia,” Jill said.
“Oh God.”
“I got the number to a colonel at the police department.” Jill glanced at the time on the dash. “It's almost six. Let’s go see Nasser and then call the colonel.”
They had been sitting under the pergola for a while when Jill asked the waiter for the second time what time it was. “He's late almost by half an hour,” Leila complained. One thing about Leila—she was never late.
“Chickee, in the Arab world being on time is like forty-five minutes late. In our world being on time is early to an Arab.” But still Jill looked nervously around and as every minute ticked past, she fidgeted more.
“Your boot tapping is going to drive me up the friggn' wall.” Leila pushed hard on Jill's leg, forcing Jill to stop. The sun was almost down now and after the last pass by the waiter, it was 7:12 p.m.
“He's not coming,” Jill said, followed by, “What the …” Jill watched as three security guards approached the pergola. Jill tensed, but the officers didn't even look their way. They passed the pergola and headed down the canal to where a crowd was gathering.
“Excuse me, excuse me,” Jill said as they pushed through the crowd to follow after them, but they couldn't move past the wall of tourists.
“What’s going on?” Leila asked after tapping the shoulder of a man wearing an orange golf shirt.
“Appears someone drowned or something.” He sounded Spanish. Hearing this, Jill grabbed the sides of two people and plied her head through the wall of bodies. She gasped when she saw Nasser in a soaked brown velvet suit. His face was blue. The three guards stood there, not doing a thing to help him.
Without hesitation Jill pushed herself through the crowd and bent over Nasser. She put her ear to his mouth. Nothing. She put her hand on his chest. Nothing. She was about to begin resuscitation when he grabbed her arm, yanking her away from Nasser. He said something in Arabic and then, “What are you doing?”
“CPR.” Jill attempted to pull her arm from his grip.
He held on tight and said, “Are you a doctor? Do you have a certificate for medical practice here?”
“What? No,” Jill said, yanking her arm free. This time she pulled a little harder and pain jabbed her side.
“Then you cannot touch him. Understand.” He breathed Marlboro.
“But … but, I might be able to save him,” she pressed.
“Lady.” His teeth were tartared so bad his lips looked like they were getting stuck on them when he spoke. “It’s against the law to practice medicine without a certificate. Do you understand?”
It was at that moment Jill wanted to knee him in the groin, twist her back towards him, and flip him onto the ground before smashing her boot into his jaw. But a single voice interrupted her vision.
“Jill!” Leila called to her. Jill looked over at Leila and Leila shook her head no.
Well, the least she could do was spit in his face before she agreed. But she decided against that too. The security guard released Jill and they morphed back into the crowd.
“So they're going to just let him die?” Jill reasoned.
“Yup, same thing they do in Afghanistan. No good Samaritan laws there either.”
“But he was going to tell us where David is.” Jill abruptly stopped and turned to go back until Leila grabbed her by the shoulder and said no.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The Final Chapter
17:33 Zulu Time—ABU DHABI, UNITED ARAB EMIRATES
It was quiet at this time of night, and a bit too anti-climatic for Jill as they drove towards Abu Dhabi. She had called the police station at least seven times before she got an answer.
She was told that the colonel would see her, but not until after his nap which apparently ended at nine p.m. It was after nine o’clock now. Jill was also told that she would not be able to speak to Stan. They didn't have visiting hours like a jail in the US. Special permission would be needed, letters signed and stamped, reasons for visiting declared prior to approval. For Leila it was jus
t all too much bullshit and she'd rather watch TV than be included in a handshaking introduction meeting. After all, it would be repeated the next day anyway. She'd go then. For a moment Jill felt a tinge of envy knowing that Leila was comfortably wrapped in a blanket watching National Geographic in high definition.
The drive was uneventful as she sped along the highway. Jill admired the endless rows of bright streetlights that lit up the smooth pavement mile after mile. They drove fast on the Sheik Zayed highway, but it wasn't fast enough for some. Cruising at 160 km, which was the speed limit, they were still flashed by speeders in large white SUVs to move out of the way. Every time one kissed their ass, Jill thought of the Chechens.
She didn't know what to think of Nasser's drowning. Was it an accident? It was too coincidental, Jill thought. But her exhaustion was not allowing her to think straight. Then there were her viewings. How could her viewings have been so wrong? How could she allow McGregor to steal this too? Then she thought of where Stan was flying to. Georgia.
She only had about fifteen minutes to Google that before the concierge called announcing her limo’s arrival. Well, a car rental with a driver, not a limo really. It seemed that one had to book far in advance to hire a taxi to take you to Abu Dhabi.
Georgia made sense for Grozny. The Google results produced information that gave Jill some insight into what Zayed had told her. Zayed. Was he really in her viewing? She had tried to call the hospital but kept getting switched from one person to the other. None it seemed spoke any sort of recognizable English. She resigned herself to the fact that she would go there tomorrow and talk with him further. Find out more about Grozny.
Grozny was the capital of Chechnya and bordered Georgia. Georgia was between the Black Sea and the Caspian Sea. Wikipedia told her that in the past the US wanted to control the three-hundred-mile gap that separated the Ukraine and Kazakhstan, as it is today. The US had even set up a base in Poland to ensure close proximity in the region. The majority of the Russian oil flowed through the Caucasus Valley and the major pipeline through Grozny. Why was he going there? Jill looked out the window and pondered.
The endless days with little sleep were beginning to take their toll on Jill. The forty-minute drive to the Abu Dhabi prison, AL MUKALIM, almost lulled her to sleep. She tried to Google the prison but only got the warning icon that blocked any computer in the UAE from viewing the website; this made her wonder if she shouldn’t have come alone.
On the top of the walls of the grand white reinforced cement fence sat coils of barbed wire Jill couldn’t help noticing as the limo pulled up to the gate. The guard came and asked her for ID. The gate lifted and the long black Mercedes went through.
Inside the prison was a large reception area. Two men and one woman sat behind it. They were dressed in baby green uniforms with maroon berets snuggly tilted on their heads. Each of their shoulders sported branded maroon appliqués with a single shiny gold star. The woman had a matching headscarf under the beret and was tucked tightly inside her collar. After more ID checks and stern nods, the woman officer stood up and with a no-nonsense gesture, motioned Jill to follow her.
It was a typical interrogation room. Four metal chairs and a table that was squashed against the double-paned glass. A man wearing the same police uniform sat at the table speaking loudly into a mobile phone. On the metal table sat an ashtray full of cigarette butts. He didn't acknowledge her. His arm just moved frantically in the air shouting into the phone. Jill decided whoever he was speaking in Arabic to was on the receiving end of a rant. Awkwardly she waited in the room for quite some time before the locked door creaked open.
A tall Arab police officer walked through. He was followed by a small Indian servant carrying a tray of tiny cups and a carafe of coffee. “I took the pleasure to order you some coffee,” the man's tongue rolled. “It’s Turkish, the best.” He smiled wide in Jill’s direction, showing his teeth.
He leaned in and poured the tar coffee into two small cups, passed one to Jill, and sat back. “I hope you found your way to the prison easily. But I’m afraid you came too soon.” He leaned forward into Jill’s personal space and his expression went from host of the year to menacing disregard. “We don’t like foreigners telling us how to do our jobs here. We have our own way of dealing with these problems. We do not like when people attempt to make us look bad, our country look bad. We take care of things in ways the Western world would deem to be harsh. It keeps crime down and it works.” The metal chair pinched on the cement as he sat back and took a gulp of his coffee.
Jill sat quietly, noticed the two shiny gold stars on the officer's appliqué and tried to figure out what this man's problem was. Suddenly she felt like she was the one being interrogated.
“I’ve been told you know this man Stan.” His eyes began to glare again. “How do we know you are not working with him?” His fist slammed hard on the metal table. His pinky ring gave a sharp clang when he hit the table again. Jill started to feel uneasy and wondered if it was such a brilliant idea to come alone to a prison in the Middle East. Let alone being a woman.
There was a slight tremble in her voice before she held her ground. “I’m here on behalf of the US Government.” Jill realized that was probably not the best thing to say, but it was too late.
“Khalas,” the other police officer shouted. He had two shiny stars and a gold emblem that looked like a falcon on his appliqué. He gave a 'shush' hand gesture to the subordinate and looked back to Jill. He introduced himself as the colonel Jill had intended to meet with and said, “The US are our friends, Habibi.” He spoke sternly to the other officer. “Why do you speak to such a beautiful woman like that?” He looked back at Jill and grinned a placating smile.
A man in a dishdasha walked into the room, intruding. He spoke to the colonel and the colonel pointed in a direction clearly giving him a location. A little Indian servant walked back into the room carrying a filing box and placed it on the table in front of the colonel. Then another police officer came in and laid a file in front of him. The colonel flipped it open, read the page and signed it, before the officer left the room.
He then looked at Jill. “We're holding Mr. Brown as a favor to your government. We can hold him as long as we feel necessary. Well, long enough to determine if any crime has been committed in the UAE. But my preliminary report says there is nothing to hold him for. The contents of his briefcase are all here in the box and he had no weapons.” Jill looked at the box and was about to say something when the colonel's mobile phone rang again. She looked at the other police officer who he was busy texting on his mobile phone.
A few minutes passed and Jill's annoyance grew. Courtesy my ass! She turned toward the hall when she heard people approaching. Two men stopped in front of the door. Stan saw her and although Jill's stomach jumped he didn't seemed surprised. It was almost as if he knew she was coming. He stood next to the police officer— the one that had just left the room five minutes ago. Stan's orange coveralls bulged at his waist. His cheeks were flushed a light rose color. He looked at Jill and smirked.
Stan looked over at the subordinate officer and said. “Assalamu alaikom.” Peace be with you.
“Wa alaikom assalam.” Peace be with you as well.
“Kaif haluk?.” How are you?
“Zain wa anta?” Fine and you?
“Bkhair Alhamdulillah.” Fine thanks be to God.
Jill's jaw dropped. Stan could speak Arabic. Shit!
The smug look from Stan lasted for only a few seconds, it faded fast when he saw the filing box on the table. Jill thought she read a hint of anxiety on his face before his stance shifted. He didn't have handcuffs on. That bastard's getting the VIP treatment. She looked towards the box and then back at Stan. The vile look he gave her physically changed the shape of his face. Evil flickered in his beady eyes.
The colonel, who was still talking loudly into the phone, looked over at Stan scowling at Jill and dismissed the young officer with a curt wave. It took all of Jill's strengt
h not to run after him, grab him hard, and twist his Goddamn head off.
“My apologies for the interruption. I have many problems that give me a headache.” he explained.
Jill didn't give a shit. Then she did something she had never done before. She pulled a Leila. She tilted her head and with a flirting smile, asked, “What's in the box?” The words almost purred out of her lips.
“Not much, I have been told. Would you like to have a look?” the handsome young colonel flirted back.
The other police officer protested in Arabic. The colonel showed his subordinate the palm of his hand. Then he reached in the box and pulled out a bright yellow file folder, placed it in front of himself, and began thumbing through it. It was all show. “Looks like some drawings and a contract of some sort. I think this is normal for a businessman.” His tongue curled. “We don't normally let people see this stuff but since you are a US Marshal …” He looked at her and smiled. “And one of such beauty. Why not!”
He closed the folder, twirled it with his finger, and pushed it in front of Jill. Jill looked down at the folder and she could hear the colonel rummaging through the box as she flipped open the file.
She stared at the second last page and blinked as if adjusting her eyes to what they were reading. The impact of it hit her hard. Her world began to quake. To Jill it felt like large pieces of sandpaper scraping down her face. The room was spinning now. She tried to focus, tried to understand what she was reading. The impact of the deception was like being drop-kicked in the gut. She could see the colonel talking to her, but what was he saying? He was pointing to a Ziploc bag on the table.
Her ears shrilled a cacophony of bells when Jill picked it up and moved the things that were in the plastic with her fingers. A Rolex watch that seemed too big for any man’s wrist. Keys. For what, she did not know. A ring.
Grayness crept around her eyes attempting to shut her down. She pinched the ring in the plastic bag and looked at the inscription she had engraved inside the gold and silver inlaid circle for David: “To Eternity.” Then all she could hear was someone screaming. Someone was crying, and a split second later she realized it was her. No recognition, no sense. Dizziness. Sounds muffled. Darkness.
Jill Oliver Deception Thrillers Page 26
