The Hacker Who Becomes a Mafia-Consultant in the Caribbean After a Diamond Coup in Bangkok

by Stieve Adams

opening the window, sliding down on the small tile roof that is on top of the balcony below, jumping down to the ground and running towards the water.

  And do what? Swimming about them is not to mind, but when I see the hotel's watercraft I know what to do. I drag the scooter to the water, start it and speed up the sea.

  Water scooters are quick stuffing horses and I'm taking in the Arab boat, but it has a strong head and Jens is on board before I arrive. But before the tugboat has gotten up, I'm there and can quickly get on board. I'm used to it, it's the second time I'm embracing this boat from the ocean. They can only welcome you on board. That's what I think.

  "What the hell are you doing here?", Says Jens. "Björn, come here and throw this untouched shot overboard!". Björn is not late to help. I see that I do not have a chance, but in any case, I want to make an attempt to persuade.

  "But please," I try, "I just want to help, I've found both Björn and Jens ...". I will not come sooner before the habit of wasting me overboard. The tugboat gets off and I take back to the watercraft and take me to the landslide.

  But I go to the hotel for a long time and bark the porter to start with. It's no use right now, Jens had sneaked out. I continue to bleed and in a funny mood to the girls' rooms. I tap and soon Valerie will open.

  "But Him," she quits, "have you taken a bath already. Do not you have panties? Come and I'll warm you up. Poor little thing."

  Maria lay in bed, quite naked. They had got a double bed that they shared. Rather they shared bed with each other than letting the other share bed with me. I felt sorry for myself and really appreciated that they also felt sorry for me. Although it was not for the same reason.

  28. Muscat

  A confused advice followed. In any case, we had come to realize that it was Björn as Jens was waiting for. Uncertainly we felt snooping, we had helped Bjorn's help trace Jens in the middle of Sumatra's jungle. The tug boat was well owned by Björn who apparently left the quiet job in Singapore's port to assist Jens.

  Jens, on his part, felt that there were so many interested parties who could guess where the treasure was, so he would now make it safe for the insecure and take care of the jewels. Bjorn was an old polar who could be helpful. Strange that Jens did not trust us. We just wanted to. But the more that would be the more uncertain, the whole expedition became more and more people would have a share of the cake.

  How could we find out where they were going? It was unlikely they would take the tugboat over half the globe, it should have been enough adventurous to sail across the Indian Ocean from Indonesia to the Middle East. Certainly there was a Suez canal, but then the whole of the Atlantic? Certainly they might be able to do it, it would take a couple of weeks. And then they had a good boat to dive from, now the treasure was under water. We did not know anything about that.

  We invented our feelings in the Emirates, who could help us with this? Maria had an agent who might have contacts with the shipping industry. I could ask my friend Shejk Mohammed in passing. However, I would contact him to match delivery plans with regard to the delivery of computers.

  My friend The shejk was not impossible at all. His friendship with Jens was not deeper than promising to make contact with one of his many cousins who was port manager in Dubai. He returned after five minutes and announced that the tugboat was on his way to Muscat in Oman. Björn had sold the boat to someone in Oman and promised to deliver it to the customer in the port of Oman.

  "Then we go there and try again," suggests Valerie. "If I can meet Björn, I can confidently convince him that we can join a corner. Think of all the good contacts I have on Kitts, "she continues assertively.

  "Do you have your visa?" Maria asks practically.

  "Visa to Oman?" I ask stupidly. "Are they so strict between these countries."

  Maria had been there. Getting a visa was difficult, it would most likely happen before entering the Emirates. The border inspection was strict, all luggage were carefully examined. It took an hour for passengers in the regular regular bus to cross the border. Because we did not have a visa, just give up those thoughts.

  "You who have feelings among the beduins," says Valerie to Maria, "you could rent a couple of camels so we cross the border somewhere else. The boundary is long, so it's only to pass over at any suitable place. "

  "I would prefer Jeep," I say. My experience of using both modes meant that I would rather choose Jeep. "Then we do not need to mix any arab. We rent a Jeep and provide a map of the desert, there should be no problem. "

  "Do you know it's a mountain chain that is a couple of thousand feet high that we must cross before we get into Oman?". It is Maria who possesses the local skills. No I did not know that. Maria, who might have had contact with muddy individuals might be able to get tips on where we would sneak over the border.

  Maria disappeared for a few hours and came back with a white air-conditioned Mitsubishi Pajero 3000 with V6 engine. It was equipped for desert safaris, the main instrument, the compass, sat in the roof above the driver. In addition, the GPS had the help of the satellite to determine exactly where it was located.

  There was a kind of vehicle that was good in the emirate. If you wanted to take a shortcut outside the public road network, it was basically just to go through the desert. It was dusty and sometimes the sand was loose, but it was generally good to get that way. I had seen the desert rhyme Paris - Dakar at Eurosport, so I just knew what we were getting into.

  Pajeron was smaller than the big Jeeps the Sheikhs preferred, but can win the Desert Line, so it's enough for us too. Pajeron was equipped for a long journey through the desert, there were jeep dunks with gasoline and piles of water. The equipment featured boilers, tents, sleeping bags and much more.

  The equipment also belonged to Radja, a small Pakistani who had been a tourist guide in Muscat. He would show us the way across the border.

  "You are good at you," I celebrated Maria.

  "No cause," she answers with a big warm smile. Valerie looks mad at us.

  "Then we will go to Oman!".

  We take the usual road to Al Ain, the university city and the oasis in the middle of the desert on the border with Oman. Oman is spread in several places, besides Oman itself, there was a small enclave in Al Ain. Al Ain had previously been an oasis where everyone could easily rest. It lay in what is now Abu Dhabi, one of the emirates, but Oman did not want to let the oasis completely, they thought they also had certain ownership. In addition, the outermost horn to the Hormoz Strait belonged to Oman, but between them were parts of Sharjah and Fujarah.

  The Oman enclave in Al Ain went inside and out without seeing any boundaries other than road signs. But to get into real Oman and Muscat, that was a completely different thing.

  On the map we see that the road to Al Ain a longer distance goes fairly close and parallel to the border. Radja has nothing to spare for Oman residents, claiming that it is not difficult to cross the border if we follow his instructions. Omanians get work even if they are not qualified. A foreigner, like himself, may beautifully leave the country to give jobs to the natives. That's what happened, that's why Radja was angry and unhappy with Oman.

  The leader of the Sultanate Oman called the Sultan, unlike the Emirates leaders who called Emirates. Saudi Arabia was ruled by a king. The old Sultan kept Oman closed and kept the old way of life. The new sultan, who has ruled a few years now, has opened up for oil extraction, modernization and industrialization.

  A few miles before Al Ain, Radja tells us it's time to drive into the desert. He takes the steering wheel and steer east, initially over a sandy bush with little bushes here and there. As we approach the mountain range, we descend into a wadi, a flood without water, and follow it up through the mountains. Wadin becomes smaller and narrower, the terrain becomes steeper and increasingly impossible.

  Radja says I'll take care of the wheel and he will go out and recognize on foot. Here it is easy to drive on a rock and destroy the car. But the low gear is loaded, we rise on both sides
, the mountains rise several hundred meters. When we look up, we suddenly see some people interested in photographing and filming. Worrying, we ask what it may be.

  "A tourist bus only," says Radja, "no danger."

  The Jeep growls, however, moves on like a sloping hill in a staircase. I hold on to the wheel, the others hold on to other things all they can when the jeep thinks. I imagined that we would go around in big dunes, just like in the Dakar rally. But then it was not. When I commented on this to the girls, Maria said:

  "Just wait for mountain sand."

   Sadly I looked around but did not see anything that should worry me. Perhaps that made me even more nervous, being in a foreign country without a passport and visa, yet it seemed safe and inconvenient. It starts to go out and I can concentrate on slowing down and steering. Then the darkness drops quickly, the downward sun that I had in the rearview mirror falls below the horizon, and Radja stops the jeep and explains that this is the overnight stay.

  No problem, we have all the equipment with us, the weather is fine. The weather is always fine here, only a few times a year it rains. It sounds nice, I think and think of my own home tours. It may get a little cold at night, says Radja and recommend sleeping bags. The girls heat a cucumber dinner over a spirits and we all eat and drink and are in good mood. Although