Gordita Conspiracy

by Lyle Christie

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “You’re welcome. Do you need anything else?”

  “Perhaps a massage and a manicure,” I said, joking.

  “Shall I call the masseuse and the manicurist?”

  “Umm—what?”

  “Did you want a massage and a manicure?”

  “No, I was kidding. Do you really have them on staff?”

  “Of course.”

  “Sweet Santa’s gift sack! Where the hell am I?”

  “Emirates Air first class, obviously.”

  “First class indeed.”

  She departed, and I decided instead to open up my laptop and glance over Farid’s file one last time. I had another look at his daily schedule, hopeful I might have missed something, but such was not the case. I groaned as I realized it was going to be a hell of a challenge just making contact, let alone having any time for a meaningful conversation. In spite of outward appearances, the United Arab Emirates was still basically a closed society that was controlled by the wealthy Arab families who had lived there for generations. Many a foreigner had been lured to this desert paradise under false pretenses and promises of great wealth only to become an indentured servant to the powers that be, so God only knew what life was actually like for Farid.

  The last page detailed my contact in Dubai. His name was Bill Reigns, and he allegedly worked for the State Department but, in truth, worked for the CIA. I wasn’t exactly sure what his connection to the Topless Agenda might be or how much he knew about this operation, but I was happy to have some help from someone who knew this part of the world. Even better was the fact that he would be picking me up at the airport, and, thankfully, they had included a photo, which showed him to be around fifty, with a full head of grey hair and the weary look in his eyes of a clandestine existence. A lifetime of keeping the secrets of your country was hard on the soul and would always show in the fine worry lines around the eyes.

  A beep sounded, then the pilot’s voice came over the intercom, informing us that we would be landing at Dubai International Airport in thirty minutes, which would put us on the ground at 11:35 a.m. local time. I deleted the PDF file on my desktop, closed my laptop and dropped the flash drive into the remaining liquid in my glass, making sure it was thoroughly inundated with water and unlikely to ever divulge its secrets again. Of course, I would burn it once I reached my hotel just to be safe. As I pulled it from the water, Asma appeared to take my empty bottle and trash.

  “So, I’m curious—what happened with the asshole in the bar?” I asked.

  “He’s being held in isolation at the back of the plane.”

  “Good, he was a real prick.”

  “Yeah, but unfortunately he is a powerful prick and happens to be related to the royal family of Dubai.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Afraid so, which means we’ll likely face some kind of official reprimand or fine for the incident.”

  “That sucks quite a few royal dicks if you ask me.”

  “It does—welcome to the United Arab Emirates.”

  Thirty minutes later I was on the ground and waiting in line with Olivia at customs. In front of us was the business couple who had been sitting behind me on the plane. They got their passports stamped and moved on, allowing us to approach the counter to meet the stern-faced immigration officer. He looked at my passport for a moment, then me, scrutinizing my face before speaking.

  “What is the purpose of your trip to the United Arab Emirates?”

  “Business and a little sightseeing on the side.”

  He scowled, stamped my passport, and waved me through. A moment later, Olivia joined me and we walked into what was by all accounts, a pretty fucking spectacular airport—but this being a wealthy oil producing nation, I would have expected nothing less. It was large and felt more like a mall with its open central plaza that stretched up at least five stories and bustled with people from all over the world. In the course of walking twenty feet, we passed Europeans, Asians, Indians and Africans. In a challenging world economy, people followed the jobs, and right now there were apparently plenty in the United Arab Emirates to keep them coming.

  Olivia, a veteran traveler to the Emirates, led me to baggage claim, where we grabbed a spot next to the conveyor. It began to spin and baggage started sliding down to the edges. My bag was second in line, which was a little surprising. In twenty years of airline travel, my bag had never come out in the first fifty, let alone five, and I realized that traveling first class meant that even your luggage was treated better. No sooner had I picked it up, than a man called out my name, and I turned to see my contact, Bill Reigns, standing a few feet away and looking every bit like the man I had seen in the picture. He walked over and held out his hand.

  “I’m Bill Reigns, nice to meet you.”

  “I’m Finn, Tag Finn, and this is my friend Olivia, who I met on the plane.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Bill said, appearing to like what he saw.

  “I’ve got a car waiting right outside as soon as you’re ready.”

  I turned to Olivia, and we exchanged a brief hug and a fairly long, interesting kiss, which elicited a smile from Bill.

  “You’ve got my information, so give me a call if you think you can make it to the party,” she said.

  “I’ll try.”

  I turned and followed Bill outside into the pleasantly warm midday sun. It was easily in the high seventies and would climb into the eighties later in the afternoon, and it felt good to at last breathe actual fresh air after having been on a plane for the last fifteen hours. At the curb in front of us was a large white four-door Mercedes sedan, and the driver, a clean shaven and fit looking man likely in his middle twenties, stepped out and took my suitcase while Bill and I sat in the back. The driver placed it in the trunk then slid in behind the wheel and pulled the car out into the bustling airport traffic.

  “Can we speak freely in front of your rookie biatch?” I asked.

  “Absolutely, though you might have to explain some of the bigger words.”

  The driver shook his head slowly side to side.

  “That joke just keeps getting better and better,” he said.

  “Don’t mind young Ted. He’s just a little insecure about his Yale education.”

  “I’m not, actually,” he said.

  “Having to say you aren’t is a sure sign you are,” I responded.

  Bill and I shared a little laugh at my quip.

  “Perfect, now I’m getting shit in stereo.”

  “Afraid so, my young smuggle. So, Bill, what’s the plan?”

  “I assume you’ve already read your mission brief, so now it’s just a matter of figuring out a way to get you close to Farid.”

  “Yeah, it doesn’t look all that easy from what I’ve read.”

  Bill thought for a moment, a wrinkle forming across his brow.

  “What was that party that your lady friend was talking about?”

  “Oh, it’s some kind of celebration at the royal palace. Her law firm negotiated a major contract to upgrade the computers here.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Why is that?”

  “State affairs are a big deal, and everybody who is anybody is usually there. If your friend Farid happens to be going, it could end up being your best opportunity to meet with him.”

  “And least of all, I’m always up for a party.”

  “I’ll look into it and see what I can find out. Meanwhile, let’s check you into your hotel, get some lunch, and then go on a tour of the city.”

  “Sounds good. Am I staying at a hotel with decent accommodations? Because, it’ll be pretty hard to compare to Emirates Air’s first class.”

  “Oh—I think you’re going to be reasonably comfortable,” he said, with a knowing smile.

  We left the Dubai International Airport and merged onto a large freeway heading southeast, where we passed a resort and golf course to our right and soon crossed a bridge that spanned the Dubai
Creek. In my opinion it was easily big enough to be called a river or even an inland waterway but maybe people who built islands in the shape of the world’s continents thought differently. We continued on past endless skyscrapers, some of which were finished, while others were still under construction. It was crazy to see such an enormous amount of development, and I had to wonder if they had enough people to actually fill all those buildings. The native population was only around eight million, so they had to be counting on a lot of foreign interest. But, with the oil drying up, I suppose they didn’t have any choice. Real estate, commerce, tourism, and, theoretically, cold fusion were their last hope of keeping this dry desert nation alive and kicking.

  About thirty minutes later, we exited the freeway and headed northwest towards the water then turned left and followed the shore. A little less than a mile later, I could see the illustrious Burj Al Arab Hotel resting on its man-made island just off the beach. It was quite a sight to see in person, as it stood 1053 feet tall and was designed to resemble a billowing sail with its third and most prominent side arching forward towards the shoreline like a massive spinnaker from a yacht’s mast.

  “I wouldn’t happen to be staying there would I?”

  “Of course. You’re here on business, and this is where any respectable businessman would stay.”

  “Honestly, I’m not that respectable.”

  “Well, then hopefully you can pretend.”

  We pulled up to the hotel, and a young man, likely Indian, opened my door and welcomed me to the Burj Al Arab. I stepped out and joined Bill in the main foyer, and I could only describe the experience as equal to that of the first time that I walked into Disneyland as a child. This was a magical kingdom all right, and it was adorned in a cornucopia of bold primary hues of blue, gold, and red, and it was certainly a far cry from the rather plain hotels in the United States and Europe. But, what really set it apart was the sheer opulence of its architectural style and interior design. Every inch of wall had texture and color, and even accessing the main level required boarding an escalator that traveled up past a massive fountain bordered on either side by floor to ceiling aquariums.

  We stepped off the escalator and live piano music filled the sir as we entered a great cavernous space that stretched up for several hundred feet and was reminiscent of the inside of the great cathedrals of Europe. This place, however, was bright and cheery, and, instead of having endless rows of wooden pews, had white rounded walls, sparkling gold pillars, and a polished yellow and blue marble floor that was filled with brightly colored leather furniture. We continued across to the front desk to find it occupied by a very beautiful woman with smooth olive skin, twinkling dark brown eyes, and black hair cut in an A-line bob. She immediately looked up from her computer screen and greeted us with a welcoming smile.

  “Welcome to the Burj Al Arab, how may I help you?” she asked in English with only the slightest hint of an accent.

  “I believe I have a reservation. The name’s Finn, Tag Finn.”

  “Just a moment, Mr. Finn while I look up your information.”

  She typed into her keyboard then looked up at me with an approving smile.

  “Ah, I see you’re in one of our panoramic suites, so I believe you should enjoy your stay with us. And please feel free to call me if you need anything,” she said, as she handed me an electronic key before signaling for a bellman.

  A young man appeared, picked up my bags, and led the way to elevator, which we rode up to the sixteenth floor before exiting to find my room along the southwest side. The bellman opened the door and stepped aside, patiently waiting while I walked in first. I only made it a few steps before my breath was taken away by the sheer grandeur. I was in a large foyer open all the way up to the second floor, and there was a staircase circling up to my right, while directly before me was an entrance to a massive window lined living room. The bellman took my things upstairs while I continued straight ahead to the living room to see that the hotel’s rooms were as unique and spectacular as the entrance and lobby. The floor was covered in tan carpet that matched the walls while the couches and chairs were done in royal blue. There was a desk and bar, and on the far wall was a massive gold entertainment center that I would bet was actually plated with real gold. Sweet lord of interior design! I’d never seen a hotel with so much glitz. Western and European hotels were generally a bit on the understated side, but this fucking place was like something from the Arabian Nights. I wasn’t sure why the Topless Agenda had gotten me the luxurious panoramic suite, but I fully intended to enjoy it to the fullest.

  “So, I’m the only one staying here?”

  “Yep, and you’ll be happy to know we’ve already swept it for bugs—the electronic kind, obviously,” Bill said.

  The bellman returned from upstairs and stood quietly at the periphery of the room.

  “I don’t think this will be big enough,” I said, to him.

  “Then I shall make immediate arrangements for a larger room, sir,” the bellman said, pulling his phone from his pocket.

  I held up my hand.

  “Wait, I’m just kidding.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said, with the faintest of smiles.

  I guess I had to remember that this place attracted the kind of wealthy people who probably would have made such an asinine comment but actually meant it. I went to the window and looked out at the spectacular view, and the most prominent feature in sight was the Palm Jumeirah Artificial Island Development, which resided just southwest of the hotel. Seeing it in person, it was hard to fathom the amount of money and power it would take to create something of that magnitude. Back home in Sausalito, you practically needed a permit from the city if you wanted to change your mind. Here, they could uproot millions of tons of sand and create new neighborhoods virtually from thin air—or technically water and sand.

  It was officially time to tip the bellman, but I had forgotten to exchange my money at the airport. Bill, thankfully intervened and tipped the young man, and, once he left, we took a seat on one of the luxurious couches.

  “Do you have any additional information that’s not contained in my brief?” I asked.

  “Yeah, and it’s major. Our latest intelligence says that Farid is less than a week away from beginning construction of his prototype reactor, so needless to say, we’re on a very strict timeline.”

  “Nothing new there.”

  “So, today, we’ll get the lay of the land, show you all of Farid’s haunts, then take it from there.”

  “Sounds good. Mind if I freshen up?”

  “Not at all. I think I can make myself comfortable here,” he said, with a smile.

  I went upstairs to my room and grabbed my toothbrush and entered the bathroom and, again, wasn’t disappointed. It was easily as large as my living room back home and contained all the necessities even the most scrutinizing guest could possibly want or need. It had granite countertops, marble floors, toilet, bidet, glass-enclosed shower with five showerheads, and of course a Jacuzzi tub with enough room for a family of five. My next dump or shower would quite possibly be the greatest of my life, but, for the moment, all I did was pee, brush my teeth, and rejoin Bill back in the living room.

  We left my heavenly panoramic suite and descended back to earth to join the mortals in the lobby before exiting back into the dry heat of Dubai. Our smug Yale man Ted pulled up to the curb, and we took a seat in the car and began heading southwest, with the goal being for me to personally recon all of Farid’s daily haunts. A normal person had plenty of casual places he or she visited in a day—the grocery store or perhaps Starbucks, but someone as important as Farid would have assistants for such menial tasks. That meant the only time he was potentially ever alone was at work, home, or perhaps the bathroom at his gym. I was therefore going to survey all three, and first on the list was his gym, a modern facility called Fitness First. He would usually be there from noon to one then get lunch, return to work, and eventually head home around six—assuming he didn�
�t go out to dinner or a nightclub.

  The gym was in the middle of its noon rush, and the parking lot was nearly at capacity with people coming and going with great frequency through the front door. I suppose it made sense, as the desert heat made most outdoor activity unbearable, so people had no choice but to flock to the gym if they hoped to get any exercise.

  “Can we circle around the entire building? I’d like to get a feel for the layout and see what kind of security they have in place,” I said.

  Ted headed off on a complete circuit, and we saw white Mercedes sedans parked strategically at every exit of the gym. Annoyingly, each and every one was occupied by stern faced men wearing sunglasses, so they were obviously part of Farid’s security contingent.

  “Coincidentally, I originally met Farid at his gym in Iran, and, unlike that place, this doesn’t look too promising,” I said.

  Ted pulled around and double parked in front of the entrance, and I stepped out and took a quick look around and spied Farid’s black Bentley GT Continental parked two cars away. Directly behind it was yet another Mercedes filled with more security guys. Lovely, he had more protection than the fucking president of the United States. I went inside the gym to the front desk and was immediately greeted at the front desk by a young sales woman in her early twenties. She looked European and was extremely fit, very attractive, and eager to get her hooks into a potential new customer, as gyms everywhere survived by signing up as many people as possible for yearlong contracts that less than five percent would ever utilize. It was a grim system, but keeping the fat from getting fit guaranteed their customer base for years to come.