Gordita Conspiracy

by Lyle Christie

  “Wet or dry, it’ll work for our purposes.”

  I followed his directions, then, about a half mile down the road, started purposefully steering the car onto the soft dirt on the sides with the goal being to stir up as much of a dust cloud as possible. This would create a massive visual barrier, and my efforts appeared to be working, as the pursuing cars headlights were becoming less visible. Up ahead, I saw the dry riverbed as well as the fact that the road made a hard right turn in order to avoid it. Perfect! I shut off the lights then made the turn and continued for another fifty feet then stopped to watch, wait, and hope that the dust cloud I created obscured their vision enough that they missed the turn. A second later, the cars came racing along, and all four went flying off of the edge and plowed into the soft sand below. Our last four obstacles had finally been removed, so I turned on the lights and hit the gas and continued down the road.

  “Nice moves, Bandit,” Farid said.

  “Thanks, Frog, and I’d sure like to see the look on Sheikh Buford T. Emir’s face when he finds out we escaped,” I responded.

  “Honestly, I’d prefer to be as far away as possible.”

  Our brief reprieve from the excitement of the chase was suddenly interrupted when headlights appeared down in the riverbed to our left, and I looked over and saw a fucking car matching our speed. Somehow, one of the four had survived, so it was likely an all wheel drive vehicle such as an Audi or Volvo.

  “Oh well, at least they’re down there, and we’re up here,” I said.

  “Yeah, but for how long?” Farid countered.

  “Not long enough. Look.”

  Just up ahead, there was a short connecting road, and our pursuer used it to get free of the riverbed and right back on our ass. Now that I could see the car’s unusual LED headlights, it was obvious it was an Audi. Shit monkeys. Our only real advantage would be the longer travel of the Cheetah’s suspension and the balls to see how hard I could push it.

  Up ahead, the road moved into a series of tight curves which skirted the riverbed, and the Cheetah went into a full drift as I navigated the turns—a rooster tale of dust shooting from all four wheels as they dug into the soft soil. The Audi slowed and fell back a bit, but it managed to catch up once we were back on a straight section of road.

  “What if they start shooting?” Farid asked nervously.

  “They won’t start shooting—not as long as the golden goose is in the car.”

  Suddenly, at that very moment, fate decided to make me look like an asshole, as, sure enough, gun shots started coming from the Audi. Clearly, these idiots were acting exclusively on Sheikh Emir’s orders, and had no idea Farid was the UAE’s golden goose. Of course, if anything happened to Farid, at least I knew Sheikh Hamza would enact some brutal retribution on his uncle. At that moment a lucky shot embedded into the vertical post behind my door, and it encouraged me to begin driving in a serpentine pattern with the hope that it would throw off their aim. The back end swung left and right as more shots rang out, but thankfully none of them managed to hit either me or Farid.

  “We need to get a little more proactive,” I said.

  “Meaning?”

  I opened my jacket and pulled out my pistol.

  “This!”

  “Dude, you’re such a typical American.”

  “Yeah, but it’s also the reason you’re going to survive to hump another day.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  Yet another lucky shot pinged off the roof on Farid’s side of the car, and we both instinctively ducked then popped back up and looked at each other.

  “Time to get American on their ass!” Farid said.

  “Fucking A! Nobody fucks with my Goose!” I responded.

  “Wait, if I’m Goose, then that means you’re Maverick. Top Gun! Get it?” Farid asked.

  “Of course I get it, but that would mean operating under the guise of an entirely different movie metaphor. Sure, I appreciate the homoerotic undertones of Top Gun, but let’s try and stay in one decade here, so let’s take it back from the eighties to the seventies. I’m Bandit and you’re Frog.”

  “Oh well, I suppose I’m the second banana either way.”

  “Yeah, but you’re my second banana. Now, when I slow down and let them come up alongside, I’m going to need you to take the wheel for a second.”

  “Got it, Bandit.”

  I eased back on the throttle and favored the right side of the road, hopeful they’d take the bate. We hit a large open section, and they raced up alongside, and I leaned out the window with my gun aimed directly across at the men in the Audi. The man in the passenger seat looked particularly terrified as he tried to reload his pistol on the bumpy road, for he knew I had him dead to rights.

  “Nobody hurts my Frog!” I yelled.

  Still, I didn’t feel as though he, or the other man in the car, deserved to die, but they did need a little motivation to get the hell off our ass. I smiled then moved my aim to their front right tire and pulled the trigger. The bullet penetrated the rubber, and it blew out, causing the driver to lose control of the car, which had turned and was now headed directly towards the ledge that overlooked the river. Judging by the brake lights, he tried to stop, but it was too late, and they flew off the embankment and landed front first, plowing through the soft sand until coming to a stop with the high speed creating enough momentum to lift the rear of the car and make it appear as though it were doing a handstand. It stayed perched on its front end for an ever so brief moment then flopped back down onto the ground, where its headlights illuminated the cloud of dust that now swirled around its final resting place.

  “I know I told you not to mix movie metaphors, but I can’t help feeling like we’re Han Solo and Chewbacca, and we just outran the Imperial Cruisers in the trusty old Millennium Falcon,” I said, patting the dashboard.

  Farid did his best Chewbacca howl, but it sounded more like a Panda passing a kidney stone. Still, I had to give him credit for showing car spirit.

  “We’ve evaded Sheikh Vader for the moment, so it’s time to stop and call the Rebel Alliance.”

  We continued on for another five miles before turning onto a dirt road which headed in the direction of the main highway. Another mile later, we hit asphalt, and I pulled off the road and up onto a slight rise which afforded us a commanding three hundred and sixty degree view of the entire area. I turned off the car, and the quiet sounds of the desert night filled the air.

  “Time to check in, but, before I do, I have a question for you.”

  “Sure, do you want me to explain to you where babies come from?”

  “Yeah, but I’d also like to know what you, Hamza, the German, and that blond woman were talking about back at the palace.”

  He thought a moment.

  “Oh, nothing really. I ran into them on my way to the bathroom, and we exchanged the usual party banter bullshit.”

  “So, nothing was spoken about a secret society he’s trying to undermine?”

  Farid laughed.

  “No, but we did talk about the Pâté tasting a little off.”

  “Good thing I didn’t have any. Do you know anything about the German who was with him?”

  “Only that his name is Klaus, and he’s Hamza’s right hand man and head of security, and the two are practically inseparable. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, that fucker has tried to kill me at least twice—once in a car and once in a plane, and each time he came pretty close to success.”

  “I’m not surprised. There are rumors he used to be a soldier in the German special forces before coming to work for Hamza, and now he takes care of all of his dirty business.”

  “Then I guess I must be pretty dirty to get so much attention. How about the woman? Do you know anything about her?”

  “I wish. As you obviously saw she’s blond and beautiful.”

  “I couldn’t see her face, so I’ll just have to take your word for it.”

  “Yeah, and unfortunately she’s co
mpletely off limits, as she’s Hamza’s girlfriend, but I don’t know much about her, as they keep their relationship mostly on the down-low.”

  “Oh, well, she’s probably just an innocent bystander anyway, so I’ll just relay all the other shit I’ve learned thus far.”

  I looked at my watch, did some quick calculations to estimate the time back home, then pulled out my iPhone and dialed Matheson. It was late morning, so I hopefully wouldn’t be catching him off guard at some ungodly hour when he might be sleeping, eating breakfast, or taking a shit.

  “Finn, how’s it going over there?” he asked, after picking up on the second ring.

  “Good, mostly.”

  “Have you managed to meet up with Farid?”

  “Yep, he’s right here, but I have some more news for you, and you’re not going to like it.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “The German guy who tried to run me off the road back home and most likely tampered with the Vandenberg jet is Sheikh Hamza’s right hand man and head of security.”

  Matheson was quiet for a moment as he pondered the implications of that statement.

  “Shit! How did you find that out?”

  “I saw them together about an hour ago at the Royal Palace of Dubai.”

  “So, Hamza is definitely our bad guy, but how could he possibly know anything about us and our plans?”

  “There has to be a leak inside the Topless Agenda.”

  “There can’t be. It’s just not possible.”

  “Anything’s possible, apparently.”

  “So, how do you want to exfiltrate the UAE?” he asked.

  “I’m thinking we leave the country via the southern desert by crossing the border into Saudi Arabia and maybe fly out from Riyadh.”

  “That could be difficult, as Saudi Arabia is pretty locked down. The only people who go there are usually invited, so let me make a few calls and see what I can work out then get back to you.”

  “OK, we’ll be heading south until further notice.”

  “Good luck, Finn. Stay safe. I mean it.”

  “Thanks, I will,” I said, before hitting the end button and looking over to see Farid eying me curiously.

  “What is it?”

  “Dude, wait a minute, is this mysterious group of yours seriously called the Topless Agenda?”

  “Yeah, and before you say anything, I know, it’s a little silly.”

  “Silly? It’s fucking awesome!”

  “I’m glad you think so, as you’re about to become one of its prestigious members.”

  “This night just keeps getting better and better.”

  “Yeah, and I’ve also got some more good news.”

  “Let me guess. Road trip?” he exclaimed excitedly.

  “Yeah, so it’s just like old times, which reminds me—what have you eaten in the last twelve hours?”

  “Falafels,” he said, with a shit eating grin.

  I started the Cheetah, and its twelve throaty Italian cylinders roared to life, their gurgling din a direct challenge to any road that lay ahead. I put the beast in gear, released the clutch, and hit the gas, and it sent us flying down the rise and onto the open highway. Next stop, the Liwa Oasis.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The Oddest Couple

  THE DESERT HAD been dark and devoid of life until we came over a rise and saw the first lights of the Liwa Oasis. It was a cluster of dwellings that stretched along the only source of water in this part of the desert, and it was hard to imagine that this remote place was the historical home of the Nahyan family, who were the founders and leaders of the UAE. Now, it was mostly inhabited by Bedouin tribes, especially the Bani Yas, who used the area to cultivate date palms.

  The oasis certainly wasn’t a metropolis, and up ahead I spied what I suspect was its only gas station. It would be our first stop, as Farid and I were going into the open desert, and we needed some supplies, with the most important being food, water, and fuel. I pulled into the gas station and was happy to see it also had a twenty-four hour minimart. God bless America and its influence on the rest of the world. I parked beside the center island, connected the pump up to the Cheetah’s nozzle, and ended up pumping about 280 dirhams worth of fuel. It sounded like a lot of money, but, with the exchange rate being about four to one in favor of the US dollar and gas costing about two dollars a gallon, it was only about seventy dollars to top off the massive tank. That meant we had plenty of money left over to get all the bottled water and food we could fit in the Lambo. We went inside and pooled our cash then returned to the beast to stow our goodies in the trunk and have a quick look at the GPS. The main road into the Liwa Oasis ended at a three way intersection just up ahead, and our only options were to go either left or right. Right eventually looped to the border station, but it probably wasn’t prudent to use any official entry or exit points, so we would go in the opposite direction. We turned left at the intersection and headed along the main road in hopes of finding a decent place to enter the desert. It was mostly quiet at this hour, which made it all the more jarring when my phone rang. I looked down to see that Matheson was calling, so I reached down and hit the accept button.

  “Las Conchitas Mexican food,” I said.

  “Very funny, Finn. What’s going on?”

  “Not much, we’re in the Liwa Oasis.”

  “Perfect—I’ve got some good news for you. It turns out that we have a CIA asset in Saudi Arabia who can meet you and help arrange a private flight to get you out of the Middle East.”

  “Sweet hot buttered corn! Where’s he located?”

  “That’s where you’re in luck. He operates out of the southern desert of Saudi Arabia and will meet you about thirty miles across the border from your present location. Do you have some kind of GPS?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. I’ll text you the coordinates.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it. He’ll meet you there as soon as he can. Oh, and one more thing, he goes by the code name Desert Fox.

  “Sounds mysterious.”

  “He is. Don’t piss him off. He’s an exceptional asset.”

  “Any kind of code phrase?”

  “No, though I suspect you’ll know you have the right person when you meet him. All right then. Good luck, I’ll see you soon.”

  “Thanks.”

  I pulled back onto the road and continued east for another mile, and we passed palm orchards and various buildings, with one in particular appearing to be some kind of palace based on its size and elegant architecture. The Oasis was certainly a lot bigger and more populated than it looked on the map, but we soon managed to find an open area with a large number of tracks heading out into the desert. I pulled over and had a closer look and realized I recognized the place from a brochure I’d glanced at back at my hotel. Apparently, the UAE attracted a lot of off-road enthusiasts, and sand safaris were a common tourist attraction out here in the desert. The place actually reminded me a little of Palm Springs except for the absence of windmills, golf courses, and retirees.

  I heard a beep and looked down at my iPhone to see that Matheson’s text had finally come through, so I plugged the numbers into the GPS then turned to Farid.

  “You ready, Frog?” I asked.

  “I am, Bandit.”

  I hit the gas, and we headed out into the desert with the warm night air flowing throughout the car. It was about eleven, and a sliver moon was just peeking over the horizon and illuminating the rolling dunes and making it all look like a barren alien planet. We traveled along at just over forty miles per hour moving up one dune and down another, plying a virtual sea of sand with the task hardly worthy of the Cheetah’s vast reserves of horsepower. After fifteen minutes, we could no longer see any of the lights of Liwa, and the stars came alive and filled the night sky from one side of the horizon to the other, making it a truly a magical moment.

  “This is amazing,” I said, looking over at Farid, whose smile was aglow in the ambient l
ight emanating from the dashboard gauges.

  “No kidding. I don’t know why I’ve never come out here.”

  “It’s funny. People who live by extraordinary places like this never truly appreciate them. I grew up by the Golden Gate Bridge and never once walked across it.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yep, never been over it except in a car.”

  “Come to think of it—when I was at Stanford, I never walked across it either. Fuck it, when I get to America, I’m going to walk across the fucking Golden Gate Bridge.”

  “I’ll walk with you. We can even hold hands.”

  “That would be nice,” he said, with a small chuckle.

  We continued on into the night, the long monotonous drive allowing me time to think, and my thoughts kept returning to Farid and one major question I was dying to ask.

  “Dude, I have to know. Did you really discover the secret to cold fusion?”

  “Fuck yeah, I did—and it was no small task.”

  “I assume you understand the implications of your discovery.”

  “Absolutely, which is part of why I was willing to come with you. Something this important needs to be carefully overseen. Honestly, I was always afraid of what it might bring if it were in the wrong hands.”

  “So you don’t have any reservations about the people I’m working for?”

  “Well, I trust you—so, in turn, I am willing to trust them.”

  “I really hope I don’t let you down this time.”

  “Me too.”

  Our route was less of a road and more of a loose collection of tire tracks that wove in between massive mountains of sand, but we continued on, driving deeper into the desert. Farid called out course corrections as needed, and, after taking a closer look at the GPS, finally told me to slow down.

  “Are we close to our destination?” I asked.

  “Not exactly, but we’re almost to the border.”

  Up ahead a chain link fence and a dry gravel road appeared from the darkness, and I turned left and followed it in hopes of finding an opening. Of course, I also chose that direction because it avoided the border patrol station that resided a few miles away in the opposite direction. After about fifteen minutes, we found an area of fence that had been damaged and subsequently repaired. They had used wire to mend the tear, similar to the way a fisherman might use twine to mend his net. All I had to do was cut a few wires and voila, we would be in Saudi Arabia!