by J C Ryan
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
REX WAS BEHIND his planned schedule because of the interruption. He’d meant to be in Dammam by this time. It was a four-hour drive, with few options for stops along the way. Judah was his best option, but he could find no indication that there would be restaurants or that they’d be open when he got there.
He hoped to find a place where he could get food well before he reached Dammam. If there was no food to be had beforehand, at least he was certain to have some options in the resort city. He’d make the best of his delay, find a hotel, and begin his search for the prince tomorrow.
He tried to find some philosophical well-being in the realization he’d dodged not a bullet but a howitzer round. But hunger and philosophical musings didn’t go together for Rex. He was grumpy. More than grumpy, he was ready to knock a few Saudi heads together.
Digger seemed to sense his mood. Instead of sitting upright in the passenger seat, he’d squirmed in the harness until he could get comfortable lying down and was now snoring. Rex was even grumpier not to have companionship. Still, Digger had done his best to help. Rex was still puzzled about how Digger was able to find him at the airport police station because he couldn’t have possibly followed the police car the entire way.
As he drove, Rex tried to think of how Digger had done it. He concluded that Digger must have taken the route he led them back on, since he seemed to know exactly where that fountain was. He’d never know, not until Digger learned to talk in a language Rex could fully understand or vice versa. These thoughts made him feel a little better about the dog falling asleep. It had been a long day for Digger, too.
After seeing the difference dropping his target’s name had made to the police and magistrate, Rex fleshed out his next steps a little more as he drove. Two hours later, he approached the village of Judah, or so the signs said. He could see no evidence of occupation, not even a light in a window. Dammam it was, then, and he hoped he didn’t run out of gas before he got there. The indicator said he had half a tank. If the gauge was true, the SUV must have had a larger tank than he thought.
Maybe in Saudi Arabia they fit bigger gas tanks because of the long distances between towns. Ironic, come to think of it. The country is located on top of the largest lake of oil on the planet, yet I might run out of gas.
Two hours after that, it was nearing midnight when he entered Dammam. Several phone calls finally located a hotel where there was a vacancy and he could check in. He had to bribe the desk clerk to get Digger in despite his service-dog papers.
Nothing had gone right since I landed in this accursed country. Well, maybe I should be grateful I’m not sitting in a jail cell in Riyadh or worse, waiting for dawn to come so they could chop my head off in public.
***
REX WOKE IN a better frame of mind. He’d found a vending machine in the hotel and though he’d paid an exorbitant premium to the clerk to change some of his dollars for the Arabic coins he needed to purchase some sandwiches, nut and chocolate bars. Not entirely the meal Rex would have liked to have, but the food had been welcome.
Digger agreed.
Rex had also remembered the pre-stuffed kong when they got to the room, and Digger was transported by joy when he saw it. Rex had actually been able to break free of his somber mood and laugh at Digger’s antics. Fortunately, they were on the first floor, so they had no one below them to complain about the thuds as Digger pounced on the toy, ‘killing’ it for the dried meat stuffed inside.
A long shower to clean the dried sweat from the afternoon’s hike relaxed Rex enough to sleep, though he was keyed up about the next day’s tasks. He managed about four hours before the alarm on his phone woke him in time to have breakfast at the hotel restaurant before sunup. This would be the last day of Ramadan, thankfully.
Rex spent another hour in his room after breakfast, taking advantage of the hotel Wi-Fi to research what else might be forbidden. He didn’t see anything forbidding business, so he checked out of the hotel and went to explore the marketplaces in the city. In the Middle East, markets are where people meet and socialize and gossip. Market are fountains of information if one knew how to ask the right questions, and Rex knew.
His research had discovered that Prince Mutaib was suspected of illegal arms dealing by Israeli and US authorities. Rex knew how to insert himself into that milieu, he had dealt with quite a few arms dealers in the past. None of them survived. But in this case he hadn’t had time to build a bullet-proof legend yet. He’d have to rely on his wits and if necessary other measures of persuasion to get an audience with the man and then take it from there to see what the best way would be to gain entrance to Mutaib’s home and thence his harem. The task would have been called impossible by anyone else. Rex regarded it merely as a challenge, like a bump in the road.
Rex expected Mutaib would not be found hawking his wares in the market, of course not. His markets were more rarified, and his hands would never have touched the product. He had lackeys for that. Rex needed to find them, and do so without more run-ins with police. It was a peculiar country, he thought, that would clamp down on terrorism so tightly in public, and yet overlook any pro-terrorist activity among the extended royal family, thought to be more than three-thousand strong.
Rex’s research showed that in 2009 the Saudi government made a decision to grant licences to private gun shops to sell personal firearms in an attempt to rein in the widespread illegal ownership of assault weapons and handguns. Rex thought this was the type of situation where a man like Mutaib would probably like to assert his influence. Perhaps he would play a role in the gun shops’ licensing, pulling the right strings to assure whether the shop got a licence or not, depending on whether the shop bought its stock from him or not.
It was a bit of a long shot but certainly worth checking out and it was not as if Rex had other options to get him in the presence of this scoundrel, short of driving over to his residence, knock on the door and say “Hey I am here to pick up Rehka Gyan.”
Therefore, Rex spent most of the day loitering near gun stores. He carefully observed the people coming and going, not sure what he was looking for but would know when he saw it. Perhaps a shipment of weapons would be delivered to one or more of the shops and he could find out who was the seller. In the meantime, he was trying to get a feel for how these gun shops did business.
He entered a few shops, struck up casual conversations with the staff and clientele, looked at their merchandise to find out what makes and models they stocked and who their suppliers were.
For hours, nothing caught his attention except the growling of his stomach. Digger was beginning to give him accusatory looks and make noises almost under the auditory range, like a kid who muttered about parental decisions they didn’t like.
As the sun’s rays began to fade in the west, activity picked up. Restaurants opened their shutters and more people were in the streets. A sense of excitement and delight was in the air. The end of Ramadan meant an opulent feast, and it couldn’t come fast enough for Rex and Digger, and judging by the jubilant atmosphere, everyone else in sight felt the same.
Digger’s head, which had been drooping for a while, came up. His tail waved tentatively, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether there was cause for celebration.
When the last sliver of the sun sank below the horizon, there was a hush, and then the evening call to prayer began. Rex had heard the calls four previous times that day, but this one seemed loudest, with the loudspeakers of the mosques all over the city overlapping each other. He could now break his fast with an iftar in the nearest restaurant.
He was walking quickly in the direction of one of the restaurants he’d spotted earlier when visiting a gun shop. That’s when his attention was drawn to a man dressed in western clothing but who looked Middle Eastern, on the sidewalk across the street, going in the opposite direction, towards the gun shop. It was his demeanor that caught Rex’s attention on the near empty sidewalk. The man looked a bit like a rat scurrying away
from a dog. His head was bowed so far that he looked directly at the ground at his feet, risking bumping into anyone in his path. He looked from side to side and over his shoulder furtively, but never in the direction he was hurrying.
If he was trying to remain inconspicuous, he was not at all successful. Rex thought he stood out like a Vegas stripper in church during the Sunday service. Something was bothering the man deeply and Rex thought it was worth finding out what it was.
Rex stopped and bent down to Digger, scratching his head and ears he spoke softly. “What do you reckon buddy? I think that guy across the street looks a bit stressed. Maybe we should check him out?”
Digger’s face turned into a big grin for the sudden and unexpected treat he got from Rex.
Rex allowed the man to pass and watched him reach the gun shop. He looked left and right before entering. Rex and Digger then crossed the street and took up a position in the shadows about twenty yards away from the entry to the gun shop and waited.
The street was much darker before the man came out of the shop, and Digger alerted him to his target’s approach. When he came into Rex’s view, he was even more oppressed-looking than before.
Rex waited until the man was two yards away from him before he stepped out in front of him and blocked his way. Just before the collision, the man must have seen Rex’s feet. He stopped abruptly, then tried to go around. Rex stepped sideways to block his way.
“Excuse me,” the man said in Arabic. “I wish to pass.”
Rex answered in the same language, and with a hint of menace in his tone. “A question first. You are upset about something. What was your business in the gun shop?”
The man looked up for the first time. His eyes shot wide when he saw Digger staring at him, and then his gaze shifted and traveled slowly up Rex’s person, until it reached his face. Because he was several inches shorter than Rex, and only inches separated them, he had to bend his neck back and look up. What he saw made him flinch back.
“I… I’m sorry. I don’t know what you mean. Please let me pass.”
Rex didn’t relax his stern expression. “I think you do. My dog and I will know if you lie. What was your business in the gun shop?”
The man became indignant. “I merely gave a message to someone in the shop. It’s none of you business. Now let me pass.”
“What message?” Rex thought the man might become angry then, but he could handle it if so. However, the emotion he sensed from the man wasn’t anger. It was defeat.
“I… No. I cannot tell you.”
“You will tell me, or you’ll regret it.” Rex gave Digger’s leash a slight pull. Digger took a step closer to the man.
“I’ll regret it in any case,” the man sighed, bitterness twisting his features. “Who are you? One of Prince Mutaib’s men?”
“I might be.” Rex dissembled.
“If you are, then you can tell his highness what I told the man in the shop, I cannot pay. He wins.”
“I’m not working for the prince. Nor am I your enemy. You were not on the way to prayer, I assume.”
“I’m too late now.”
Rex had found evidence that Mutaib was an international arms dealer on a large scale. His commerce took place overseas, where he supplied weapons to people with an interest in protecting and enforcing their illegal activities, anything from terrorism, war, and drug trafficking to human trafficking. For Mutaib to be running a small-time protection racket didn’t make sense.
But then, on the other hand, maybe Mutaib had been running an extensive Mafia-style protection racket across Saudi Arabia in addition to his major business. That could be fairly lucrative.
He’d take what information he could get from the little rat-man tonight, and then make a more pointed visit to the gun shop tomorrow. At least he now had confirmation that someone in Mutaib’s organization was there.
“How did the prince’s man respond to the message you gave him?”
“Not good at all,” the little man answered. Tears filled his eyes. “I must hurry home to my wife and explain what will happen tomorrow.”
“And what’s that?”
They were passing under a lamp on the side of a restaurant entrance. The man looked up with haunted eyes. “My debt for this period will be paid with the only thing I have left of value. One of Mutaib’s men will take over my business. After that, they’ll take my daughter. Then my wife. Thank Allah, I have no son. After that, they will kill me.”
Rex swallowed his outrage. He couldn’t let it interfere with his judgement. “Wait. Before you explain this to your wife, explain it to me. I might be able to help you if you can help me. Can I buy your iftar?”
“No one can help. I begged them to leave my family alone and kill me now. They refused. Even if they had consented, they would not have kept the bargain, and after I was dead, they’d take my wife at the same time as my daughter. They wish to punish me before they kill me, so they prolong my humiliation.”
Rex thought humiliation was a peculiar word to describe the situation. The man would be humiliated when they took his daughter? What about grief-stricken? What about enraged? He kept that thought to himself.
“Can you not enlist legal help? I don’t know your laws, but surely this can’t be legal.”
“I cannot take my case to court. Mutaib is too powerful. He is above the law. I should not have become indebted to him.”
“Prince Mutaib is a money lender, too, then?” Rex was certain of the answer and only asked the question to keep the man engaged. But the answer turned out to be a surprise.
“Not precisely, no. He supplies the stock for every weapons shop in the region and a large number of shops in Riyadh and other cities and towns across the country as well. He does not wish to own the shops. When it became legal to seek a license to sell weapons, he let it be known that people could approach him to help them obtain a licence and he would not only help them with that — he would also supply them with stock on margin. You understand margin?”
Rex thought he did. “Where you pay less than the stock is worth, sell it for a profit, and then pay the remainder of the price, along with some interest.”
“Yes. That is correct. However, my shop was not profitable. The Prince does not care about my struggles. He only wants his money.”
“Friend, such men never care about the struggles of honest men. Look me in the eyes and tell me you are an honest man.” Rex thought he might have an ally if he could trust the man.
The man stopped and faced him. “I am an honest man. And despite what you may think or think you know about me, I love my wife. I love my daughter. I would do anything to spare them from what the Prince has in mind.”
Rex nodded. “Then let’s see what we can do before you give your wife such awful news. Now may I buy your iftar?”
Digger waited outside. Rex promised him in a whisper that he’d have human food as a treat later.
While they ate, Rex gathered all the information he could about Mutaib, his odd little side business, his household, servants, and enforcers. He didn’t tell his guest about his plans. But he promised himself that by the time this was over, the scumbag, Mutaib, would not be collecting any debts from anyone ever again.
Rex assured the man his wife and daughter would be safe.
They didn’t exchange names, but Rex followed him at a discreet distance when they left the restaurant, after pretending to go in the opposite direction. He made a note of where the man lived. If things went wrong, he’d collect them and help them get out of harm’s way, if nothing else.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE NEXT MORNING, Rex explained to Digger that he had to go into some shops, and for that reason he was leaving Digger in the hotel room. Rex had given him a walk after his breakfast, and he’d set down his portable water bowl with fresh water.
“You’ll be more comfortable here, boy. I’ll be back to get you before any fun starts, okay?”
Digger appeared to listen carefully, but Rex
had no idea whether he understood. Leaving him tethered by his leash outside high-end clothing and jewelry stores while Rex bought what he needed to execute his plan was not an option. With the sweeping discretionary powers the Saudi police had, Rex was not going to take chances. They could make up crimes on the spot and ‘arrest’ or, God forbid, shoot Digger for anything from being unclean to vagrancy. He would in any event not be welcome in the stores. Maybe if he could pass for a teacup poodle, he would. Out of fear that Digger could read his mind, Rex made sure he had the door closed before he smiled at the thought.
He was certain Digger would mind his manners in the hotel room, but to avoid any unpleasant surprises for the cleaning staff, he left the Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob.
It felt strange to be leaving the hotel without Digger. Once again, he was startled at how quickly the dog had become a part of his life. Not having to worry about him out on the streets was a welcome change, though he knew without Digger to alert him he had to be much more vigilant.
His first stop was at a clothing store, where he outfitted himself with two sets of clothing that would immediately mark him as a wealthy man and paid an exorbitant fee to have the pants and jackets custom tailored on a rush basis.
His next was to a jeweler. He’d have preferred not to spend so much money on a watch, but his battle-scarred tactical timepiece wouldn’t suit. He bought a Tag Heuer Carrera with a black quilted-leather band and gold accents, which left him over two thousand dollars poorer, and a heavy gold signet ring. He didn’t want to come across as too flashy. He wanted to display casual but not obscene wealth.
Then he went back for the suits and added shirts, ties, handkerchiefs, and silk socks. He considered a gold-knobbed cane but decided that was a bit over the top, no matter how handy it might have been for cracking the heads of the people he expected to meet in the afternoon. He also upgraded his shoes at a shop next to the clothing store.
