by J C Ryan
All in all it was a lot of money, just shy of ten-thousand US dollars, but Rex didn’t care too much about the price tags. It was kind of liberating to use the dirty money he’d taken from the Afghani drug lord to right some wrongs.
If it took more than two days to get into Mutaib’s personal presence, he’d have to write a check on one of his new bank accounts to extend his wardrobe. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He’d entered the country on one set of papers, but he was now carrying the set he’d had drawn up first in India. For all intents and purposes, he was ethnically half Indian, half Brit, and a citizen of the UK.
Rex hurried back to the hotel a little later than he intended. The tailoring had taken longer than he expected. When he entered the hotel room, he thought at first Digger had been a perfect gentleman. Only when he’d put down his purchases did he discover Digger had left him a big and malodourous ‘message’ in the corner of the bedroom, probably to signal his displeasure at being left alone in a hotel room. And just to make sure, Rex would think twice before doing it again there was also a large, yellow puddle right in the doorway of the bathroom where he’d have stepped in his stocking feet if he hadn’t been looking where he was going.
“Digger! Shame on you!”
Rex had to step wide to get over or around it. He used some of the bathroom tissue to pick up the ‘message’ in the bedroom and then almost all of the rest of the tissue to sop up the second ‘message’ and flush it all down the toilet. Finished, he looked at Digger and told him in no uncertain terms what he though of this kind of behavior.
Digger didn’t hang his head. His demeanour and sounds made it clear he had something of his own to say and Rex interpreted that as something along the lines of “Rex Dalton, let this be a lesson for you. Don’t ever lock me up in a hotel room or any other room for that matter again while you take off gallivanting in the streets for hours.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again, unless I’m forced to. If only you could have understood why it was necessary.”
But Digger was already back on the bed, eyes closed, and paid him no attention.
Rex took his second shower of the day and dressed carefully in his new clothes. In the full-length mirror, he surveyed the result. His trim frame, just under six feet, looked great in the custom-tailored silk suit, if he thought so himself. With a little prep time, he could have passed for a citizen of most Middle Eastern and Mediterranean countries, and for that matter, most South American countries. But with no beard, he looked like what he was pretending to be – a man of some mixture of descent, but thoroughly British in attitude, dress, and appearance. The addition of the watch and signet ring lent an air of wealth, if not obscene wealth.
Digger needed to be groomed. Rex wished he’d thought of that. He’d have left him at a groomer’s while he did his other errands.
He’d probably not be shitting and pissing all over their place and if he did they could clean it.
There was no help for it now. He’d have to find a groomer, as he wouldn’t go sticking his head into the hornets’ nest without Digger by his side. He knew it was going to cost extra to have the grooming done in a hurry, but it would be worth it, all for the greater good.
While Digger was getting his beauty treatment, Rex used his cell phone to search for a hotel more in keeping with the financial status he would portray when he gained access to Mutaib. He found it in the Dammam Sheraton, a high-rise hotel with acres of beautiful sea-blue glass to echo the Gulf setting. The amenities in the hotel were many, including meeting rooms, private banquet rooms outfitted with crystal chandeliers and pristine white covers on tables and chairs alike, and luxuriously appointed guest rooms with stunning views of the Gulf. There was more; none of which he expected to use. He didn’t anticipate entertaining the prince or his henchmen, but if the need arose, his choice of hotel would not betray his humbler origins.
Midafternoon call to prayer was sounding over the city when Rex and a much more respectable-looking Digger went in search of a meal, with the hope of locating the first of the henchman Rex’s Saudi ally of the previous night had told him about. Apparently, there were three who made daily rounds of the weapons stores, dropping off new supplies, checking for signs of trouble, and of course, collecting payments.
Rex had a description and name for all three. He owed the sad little man his peace of mind, because his information had been quite thorough, except that he knew only first names.
Gara, meaning mastiff, was probably a street name. He was the muscle – the one who came to beat debtors or take their possessions. Iskandar usually accompanied one of the others and was there simply as backup. His name meant guardian. Alealjum, meaning toad, was spectacularly ugly, with an enormous hooked nose and ears that stuck straight out from the side of his head like a wingnut, was the collector of debts and the man Rex’s new friend had spoken to the night before. Of course, no one called him by that mocking name. His given name was Alula, meaning first born.
It was Alula whom Rex expected to encounter some time this afternoon. He knew the Toad would be in a certain quarter of the city, either collecting from a gun shop or enjoying a meal. If Rex timed it right, he’d interrupt the meal. But he was already two hours late because of the morning’s errands.
Unlike his first day in Saudi Arabia, this, the third day, although a little late with some milestones, went much smoother. And unlike the second day, things started happening relatively quickly. Rex had eaten and had given Digger an afternoon break in a park, followed by what was rapidly becoming a habit, a treat of half a roast chicken bone and all. Only a little spicy. Digger wolfed it down and followed it with a long drink from a nearby fountain. He eyed the koi in the fountain curiously and fortunately didn’t try to catch any.
They were returning to where Rex had left the SUV parked when he spotted someone matching the description he’d been given of Toad, coming out of a shop whose sign indicated it sold hunting rifles and shotguns. In a country that forbade hunting, it was a puzzle. Rex knew that wealthy Saudis hunted in Africa and other foreign countries, though.
He hurried to intercept the man he thought was Toad, slowing as he came into the man’s view so as not to appear to be trying to catch him. As they passed each other, Rex feigned a start of surprise.
“Alula? Is that you?”
The other man stopped, and his surprise was genuine.
“Do I know you?”
“Sorry, no, I doubt you do. However, I have business with your employer, and your name and description was given to me.” Rex didn’t bother to explain that the description included staggering ugliness. Up close, he realized his informant’s description of Alula was actually a bit flattering. The man was unsightly, the enormous nose was covered in vile, blackened pores the size of the Grand Canyon. Clearly, he didn’t indulge in skin care. Or baths. His stench was almost as odious as the bulbous nose.
Toad, whose nickname was now completely understandable to Rex, looked down that monstrous nose at him. “I doubt that.”
“Perhaps you weren’t read in on the deal,” Rex said smoothly. “It happens in the best of organizations. I’m with Acme Imports.”
“Don’t know it,” Toad said brusquely. He tried to brush by, but Rex grasped his arm. In America, it would have been considered aggressive. In Saudi Arabia, it was acceptable.
“Then put me in touch with Gara,” he said. “He would know about my company.”
At the sound of his compatriot’s name, Toad paused. Rex could almost see the wheels grinding in his brain. After a moment, he acquiesced.
“Come with me,” Toad said. “I’ll take you to him.”
Rex knew he wasn’t out of the woods. When Gara failed to recognize him, he’d better be ready to take action. He’d cross that proverbial bridge when he came to it.
Toad appeared ready to continue on his previous course, so Rex turned and matched him stride for stride, Digger at his heels.
“Big dog,” Toad remarked. “My em
ployer keeps mastiffs.” It was a veiled threat. Mastiffs would be bigger and heavier than Digger, and the plural suggested he’d also be outnumbered.
All Rex could think of, though, was that the man they were going to see was also Mastiff, by name. He presumed by temperament as well. Rex had every expectation that Mastiff would prove aggressive. If necessary he’d have to cut the man down to size in a way that would get Mutaib’s attention in just the right way.
He didn’t want to make the princeling mad. He didn’t want to humiliate his henchmen, but he did need to let them know who was boss so that he could get their boss’s attention.
The meeting with Gara went about as he expected. Toad became suspicious when Gara said he didn’t know the Englishman or his organization either. They both drew themselves up to their full stature and thrust their chests out to confront him.
Rex asked, “Where is Iskandar?”
It took a bit of the wind out of their sails. They couldn’t figure out why he knew their names, when they didn’t know him. Rex took advantage of the situation by assuming an air of importance.
“Look, your employer isn’t going to be pleased that you have treated me rudely. Take me to him immediately.”
Just then, a larger man, almost Rex’s height and considerably wider, joined the other two. Rex almost sighed in relief, it was another steroided body builder whose brain functions would have been slowed down to a crawl from all the shit he’d pumped into his body to make his muscles grow.
“What is going on?”
“Iskandar, this man says he has business with the prince,” Toad said. “He knows our names, but I think he’s an imposter.”
Iskandar looked Rex in the eye and said without inflection, “You had best be on your way, if you know what’s good for you.”
That’s an elegant way to say, ‘get lost.’
Rex replied evenly. “I think you have it wrong. One last time — take me to Mutaib or suffer the consequences.”
Toad laughed.
Rex hit him in the throat with his elbow. Gara moved in, but Digger growled. Iskandar stood back to watch the outcome.
Toad was gurgling something. It sounded like kill him. No one moved. Rex moved his gaze from one to the other.
Who’s in charge?
A flicker of his eyes revealed Iskandar to be the alpha dog of his crew. Gara telegraphed his move just before his fist came flying at Rex’s face.
Rex caught his fist in an immovable palm and started bending Gara’s hand down, which made him go down to his knees in front of Rex. “You don’t ever want to do that again,” he said. “Now gentleman, before any of you get hurt, let’s all agree that I’m going to speak to your boss, one way or another. It would be much easier and of course less painful for all three of you if you cooperated.”
Toad, however didn’t listen. He rose from where he’d crouched to nurse his bruised throat and threw himself in Rex’s direction. Rex stepped lithely aside, and Toad landed awkwardly on the ground, where Digger immediately took custody of him by putting his teeth around the back of Toad’s neck. This took all the fire out of him and he remained very still.
Iskandar hadn’t made an aggressive move, and it was apparent that he was considering the odds. Rex hadn’t broken a sweat or dirtied his new suit. He’d prefer not to, so he watched Iskandar closely.
The decision came down in his favor. Iskandar nodded. “I’ll take you to Prince Mutaib. If you are not who you say you are, or if you have no business to interest him, I will kill your dog while you watch, and then I will kill you.”
Rex could find no fault with Iskandar’s pronouncement. It wasn’t said with bluster or threat. It was a promise.
“I assure you, I will not give your owner a reason to be angry with you.” He chose the insulting word ‘owner’ purposely. Iskandar’s demeanor didn’t change, though Gara’s eyes narrowed and his skin darkened at the implication that they were slaves. Toad had nothing to say. He was cowering on the ground, his arms covering his head, and Digger was standing over him close enough to drool on him.
“Get up, Alealjum,” Iskandar said with great disdain.
Rex didn’t envy the man his fate in their quarters later.
***
REX DIDN’T EXPECT to be taken to the prince’s home, and in that he was correct. Instead, Iskandar accompanied him to an office building while Gara took Toad to have his injury seen to by a medic. When Iskandar indicated Digger could not enter the building, Rex pushed back.
“Wrong. My service dog goes where I go. Need I remind you…”
“No, no, I need no reminder. He may enter.” Iskandar waved him toward an elevator and pressed the button for the top floor.
“These delays are wasting valuable time, which your owner might not appreciate. I trust you won’t put any more obstacles in my path.” Rex was enjoying the role he was playing.
“No sir, I won’t but when we get to the top floor I must ask you to wait while I announce your arrival to the prince. Will that be all right?”
Rex didn’t want that. He knew there’d be trouble when the prince didn’t know his name. As they exited the elevator into a luxuriously-appointed reception area, he answered impatiently. “The prince is expecting me, and you have made me late. I will go in with you.”
Iskandar gave a nod that was a half-bow and gestured widely with his right hand. “As you wish, sir. This way.”
Rex walked ahead in the direction Iskandar had indicated, Digger on his left and Iskandar rushing around him on the right to open the door to the prince’s private office. As soon as Rex and Digger walked in, Iskandar backed out, closing the door behind him.
The prince was lounging in a chaise situated among several lavishly upholstered chairs and ottomans. The prince, in his early to mid-fifties was about five-foot-five, with a rotund belly and the labored breathing of an asthmatic. An impressively-sized dark-wood desk with elaborate hand carved patterns, occupied the other side of the room. It was devoid of computer equipment, papers, or any other trappings of business. Rex’s instant impression was that all business the prince did personally took place in the more comfortable side of the room, verbally. It was validated when the prince lazily waved him to come forward.
As soon as Rex stepped closer, into the bright square of light emanating from a large skylight in the ceiling, the prince sat up straight. “Who are you? What is the meaning of this?”
Rex gave Digger a hand signal to relax, and he obeyed immediately, sinking onto his belly, back legs under him and front legs stretched out, his noble head resting on them. He answered, “Forgive me for barging in on you like this, Your Highness. I have been told about your remarkable business acumen, and I had no other way of getting an audience with you. It is on a matter of exigency that I had to take advantage of your men to get the opportunity to meet with Your Highness. Please don’t punish them.”
The prince, somewhat mollified by Rex’s sycophantic demeanour and explanation, relaxed. “I appreciate your candor and courage. I forgive your unorthodox method. Did you have any motive besides standing in my illustrious presence for wanting to meet me?” He smiled as if in self-deprecation at his own little joke.
Rex had no doubt it was a double entendre. By pretending to mean the opposite, the prince thought to be charming. However, he truly believed he was illustrious. It was evident in his expression. Many a truth is spoken in jest.
“As a matter of fact, I did.” Rex raised one eyebrow and subtly rubbed the fingers and thumb of his right hand together.
Mutaib’s expression sharpened. “I take it you have a business proposition to discuss? Sit down, my friend. Tell me your name.”
Rex had a split second to remind himself that subterfuge was not his strong suit. He was good at finding the bad guys and dealing with them swiftly. Usually he didn’t have much to say to his targets, his tactics were surprise and overwhelming force. This one he had to play very carefully.
Thus began an elaborate dance of inuendo. Rex
knew the players, knew the names Mutaib would recognize. Guns, armaments, weapons – none of those words would be used.
“My name is Ruan Daniel,” he began. “But it is not the important name. Perhaps you remember Viktor Anatolyevich?”
The Russian he referred to was Viktor Anatolyevich Bout, a notorious arms smuggler who had been extradited from Thailand to America in 2010 to face numerous accusations stemming from his trade, tried, convicted, and serving a twenty-five-year sentence for conspiring to sell weapons to a U.S.-designated foreign terrorist group. In dropping his name, Rex’s intention was to imply that he knew Bout, perhaps was a person who’d done business with him. If Mutaib bought it, Rex would have instant credibility.
Mutaib bought it.
“Of course, I remember him. A sad fate he faces.”
Rex schooled his face to commiserate. “Indeed.”
His true feelings were that the bastard deserved more than the minimum sentence for all he’d done. The blood of countless numbers had flowed and many had died because of Bout’s delivery of arms to terrorist groups, rebels, and criminal gangs. But Rex had a role to play, so his thoughts didn’t reach his expression.
Rex continued. “Anatolyevich’s absence has created a void in the market which had to be filled. And that, Your Highness, is the reason I’m here to seek Your Highness’s wise council and astuteness.
Mutaib was enchanted. “Let us not be formal. You may address me as Mutaib. It is time for tea, my new friend. Will you join me?”
Though it was quite early for dinner and late for lunch, Rex remembered he was posing as a Brit and assumed Mutaib was honoring his custom. He allowed a grateful smile to answer. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
“No, no – you must call me Mutaib.”
Iskandar was waiting outside when Rex and Mutaib emerged from the office. Mutaib instructed him to call his driver and bring the Town Car around. “Wait downstairs,” he said.
