Sudden Deception (A Jill Oliver Thriller) (21 page)

The sounds of the clay tiles splattered across the table. “I don’t know, Leila. If the chief walks in, he’ll think I’m a loon,” Jill said with hesitation.

“Who gives a rat’s ass,” Leila said as she clicked the lock on the door. She hurried back to the table as Jill began moving the numbers. “What can I do?” Leila offered.

“Nothing. You just need to be quiet.”

Leila zipped her fingers across her lips and leaned back in her chair. After several minutes of humming. Jill chanted, “Ochrana.” More chanting and then “Operation Silhouette …”

***

“Shukran, thank you” the fat man said as he sucked on the shisha pipe. The bright blue hose coiled into an Arabian bong. The small Bangladeshi man scurried away after setting down the tray. The tent was grand. Majestic billowy strands of maroon fabric fluttered as the air conditioners breezed cool air. The tent walls heaved in and out as the wind outside swirled sand into the air.

Bright red cushions lay on the sand, and the fat man’s legs splayed, too fat to crisscross as he sat. A normal-sized man would not have squashed the eight inches of cushion into the ground as he did. His heels touched what looked to be an intricately woven Iranian carpet. The flecks of gold that stitched the sides were flattened under the weight of his shoes. The wash of color from the dangling lanterns kept the backside of his head a silhouette.

Two men dressed in black fatigues stood guarding each side of the door flaps that opened out to the hot desert. The long coil hissed as the fat man sucked before puffing out the smoke.

It was Petrovich who spoke first with his think Slavic accent. “We finally meet again.” His dark eyes glared as he looked at the fat man. “Why are you here? There is no need to take such a risk.”

The fat man took another pull on the pipe, this time slower. “Some things I need to take care of myself.” The fat man patted the large black suitcase that lay beside him.

“I’ve been told your lab rats have inspected the package and that everything is as we’ve promised,” Petrovich said as he leaned back and rested his right arm on the back of the bright cushions.

A mousy waiter scurried back, smiled widely, and said, “Another flavor, sir? We have apple, cherry, and—” The fat man’s fingers lifted together in annoyance as he dismissed the servant.

“Only one thing left to be confirmed,” said Petrovich. “As we’ve agreed, you will not use this technology on my homeland. Mother Russia does not need your capitalist pigs there; your country has done enough damage.” Petrovich leaned forward and shot a menacing look towards the fat man. “If I hear anything like this, I’ll kill you myself and then I’ll kill your family one bone at a time.” The guards stirred as they cradled their AK47s.

“You need not worry, my brother,” the fat man drawled. “I have better uses for it.”

***

Jill dropped the pen onto the newly scribed pad and exhaled. Leila stared blankly at her. Jill blinked several times as clarity faded back in. She couldn’t decide if Leila was looking at her in admiration or if she was thinking Jill was a Goddamn freak. They both gazed down at the pad. “What the hell is it?” Jill said as she studied the drawing.

“I was wondering that myself as you drew it. Man, that’s some spooky shit to watch.” Leila flicked the pad and turned it towards herself. On the page was a large thin triangular shape that seemed too large to fit onto the page.

Jill grabbed the notebook back and began to write below the odd shape. Fat man, silhouette, Petrovich. Then she took a sip of her cold coffee. Leila read her notes upside down; it was a journalistic skill that Jill knew she cherished.

“Did you see the fat man’s face?” Jill shook her head no and began to put the clay numbers back in their pouch. Jill was tired after this viewing, more so than usual. It took more energy on a cellular level, especially when she was concentrating on a particular subject. But again this viewing was not a typical remote view. She could see even more vividly than the last time.

“Tell me everything,” Leila demanded. “What did you see?”

“A fat man in a tent talking to a man that looked like Petrovich.” Jill shuddered and continued, “There were also two men guarding the doors—ya know, the kind we had the pleasure of meeting here.”

“Chechens,” Leila added. “What the hell did those men want with David anyway?”

All Jill could do was shrug, as she did not know. “There were Chechens in Doha, in Kushka, and now Hamburg. It has to do with me, Leila, not you.”

“Well, somebody really wants something from you, Jill.”

“What’s odd is that I could swear I was being followed in the US even before I left for Doha.”

Leila's brow arched.

“Anyway, in this viewing they were meeting in a tent. I think they were in a desert, Leila, ‘cause it looked like an Arabian tent.”

“Desert? Do you think it could be Dubai?” Leila gently tapped the notebook. “What does this look like to you, Jill?” Leila questioned, examining what Jill had drawn.

Jill looked at the thin triangle type shape on the page and began to run her fingers along the sketched lines. It looked like a blueprint drawn by a child. Jill’s finger continued to move along its lines and the tip of her finger brushed the needle-nosed tip of the triangle at the top of the page. Inside the triangle were rectangles that looked like vertical cubes of ice stacked end to end, forming the triangle.

Jill looked swiftly towards Leila in recognition. “I’ve seen this before, Lei. It was in a flash I had when I first found out David was missing. See this line here?”

As Jill traced it, Leila looked down again at the page, her head tilted to the right when she echoed,

“Flash?”

They both studied the bumpy line that stretched horizontally across the page.

“I call it a flash card that I sometimes get. It was this picture, as if I was watching it from above. It was like a needle shooting through something fuzzy, like pillows, like a cloud.”

The handle of the locked door jiggled and clicked as someone attempted to open it. Johan’s voice came through loud. “Ladies, open the door please. It’s GSG policy not to lock the doors.” Defiantly Leila rolled her eyes and unlocked it.

“We haven’t heard from our man on the inside,” he said as he rushed in, shut the door, and sat down. “He’s missed his last two checks.” Johan’s head lowered. “All indications are that the buy will not be happening tonight.” He made an inaudible grumbling.

“Do you think it has to do with our capture earlier? We spooked them maybe?” Jill asked.

Leila. “Anything on Stan?”

Johan shook his head. “They're running more intense intel now, but at first glance there has been no apprehension of large sums of cash or deposits into any German banks. Not yet anyway. We ran the word Ochrana. Seems you have a very interesting informant.” He glanced slyly with half a giggle towards Leila. She didn’t return the flirt. “Ochrana really didn’t pull up much, but when the analysts ran Ochrana with the Star of David it almost sent our computer systems on fire.” Johan began to read faster. He was clearly trying to keep his cool; after all, he was German.

“Ochrana, the Star of David,” he continued in forced monotone, “has been sporadically reported over the years. Seems to be an old legend and has never been taken seriously. Like those conspiracy theories you read online or listen to on late-night radio. One world power, the world is ending, you get my drift. I think your informant might have had a few too many whiskeys. But here is something you will find of interest, Jill. Stan Brown just landed in Dubai approximately five hours ago.”

Jill and Leila rushed out of the black Audi and stepped into the Hamburg airport. They were practically running to their gate as Jill held her rib cage with her right arm, only allowing herself to wince a couple of times.

“I understand that Germany has solid ties to Israel, but seriously, they are not able or willing to help us in the UAE? He didn't believe there was a connection with Stan either. That’s bullshit! ”

“We’ve got the contact for the intelligence broker he trusts. I guess that’s all we can expect. Frankly, based on what’s been happening, he’s vetted and right now that is all I care about,” Jill huffed. “I don't think he believed anything we said after he ran Ochrana anyway.”

The A340 was run-down. The carpet reeked grunge as they walked back down the soggy aisle towards the emergency exit row. As the flight hit cruise at thirty-nine thousand feet, Leila said, “You were right about Johan. He would have laughed us out of the GSG for good if you had told him about your abilities.”

“There’s more that I haven’t told you,” Jill said, her gaze fixed on the bulkhead in front of her. Without leg room in the exit row, it was awkward and uncomfortable. Leila sat in silence with only the sound of the dishes clattering in the galley to be heard.

Before Jill continued, she looked around the airplane. There was an older man seated by the window across a row of empty middle seats, and no one sat in the seats behind them. Only when she felt comfortable she began to speak again. “In the viewing at GSG the fat man appeared to be buying something, or it seemed that way anyway.”

“You mean like what was supposed to happen tonight at GSG?”

There was a pregnant pause and then Jill hushed the word, “Yeah.” It was only one word but Jill already knew what Leila was thinking. Minutes passed and then the inevitable question came.

“Err … don’t take this the wrong way, Jill, but these viewings that you do—is it possible to project into viewings what is happening in your life? Seems over-the-top to think you’re seeing Stan Brown buying uranium from this guy Petrovich. Like you said, Jill, filling in the blanks?”

“I know…” Jill tapered off and started into the tunnels. She wasn’t sure how long she was in there when Leila spoke.

“Where’s that trolley dolly?” Leila said snidely. “Guess we have to help ourselves.” Leila fidgeted in her seat. Ten more minutes passed before they were finally served wine in plastic wine glasses. “This ain’t no first class,” Leila continued to grumble, trying to keep herself occupied while she waited for Jill to say something.

“I suppose it’s possible,” Jill said as she sipped from the plastic glass.

“The thing that gets me, Jill, is why Stan? Just doesn’t make sense. What would he want to do with uranium?”

“Yeah,” Jill said halfheartedly.

Without notice, Leila jumped up and clicked open the overhead, stuck her hand in her bag, and pulled out some paper. Leila clicked her pen on and began to write. “Okay, let’s assume the fat man is Stan. So far we have him in Afghanistan winning a contract. We also have Petrovich there around the same time. Then today you have a viewing of Stan buying something from Petrovich in some sort of Arabian tent.” Leila scrawled.

“That would make sense of why David is in Dubai then. But David wasn’t following Stan. Stan just landed there,” Jill added.

“Also, David went missing just over a week ago, not two months ago when Stan was in Afghanistan.” Leila started tapping her pen on the page. “What are we missing?”

“So David’s a NOC and his target is Stan.”

“Stan’s not David’s birth father,” Leila interjected. She paused, and the domino pieces began to fall into line. “So the question is … why is Stan David’s target if David went to Dubai ahead of him?”

“What hospital did Johan say Zayed was at?” Leila questioned.

“American International, I think. Something with the word ‘American’ in it. What … you’re thinking we should pay him a visit?”

“My bets are he knows something. Maybe David went to see him. David would have vetted me, Jill. If he knows something he’ll talk to me. It’s called HUMINT. I’m sure he’s up to speed on it.”

“HUMINT?”

“HUMan INTelligence; refers to intelligence gathering, you know, sharing secrets one human to the other. It’s spy shit, Jill.”

The silence between them was deafening, both trying to come up with the answer. “Well,” Leila said at last. “It’s clearly got something to do with Operation Silhouette.”

Jill sat up and winced at the lingering pain in her ribs. “What did Johan say it was again—Ochrana? A conspiracy theory?” Jill mocked.

“One world power and all,” Leila quoted with her fingers in the air. “That guy hasn’t been laid for a century. Wound tighter than a drilled screw in hardwood.”

“You know he was right though, Lei. I’ve heard this before too. One world power, the Freemasons are well known for this term. Even the likes of Hilary Clinton referenced it. One God's rule.” Jill whispered.

“One president of the whole world—my colleagues and I have joked about that so many times,” Leila chimed. “But it’s usually after a few drinks and a discussion about our overbearing boss.”

The thrum of the engines helped move their thoughts forward. Then it came fast, like an epiphany. Based on her SOG work, Jill knew what it was instantly when the thought entered her mind. “What if my viewing is accurate and Stan was buying uranium?”

Leila listened intently. She may be beautiful and brash, but it was Jill that had the gift and Jill’s brain was ticking fast now. “There is only one reason someone would be buying uranium, Lei. And if that someone wants to dominate with a one world power …”

They sipped again, silently trying to digest this thought.

Jill’s foot tapped and after another sip, their glasses were empty. Leila lurched upwards and hit the call button, sat down fast and said, “Operation Silhouette, what does this have to do with Stan and him buying uranium, Jill?”

“Don’t know, a distraction maybe, but I do know David thought Stan was evil.” Jill almost felt guilty for saying it. “If David was right then he is capable of pretty much anything. And Lei,” Jill sighed hopefully, “one thing I do know. If Stan is in Dubai, then so is David.”

13:42 Zulu Time—DUBAI, UNITED ARAB EMIRATES

The day was almost over when they landed in Dubai. They had passed through immigration painlessly enough, and after Jill had done her scans, they jumped into the first of a long line of idling taxis.

The city beamed, bright sunshine reflecting off modern, glass buildings. The time on the dashboard read 18:12. The taxi driver honked his way through construction site after construction site before he sped along the main road. The odd-shaped buildings glimmered beside the likes of Starbucks, Pizza Hut, and even a Waitrose supermarket.

“So this is Dubai,” Leila said, as they passed yet another cosmetic surgery billboard. “Not really an Arabian experience, is it? And who names a hotel The Address?” Leila snorted.

Jill shrugged. “Johan recommended it so I am sure it'll be nice.” They merged right towards a large off-ramp, crossed over a long bridge, and watched a high-speed subway train pass over ahead.

There, towering over the city, was a vast structure. Through the rear-view mirror the driver noticed their wide eyes and explained, “World’s tallest building.” His head bobbled. “The name is Burj Khalifa after an Abu Dhabi sheik, you know. The hotel where you are staying is at the base of it just over there.” He pointed with a crooked brown finger. “Abu Dhabi had to bail out Dubai since the real estate bubble burst,” he babbled.

The car popped over several speed bumps before trailing up the drive to the doors. Jill noted that there were no security checks, just bling bling bling everywhere she looked.

“Holy shit, Jill,” Leila said as she kicked off her shoes in their hotel room, plopping down onto a cushy bed. Jill was already looking out the window and stretching her neck hard in an attempt to view the top of the tower. Leila walked over and mirrored Jill.

“Hocus pocus my ass,” she said. “This is real shit; that’s your sketch, Jill.”

“Yeah.” Jill was disheartened. The realization hit her the moment she saw it. She knew now what was happening. She was in Dubai to find David and her viewings were guiding her every step of the way. But it was more than that now, and Jill knew that too. Find Stan and I find David. Find Stan and stop a major catastrophic event. It was her job, after all. Survive!

“You’re in Dubai?” Karine said softly, annoyed after being awoken by Jill’s unexpected phone call. “Cool.” Jill could hear her stretch.

“Yeah, sorry to call you so early but it’s important and I was sure Eric would be in the office being that he is in Virginia. We believe David’s here somewhere too.” Jill briefed Karine and then said, “Right now I need to you translate my RV to Eric.”

“You sure that’s a good idea, Jill?” Karine queried.

“Right now I have no choice. I’ll take the hit if there is one. Just do it, okay Karine?” There was no fussing from Karine, so Jill continued, “Tell Eric that I believe that Stan Brown has just bought, or is going to buy uranium from Petrovich—the transaction that I believe was supposed to happen last night in Germany. The buy didn’t happen. Tell him that I think Stan is behind Operation Silhouette too. I don’t know where the bars are now or how he plans to fuse the WMD, but get Eric to run Matta Al Jazerra—Al Qaeda’s leader. Karine, I think Stan is playing his own big boy game and that Al Qaeda is not involved. Oh, and also find out the last known whereabouts of Dr. E.—the uranium doctor. Get a list of known labs that can test uranium. Tell him to do a sweep of them. And Leila is with me—let Eric know. You can call her phone since you have her number.” Jill hung up the phone.

“We need to go see Zayed,” she said, turning to Leila.

“Ever heard of a shower first?” Leila moaned.

Jill gave Leila an eye roll. “Come on, Leila, we don’t have time.”

Once they were outside on the curb—still unshowered—Jill hailed a taxi. “American International Hospital,” Jill chimed to the driver. He sped along the main road and Jill began to think of Zayed. It was strange that her first thought was of Zayed meeting Leila, and what he would think of her.

The traffic was a bumper-to-bumper, parking lot of vehicles. While they chugged along, they had time to appreciate the scenery. The buildings were tastefully designed for the most part. There were giant pictures, of what appeared to be royal family members decorating the glass some fifty stories high. Tall points shot up to the sky on some buildings, and there was even a building with a large round ball on the top. Their taxi honked its way for miles before it pulled off the main road and headed over an overpass leading to the hospital.

The large brown building sat alongside a wide river. Inside the hospital was a scene that Jill had never experienced before.

“This is a hospital?” Leila exclaimed. “Nice!”

It looked more like a glamorous hotel than a medical facility. Large wing backed chairs were scattered around. Over-sized plants gave a homey appeal, along with a fake fireplace. A uniformed man walked around the chaired area asking the waiting patients if they wanted something to drink.

After a stop at the reception desk, they found Zayed’s room on the third floor. “Hello?” said Jill hesitantly before they walked through the door. There was only one bed in the posh room, and Zayed’s eyes peeled open as they stood in front of him.

“Hello, Miss Jill. I was hoping to see you again.” His right eye twitched. “I was told that you might pay me a visit. Guess you have good connections to find me so fast.” He caught his breath then looked at Leila. “And who is this?” Zayed purred.

“Leila Sorel.” Leila pushed forward past Jill. Zayed had a bandage around his neck and an IV drip stuck in his left arm. Other than his bandaged state, nothing about the décor would have given a clue that this was a hospital room.

Jill’s brow furrowed at the introductions and got to the point. “Have you seen David, have you heard from him?”

“I haven’t seen him. Little hard to get around these days.” Zayed looked up at the bag of fluid.

“I know why you couldn’t tell me when we were together that you were Goddamn babysitting me.” Jill’s anger spilled. “Was it fun watching me or did you actually care about David’s wellbeing? I know you’re a NOC, Zayed.” Jill’s stance shifted.

Zayed rustled beneath his bed sheets. “Don’t take it personally, Jill. It’s just a job. I was hired to monitor you while attempting to find David. That’s all. Oh, and for the record … they may call what I do a NOC. But I don’t work for any particular agency. I like to call myself a free agent. An independent contractor of sorts.”

Leila seemed to be perturbed about how the conversation was going and pressed for details. “Who were you working for? Who hired you to manage Jill?”

“Miss Leila, they told me about you, the people who hired me. You’re a NOC just like David. “How long have you worked for the OGA, other government agency?”

“Look, Mr. Zayed,” Leila spat, “we need information and we need it now. There is more at stake here than just finding David.”

It took a minute and then Zayed said, “I know.”

“Why were you extracted from Kushka? Why were Russian ops there in the first place?” Jill demanded.

“Oh, I don't know, Jill. They didn’t bother to tell me when you left me there bleeding to death.” Zayed glared at Jill squarely. “My guess is they were there for the same reason as David was. Look, ladies, I gather information for the people who pay me. One of my best clients is the US. They pay very well. This client gently asked me to share what I know, because someone you know has wasta.”

“Wasta?

“It means someone with clout. You know, a big shot at the CIA. I’m not happy about it, but I’ve been paid so who cares.” Zayed motioned Jill to close the door. “My client,” Zayed continued, “and its allies have a concern. So do the Russians.”

“With what?”

“Grozny.”

“Grozny?”

“Grozny is the capital of Chechnya. It has a significant oil pipeline. It’s currently under the control of the Chechen Mafia. The Russians want control back. They need the export energy to catapult them into a full resurgence to gain back their position as a world power.” Zayed looked out the window to the water below and then back at them. Jill wondered if he was doing his surveillance scan. “The Gulf states are getting worried. There’s been intel that the Chechens are getting ready to do something with the pipeline.” Zayed’s mouth crinkled on the right side when he said, “The Russians think they are working with the good old US of A. But I know different. Oil is money, ladies. And money is power.”

Leila looked at Jill. Jill could almost read her mind.

“What does this have to do with David?” Jill probed.

“Two words,” Zayed snidely said. “Stan Brown.”

“That’s just stupid,” blasted Leila. “What drugs do they have you on? If they wanted Stan Brown, they could easily pick him up.”

“Well, that’s the forty-three-million-dollar question, isn’t it?” Zayed mocked. “I get paid to gather information, nothing more. Our Mr. Brown is clean. He's been interrogated before and I don’t mean the pretty little girl kind of interrogation. Still, no agency has ever been able to get anywhere. He’s protected.”

“No one’s protected, Zayed,” Leila asserted, clearly ticked off. “The CIA can pluck him anytime they want.”

Zayed just smirked.

“You think he has something to do with the Chechen Mafia?” Jill asked. “Do you think that has something to do with why the Chechens were following us, Zayed?”

Zayed lifted his hand and brushed the bandage on his neck lightly. “Not me, Jill … you.”

“What … why?” Jill thought out loud. “Because they think I know where David is? If they are following me …” Jill thought of Hamburg and looked at Leila.

“If they were following Jill,” Leila interrupted, “they would know that David wasn’t with her.”

“But they would not know if he’d been in touch. If he’d said something or given you something, Jill,” surmised Zayed. “Do you have something of his Jill?” Jill didn't answer that question and could only think back to the question Stan had asked her regarding possession of some documents.

“David must have something, something on Stan Brown or something about Grozny, and it seems an awful lot of people are in the race to find it.” Then a flash of the schematic passed Jill's vision.

“I heard that David may be here in Dubai. Strange Stan had just arrived too, if it’s true, don’t you think, ladies? So how long have you known David,” Zayed peered in Leila’s direction, “Miss Leila?”

“Two and a half years or so. He recruited me.” She sounded proud. This news pricked at Jill.

“Not a long time to know someone well, is it?”