Ebola K: A Terrorism Thriller: Book 3 (21 page)

It took them a half hour to haul Rafael’s dead weight out of the subterranean complex.  With arms, shoulders, and hands aching from the effort, Paul and Salim carried the bag off the path and through the knee-high brown grass on a direct line toward the fire pit.  When they were far enough from people and structures, Paul instructed Salim to set his end down and to squat like he was resting.

“I don’t need to pretend to rest,” said Salim.  “He’s heavy.”

Paul unzipped the bag. 

Rafael sucked a big breath of cold, clean air.  “Thank God.”

“Are you okay?”

Rafael nodded and sat up.

Paul pushed him back down.  “Not above the grass.” Paul looked around at the darkness, searching for anything that might turn into a problem.  “Prop yourself up on an elbow and look that way.” Paul pointed at the warehouse in the distance.  “Make your way over there.  Crawl or go on your hands and knees.  Once you’re in the shadow behind the building, wait there.  People will come and go.  I’ll be there later to transact some business.  All the soldiers and workers will be gone by then.  I’ll come out and get you.  Stay silent and hidden until then.”

Rafael wiped his hands across his face then wiped them on his pants.  “This is disgusting.”

“Are you good? You know what to do?”

“I got it.  I’ll be there when you’re ready.”

The door opened and of course, Austin anxiously looked over.  An Arab man came in followed by another, both in suits, both wore gloves and masks.  Soldiers were outside in the hall.  Mitch was out there with them in cuffs.

The first Arab into the room leaned over and unlocked Austin’s handcuffs, or that’s to say, disconnected him from the chair and secured his hands behind his back.  “Come.”

Austin stood up and followed the men into the hall where he was lined up beside Mitch.  The men in suits led them up the hall with the soldiers following.  Austin looked over at Mitch and silently mouthed, “What?”

Mitch leaned in close and whispered, “Say nothing.  Follow.”

They made their way to the end of the hall, passing heavy door after door, all cells.  Austin looked at each as they passed, unable to determine if they were occupied.  The cleanliness and bright lights were a contrast to how he’d spent his last period of captivity.

The group walked down a flight of stairs, down a short hall, through the lobby of the police station, and out to the curb.

The face-masked man who’d detached Austin from his chair opened the back door of a late model black SUV and motioned Austin to get inside.  Austin did and scooted across the seat as Mitch followed through the same door.  It shut behind.

The SUV sped off, following another SUV of the same type.

Austin looked at Mitch with a question on his face.

A guy in the front passenger seat turned.  “We may talk now.”

“The cuffs,” said Mitch.

“Of course.” The man fished in his pocket.  “Turn around.”

Mitch turned in the seat, got up on his knees and raised his hands.

The man from the front seat unlocked Mitch’s cuffs.

“My cuffs?” Austin asked, hoping for the same treatment.

The man in front handed the keys to Mitch, who promptly unlocked the cuffs on Austin’s wrists.  “Thanks.”

Mitch handed the cuffs to the man in the front seat.  “Austin, this is Shahid Khouri.  He works for the Sultan.”

“So do the police,” said Khouri. 

“Work for the Sultan?” Austin rubbed his wrists.

Khouri nodded.  “Not as directly as I do.”

“Where are we going?” asked Austin.

“To one of the Sultan’s apartments,” said Mitch, “while they decide what to do with us.”

Millie’s face lost what little color it had hidden behind the makeup.  “What’s that?”

Paul pointed toward stacks of boxes along the back wall of the warehouse.  To Rafael, he said, “Stay close to those boxes, over there by Salim.  Only one of the cameras works in here.  If you stay over there, they can’t see you.”

“He’s sick.” Millie shuddered.

Paul turned back to Millie.  “He’s immune.  He’s the source of some of the plasma you’ve been getting.”

“Why’s he covered with blood?”

“I had to make him look dead to get him out of the silo, so you could haul him out of here.”

Millie started walking toward her truck, shaking her head.  “I’m not in the business of abetting escapees.”

“No, no,” said Paul.  “He’s not an escapee.  He’s dead.  You’re hauling a body.  That’s all.  I’ve got ten bags of plasma to pay his way.”

“Captain Willard will ask questions when his plasma comes up missing.”

“I’ll deal with Willard.” In fact, Paul hadn’t figured out yet how he was going to account for the discrepancy.  It would turn up one day soon.  Even criminals had an inventory control system.

“I won’t do it for ten.”

“Ten is what I’ve got.”

“Then no.”

“I don’t think you understand, Millie.” Paul stepped forward and towered over the tiny woman.  “Rafael is going with you.  He’s got some questions about your contact with Jimmy, Larry’s friend.”

Millie turned hostile.  “You’re trying to cut me out.” She huffed and balled her bony little hands into fists.  “You’re not gonna do it.”

“No.” Paul shook his head.  “That’s not it at all.  Jimmy’s your competition now, right? You’re not in business with him, right?”

Millie nodded warily.

Paul put on a reassuring smile.  “Why do you need Jimmy in your life? Sell the stuff yourself.  You’re already setting up a network to do that.  Let us take care of Jimmy.  Remove the competition.”

Millie grinned.  She liked that idea a lot.

“I’ll sweeten the deal,” said Paul.  “I’ll get you another five bags on your next visit so fifteen in all for delivering Rafael to Denver and getting him the lowdown on Jimmy.” Paul put a hand out to shake.

Millie told Paul to get Rafael stashed in the trailer and close it up.  She exited the warehouse and headed for the truck’s cab.

Paul walked Rafael into the trailer.  Several boxes of contraband plasma were stacked there.  “There’s no place to hide inside.  You have to hope nobody stops and inspects the truck.”

Rafael’s face, anxious and smiling, turned to worry.  “How often does that happen?”

“Millie says almost never.  Not anymore, anyway.” Paul reached into a pocket and wrapped his fingers around some papers he’d been working on.  “I need another favor.”

Rafael grinned, obviously happy to have his feet so close to freedom’s doorstep.  “You want a lot.”

“I know.” Paul hesitated, still making the choice whether to proceed in giving Rafael the papers.

“C’mon.  I’m gonna be a busy man.”

Paul faked a laugh but left his papers in his pocket.  “You’ve got plans then? Do you think you’ll try to get out of the state?”

Rafael leaned in close.  “How much do you trust Millie?”

The question surprised Paul but then he guessed the intent behind it.  “I’d keep an eye on her, but I don’t think she’ll cross you and put her pipeline of plasma at risk.  I think you’ll be okay.”

“No.” Rafael frowned and looked at Paul in disbelief.  “I can handle that old lady.  That’s not what I’m talkin’ about.  With this Jimmy character out of the picture, can I trust her as a business partner?”

Paul let go of the papers and pulled his hand out of his pocket.  “You shouldn’t get involved in this.  It’s all going to go to shit one day.  Too many people know.  Things like this always get exposed.  When that happens, you don’t want to end up back in jail.  Even with a new identity, they can still run your prints, you know.”

Rafael shrugged and sat behind the small stack of boxes in the truck.  “Just askin’ what you think.  I gotta find a way to make some money when I get out.  Things are messed up now.”

They were indeed.  Paul said, “Good luck.”

After Paul had closed the overhead door and Millie drove her truck away, Paul reached into his pocket and handed his papers to Salim.

“What’s this?”

Paul leaned down and picked up the box that contained Millie’s payment to Captain Willard.  “Everything.” Paul walked toward the back door.

“Everything?” Salim hurried behind.

“Put it in your pocket.  Keep it with you.  Don’t let anybody see it.”

“Can I read it?”

Paul nodded at the door.  “Will you get that?”

Salim opened the door, and the two walked through.

“Read it if you want.  I’ve written everything down, how the operation works.  Who I know is in on it.  Who all is corrupt.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to the Colonel to tell him what’s going on.”

“The colonel of the camp?” Salim’s tone revealed just how bad he thought that idea was.

Paul nodded.  “This has got to stop.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

Salim laughed.  “You know the Colonel is probably in on it.  He’s probably running it.”

“I know.” Paul drew a deep sigh.  “It’s a risk I have to take.  I was going to give that copy to Rafael to take to one of the news stations in Denver.”

“But he wants in on the action.”

“Exactly.”

Salim looked at the folded papers.  “What am I supposed to do with these?”

“Keep them.  I think that after I tell the Colonel, things might go badly for me.  If they do, then I want you to find a way to get the story to somebody you can trust.  Somebody who can expose all of this.”

“Why?”

Paul didn’t understand Salim’s position.  “What do you mean, why? It’s wrong.”

“All of this is wrong.” Salim waved a hand at the camp.  “This little bit that you want to expose, why is that any more wrong than the rest of this?”

That was a technicality that Paul had no answer for.

Paul stopped. 
Damn.

Salim looked up at the stars.  “It’s been a long time since I was last outside.  I miss it.”

“I come out here almost every night.” Paul turned his eyes up to the black sky.  “It’s the only place that feels untainted.”

Salim’s head sank, and he looked at his feet.

“Sorry.” Paul reached over and put a hand on Salim’s arm.  “I didn’t mean to underscore—”

“No.  I know what I did.  That is my burden.  You don’t need to apologize.”

Paul said, “I need to get this stuff to Captain Willard before he comes looking for it.”

“What about the letter?”

“Hold onto that for now.  I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Austin stood at the window looking at the late morning sun glisten on blue waves across the Gulf of Oman.  Fifty or sixty miles across that gulf sat Iran, the boogieman of terrorist fears for a generation.  Najid Almasi, the mastermind and bankroll behind the spread of Ebola across the planet, was luxuriating on an island a hundred miles west-northwest.

After the ambush the night before, Najid was sure to know by now that America might be after him.  If he hopped a boat and crossed the gulf to Iran, would that put him out of reach? Was that even a possibility? Najid Almasi was a Saudi.  Austin tried to piece together his knowledge of Sunni and Shiite, which was which, and whether Iran and Saudi Arabia were on different sides of that religious divide. 

Austin rubbed his temples.  He’d only managed a few hours of sleep before troubles turned to nightmares that woke him despite his fatigue.  Now he had a headache and a future that didn’t look like it included an opportunity to do anything about Najid.

He leaned against the glass and stared.

“Coffee? Tea?”

Austin turned.

Vijay, an Indian houseboy, a man older than his father, stood with a tray and two steaming cups.  When Khouri had deposited Mitch and Austin in the apartment, he’d introduced them to Vijay, who’s instruction was to tend to all of Austin’s and Mitch’s needs during their stay.  “Coffee? Tea?”

“Tea.” Austin walked over to a couch and sat down.

Vijay sat a cup on the coffee table by Austin’s knees.  “Honey?”

It didn’t matter to Austin what he sweetened his tea with.  Choice in nearly anything was a luxury he’d learned to do without.  “Yes.”

Vijay scooped two teaspoons of honey into Austin’s cup and then looked up.  “More?”

Austin shook his head.  “Could I get something to eat?”

“Would you like to take your breakfast at the table inside or outside?” Vijay waved a hand at a table large enough to seat a dozen out on the patio.  “You might enjoy the morning air after your sleepless night.”

“I slept some.” Austin eyed the table on the patio and felt confined in that apartment.  “Khouri told us not to go out on the patio.”

“Very well.” Vijay picked up Austin’s cup, and before Austin could protest, carried it over to the dining table inside.

Austin stood up and followed.

Vijay pulled a chair out, which made Austin feel awkward.  “I’ve got it.”

Ignoring Austin, Vijay said, “Please sit.”

Austin did. 

Vijay disappeared into the kitchen.

Austin sipped his tea and waited for the caffeine to do its morning magic.  He glanced down the hall looking to see whether Mitch’s door was open.  He was likely still asleep between clean sheets on a soft bed.  And with clean clothes waiting for him when he awoke. 

The clothes were a surprise.  Austin had showered before going to bed, thrilled to have the opportunity to get himself completely clean after so many months of dirt and stink.  Then when he awoke, he found his clothes—cleaned, pressed, and folded on a dresser near his bed.

Total surprise.

Vijay returned with a tray containing a glass of juice, two plates on which lay fried eggs, fried potatoes, sliced fruit, and pancakes. 

Only bacon and sausage were missing, but Austin didn’t complain.  He’d not seen such a meal since he was last in Denver.

“I made assumptions about your tastes.” Vijay smiled, trying to hide pride with false modesty.  “I’ve worked for Westerners for many years before coming to my current employment.”

“This will be great.” Austin picked up a fork as Vijay stepped away.  “Please stay.”

“Sir?”

Austin motioned at a chair across the table.  “Sit.  Please.  Did you make something for yourself?”

Vijay walked around the table but did not sit.  “I cannot eat with you.”

“What?”

“Is there something you require?”

Austin decided that pressing the request for Vijay to sit would likely do no good.  “Can we talk while I eat?”

“If that is your preference.” Vijay glanced over his shoulder at the view of the ocean.  “The morning is beautiful.  Would you not prefer to sit in peace and look at the water as you eat?”

“The sea is pretty, but I’d like to ask you some questions if that’s okay.”

Uncomfortable but trying not to show it, Vijay said, “Yes sir.  Please eat while it is hot.”

“What is this place?” Austin filled his fork and put a bite in his mouth.

“This apartment belongs to the Sultan.  One of his friends lived here.”

“Where is that friend now? Did he have to leave?”

Vijay’s face turned sad then back to neutral.  “Ebola.”

Of course.  Austin felt like a buffoon for having asked such a crass question when the answer was guessable.  “I’m sorry.”

“It is the way of things.”

Austin took another bite.  The food was spiced in an unusual manner that Austin had not tasted before.  He pointed vaguely at the rest of the city.  “Most everything seems orderly here.  Was the epidemic not very bad?”

Vijay’s face showed a deep sadness and his eyes revealed hidden anger.  “Some things should not be spoken of.”

“What does that mean?”

“The breakfast is to your liking?”

“Very good.” Austin emphasized his enthusiasm.  “Very, very good.  Thank you.”

Vijay stepped away from the table.

“Wait.”

Vijay froze.

“Sorry.  I…” Austin felt bad for ordering Vijay.  “Please.  Let’s talk some more.”

Vijay shook his head.

“Please.” Austin motioned Vijay back to his spot on the other side of the table.

“I don’t know what’s going on in the world.  I was in Africa for three months.” Austin shook his head as he brought to mind a rush of memories of gruesome death and flowing tears.  He choked on his words when he asked.  “I don’t know a lot about the rest of the world.” That was a bit of a lie; Mitch had told him quite a lot.

Vijay took a moment as he searched for what he felt comfortable saying.  “It is hard to say how many in Muscat died if that is what you are asking of me.”

Austin nodded as he laid down his fork.  Death wasn’t the best subject over breakfast. 

“Over eighty percent.”

That didn’t seem possible, not with the tidiness of the city.  “Eighty percent?” Austin wondered if Vijay understood what percentages meant.  Muscat, what he’d seen of it was far too orderly for that kind of death toll.  “That’s nearly eight out of ten people?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where are the…” Austin stopped himself from saying “bodies.”

“The workers took them to the fires in the mountains.”

“All of them? How’s that possible?”

“In Muscat there are—were—many, many Indian workers.” Vijay looked toward the mountains that stood behind the city.  “We burned the Omani dead, and we burned each other when we died.” Vijay looked down the hall that led to the bedrooms.  “Coffee or tea?”

Austin looked to see Mitch coming into the living room.  “Morning.”

Mitch, looking at Vijay said, “Coffee.  Black.” To Austin, he said, “Lots of the Middle Eastern countries, the ones with money, have a huge contingent of workers from India, Bangladesh, and the Philippines.”

Vijay hurried off.

Austin went to work on his lukewarm breakfast.  “You want these pancakes? This is more than I’m going to eat.” Austin scooted the plate of pancakes toward an empty seat across the table.

Mitch scooted the chair out and sat down, eyeing the pancakes.  “Vijay made me some when I got up.”

“What?” Austin felt guilty for being the late sleeper.

“I called your sister and told her we’re in Oman and that everything’s all right.”

“Did you tell her what happened with the plane?”

Mitch nodded.

“You didn’t tell her I was on the way to Dubai, did you?”

Mitch shook his head.  “That’s for you to do.”

“After we’re done I’ll call her.” Austin drank down some juice.  “So what’s the deal now? You and Khouri were talking when I went to sleep last night.  Are we prisoners here or what?”

“No.  Khouri is a friend.  I don’t know how many other friends we have in Oman, but he’s helping.”

“Wait, I thought Oman was friendly to Westerners.”

“It is.” Mitch tore a piece of a pancake off and took a bite.  “Given what happened last night with the Osprey, I’d say they’ve got some jihadi sympathizers in the government.  Maybe just one guy but you never know.”

“Vijay said this apartment is owned by the Sultan.  He’s with us, then, right?”

“The Sultan died.”

“Ebola?” Austin didn’t have to ask.  He knew.

Mitch nodded.  “The succession is up in the air a little.”

“How’s that?”

“No heirs.  There’s a guy acting as sultan at the moment.  Strong man.  I don’t know.  He’s sympathetic to Westerners, but he’s consolidating his power in a country where most everyone has died, and you can bet that there will be people both inside and out who are going to try to figure away to put themselves in a more advantageous political position.  Coups, revolts, invasions.  We’re going to see those all over the world.  The new sultan doesn’t want to chum up to the Americans too strongly at a time when he doesn’t know if he can depend on our military support.”

“I don’t understand what we’re doing here then?”

“Getting ready to leave.”

Austin put some quick effort into the remains of his breakfast.  “How soon?”

“In a little bit.”

“What about Najid?” Austin pointed with his fork.  “He’s probably long gone by now.”

“Yes, he is.”

“How will we find him?”

“Khouri has a contact in Dubai.  Khouri told me where Najid is now.”

“Najid is still in Dubai?” Austin had a hard time believing it.  “Can we trust Khouri?”

“You got a better idea?”

Austin shook his head.

“It looks like Najid moved from the island where he was hiding to a mansion on Palm Jumeirah.”

“He likes his luxury spots.”

Mitch nodded.  “His family is distantly related to Saudi royalty.  He’s had money all his life.  I doubt he’s the kind of guy who’s going to live in a tent for jihad, no matter how he sells his shit to his followers.”

“Are the Omanis going to help us then? Is that what you’re working out with Khouri?”

Mitch shook his head.

Vijay came in with coffee on a tray and sat the cup on the table.  “Would you like another breakfast, sir?”

“No.  Thank you, Vijay.  Could we have some privacy, please?”

“Of course.” Vijay hurried away.

Mitch lowered his voice a little and leaned over the table.  “With the stability concerns, the Omanis won’t do anything.  They can’t take the risk.  And like we talked about before, we can’t call in an airstrike.  Dubai is a sovereign nation and by the time we got permission from whoever is in charge, Almasi could be long gone again.”

“But we bombed Saudi Arabia,” said Austin.  “We have tighter relations with them than just about anybody else in the Middle East.”

“And we’re lucky we’re not at war with them right now.” Mitch sipped his coffee.  “None of that matters as much as getting this whole thing to happen in time.  My guess is that Najid Almasi knows America is onto him.  We’ve tried to kill him once, and he got away.  I don’t think he’s going to sit still long.  Everything is chaotic back in the States.  Nobody is sure who is giving orders to whom and the military is being cautious, especially the Navy.”

“But they were going to pick up the samples.”

“Convincing a captain to pick up important samples in the middle of the night is a whole different proposition than calling in a squadron of Hornets to bomb civilians in a sovereign nation.”

Austin finished up his breakfast.  “What then?”

“We head out as soon as Khouri finishes the arrangements.  We’ll take two cars.  He’ll drive us.  Once we’re at the border, he’ll leave us with the car and go back with the other.  Then we’re on our own.”

“Okay.” Austin told himself he was ready.