Out of Control (22 page)

As we left the hotel that morning, there were still a lot of unknowns, and everything
hinged on the correctness of our assumptions.

Nick and I walked to the harbor and made our way toward the industrial section of
the seaport. It had taken us longer to switch genders today without Nawal’s wife to
help us dress, but we were still ready in plenty of time. We stopped at a small café
where we ordered coffee and bought a newspaper. It was nine-thirty when we sat down
to wait.

From behind a section of the paper, Nick whispered, “So, was it the best sex you ever
had?”

From behind another section, I murmured, “Hmm.”

“Do you love me crazy?”

“Hmm.”

“Will you marry me in Vegas at one of those cheesy places with an Elvis impersonator
who sings ‘Hunka Hunka Burnin’ Love’?”

“Hmm.”

“Really?”

“No, not really. I want a white dress and a church and a gi-normous cake. I want Conaway
to be my maid of honor. And I want my sisters to be bridesmaids so they’ll have to
wear tacky dresses and I can finally be Miss Alabama.”

“Miss Alabama?”

“And you can recite a Shakespeare sonnet.”

“
Excuse
me?”

“Later. Long story.”

“Oh. Well, okay.”

We continued drinking our coffee and reading the paper. Actually, I just looked at
the pictures since I couldn’t read Arabic.

Robichaud’s cell rang and he answered in Arabic. When he was done, he ended the call
and made one of his own. He spoke briefly, then returned to reading. “Hakeem’s a real
smart guy. Too bad for him, you’re smarter.”

Excitement and anticipation ran through me. “I was right?”

“Dead on, sugar. Nawaf tracked the GPS unit Zafer planted in Hakeem’s briefcase last
night in Jiddah. Right now, he’s parked about half a mile from the Yanbu port. Zafer
and a couple of other National Guardsmen are in the Ports Authority office, questioning
Tim. Faisal and the guys he rounded up from the refinery are about to go in.”

“I wish we could be a fly on the wall when they ask Tim to identify Faisal.”

“It might not work. He’s got a one in five chance of guessing correctly.”

“If Faisal dressed like I told him to, Tim won’t pick him.”

Robichaud glanced toward the front window of the café, then casually folded the paper
and laid it on the small table. “Ready?”

I laid my paper down and nodded before I stood and led my ‘wife’ out of the café.

The back door of a Mercedes opened as we approached. Climbing in, we greeted Ara,
who smiled from the front passenger seat and shook her head at my clothes. “Now that
is
mannish.”

I looked toward the driver. “Hello, Mr. Kaliq.”

He nodded as he drove away from the curb and said tightly, “I hope this works. Otherwise,
we’ll all be losing our heads in Chop-Chop Square.”

Ten minutes later, we parked half a block behind Hakeem’s car and idled while we waited.
The tension was enormous, but no one spoke or did anything to try and dispel it. What
was the point?

Time dragged by and I began to sweat, freaking out that something had gone wrong.
That
I
was wrong. When Nick’s cell phone chirped in the silence, I started violently. He
spoke for only a moment, then ended the call and said, “They’re on the way.”

We all drooped with relief.

A plain white van turned onto the street and sped past too quickly for us to see the
occupants, but it didn’t matter so much. We knew who was inside.

After Hakeem turned his car around and followed the van, which was headed for the
airport, Nick made another call. We waited a minute, then drove the opposite direction.
At the petroleum port entrance, Kaliq showed his Aramco identification to the gate
guard while another man searched the car. When they were satisfied we weren’t toting
explosives, we were waved through. Kaliq parked and we walked to the Ports Authority
office to wait a bit longer. The man in charge gave Ara and Robichaud a curious look,
no doubt wondering why two women had invaded his manly domain, but Kaliq barked something
at him and he never looked again.

It took about an hour for Zafer to return. He announced he’d personally escorted Tim
onto the plane and that his cousin would be waiting for him in Jiddah, to make sure
he got on the flight back to the States. Moments later, Faisal arrived, looking shell-shocked
and stressed. He confirmed that Tim picked the wrong man and there were witnesses
who’d attest to it.

Ara looked mad enough to spit. “Hard for Hakeem to insist you took Mr. Fresh as a
guest on the yacht when the man can’t identify you.”

Kaliq sighed. “He’s lied so many times before, even when it seems obvious, and gotten
away with it, I wouldn’t be surprised if he tries anyway.”

The call for prayers came and I stepped outside with Nick while the others went to
the floor. We stepped away from the door and the windows and broke a fundamental Saudi
law by making a public display of our affection.

Robichaud laid one on me, but no one saw us so I supposed it didn’t count. He whispered
that he was ready to go home.

“Me too,” I replied. “How are we going to tell Trick and Sweet? What if they say we
can’t be married and work for the same company?”

“Then I’ll quit.”

“Just like that?”

“You were there first, and to tell the truth, I’m positive they’d give me the boot
before they’d let you go. But I’m hoping they’ll let us get married and it won’t be
a big deal.” He kissed me again before he replaced his veil. “I’m going to retire
from the Agency, so who I work for isn’t so important.”

“I thought you liked working for Jamie.”

Nick’s eyes smiled above the veil. “That was before, when it didn’t matter if I got
knocked off. Now, I need to stick around so I can tell my kids what a kickass mama
they have.”

Reaching up, I fondly adjusted his scarf. “I’m not sure I want to wait to get married,
and if we do the whole church deal, it’ll take months. My mother will insist on doing
everything, and it’ll turn into a big pain in the ass.”

“She’ll have to duke it out with my mother. I’m her only chance for a wedding and
she’ll be a bigger pain than yours.”

“But I do hate to give up Miss Alabama.” He gave me a look, so I explained.

“You can be Miss Nevada instead,” he said. “And Elvis will sing. But I draw the line
at Shakespeare.”

Like his unorthodox proposal, the idea of getting married in Las Vegas with an Elvis
impersonator actually kind of fit who we were. “Okay, we’ll do it. We’ll invite the
families and the office and whoever shows up will have a great time.”

The door opened and I stepped back from him, reality slapping me in the face. “God,
I hope this works.”

We walked back to the office to wait some more.

It didn’t take long. When we heard a commotion outside the office, all of us stood
and glanced at one another. “Here goes,” I said under my breath.

The door opened and King Abdullah walked in with Hakeem, flanked by two other men
who appeared to be assistants, or maybe bodyguards.

We all greeted the king, who began a long, rambling speech about how he liked to pop
in unexpectedly around the kingdom and see how people fared, to meet with them one
on one, without a lot of fanfare. He nodded toward Hakeem. “Strange coincidence I
ran into Hakeem out at the airport, and now I see we’re blessed with the Al-Fulani
family as well.” He shook their hands, including Ara’s, then turned toward me. Most
of my face was covered with my
ghutra
, but it was very clear to me that he wasn’t fooled at all. Nevertheless, after Nick
explained about my throat and Faisal introduced me by my fake Arab man name, the king
shook my hand and kissed my cheeks each in turn. He and Nick exchanged a look.

Hakeem went pale when he realized it was Nick and me, dressed in traditional clothes
of the opposite sex. His eyes darted about, to Kaliq and Faisal and Ara and Zafer.
He instinctively knew he was cornered, but was clearly confused and had no idea what
was in store.

The king invited us to tour the port with him, and we moved as a group behind him
and the Ports Authority master. He stopped and asked questions, turned and made comments,
proudly pointed out the offshore loading terminals currently feeding oil into two
tankers, including the one that “saved” Tim.

He took his time, seemed to be enjoying himself hugely, while Hakeem began to wear
thin under the stress. By now he had to be wondering if the coincidence wasn’t one
at all, if the king suspected he wasn’t the Golden Boy he painted himself to be.

And he had to be thinking about the load of Semtex Tim had left hidden aboard the
Hellas Constellation
. It had been set to blow by timer at two in the afternoon, when the tanks would be
half full, providing the largest explosion possible. He didn’t know the Ports Authority
master’d had the Yanbu police remove and disarm it as soon as Tim left for the airport.

Hakeem may have had an inkling the blasting material had been discovered, but he couldn’t
be certain. What must be really throwing him off was Tim’s departure. If the Semtex
had been found, Tim shouldn’t have been allowed to leave. And he knew for sure Tim
left, because he went to the airport to make sure of it. Nawaf had tracked him via
the GPS unit in his briefcase and called Nick to let him know. Hakeem had planned
to drive from there back to Jiddah, but King Abdullah spotted him and insisted he
come along to tour the port. Hakeem had no clue it was all part of the plan, but he
clearly felt something was up. He was becoming more panicky as the minutes dragged
by.

I could see the indecision in his expression, knew he was afraid. The port was supposed
to blow at two o’clock. The closer it got to the hour, the more he sweated.

The king, on the other hand, was cool and collected. He knew about the Semtex, and
the two o’clock deadline, and our accusation against Hakeem. If we were right, all
would be well. If we were wrong…he’d assume Faisal was responsible for the Semtex,
that he set up the whole thing to nail Hakeem, and we’d all end our days at the infamous
Chop-Chop Square. When Robichaud called him with his suspicions, King Abdullah said
he was fed up with Faisal and Hakeem’s feud, that this would be an end to it one way
or the other.

At fifteen until two, Hakeem finally broke. He said he absolutely had to leave, that
he was due for a meeting in Riyadh at four o’clock and needed to catch a plane right
away.

The king waved away his pretext and said, “Call and tell them you’re with me. I’m
sure they’ll forgive your absence.” He smiled at all of us, and we nodded agreement.

“Yes,” Faisal said, “we’d hate to lose your company, Hakeem.”

All of us, including the king, stared at Hakeem and he swallowed hard before he nodded
and said, “Yes, of course. I’ll call and make my apologies. If you’ll excuse me?”
He turned to walk away, making a big show of taking his cell phone out of his pocket.

Much as we’d watch a train wreck, we were totally focused on his progress toward his
car. His pace actually increased as he got farther away, no doubt because he assumed
we were all about to be blown to bits, so why would it matter if we saw him leave?

When Hakeem was in the car, pulling out of his parking spot, King Abdullah turned
to Faisal and grasped his shoulder. “You’ve been done a grave injustice, which will
be rectified immediately.” He glanced at one of the men who’d accompanied him and
said something in angry Arabic. The man jerked his hand in the direction of the refinery
and a small contingent of police appeared. When he pointed toward Hakeem’s car, they
got in two sedans and took off after him.

Then King Abdullah turned to Nick and extended his hand. “Zafer was right about you,
Mr. Robichaud. You make a most unattractive female, but you’re very much a man of
courage. Thank you for calling my attention to this deplorable situation. I’m deeply
in your debt.”

Nick removed his veil, looking funny with a beard and an
abaya
. He graciously accepted the king’s appreciation.

The king stepped in front of me and unwrapped the
ghutra
from my face. “You are far too much a woman to be mistaken for a man.”

I wasn’t quite sure how to respond, so I didn’t.

“I’ve been told of your trek through the Rub al Khali. Is this true?”

“Yes, Your Highness. Were you also told how I came to be there?”

He frowned. “It’s one of the reasons I allowed Mr. Fresh to leave. Your husband has
a right to vengeance, and he assured me he would take it.”

“Yes, Mr. Fresh will be dealt with.” It was a little scary how eagerly I anticipated
it.

“These are uncertain times, and telling the world that an American, one employed to
protect your homeland, was involved in the attack on Ras Tanura, then planned to destroy
something as vital as this port, is unwise. Don’t you agree?”

I nodded. “You can depend on our discretion.”

The king gave me a fierce look from beneath bushy brows. “Don’t misunderstand. We
let Mr. Fresh leave Yanbu to confuse Hakeem, but he’s still in my country, under my
control. I don’t only want discretion. I want him dead.” He glanced out the office
window at the
Hellas Constellation
, still drinking the oil she’d carry around Africa through the Suez Canal and deliver
to the United States. “If you will try to dissuade your husband from his promise,
this is the time to say so.” He refocused on my face. “And I’ll take care of the problem.”

Wow. Mama never covered how to respond to a king who demanded I stand aside and let
a man be killed. I shot a look at Robichaud, who looked almost as stern and determined
as the king. Good God, he really did intend to kill Tim. What would happen to him
if he did? He’d probably be sent to prison. Robichaud in prison was wrong on so many
levels, I couldn’t agree to let him kill Tim Fresh. Ruin him? Make sure he went to
prison? Beat the shit out of him? Hell yeah. But he couldn’t kill him.