Sudden Deception (A Jill Oliver Thriller) (9 page)

“We are going to go closer to shore!” Zayed yelled above the crash of waves. “We need to get out of the rough sea!”

“Why are we so far out?” Jill questioned frantically. The next wave attacked, and Jill grabbed his thigh hard.

“Pirates, this area is full of them!” Zayed told her they had to sail out of view of the shores, as modern-day pirates combed the shorelines for unsuspecting boats. “Then there is the Saudi Arabia Coast Guard. They will not let us into their waters,” he finished, yelling over the sea.

Whack! Another thud from the rough sea. This time Zayed hooked his arm strongly around her shoulder, pulling her close. She looked for anything solid to grasp, as even Zayed was being thrown about. She could not see land; the large swells blocked her view of the open sea.

Time passed slowly. Finally, the swells began to shed their boiling whitecaps and became dancing giants. Rolling in the distance was something solid—land on the horizon. The salt crusted on her lips. Being careful not to lick them, she felt the rest of her face. Passing her fingers over the crust coating her skin, the dried salt made her feel like a blind person reading Braille. Jill looked down and realized she had no boots on her damp feet.

Still holding her tight, Zayed said a bit more calmly, “The worst is over. Why don’t you go back down to the cabin, get warm, and rest.” He slowly pulled his arm up and off her shoulder.

“How long until we get to Abu Dhabi?”

Zayed asked the Indian in Arabic. The Indian replied. Zayed looked back at Jill. “Two hours.”

Below deck, the room seemed to have changed in some way and Jill couldn’t figure out how. She reached down, picked up the beer can, and placed it into the sink. In the bathroom Jill was torn between whether to trust the water on the ship and wash her face or not. Turning on the tap, Jill cupped the water, smelled it, and splashed her face.

Standing still for a second, she wondered how she could let another man besides David hold her so close. She dismissed the exchange as pure chivalry.

Jill stepped back into the galley, walked over to the fridge, and retrieved a bottle of water. She drank it down fast, diluting the salt on her tongue. A pang of hunger twinged as she laid back down on the cot. The rolling boat rocked her into a deep sleep.

***

I am flying high above the desert when I swoop down and land on a hoodoo. Below me I see something familiar but I don’t know what it is. The heat of the day ruffles my feathers as I try to understand what I am seeing.

4:52 Zulu Time—ABU DHABI, UNITED ARAB EMIRATES

A knock on the bedroom door startled Jill awake and her body snapped upwards. “Yeah?”

“We are pulling into the Abu Dhabi port,” Zayed shouted through the door. “Get dressed and come up on deck now.”

Aye, aye, Captain Crunch. Jill reached into her bag and pulled out her notebook, held it up to the faint light, and turned to the page where she had last read her visions.

Click, click, click. Jill kept pushing the pen’s button while she reviewed her notes. What, now I am seeing from a bird’s perspective? “Enough of the mystery, Grams!” Jill’s brow furrowed. And without a hint of intent, Jill wrote the word “family” and circled it.

She stepped into her boots, pulled on the black robe, and with her last glance around spotted Zayed’s pack on the rumpled bed. She plucked up the pack and looked at the locked black clasp. She took one last glance around the room, flung his pack onto her shoulder, turned, and walked up onto the deck. She was momentary blind in the bright sun. After her vision cleared, looking to her right, she saw water that was a beautiful turquoise, calm water; the slight breeze felt refreshing against the newly risen sun’s heat.

“What time is it?” Jill queried as she handed Zayed his pack.

“Close to nine,” he replied. “Thanks.”

The ship was parallel to a grandiose building checkered with hundreds of windows on the shoreline to her right. She realized it must be a hotel when she saw all the beach chairs and umbrellas dotted across a breathtaking beach. The center of the building had a giant square with a large dome on top of it. The peak of the dome had a mosaic painting laced with gold inlay. Surrounding the square were low-to-the-ground buildings that stretched for hundreds of yards.

Jill looked over at the pilot and Zayed, then mumbled something barely audible. How dumb that I have to wear this. Does he think that the guy didn’t see me in the storm? Moron. As she gazed up towards the water's edge, She was surprised to see a large island connected by a busy road, with a sizable shopping mall and a tall sign on a post that read IKEA. Stretched high into the sky above the mall was a tower with a round spaceship-looking structure. She was impressed by how modern the buildings looked. Further along the brimming horizon was another island with open-faced square tents that speckled the sand as far as she could see. When their boat passed the last tent, she noticed white people, two adults and a small child, enjoying the day before it got too hot.

Jill turned around fast when she heard a sound. Jet Skis zoomed past their boat, several of them chasing and almost hitting each other as they popped over the boat’s wake. Arab teenagers, that much was clear to her. Jill didn’t understand what they were doing, and her thoughts turned to the Chechens.

She wanted to speak to Zayed but knew he would shush her with that damn hand and frankly she wasn’t in the mood to be shushed again.

When they cruised past the island, Abu Dhabi, in all its contemporary splendor, sprawled out before them. Everything sparkled as rays of sunlight bounced off the glass towers of the city. The view from the sea was stunning until the boat turned left and the scene quickly changed. They were approaching a ruddy fishing village, similar to the one in Doha, but smaller. Just before they reached the dock, Jill spied something. Ahead on two rusted steel posts, stood an extravagant portrait of an Arabian man—the size of a large billboard—towering over the boats.

As they coasted up to the main dock, several Indians scattered about and began assisting the pilot with tying the boat. The boat’s buoys squeaked as they rubbed against the old dock. Just as they were about to disembark, Jill noticed Zayed reach into his pack, pull out an envelope, and hand it to the captain. He smiled at Zayed without a word, just nodded, and with the boat secure, descended below deck.

“Let’s move,” Zayed ordered.

The docks were busy with boats coming in from the previous night’s fishing. The loud voices of men filled the air as they offloaded their catch directly onto the dock. Bartering in Arabic and Hindu, deals were being made as Zayed and Jill zigzagged past the fish for sale. In front of the docks was an open fish market, and as they walked by Jill eyed neat trays of ice complete with fish of all sizes and colors.

Most of the crowd was gathered at the end of the building. Zayed was again doing his clock surveillance. He stopped so fast that Jill bumped into him. Swiftly he pushed Jill to the right, launching her behind a dumpster.

“What the hell are you—”

Zayed hissed. “Quiet! There are two men that look like our friend in Doha. I don’t think they saw us.” Zayed leaned forward and then cocked his head around the dumpster. He quickly looked back to Jill. A man who was squatting above his fish looked curiously up towards them. “It looks like the same guy from the hotel, and he is not alone.”

“But how would they know we were coming here by boat?”

Zayed was silent for a moment and then said. “Everything has a price, Jill. He probably asked around, offering a cash incentive for any information.”

For the first time Jill noticed that there wasn’t a lot of women on the docks. “I need to get to a phone. I need to find out what the hell is going on.” For a moment Jill thought of just marching up to the two men and asking them, What the hell do you two want from me? None of this made any sense… and then it hit her out of the blue. “Zayed, I was being followed the day I left the US.”

This information seemed to take Zayed by surprise. “It could be connected.” His voice sounded perplexed. “Did anyone know you were coming to Doha?”

Dumbfounded, Jill thought about it. Her office knew and so did David’s. She hadn’t mentioned it to anyone else.

“Let’s just focus on losing these guys,” Zayed said. But Jill could tell by the worried line in his brow that he didn’t really know what to do.

Shoot, move, communicate, survive. Then Jill piped up. “We need to split up. If they paid someone in Doha, they would know that there are two of us and they will also know that I was wearing this.” Jill pinched her black robe.

“I’ll distract them.”

“You don’t have a weapon.”

“You need to get into a taxi and get to the airport. The airport has security and police; they can’t do anything to you there.” The taxi stand was approximately one hundred meters from where the two men stood. “I’ll run past them and they will have to react fast,” Zayed suggested.” They won’t have a weapon either. I’ll get a taxi. It’ll be too fast for them to think and they will follow me. Once they follow me, Jill, get a taxi and get to the airport. I’ll meet you there. Okay?” Zayed looked at Jill for confirmation. Jill was thinking when he repeated. “Okay, Jill?”

Jill nodded. She knew if she had to she could fend for herself, but she had on this robe and she couldn’t do much wearing it. She contemplated taking it off, but before she could decide, Zayed whipped around the corner of the dumpster.

Jill followed fast and peeked her head out. She spotted the two men who shifted and then braced as Zayed ran towards them. They looked like deer caught in headlights as he flashed past them. Zayed jumped into a taxi. Gravel spat as he sped away. As Zayed suspected, the two men raced after him, jumping into the next taxi.

Looking through the bodies of people, Jill saw piles of fish remnants that filled the gutters. Men sat on stools at cutting blocks, filleting fish with ease.

Alongside the building, a line of gold-and-white taxis awaited their next fares. Zayed’s scene had caused a commotion on the sidewalk at the front of the taxi line. Jill monitored her surroundings as she briskly walked to the last taxi in the line, jumped in the backseat, and hissed to the driver, “Airport,” then “khalas!” The driver seemed pleased to be jumping the line and slowly drove away.

The driver, wearing a pajamas-type of attire, was from Pakistan and drove quietly with a somber demeanor. Jill was getting more and more peeved that she couldn’t speak to anyone, and she was getting more pissed off with all this cloak-and-dagger bullshit. She plopped her backpack onto the grungy seat beside her. She wondered what would happen to Zayed if the men caught up to him. Her thoughts strayed to the day she left Doha. Could it possibly be the Chechens following her when she was in Tucson? Was it the case she was working on? She no answers.

As they drove through Abu Dhabi, Jill noticed that it was strikingly similar to Doha—but larger and more spread out. The car was old and rickety. Jill looked at the clear plastic envelope attached on the back of the driver’s headrest. His ID photo looked like any one of the many terrorist mug shots she was used to seeing in her files. The driver’s name was Abdu Bin Amin. Jill did her own surveillance, which was much more subtle than Zayed’s. Everything around her depicted any other normal city—just newer.

The traffic flow changed drastically as they left the congestion of the city. The car began to rattle more as the driver sped along, too fast for Jill’s liking. They darted around slower-moving vehicles, and her left shoulder hit the door as he jerked the car over a lane. A large white patrol SUV screamed past the dodgy taxi, going more than 120 mph, followed by a large white Land Cruiser. Bumpers almost kissed as they flashed past. The patrol jerked fast in front of them and all of a sudden the taxi driver hit the brakes hard. Jill grabbed the driver’s seat in front of her to support herself. Then her body was thrown back in the seat when the driver accelerated.

“Hey, slow down.” Jill scowled.

Grudgingly quieting herself, she couldn’t help but see something in his stern stare back at her through the rear-view mirror. What was it?

As the taxi sped down the freeway, the grassed median strip flicked past in a green blur. Sprinkler systems lined the lush area for miles it seemed. The road was extremely busy, crazy drivers abounding, and Jill figured her driver was one of them. They seemed to be holding a steady pace when all of a sudden the driver slammed on the brakes accelerating a millisecond after they passed the speed camera. Holding onto the handle above her door window, Jill was concentrating on the hope that she would get to the airport in one piece.

Staring out the window, a grand structure dominated Jill's view. This massive white mosque was unlike anything she had seen before. She was astonished at what she experienced at the fishing village and how it fit with such beautiful architecture.

It took about thirty minutes to get to the airport, but to Jill it felt like being on an endless roller coaster. As she pulled up to the airport, she was surprised to see Zayed. He was speaking to what appeared to be a police officer. She looked at Zayed and he gestured her to not stop and to instead go into the airport. Once inside she looked out the glass walls and did her scan. Nothing. Two minutes later Zayed was inside. “What was that about? What happened to those two men?”

“Did you not see the car crash on the way to the airport? Zayed asked with surprise. “It was their taxi. Guess I had a more experienced driver.”

“But why were you talking to that policeman?” Jill asked.

“Informed him of the accident; it’s what any good citizen would do. I told him I thought they were drunk. That should hold them up.” Zayed smirked. “We need to get moving, Jill. It won’t be long until they catch up to us. We need to be past security so they can’t follow us or find out where we are going.”

Speechless at his nonchalance, Jill followed Zayed to security.

The airport was filled with passengers and security guards. The terminal looked like a giant octopus-shaped spaceship and was remarkably small, with lime-green gaudy ceilings. Zayed spoke to one of the security guards, who pointed him to the only stall where they could buy tickets. A large gold sign hung behind the desk. ETIHAD, NATIONAL AIRLINE OF THE UAE. THE WORLD’S LEADING AIRLINE. “Great, this should be interesting,” Jill grumbled to herself.

The Filipina lady behind the counter was wearing a gray hat with a polyester cream veil cleanly tucked under her chin. After several minutes and a few “yes, sirs,” and “yes, ma’ams,” they determined that they could get to Kabul via Tehran. The first leg of the flight would be on Etihad with the second on Afghan Airlines. Both these airlines did not sound very inviting to Jill any which way she looked at it, but the good news was they would not have to wait long. There were several flights a day to Tehran, and with only a two-hour layover they would be landing in Kabul at around 8 p.m. local time.

The blank-faced security man at the X-ray machine didn’t give a second thought to what was in Jill’s bag. He was busy chatting with other Emirati men dressed in security clothes. She smirked thinking about her flashlight pen concealed under her veil.

After security, Zayed piped up. “You can take off your abaya now if that makes you feel more comfortable.” He approached her, pushing the boarding passes into his breast pocket.

Jill was relieved. She looked for the usual female triangle silhouette. Zayed pointed, as if reading her mind. “There, over there.”

Jill saw only an obscure picture of an abaya. She marched over to the washroom door, hesitated slightly while looking at the symbol, then walked in.

The room was strikingly clean for an airport, she thought. Large toilet stalls with doors that went all the way to the floor were a nice improvement from North American standards. The first stall she attempted to open displayed a large square porcelain box inset into the ground. There was no toilet, only a hole in the white glass with two steps on each side and a foot pedal for flushing. Not! On her next attempt she found a regular toilet. There was no toilet paper—just a leaky water sprayer attached to the side of the stall.

Jill took off the black robe and stuffed it into her carry-on. She hoped she wouldn’t have to wear the heavy garment in the heat again. Exiting the stall, she wondered how the black robed women used the washroom—with no toilet paper, they must spray themselves clean while gowned. She shuddered at the thought.

Jill stood in front of the mirror staring. Somehow she looked different. Perhaps it was dehydration from the heat, but she noticed small lines ever so slightly crinkling around her dark circled eyes. Reaching into her carry-on, she brought out a small red bag. Her image transformed as she glided the deep red lipstick on. A bit of eyeliner and mascara and she was ready to greet Abu Dhabi airport.