A Family Affair (18 page)

“Absolutely. Malik and I have had long discussions on that very subject. I totally understand.”

“So, tell me all you guys’ secrets.”

“Well, there was this one time when . . .”

The four men who made up International Alliance Capital were pacing in the luxurious room they’d been assigned until they were called into the meeting with the seven emirs in Dubai. Not only were they dressed almost alike in five-thousand-dollar Hugo Boss suits, John Lobb shoes, and top-of-the-line Rolexes, but they all also carried the same pricey hand-tooled briefcases crafted from antelope skin. Four of anything garnered a steep discount, as Jeff Davis was fond of saying. And these four men knew a thing or two about discounts.

All four men were tall, muscular, looked fit and trim, and were heavily tanned. Although all of them were approaching the fifty mark, they could have passed easily for forty. The golf courses in the Middle East were better than a tanning bed in the United States. And anyone with half a brain knew more deals were cut on the golf course than in the boardroom.

Jason Hart, Clare’s ex-husband, hissed to the others, “I don’t like this. Something is going on. And I think it’s this guy here in Dubai who is stirring the pot. He’s been the most vocal since he took over after his father passed. And on top of that, I got an e-mail from the American embassy telling me to stop by because there was something wrong with my passport. Did any of you guys get that e-mail?”

“No, but I got an e-mail from my wife this morning, saying our mortgage company is foreclosing on the house in thirty days because we didn’t pay our mortgage. We are up to date on everything. She’s having a fit. Seems the sheriff stuck some kind of paper on our door, and you go to jail if you take it down. Ashley said all the neighbors saw it. What the hell is that all about?” Josh Olsen asked in a jittery voice.

“Hell, I can top that,” Jeff Davis said. “Simone sent me a text from the club and said she was denied entry. She went there for lunch with some friends. She said they had canceled our membership. Look, that’s all just bullshit. Someone is screwing with us at home. Jealousy is a terrible thing, as we all know. We’ll figure it all out when we get home. Let’s just concentrate on the here and now and what line of bullshit we’re going to give these guys. We need to renew this contract. Do you all understand the word
need?
”

“Oh, Jesus,” John Gamble said, looking down at a text that had just appeared. “Gabriella said the bank refused to cash a check for lack of funds. She ran right to the bank and they showed her a zero balance. There was eighty-six thousand dollars in that account when I left to come here.”

Always the doomsayer of the group, Jason Hart looked at his three partners. “It’s karma. It’s coming to bite our asses. I knew all this was too good to be true. I knew it the minute I dumped Clare after her breast-cancer surgery. What kind of person does a shitty thing like that?”

“Someone shitty like you, Jason. No one told you to do that. In fact, I told you to stick it out till Clare recovered, but you were so head over heels for Krystal, you just couldn’t wait. So suck up your karma and stay focused,” Jeff said.

“Easy for you to say, Jeff. It isn’t your passport under scrutiny. Getting bounced out of the country club isn’t quite the same,” Jason replied.

The leader of the Four
J
s, as Jeff liked to call his little group, grimaced. “I repeat, let’s just stay focused. I do agree that something here is not quite right. They’ve never let us cool our heels like this before. Focus and stay confident. The first one who wimps out in there will feel my wrath. Understood?”

“Oh, Christ,” Olsen murmured. “I just got an e-mail saying that I also need to go to the American embassy to straighten out something with my passport. Oh, man, I can just see the four of us being detained here for
months.
”

Davis and Gamble looked down at their respective BlackBerries and acknowledged that there were also issues with their passports.

Jeff Davis’s eyes narrowed. Maybe it was true, the rumor he’d heard that his ex-wife’s sister was married to the emir of Dubai. When he’d first heard the rumor, he’d laughed out loud. It was so ludicrous that he hadn’t even bothered to check it out. Now, right that minute, he wished he had checked it out. His sister-in-law had always hated his guts. His mouth pursed into a tight line, he fired off a text to his daughter, Missy, which was simply one line.

Do you know where your aunt Trish is these days?

The return text came immediately. No. Las Vegas, I assume. Do you want me to find out?

Jeff’s return text was simple. Yes.

Jeff’s step quickened as he continued to pace. For the first time in his life, he felt jittery, out of control. The return text came in.

Mom says it’s none of my business where Aunt Trish lives. Mom moved. She lives in the Enclave now.

Jeff swore under his breath. How the hell could his ex-wife afford a house in the Enclave? Unless . . .

Jeff was saved from further thoughts when the massive doors opened and a man in a white robe said, “The emirs are ready to see you now, gentlemen.”

Z
ACK
M
OLTON GOT UP
,
ROLLED HIS SHOULDERS TO EASE THE
stiffness, and walked around the VIP lounge, which had become so crowded that it was almost wall-to-wall people. Food, he’d heard a few minutes ago, was in short supply, but the liquor was holding up, and soft drinks were going quickly. He looked at his watch. He was nine hours into his wait since meeting up with Trish, with no word coming over the loudspeaker as to when his flight would be able to leave the ground. He completed his full circle and sat down again before someone snatched his seat. Trish was asleep, curled up in her chair. He knew she was going to have a doozy of a stiff neck when she woke up.

Zack wished he could sleep, but the only place he could sleep was in his own bed. Even when he traveled, he tossed and turned in strange beds for hours on end, falling asleep only when it was time to get up. He struggled to make his big frame comfortable in the club chair. His cell vibrated in his pocket. Thank God for cell phones and friends to text. The text coming in now was from his friend Duke. He looked at the bars on the phone and knew he was going to need a charge very soon. He’d put his name on the list at the desk to charge his battery, but so far, they hadn’t called his name. He took a moment to wonder how low Trish’s batter y was. Without stopping to think about it, he got up again and walked to the desk, where a clipboard rested, and wrote in Trish’s name. She was number thirty-six on the list. He was number thirty-three, which meant two more people had added their names to the list after him. He refused to calculate the hours he had to go, with each charge lasting only fifteen minutes. He sighed. He could be here for days if the weather didn’t let up.

He was back in his club chair within seconds. And then, to his own surprise, he felt himself nodding off.

Two hours later, Trish felt a nudge to her shoulder. She struggled to open her eyes and focus.

One of the stewards bent low and whispered, “You’re to go to the gate. Your plane is ready to leave.”

That was all Trish needed to hear. She got up, gathered her gear, then looked down at Zack, who appeared to be in a deep sleep. She hated to leave without saying good-bye, but still, she didn’t want to wake him. She took a minute to fish around in her purse for a pen, then scribbled a short message on a napkin, which she tucked under his chin. Hopefully, he would find it. If not, she’d send him a text when she got on the plane, before takeoff.

Trish ran down the gangway and almost tripped as she skidded to a stop at the open door, where a hostess grinned at her. “In a bit of a hurry, are we?”

“It’s been nineteen hours,” Trish grumbled.

“That it has. That it has,” the hostess said, commiserating. “Let’s get you seated and buckled up. We’re number two for takeoff. They’re deicing the wings as we speak. Then we can taxi out to the runway. How about some nice fresh, hot coffee and some delicious made-from-scratch cinnamon buns loaded with butter and frosting?”

“Sounds good. Yes, I’d like that very much.” Trish realized then that she was ravenous. They’d run out of food in the VIP lounge hours and hours ago. It seemed a shame that she was the only passenger on board the flight when so many of her fellow passengers back in the terminal were still waiting to fly to their destinations. She wondered when Zack would make it out.

At that moment, though, all she wanted to do was wash her face and hands and brush her teeth. Combing her hair might help a little, and perhaps a little makeup. She looked out the window to see all the busy maintenance workers and the heavy-duty snow-removal machines, all working at full capacity. She crossed her fingers and said a prayer that the plane would lift off without a problem and climb until they were out of the storm.

She was going home.

The meeting with the lawyers from International Alliance Capital had been over for hours already. The angry, disgruntled men with their fancy briefcases were gone, and Malik and Rashid were playing host to the emirs at a lavish late afternoon dinner.

The eighty-year-old emir of Abu Dhabi fixed his watery gaze on Malik and asked in a frail, reedy voice, “How did you know, my son, that those men were thieves and that they were robbing our emirates blind while placing us in the precarious position we now find ourselves in?”

“Study, watchful eyes, and common sense, Your Highness. We can make it right. I have already alerted the authorities, and matters will be taken care of. Having said that, we must take responsibility for turning a blind eye to what was right under our noses. As it is, the world is watching us very carefully. We do not need any more bad press. We all need the tourist dollars, but there are better, more honest people to help us with that.”

The second-oldest emir spoke up, his voice as reedy and frail as his predecessor’s. “What did those men mean when they said we were”—he looked around fretfully as he tried to remember the phrase Jeff Davis had used—“sabotaging them by way of their passports and their bank accounts? What do we have to do with their country clubs and eviction notices? I didn’t understand any of that.”

“Nor did we understand, Your Highness,” Malik said. “I think they were referring to things that were happening back in America. It’s all a mystery to me. What I still need to know is where they got the idea that we are hiding sixty-three billion barrels of oil and keeping it in reserve. Perhaps the Saudis are hiding it. It is not us.”

A third emir, younger by only a few years, spoke next. “They are foolish men who think that is a possible bargaining chip. For us to keep them on our payroll. I, for one, am glad to see the last of them. I want a guarantee that we are rid of them and that we won’t be getting any bad press or people poking into our business over here.”

Rashid stepped forward and spoke hesitantly after a nudge from Malik. “When a snake invades your personal space, the only recourse is to cut off the snake’s head. I think all of you did just that by not renewing International Alliance Capital’s contract. When you are dealing with billions of dollars of laundered money, there is not all that much we can do but take our share of responsibility. Accounts here in the emirates have been frozen as of early this morning. For now and in the days to come, it will have to be business as usual, until we can sort through everything to see just how much havoc these men have caused us monetarily.”

“Life was peaceful until your father agreed to work with those men,” the oldest emir grumbled. His tone was just as fretful sounding as it was the first time he spoke. He popped a grape into his mouth and chewed as he looked around the table to see if the others agreed with him or not. They did, their heads bobbing up and down, even Malik’s.

Malik’s voice was strong and a little impatient because they had gone over this many times in the past six months. “What you say is true, Your Highness, but you must remember that my father partnered with International Alliance Capital when things were bad here. We needed new business, and we needed the tourism. It all went bad when the money started to flow faster than we could handle it. I hesitate to remind you that I was not here, and I also understand that my father’s sins fall to me. What we’ve done now by chopping off the head of the snake is given ourselves breathing room to make wise, educated decisions from here on in. There is no rush.”

The last emir sitting at the round table, a particularly close friend of Malik’s father, looked at Malik and said, “I sense much trouble for these men. My heart is telling me there are other forces at work here, not just us sitting at this table.”

The other emirs nodded sagely, although truth be told, none of them had a clue. They were just ready to get rid of what they called a blight on the United Arab Emirates.

The emirs grumbled among themselves for a few more moments. Then, as one, they nodded.

The meeting was over, the lavish and bountiful meal on the table barely touched.

The emirs’ departure was grand and a bit pompous, their pristine white robes swishing importantly as they strode through the palace, Malik and Rashid behind them.

When the emirs were sent off with seemly bows and touches to the forehead, Malik dusted his hands dramatically. “I thought that went rather well. What do you think, Rashid?”

“What I think is, the Four
J
s pissed someone else off besides the emirs, and whoever it is, is about to collect some blood. Not our worry, Malik. You up for a beer in the cave?”

Malik’s voice sounded tired, but he put on his game face. “Nothing I would like better. Then I will take my medicine. Stop watching me like an expectant father.”

“Who else is going to watch over you?” Rashid snapped, his patience at an end. He had to deal not only with a temperamental pregnant wife, Trish and her plane, which was finally airborne again, but also with His Royal Highness.

The moment they entered Malik’s cave, Malik ripped at his headgear and pulled off his robe. He was wearing cargo shorts and a white T-shirt that said
MÖTLEY CRÜE
on the back. Rashid was dressed the same, except his shirt said
NEW YORK METS
.

It was Malik who uncapped the beer and handed one to Rashid. “We’re both going to go straight to hell, with no stops on the way, for this. You know it, right?”

“I do, and right now I don’t give a good rat’s ass!” Rashid said as he clinked his bottle against Malik’s. Malik laughed so hard, Rashid had to pound him on the back to get him to stop coughing.

“Okay, one more, and that’s it. Sit, Rashid, and talk to me. Why do you keep checking your phone? I thought you said Soraya said it was a false alarm.”

“I have calls in to the American embassy, to the members of the council, to everyone I could think of. I want to make sure those men get out of here and that they go empty-handed.”

“Ah, I see. What or who do you think the outside sources are that are causing problems for the Four
J
s?”

“I wish I knew so I could shake their hands.”

“The money laundering is never going to stop, Rashid. But for now, we put a lid on it. If we stay vigilant, we might be able to contain it. That’s going to be your job. You do understand that?”

“I do, and I will do my very best. And now it’s time for your medicine. I’ll fetch it.”

Rashid handed over an assortment of pills, together with a glass of water. Malik ignored the water he was offered and swallowed the pills with the last of his Bud Light. Rashid didn’t even argue, because he knew Malik’s response would be, “At this stage of the game, do you
really
think it matters if I swallow those damn pills with water or beer?”

“Go to your wife and hold her hand and tell her how much you love her. I’m going to take a nap and dream about
my
wife.”

Malik was asleep even before Rashid exited the cave. Carrying his formal clothing, he tromped down the palace corridors, daring anyone to say a word or even look at him. Inside his apartments, he saw his wife pacing around in circles. Rashid started to quake in his sandals as he perceived his wife giving him the evil eye.

“What did I do now?”

“You made me pregnant is what you did. I am miserable with heartburn, and my stomach is cramping. How could you do this to me?”

“If I remember correctly, you were a willing participant at the time.”

“That was then. This is
now!
” Soraya shrilled, knowing full well the cramping was the first stage of labor. “This is it. I am not going through this again. Do you hear me, Rashid? I told the doctors to tie my tubes.”

Rashid turned white. “You can’t do that!”

“You just watch me! Owww!” she screeched, the sound ricocheting off the apartment walls. “Don’t you dare walk away from me, you coward! You stand right there and watch me suffer. Do you hear me, Rashid?” Soraya bellowed at the top of her lungs.

“The whole place can hear you. They already know you are the worst patient in the whole world. Did you call the doctor? Are they waiting for you?” At his wits’ end, Rashid flapped his arms as he, too, started to pace in circles. “If I tell you a secret, will you shut up and allow me to wheel you in the chair to the clinic?”

Soraya stopped bellowing long enough to say, “What kind of secret?”

“All secrets are good,” Rashid said as he pushed his wife down into the wheelchair a maid had fetched as soon as her mistress started screaming. “I will tell you the moment I get you to the clinic, so you will have something to think about instead of terrorizing those poor doctors and nurses. No cursing this time, Soraya.”

“This better be a really good secret, Rashid, or you will find yourself below level again.”

Rashid was breathless as he sprinted down the corridors, pushing his wife so fast, she didn’t have time to scream. The moment he reached the clinic and the doors opened, he gasped, “She’s all yours!”

“The secret, my dear husband!”

Rashid leaned over and whispered, “I am leaving now to pick up Trish at the airport. I think we’ll make it back in time for me to welcome our new addition. If not, carry on without me.”

Soraya forgot about how miserable she was. “Truly, she’s almost here? Did you tell Malik?”

“No. I want it to be a surprise.”

Soraya started screaming and bellowing again as she let loose with every cussword she knew, which was a lot. She stopped long enough to scream, “Go!”

Outside the clinic doors, Rashid, his face dripping with sweat, leaned against the wall and slowly sank down to his haunches. “Why me, Allah? Why me?” When there was no answer to his question, Rashid pulled himself to his feet and walked back to his apartments, where he donned the white robe and his headgear. He called for a car and a driver and left the palace. He imagined he could hear his wife’s screams ricocheting off the palace walls. It wasn’t until he was inside the car that he let loose with a heartfelt sigh of relief.