The First End (12 page)

But Bill was under no illusions. He knew that as
soon as something concrete could be determined regarding the
whereabouts of the component the Chinese had managed to acquire, he
would be shipped off to deal with it.

Surprisingly, there had been little fallout as
to his vigilante actions against Luk Bol. Either Lorna had failed
to report the incident—highly unlikely—or the military really
didn’t care what happened to a pirate mercenary working for a
nominal government likewise filled with rebels. Bill suspected the
latter. At any rate, he was just glad that he didn’t have to listen
to a lecture or spend time in jail as a result of his actions.

Sighing, Gardner picked up the special cell
phone Hynes had given him. “Hello?” he answered. “Pizza Hut. How
may I help you?”

“Very funny,” said the not so funny voice of
General Hynes. “Pack your bag, Captain Gardner. You are leaving
tonight.”

That undoubtedly meant a long flight. “Ah, can’t
this wait? I’ve got a hot date tonight—”

“Cancel your imaginary date, Captain. This is an
order.”

“How’d you know it’s imaginary?” There was a
pregnant pause over the phone. “You’ve been watching me?” Another
pause. “Now General!” he started to protest.

“Pack your bag. A car will pick you up outside
your apartment at 6 tonight. Don’t be late.”

Gardner sighed. “Where am I going?”

“United Arab Emirates.”

“The UAE?”

“Correct. There is a military exhibition being
held there in Abu Dhabi, the capital. Purportedly, some of the
regions most advanced technological advances will be on display.
We’ve just received intelligence that the Chinese have decided to
participate at the last moment.”

“Oh? I suppose this is significant?”

“Yes. They are going to display a new stealth
fighter jet for sale.”

“Ah. They’ve managed to plug your little device
into one of their systems.”

“So it would seem.”

“You want me to steal it back or blow it
up?”

“Right now we just want you to verify that it is
our technology being used in the aircraft. We think the Chinese are
trying to sell it. They know they can’t manufacture more than the
one they have, so politically, the technology is a liability. It
will hurt future relations with us, and they know it. So, they’re
trying to pawn it off to the highest bidder, knowing that
eventually we’ll get around to destroying it.”

“But in the meantime the Chinese manage to win
some concessions from one of the oil powers in the region,” Bill
finished.

“Exactly. Find out if it is our tech being used
and anyone interested in buying it. Once we know, we’ll be able to
track the aircraft easier, and either intercept it before transfer
or hit it on route.”

“You sure you just don’t want me to blow it up
in the UAE?”

“That would be a political nightmare if it got
traced back to us,” Hynes replied. “The seven sheikhs who control
the emirates are friendly to the US right now, and have allowed us
to stage operations against Afghanistan from their country. We
would lose all of that if we blew up that plane while on their
soil.”

“I hate politics.”

“Don’t we all. Pack your bag, Captain.”

“How will I know which aircraft is the
Chinese’s?”

“They are only bringing the one. Look for the
one with all the Chinese guarding it.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

“Perhaps. Don’t get killed or caught.”

Bill sighed, and clicked off the cellphone. He
understood the implied warning. If he was caught, he would be
disavowed, nothing more than an American tourist on his own. He
stood up from his desk and walked to his office door. “Cassie, I’m
going out of the country again.”

Cassie looked up from her own desk. “Again?”

“Yep.”

“But you have appointments all this week.”

“Cancel them.”

“Okay, but should I reschedule?”

Gardner shook his head. “I don’t know how long
I’ll be gone. Recommend Aaron or Valery to them, and have Victor
pick up the rest of my caseload for the time being.”

Cassie raised an eyebrow. Effectively, Bill was
cancelling everything. Well, it couldn’t be helped. He hoped that
the government would compensate him somehow for all of this.
Cassie, ever curious, cleared her throat. “Uh, is this for Wastend
again?”

The gridlock between Wastend and the union had
finally been settled by the governor. He had stepped in and
dictated the terms to both the company and the union, by basically
warning that if the entire lot wasn’t back to work in two days, he
would shut the company down for good. The net effect was a
compromise between the CEO, Frank Vellore, and the union. The
employees had gone back to work with a pay raise and additional
benefits, if not everything they had wanted. Vellore just grumbled,
knowing full well that if he didn’t cave in, General Hynes would
bring him up on criminal—if not treasonous—charges for his neglect
in the disposal of the TACAIR prototype.

Personally, Bill thought Vellore should go to
jail for a long time, but Hynes had decided to use Vellore for his
own purposes, and the CEO found himself in a position where he
could hardly refuse.

“Yes. Vellore has some legal matters he wants me
to attend to in the UAE.”

Cassie blinked. “What business does he have with
them?”

Gardner shrugged. “I’ll get all the details
later. All I know is that I’m being paid a lot of money to go…so
going I am.”

Cassie looked vaguely relieved, figuring that if
her boss was being paid, then so would she. She dropped the issue
and began calling up Gardner’s schedule on the computer. Bill
grabbed his briefcase and trotted out the door. It was 4:30 in the
afternoon. He didn’t have a lot of time.

Bill looked at the smiling man and tried his
best to smile back. “I have a reservation for Bill Gardner,” he
once again told the hotel attendant. The little man bobbed his head
and slowly poked one finger at a time on the keyboard.

“Beel Gardenar,” he repeated slowly, butchering
the name. Bill could see that the man was typing in the name all
wrong.

“No,” he leaned over the counter and typed the
name in himself. “Bill Gardner. Bill Gardner. Like that.”

“Ah,” the Arab man’s eyes brightened and he hit
the enter key. Bill’s name must have come up for the man’s eyes
brightened. “Here you are! Room 216.” He scanned a keycard and
handed it across the counter. “Welcome to Dhabi! Welcome to the
Park Hyatt Hotel!” He said the name like ‘hi-ate,’ but Gardner got
the drift.

Bill accepted the card and smiled back. “Thank
you, my friend.” He handed the man a twenty dollar bill, knowing
that this was the best way to get the hotel staff to be willing to
do favors in the future. The man positively beamed in pleasure.

When he got to his room, he deposited his
luggage on the bed and ran a hand through his hair. He was tired,
hungry, and irritated. Still, he felt it was best to take a look at
the Military Exhibition before he turned in for the night.

The Park Hyatt was located only three or four
blocks from a series of government warehouses where the exhibition
was being held. Even from this far away, Gardner had spotted the
sheikhs’ security forces patrolling the streets. Bill had a
legitimate reason for being in town, but he wasn’t so confident
about a reason to attend the exhibition. He knew that any American
who just wandered over would be turned away, or watched so closely
that anything he did would be analyzed by several intelligence
agencies across the world. No, he needed a better reason to be at
the exhibition. He needed an invitation.

Fortunately, one of the seven ruling sheikhs’
sons was staying at the hotel and was reputed to be around Bill’s
age. Hynes’ intelligence reports painted a picture of a man drunk
with power and ego. It was to this latter part, the ego, that
Gardner needed to leverage in order to get the necessary
invitation. From what he understood, the man would be playing at a
game of cards down in the hotel lobby this very moment.

Taking some time to freshen up, Bill eventually
found his way to the roomy lounge downstairs. A group of boisterous
men sat near the hotel bar, hunched over a deck of playing cards.
Two other men stood nearby, obviously bodyguards. One watched the
table and the men playing, and the other watched everyone else.

One of the players sported a well-trimmed goatee
and wore several gold rings on each hand. His clothing looked
expensive, so Bill marked him as the sheikh’s son, Fareed. He
wandered over to the table, both bodyguards turning their attention
to him as he approached. “Is there an open seat?” he asked in his
weak Arabic.

Fareed looked up, saw the American and smiled.
“Sure, pull up a chair,” he said in fluent English.

“Thanks,” Bill replied, pulling a chair over
from a nearby table.

“By the way,” Fareed said, “you asked if there
is a chair opening
.”

“Blast. I’ll never get your language down!”

Fareed laughed. “True. Arabic is so much more
expressive than English.”

Bill didn’t rise to the bait. He had spent long
hours on the flight over, studying the man, and knew that his
desire to prove himself superior to anyone else—particularly
westerners—often got the better of him. His father had to bail him
out of trouble more often than not, and Gardner suspected that the
bodyguards had a dual role in this regard—keep the son out of
trouble!

“I’ll just have to trust you on that one,”
Gardner said. “Since I haven’t mastered your language yet. Maybe,
I’ll be better at cards.”

Fareed grinned and began dealing out the cards.
“Poker, Mr…?”

“Gardner. Bill Gardner. Just call me Bill, and
Poker is fine.”

“Call me Fareed.” He introduced the other three
players at the table and soon all five fell to looking at their
cards and eyeing one another like tom cats.

Hynes had provided enough money to lose—winning
wasn’t the idea here—but Bill had been warned not to get too
extravagant. Since he was at best a mediocre poker player, he
wasn’t worried about winning much. As they played, he began
talking.

“You have a very quaint little country here,
Fareed. This is my first time here, so it’s all new to me.”

“Quaint?” Fareed asked, pronouncing the word as
if he wasn’t quite sure what it meant.

Bill shrugged, “Well it isn’t the United States,
but it seems pleasant enough.”

Fareed’s hands tightened around his cards,
bending them slightly. “The greatness of a nation is not determined
by its landmass,” he retorted.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Bill agreed cryptically.
He threw his cards down on the table. “I fold.” The sheikh’s son
grinned at that, raising the stakes by a hundred dollars. Bill
continued, “Still, it’s a good thing you have powerful neighbors
who wish you to stay independent. I imagine a lot of countries
would love to get their hands on your oil reserves.”

“We don’t need them!” he shot back. One of the
other players called, and Fareed lost, irritating him further since
the man he lost to looked to be from Europe somewhere. “We are
strong enough to take care of ourselves.”

“You are?” Bill asked as if this bit of news was
completely surprising. “I would have thought that if someone like
Saudi Arabia decided to invade, you would be powerless to stop
them.”

“They wouldn’t dare.” The card game was ignored
as Fareed focused his anger on the American. “We may be small, but
no country on earth would dare to invade us.”

Bill made sure his demeanor and tone didn’t
reflect a challenge, just doubt. “I suppose so,” he said as if
reluctant to believe. “I just didn’t think the UAE had the military
technology to pose much of a defense in the face of a determined
enemy. I thought you relied on treaties with other nations to
protect your borders.”

Fareed stared at the innocent looking American
for a long time. Finally, he slapped the table hard enough to cause
the deck of cards to tumble over, spreading them across the table.
“Come with me, American,” he snapped, standing to his feet.

Bill stood up more slowly. “Uh, where are we
going?”

“I want to show you something. The United States
looks down on everyone that she doesn’t control. I want you to see
that we are more than capable and able to compete on a military
level.”

“Fareed, I didn’t mean any insult. I was just
led to believe—”

“Lies!” the Arab snapped. “We are strong. Come.
I will show you.”

“Where are we going?”

“There is a military exhibition being held right
now in our city. You will see technology there that will rival
anything that the US can field.”

“Uh, should I be going to something like
that?”

Fareed waved it aside. “You will be my guest. I
want you to see and take word back to your people that we are
strong.”

“My people?”

“No doubt you are a spy.” He stopped Bill from
interrupting with a protest. “Most Americans who come here are, but
it is of no consequence. We have nothing to hide and it is good for
the US to know how strong we are. Come.” He looked at one of the
guards. “Get my car. We will be taking the American to see the
exhibition.”

Without waiting to see if the American followed,
he marched towards the front door. Bill followed, and found that
the bodyguards had fallen in step behind them. They didn’t protest
this impromptu tour, so Bill figured they were used to their
charge’s impetuous behavior. So far, the planned had worked—all
except for the accusation of being a spy. That had hit too close to
home, and he wondered if it wouldn’t land him in hot water later
on.

Fareed’s car turned out to be an expensive
luxury car rather than the expected limousine. The deep blue
Rolls-Royce Phantom rolled to a smooth stop at the curb. The Arab
waved for the driver to get out and jumped behind the wheel
himself. “Get in,” he ordered.