The Miraculous Plot of Leiter & Lott (9 page)

"Shall I guess why you want to meet them?"
Aazad
asked, after a pause.

"If you like."

Aazad
tossed the stub of his cigar overboard. "You lost money to one, or to both."

David shook his head. "No, not me. It was my deceased mother. For me, it's more complex. I want to see who they are now. I know who they were. Or at least I know who I thought they were."

"Interesting. What do you propose?"

"A party at your place."

Aazad
sniggered at his brazen suggestion, then broke out another Havana, cut off the tip, and lit up. "And what is my interest in these two to be?"

"Let it be a mystery. We'll ignore them completely."

Aazad
nodded. "I'm liking this idea more and more. Go on."

"Jeffrey Innes will be impressed immensely by you. He will be curious. Looking for his angle, seeking redemption, whether he knows it or not. He's cheated his employees and investors out of millions. Unless he's a sociopath--which might be likely, I have to admit--he must feel guilty. He escaped justice on a loophole, and sailed here on a golden parachute. Ted
Cashman
, on the other hand, was a pimp for God."

"Your televangelist's name is
Cashman
?"

"Yes. It's his real name. His entire ministry was a sham. He took Social Security money, and bought a jet with it. He took donations from the elderly, and bought jewelry for his wife. He promised prosperity, but all his followers got was a tax write-off. When his finance director threatened to blow his cover by appearing on 60 Minutes, he took his retirement early and moved into the Al-
Jumeirah
Tower."

Aazad
blew a breath of smoke out over the bow. "But we just ignore all this."

"Completely. We let them find each other. We seat them together, and listen to their conversation."

"For what purpose? What do you expect them to say?"

"It's not what they say, it's how they say it."

Aazad's
watery eye's narrowed. Then a slight smile crossed his lips. "You're a curious one," he said.

"I know," David admitted. "Will you do it?"

"You
what?"
Etherton whispered hotly as they bypassed the Palm toward an approach to the World Islands.

David leaned sideways against the deck railing, and looked past Doug toward the dark windows of the control room behind him. "I made a wish, like dying kids do to get ball players to visit them.
Aazad
is going to grant it. He's having the phone calls placed now."

"Are you crazy?" Doug asked.

"Don't worry, it won't jeopardize his generosity with you."

"How do you know that?"

"I'm not sure, I just do."

"Wow, that's a relief. I thought you were going to help me on this."

"I am, trust me. You'll just get the job done a little earlier, is all."

Doug shook his head, angry at himself now. "Oh, never mind," he said. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have approached him. Should have let it ride until next week. And then I--" He paused, staring at the inlet into which the Big Dipper now carefully maneuvered, following a narrow, deep-water channel between the first two of many symmetrical islands of sand.

"Then you
what?"
David asked.

"I made an even bigger mistake. When you were out here, looking at the skyline, I gulped a whisky, then told
Aazad
my theory."

"You mean about Victor
Seacrest
?"

Etherton winced, then glared at him in stunned amazement. "How did you. . ."

"I deduced it by your reaction, and what you said about their rivalry."

"Yeah, but that's quite a leap, even for you."

"Or you? You said the men hated each other. There's motive. All that's left is means. So what if
Seacrest
got the idea to create a diversion by hitting the
Burj
Khalifa
first, before targeting Swann's family condo at the Dynamic Tower? It would be some revenge for him, and no one the wiser."

"Sounds insane, though, hearing somebody else say it." Doug bit at his lower lip. "Okay. Like
Aazad
asked me, then, how in hell would
Seacrest
get access to drone military aircraft?"

"Who's proven they're military? Maybe he had them engineered. Or if they are military, maybe he bought them on the black market. Didn't a few drones go missing a couple years ago?"

Doug squinted into the blue distance, as though the memory there needed resurrection. Finally, he cleared his throat. "Yeah, okay. Say they are the same ones, then. Pulling this off would still require a lot more than using a checkbook. There's targeting logistics, launch guidance, not to mention surveillance. It'd require a whole team of professionals."

"Which can't be bought at any price, even among all the terrorist cells training somewhere out in the desert? It'd be fairly easy to convince someone such an operation would make the U.S. military look responsible."

Etherton looked out at a passing dhow--an old wooden ship incongruously navigating between the Palm and the World, as though poor fishermen were among those ogling the rich. "Hope I'm wrong. Hope
we're
wrong, I mean. More than likely, though, those paranoid delusions you mentioned having are rubbing off on me. It's why I had questions in the first place. Biggest one now, of course, is why hasn't he hit the Swann Tower, if that's his beef."

"Maybe it's next," David said. "Day after tomorrow is another nine-eleven, after all, and the buzz is that what's happened is only a lead up to that."

Doug grimaced, then sighed. Finally, he slapped David's shoulder. "Let's grab a whisky, and forget about this nonsense for now, shall we?"

~ * ~

Watching from the control room as
Aazad
Baloum's
primary residence neared, David felt his newly induced mystical acuity being seriously tested. The white sand-lipped island was scarcely three acres, yet it exuded an overpowering sense of mastery over one's physical environment---an exclusive air of luxury that extended from its flawlessly contoured landscaping to its artistically rendered architecture. The central structure was a two-story white granite home whose upper floor boasted a vaulted ceiling framing a massive span of tinted glass. Date palms rose strategically from a rock garden to one side, and along paths leading in one direction to a pool, and in the other to a helicopter pad and boathouse. A row of lounge chairs faced forward from an elevated deck beside a long reflecting pool fed by a ten foot fountain. The main dock fronting the property edged out from the shallows near a perfect beach to join a pillared platform accommodating craft requiring deeper clearance.

The Big Dipper, bearing its big tipper and guests, maneuvered into position like a space shuttle docking station-side. A whistle sounded, announcing the feat. Then a gangway was extended, and they stepped from the cool comfort of the pilothouse into the warm reality of paradise.

"Where's Ricardo
Montalban
?" Etherton asked one of
Aazad's
staff, attempting to disguise--with levity--the amazement that his face nonetheless telegraphed.

Aazad
himself led them alongside the reflecting pool toward the house, gesturing both right and left. "My neighbors. . .Rod Stewart being one, David Beckham another, by the way. . . live in other countries far, far away, as you can see," he said. "But in this magical place, you can sip wine in France, eat lobsters in Maine, and make love here in Tahiti all on the same afternoon."

"I trust it's all not
this
afternoon," Etherton quipped.

~ * ~

The staircase rising from the house's lower level boasted framed art of planetary nebula: the Helix, M27 the Dumbbell, and the ghostly Ring Nebula of
Lyra
. The largest, facing the top of the stairs, was the Horsehead, a red emission nebula in Orion. The fine detail within the dark pillar of illuminated gas, lit from behind by the fires of birthing suns, made David suspect it to be an original reprint from the Hubble catalog. More impressive yet, the great room at the top of the stairs overlooked an elevated deck and sculpture garden to the rear of the house. The centerpiece of the garden was a gazebo housing a full size reproduction of Michelangelo's
David
. It reminded him of the scale reproductions of the
Taj
Mahal
, Hanging Gardens of Babylon, and Pyramids being developed at
Dubailand
. Here, the placement of Michelangelo's sculpture seemed just as incongruous, too, given that the other sculptures surrounding it were modern or even post-modern, made not of stone or bronze, but of colored sheet metal and glass. Even more curious, there were numerous black metal poles positioned throughout the array bearing light fixtures more appropriate to the computer game
Myst
. David was about to question
Aazad
about one of the sculptures he suspected was by
Naum
Gabo when he turned to see that the billionaire had been replaced by a Filipino butler in a white coat, and wearing white gloves. The little man had been waiting for them to complete their appraisal of the grounds, not wanting to interrupt.

"Where's
Aazad
?" David asked, prompting Etherton to turn from his admiration of the twelve foot domed observatory near a back row of cypress trees.

"Mr.
Baloum
has instructed me to provide whatever you need while he's gone,"
Aazad's
servant sedulously explained.

"But. . . where has he gone?" Doug queried, puzzled.

"Why, to prepare for your party on Sunday," the man replied, as though the matter had been previously understood.

"Sunday," Doug repeated, confused. "This is Friday afternoon. What are we to do until then?"

"Anything you wish," the Filipino suggested, opening his hands invitingly to either side. "There is a media room with television, internet conferencing, and fax machine. In the den there is a billiard table, ping pong, pinball, and bowling alley. There is also a library and study with a bar, or you may use the pool, hand ball court, or the jet skis in the boathouse. If you need a change of clothes or bathing suits, we have everything in store. If you need me for any other reason, all you need do is buzz." He handed each of them a palm sized controller. "I'm the red button on the top right. The one on the left provides access to the pool and boathouse gates. Dinner is at seven, but if you require nourishment before then, I will have the chef prepare whatever you wish. Now, may I show you to your rooms, gentlemen?"

Doug looked at David askance, but said nothing. They followed the butler across a floor laid in Persian carpet toward a staircase within view of the front of the property. Descending, they witnessed the Big Dipper pulling away from the dock, its darkened control room window already turning, with inscrutable purpose, toward the interconnecting waterway of the World Islands.

"What now?" David asked.

They sat at a black glass conference table in the media room. Both the table, which seated twelve, and the room itself were oval in shape. The chairs were high-backed, and generously cushioned in purple velvet. At the center of the table was the outline of a sunken cube, indicating video conferencing monitors. Along one wall of the room were five cubicles, each station with sleek ergonomic office chairs and Macintosh computers. Subdued illumination was supplied from overhead recessed spot lighting fixtures, which looked like laser weapons angled within clear round glass housings. The ceiling was black, as were the walls and floor, but three medieval-looking stone sconces along the wall opposite wall the cubicles hid brilliant arc bulbs that Etherton had turned way up before cutting back.

"It is a little odd," Doug admitted. "Of course I don't know him that well. Could be the way all billionaires operate."

"
Nasheed
?"

"No, he's younger, and not quite a billionaire, either. Way I heard it,
Aazad
has four homes, if you count his wife
Jamila's
condo in Abu Dhabi. Rumor has it his estate in Marbella houses one of his mistresses, since
Jamila
doesn't care for Spain, and never goes there. He has a son by
Jimila
, can't remember his name. Think he lives in the States, possibly California. He's dropped out of school there, much to
Aazad's
chagrin. Other than that, what I know is that
Aazad
and
Nasheed
are both members of the Emirates Science Club, a group which once came to Kitt Peak on a private tour. They also toured the LBT on Mount Graham and the MMT atop Mount Hopkins. Scuttlebutt has it the LBT is getting some of its private funding from
Aazad
, to cover their secondary mirror accident, although
Nasheed
didn't say how much because I don't think he knows.
Nasheed
did tell me, though, that the scope in
Aazad's
observatory out there is a fourteen inch Meade LX two hundred."

"Pretty modest, for a man of his wealth."

"Yeah, well, I think he knows it's just a hobby. He isn't convinced he can make any amateur contribution to science here at sea level, with water vapor problems and all."