Hot Chips and Sand
Copyright © 2012 Mary Hughes
All rights reserved
Col.
Hafez Fahrrad was the name on the cover letter. She had done her usual thorough
research and had discovered he was presently the dictator of a Middle‑East dot
on the map, Middle Yemen by name, recently coming to power in a particularly
bloody coup.
At
their first meeting, her hair had marked her out.
Fahrrad
had stood as if transfixed, eyes flat and glassy. “What an unusual color,” he
had said, reaching out a finger to touch a curl.
She
had pulled back, appalled, and slapped his hand away. She still could see his
expression, as if he were there with her in the dark hold. He had been furious,
his eyes sparking with anger at her effrontery. But then he had controlled
himself, and had actually smiled, with a toothy, gold‑capped grin and a slight
bow in apology.
Vickie
had felt certain that he was trying to weasel his way back in her good graces,
although she had thought at the time it was to get a better price for his data
system.
“Here
at Fitzwater Software and Consulting, we generally work in database design and
implementation, Col. Fahrrad,” she had told him.
“Ah,
yes. That is what my advisor had told me. But what I want is not so different,
is it, my love?”
Terms
of endearment in the business environment always grated on her. This one made
her wonder if Fahrrad thought all Americans sounded like old Bogart films. If
he hadn’t been a client, she would have made an issue out of it. As it was, she
asked politely, “And what are you looking for?”
“I
would like a security system.” His slow, sensual grin had not endeared him to
her at all. It really looked more like a leer, ruler of a country or not.
“For
the government headquarters?” Vickie had remembered from her reading that he
had infiltrated the Middle Yemeni palace, then staged a coup months later. Then
Fahrrad had slaughtering all the people loyal to the original ruler, Prince
Kulinahr, and the Prince himself. She supposed he would want to make sure no
one would pull the same trick on him.
“For
the entire country.”
That
had set her back. She knew the technology involved in guarding a bank or
building was commonplace, but a whole country…? “I’ll have to check with the
vice‑president on this, Col. Fahrrad. Unless you’d like to speak with her
yourself?”
“No,
sweetheart, I much enjoy working with you.” Again that oily grin. She
shuddered even now, remembering it.
Men
had kidnapped her two days later, as she left work for the night. They hadn’t
said a word; their guns spoke for them quite clearly. She had kept her head
enough to leave her brief case on the sidewalk, unobtrusively. They hadn’t seen
her do it, and she had hoped it would alert the other people leaving work that
something had happened to her.
One
of them had pushed her into an old model car with a missing muffler. She smiled
at that. Apparently they were trying to blend in.
She
had started suspecting the Middle Yemen connection when she realized half her
kidnappers spoke Arabic, the other half English. Later, she overheard a
conversation punctuated quite frequently by Col. Fahrrad’s name.
She
had no doubts left to her fate, however, when they had arrived in this place of
sand and sweltering heat and dank buildings, and they had produced her present,
comfy outfit, which they had requested, quite nicely if you didn’t consider the
rude manner in which they had pointed at her and the guns they had used to point with, that
she put on. Then they had burned her own clothes.
“Hey,
I might need those,” she had protested.
“Not
with the Colonel, Madam,” the bilingual one had answered her.
With
that motivation, Vickie found the opportunity to escape soon after. Perhaps
they thought she wouldn’t attempt it. Well, she was modest, but she valued her
life more highly than modesty.
They
had gone into the city to celebrate, leaving one behind to guard her. The
remaining kidnapper was relieving himself in the next room, and she simply let
herself out.
Unfortunately,
three of them had returned early and surprised her in the lobby, where she had
stopped to stare at a large sculpture of what looked like a curled‑up triangle.
It had seemed so incongruous, over-pretentious art in Motel she had started
laughing, and the three kidnappers in the lobby had pointed and come at her,
running. She had then begun the flight which had brought her to that truck of a
man.
He loomed
up in her memory as big as he had loomed in her sight. She rarely gave in to
fantasy, but, after all, she would never see the man again. So she let her mind
play over her first astonished sight of him, the dim lighting cutting deep
grooves in his sleek torso, of the feel of the weight of his body on hers, his
hand, tangled in her hair, his mouth, sweet on hers, his tongue…
“Hello,
young lady.” The pleasant baritone voice did little to calm Vickie’s nerves. She
whirled, ready to fight or flee.
A
slim, middle aged man faced her. “Please, Ma’am, come with me. Cliff has
arranged…”
“You
know Cliff?” she broke in, excited. Now maybe she would learn something about
her fantastic rescuer.
“Of
course. It was Cliff who brought me here. I am Prince Kulinahr. But please, we
must…”
“Prince
Kulinahr?” So the original Middle Yemeni ruler had escaped Fahrrad’s murderous
schemes. And it was due to that man, the one who had saved her life. “Tell me
how you know Cliff.”
“Yes,
soon, soon. We must hurry and hide now. All ships leaving Misr are searched
before clearing the harbor. Come, Cliff has made arrangements.”
Kulinahr
led Vickie between crates, bales and bags to a largish crate marked with
stencils—“SAND SAMPLES—DO NOT DROP”. One side was open. “Quickly, come in and
help me close the crate.”
Together
they swung the side of the crate closed. Vickie heard Kulinahr fumble in the
close darkness, then a small battery powered lantern illuminated the cramped
confines. Vickie saw grim, tired lines etched into the unshaven face; lines
that weren’t in his official photographs. His suit was dusty and torn on one
side. Kulinahr picked up the lantern and looked closely at the bottom corner
where they had closed the crate. He gave a small sigh of satisfaction and
pulled hard on a thin white cord. A pungent smell crept through the crate. “Pepper.”
said Kulinahr, straightening. “Fahrrad uses dogs in his clearance searches,
ostensibly to search for drugs. Pepper will block their sense of smell for
days, yet it’s harmless.”
“But
how do you know Cliff? And how did he arrange for all this?”
“Yes,
yes. This will become clear as soon as we leave the harbor. But right now we
must be silent.”
Vickie
sat carefully on the rough wood. Kulinahr sat down opposite her. Then he turned
out the light.
Vickie
tried to relax. Being on a ship inside a pepper‑ sprinkled crate was just one
more bizarre occurrence. Well, she’d have some story to tell when she arrived
back home. As she once more consciously let go of her tension, she became aware
of her body’s sensations. Her stomach was just starting to twinge, and her leg
was falling asleep. She shifted her weight to relieve the pressure. “Ouch!”
“What
has happened?”
“I’ve
got a splinter in my…my…well, you know.”
“Oh.”
Vickie heard a rustle, then steps. Kulinahr touched her shoulder. “Here. Sit on
my jacket.”
Vickie
reached up into a rich silk fabric. “Are you sure? I mean, this seems a pretty
expensive suit coat.”
“Yes,
I’m sure. This suit will never receive another U.N. delegation, but I think it
should continue a useful life. Now, quiet, please.”
Vickie
took the jacket and arranged it into a seat pad. She folded her legs into a
half lotus and opened herself to what was happening. Dimly she heard shouts of
dock workers and the clank and roar of machinery, as if the outside were
wrapped in cotton. Even farther, just over the threshold of her hearing, was
the incessant rush and slap of water. A low thrumming of engines began under
her. Then a series of clanks and bangs indicated the start of the police
inspections.
Vickie
felt Kulinahr tense, and she barely breathed. The sounds of heavy boots on
metal stairs mixed in with shouts of men and pants and yelps of dogs. The
sounds advanced and receded as the teams went back and forth between stacks of
cargo. Then the sounds seemed to recede and vanish. Vickie let out a gush of
air, relieved that they’d gone.
Suddenly
the sounds returned. Vickie’s eyes widened and she clamped her lower lip with
her teeth. The snuffling of the dogs approached. Vickie tried to make herself
as small and quiet as possible. The dogs came closer, whining and snuffling in
their eagerness.
Almost
inevitably, Vickie felt a small tickle build in the back of her throat. Her
eyes watered and she was certain she was going to cough. She swallowed several
times in an effort to keep her body under control.
Then,
blessedly and thankfully, the threatening advance of the dogs was replaced by
sneezing, snorting and wheezing. The dogs had run into the pepper and sniffed
full noses. There was no possibility now that they would be discovered. Vickie
felt herself relax, but Kulinahr’s warning touch held her still.
Boots
pounded the steel deck as the police hustled the dogs topside. An officer
shouted orders in Arabic. Vickie heard the men tramp away, then return. A
resounding series of bangs and cracks ensued. The police were banging the
crates and boxes, apparently to scare anything out of hiding. Vickie heard the
feet come closer and cringed back when a set stopped right outside their crate.
Kulinahr tightened his grip on Vickie’s wrist, probably the only thing that
saved them from being discovered a moment later.
The
crate suddenly shifted, crazily tilting onto an edge, sending Vickie and
Kulinahr tumbling along the side. Kulinahr, though, had found a handhold and he
held onto it and Vickie with all his strength. Just as suddenly, the crate
dropped back on the deck.
Vickie,
on her hands and knees, waited. This time she did not move a muscle, even when
the banging retreated, even when it stopped altogether, even when she heard the
boots clang back up the stairs. She remained frozen until, at last, she felt
the ship move under her, when she gingerly sat down. ‘Now I know how a deer
feels in hunting season,’ she thought.
Hiding
in the woods, never able to show their snouts. Sneaking out only to eat. Of course thinking of eating reminded her of
her own empty stomach.
Kulinahr
slid himself over to where Vickie was sitting. He spoke in a low voice. “I
believe they are gone, but we had better wait until we are in international
waters before we present ourselves.”
Vickie
nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her. “How long?”
“Perhaps
twenty minutes. Then another hour or two to leave the area would be prudent.”
She
sure hoped no longer than that. Her stomach was starting to make a nuisance of
itself. She tried to ignore it. “What was all that about?”
“Fahrrad
evidently knew I was still in the country.” Vickie heard him pause, and mutter
a phrase in Arabic. “That was his special police. They are deadly. It is well
Cliff planned this escape, for I think Fahrrad has spies among even my most
loyal militia. Although they would have found us had we shifted in this crate.”
“We’re
lucky you found that hand‑hold then.”
“Luck
was not involved. The strap I held on to
is not standard equipment for a crate; not on the inside, at any rate.”
“How’d
it get here, then? Oh, don’t tell me. Cliff.” That man again.
“Yes.”
Another pause. “He would make a most formidable enemy.”
“Could
you tell me more?”
This
time there was a longer silence. Finally, Kulinahr said, “I am concerned that
you would not understand, right now. And I am tired. We will meet after this
trip and discuss it, yes?”
Oh,
sure, let’s do lunch. “Maybe. Why don’t you get some rest, then, if you’re
tired.”
She
settled back into the dark silence. The rocking of the ship lulled her into
closing her eyes, although she was still too tense to sleep.
The
escape had been close. She had been athletic in her youth, but had let all that
slide in favor of sitting in front of a tube 20 hours a day with diet Mountain
Dew and popcorn for her constant companion. That run up the stairs had really
taxed her.
‘Let’s
not mention swinging through the air.’
She clamped down on that thought, preferring to try to relax. Thinking
about that man did not, strangely enough, cause her to relax.
Her
stomach growled. How much time had gone by? She started to shift her position
but abruptly froze when the crate creaked. Gingerly, she settled back against
the side. Where was that coat of Kulinahr’s? Lost when the crate had done its
rumba, probably. She could sure use it right about now. ‘Although I suppose I
could use this lunking T‑shirt I have wrapped around my head to sit on. It
probably has just as much material as Kulinahr’s coat.’
She
pulled the shirt off her head and was folding it when she felt something hard,
apparently embedded in the material. Carefully, she moved her fingertips along
the shirt, searching for some opening. When she found nothing, she methodically
turned the shirt inside‑out and tried again, revealing a small, hidden pocket.
Gingerly
she withdrew the object from the pocket. In the dark, she ran her finger over
the edges, noting a notch, and what felt like tiny threads. Touching the flat
surface revealed nothing. It felt like a computer chip, she realized, but
different somehow. Puzzled, she returned the object to the pocket. Perhaps
seeing it in the light would give her some clue.
Her
stomach growled again, reminding her of her current situation. By the sound of
the engine they would soon be in international waters. Time to face the captain
of this vessel. Well, Cliff’s name had certainly struck a chord with Kulinahr. She
hoped it would be equally effective with the captain, for Kulinahr’s sake as
much as for her own. If anything, he was in more danger than she if the captain
should decide to return them to Misr.
Several
hours later, she and Kulinahr sat in a walnut paneled room with ankle‑deep
Persian carpeting, a dusky gold spy glass and a huge relief globe. Vickie saw
only the delicate pink shrimp in shiny red sauce disappearing one by one into
the thick ruddy lips of the man opposite.
“What
I’d like to know,” he said flicking a bit of sauce from his bristling mustache,
“is what this Cliff of yours looks like. May know him, may not. A lot of people
named Cliff, after all.”
Vickie
sighed as the last of the shrimp vanished into the captain’s mouth. It was
strange how in two days she had not missed eating at all, but in the last two
minutes she had become ravenous. Pavlov’s dogs had nothing on her. Ring the
shrimp and she salivates.
Luckily,
Kulinahr had been listening. “Cliff is a to the captain. “A tall man.
Broad, broad of shoulder and deep
of chestathletic. Dark hair. But his most
distinctive feature is his eyes. They are quite—penetrating.”
Vickie
didn’t think Cliff’s most distinctive feature was his eyes, but
the captain had grown pale. . Well, when blazing
that pure blue, yes. But what about his size, his impressive chest, his heady
masculine scent?“That’s him. It would be best if each of you tell
me your stories… from the beginning.”
But
the captain had grown pale. “That’s him. All right. I was only expecting one
extra passenger, so why don’t each of you tell me your stories from the
beginning.”
“Why
don’t you go first?” Vickie hadsaid
to Kulinahr. She’d sighted a tray of petite sandwiches on a small
table next to the giant globe.
As
Kulinahr related the steps that had lead him to the walnut ‑paneled
room, Vickie stoodshe rose and
wandered, with deliberate nonchalance,
over to the globe. She glanced backA glance over
her shoulder, noting showed the
captain was deeply engrossed by the sheikh’s
narration. With one hand, she casually turned the globe. With
the other she reached out and…
“And
how did you get here, Ms. Johnston?” the captain boomed.
She
nearly shrieked. Momentarily defeated, she returned to her seat. As
she told her story, she kept an eye on the tray of sandwiches, hope returning. As
soon as she finished, she rose again and meandered about the room.Breathing
a couple times to get her skyrocketed heart rate under control, she turned and
smiled, and returned to her seat.
As
she told her story, she kept an eye on the tray of sandwiches. They were
winking at her. She swallowed, and finished as swiftly as possible.
When the captain thanked her she gave him a quick
smile, then stretched her back as if needing a break. Nonchalantly, she rose
and meandered toward the sandwiches.
“It
seems to me, Kulinahr,” said the captain, “that you already know a fair bit
about Cliff.” Vickie had made it to
At
the tray, and placed herselfVickie put her body
between it and the captain. Now, casually, she Casually, she reached
for one of the petite sandwiches. It would hide onenicely
in the voluminous folds of the T‑shirt. For once she was glad of that man’sman
Cliff’s size. Yes, oneOne sandwich.
would fit easily. Or two. They were small. Gradually, she
moved her hand forwardfingers wrapped around
bread.
The
captain’s voice sounded right behind her. “But you, Ms. Johnston,”
she .”
She dropped
sandwich and spun. He was standing next to the globe, bushy eyebrows
lowered in a frown. She hid her hand behind her and attempted to
grin innocently, “would while feeling for the
dropped sandwich. “Yes?”
“You’d
be better off forgetting you ever encountered himCliff.”
Vickie
abruptly halted her attempt to grab a sandwich by feel alone. “Why?”
“CliffHe
is a very…influential man, but. But
he is, by choice, unknown. He is a private man. He wouldIf
you attempt to identify him, he will deny helping you, even deny
being here in this country, if you attempted to identify him.Middle
Yemen.” The captain shook his head. “No, I would not mention his
part in your escape to the press, or anybody if I were
you. Ever. Especially not the government, or anybody.”
“The
governmentWhat? Why?” A private man who worked
behind the scenes, whom she should forget she had ever met, about whom and
never ever mention to the government might question her…
was Cliff a gangster? This was awful!? “You
make him sound like a criminal!”
Kulinahr
began
chuckling, and waschuckled, soon joined by the captain’s
hearty guffaw. Vickie took it to mean Cliff was not a criminal, and relaxed.
Not that she would ever see him again, but it was nice to know she could dream
about himfantasize in good conscience.
“Okay,
I won’t mentiontalk about
Cliff at all.” But I doubt if I’ll forget we ever met, she thought,
sobering. I doubt if I’ll ever forget him.
“And
now, my guests,” boomed the captain, “please help your self to these delicious
hors d’oeuvres!”
Vickie
hurriedly stuffed a couple of the small sandwiches in her mouth. “Mmm, these
are good,” she mumbled, licking.” She
licked her fingers. “Do you have any egg salad? Maybe some relish?
Could I have a glass of milk? And a napkin? And maybe some pants…”
Chapter 3
Upon
her arrival home, Vickie had beenwas the press’s
obligatory three‑day wonder. “What was it like to be kidnapped by overseas
terrorists? (‘They spoke English.’) “Tell
us about your feelings when you realized you were to be sold like an animal.”
(Dumb question. She had never been up for sale. Do your research next
time.) She had nearly
belted the over‑enthusiasticoverenthusiastic
newshound who asked “What would you have felt like if you actually had been
killed by these terrorists?” These dimwits were in wild contrast toWhile
these guys and gals were a few circuits short of a motherboard, they were emphatically
better than the polite yet insistent gentlemen with dark suits and
official badges who questioned her in great detail. After about twenty minutes
of these ‘interviews’“interviews”
she felt more exhausted than in the whole two days of her abduction.
But
eventually there was an earthquake to cover, and a local election, and a zoo
opening, and things settled back to situation normal.
TheSo the
small white envelope with neat calligraphy and Canadian postmark came as a
surprise, therefore. .
Vickie,
starting to find fingered it. Finding life a little
dull after her grand adventure, she tried
playing detective. “Hmm. Good, thick, quality paper. I can see fibers. Probably
someone with money. And this is not ordinary writing.” She ran her finger overheld
it up to the light. “Dark India ink,
indelible. Italic oblique nib, from the looks of it. No return address.
Interesting.”
She
turned the envelope over and over, but finding no more information, she tired
of the game and opened it. It was from Prince Kulinahr.
“Well,
well,” she murmured.She smiled.
“He wants to do lunch after all.” She startedBut
skimming the words, she realized it,
caught the sense of it with surprise, then wasn’t a mere “let’s
catch up” invitation. She sat down and read it thoroughly.
Kulinahr’s
instructions were quite explicit. She was to meetThis
Friday, at the Embassy Hotel in Canada, two of his body
guards, whobodyguards would escort her to see the
prince, at the Embassy Hotel that Friday. In Canada.him.
She
immediately got on the phone to her travel agent. “Lonnie,” she
said, “I need a rush set of accommodations. Montreal. This weekend, arriving
Friday, leaving Sunday morning. Yes, how much? How much? No, no. I’ll
take it. Send the stuff to my office. Thanks.”online and booked plane
and hotel. Stared at the screen. How much? She shook her head and
clicked buy.
So,
she would see Kulinahr again. Vickie felt aA knot of
anticipation settled in her stomach. She tried to
convince herself it was merely the natural reaction to visiting with a head of
a whole country. And aA prince,
no less.
‘Yeah, sure, Vickie. You’re not at all excited to think you might find out more about Cliff.’
But
oh, to meet him again, the man
who had kissed her into oblivion in two seconds flat. She had thought it
impossible. But then again, afterNot since her
ex-fiancé, Ron, had she had thought reactingreacted
so strongly to any man’s kiss was impossible.
Vickie
shook her head. That was a rat hole she didn’t particularly want to go
down again. She settled her mind on And
if she had to compare Ron and Cliff, big and masculine, …well,
there was no comparison. She remembered Cliff carrying her through
the streets of Middle Yemen. His, big and masculine, his
scent came to her as if she were there again, on
the night breeze…her stomach tighteningtightened
intensely.
If
only Kulinahr would tell her where to find him.
Vickie
finished her work early on Friday and went
directly to the airport. She hopped on a DC‑9 which flew her, with only one
stop, to Montreal.
From there she went to the Embassy Hotel and sat down in the bar Kulinahr had
named to wait.
She
hadn’t even ordered a drink when the two
men arrived. According to their name tags, they were supposedly with
the Music Educators convention. but their twin MIB
suits shouted secret service. They walked casually overwith
that alert power too, and when they greeted
her it was with the pass phrase
Kulinahr had written.: “The ship is in the
harbor, but the dogs only smell pepper.”
“The
ship is in the harbor, but the dogs only smell pepper.”
“They
sneeze and run away,” she replied, stifling.” She
stifled a smile.
One
nodded. “Ms. Johnston? Please come with us.”
She
followed them outthe twins outside
to a black Mercedes saloon with smoked windows. How camp, she thought,
althoughIt was almost a parody but she couldn’t
quite suppress a shiver as she slid into the plush air‑-conditioned
interiorbackseat.
She half‑expected a blindfold, but and was grateful when
the two men got in front and ignored her through
the entire drive. She did not recognize any of the streets they traveled
anyway, having been to Montreal
only in her childhood.
The
car pulled to a stop in front of a nondescript house in a quiet residential
neighborhood. One man, she thoughtpossibly the
one who had spoken before but she couldn’t be sure, turned to her.
“Just
knockKnock on the door three times. Tell
the person answering the door your name and your mother’s maiden name. Good‑bye,
Ms. Johnston.”
‘Oh,
wonderful,’ Great, she
thought Vickie. ‘as she got out. They’re not Middle Yemeni secret service.
They’re from my bank.’ But as she got out of the car,knocked
she couldn’t dampen a thrill of anticipation. This was, after all,
more exciting than anything that had happened to A
housekeeper admitted her for a week. ‘Getting
spoiled, Vickie?’
She
followedand led her instructions to the
letter. A computer programmer had to be detail oriented, and she took pride in
her ability to break down and memorize complex tasks. This was a piece of cake.
Even that man Cliff would be proud of her, if he ever saw her againupstairs
to a small room on the second floor.
She
was perfectly aware by now that Cliff had made a lasting impression on her. Ten
days of constant intrusion on her thoughts had convinced her. Every male she
saw, every man she met was held up to the image of Cliff. And found lacking.
Vickie
even found herself comparing him on a point‑by‑point basis with her ex‑fiancee,
Ron. Only the fact that she didn’t have enough information about Cliff kept her
from trying to call him, despite her experience with Ron. She had her excuse
all ready. She had never thanked him for rescuing her, after all. He didn’t
need to know how much, at the time, she had resented it.
But
she didn’t know how to get in touch with him. Heck, she didn’t even know his
last name. But Kulinahr knew Cliff. She
had to get that information from Kulinahr.
The
deposed ruler was alone, seated at a writing table in a small room on the
second floor.. When he saw Vickie, he rose with a
smile. “Vickie Johnston. How good of you to come.” He met her with a warm
handshake.
“Prince
Kulinahr. HowIt was kind
of you to see me.” He looked well, better than the last time they had
met. He was neatly barberedShe followed him to a
small grouping with settee, coffee table set with silver service,
and his clothes were impeccable. Perhaps there was more
gray at the temple. chairs.
When
she got closer, however,In some ways
he looked older,better than the last
time they had met. He was neatly barbered and his clothes were impeccable. But there
was more careworn. Thengray at the temple and
when she got closer she saw the lines remained, the deeper
folds and in his face, deep grooves that only
come from fatigue and worry. He indicated that she should sit
He gestured
at the settee, took a chair across from her and poured them some
coffee.
Vickie
openedsat
and took her tasse
gratefully; it had been a long day and difficult flight. She sipped.
Her eyes
in
surprise.snapped opened like abruptly retracting window
shades. The coffeeliquid was
thick and grainy, andjust short of chewed
coffee beans in water hot enough to scald her tongue.
“The
coffee does not agree with you? Would you care for something else?”
Blinking
fast, Vickie carefully swallowed. “No,” she began hoarsely,
blinking fast.. She cleared her throat. “No,”
she tried again, “, this is fine. It just takes some
getting used to.”
Kulinahr
smiled slightly. “My English university friends also found the taste somewhat
unusual. I would understand if you did not want itto
finish.”
Vickie
grimaced and tried another sip. It was not much better, but now she was
determined. “No, it’s good.” She sipped again. “You went to a Western
university?”
“Yes.
Education is prized in my country, and all members of the royal family attended
Oxford University
in England.
I
went during the turbulent sixties, which probably accounts for my progressive
bent. Even in those ancient halls the new ideas were felt.” Vickie nodded,
starting to see a new side of KulinahrEach of us was assigned
their course of study. My brothers were set to work at engineering, finance and
education. My cousin studied medicine, and is now director of the main hospital
in Misr.” His pride shone in his smile.
“Each
member of my family was assigned their course of study. My brothers were set to
work at engineering, finance, education. My cousin studied medicine, and is now
director of the main hospital in Misr,” he said proudly.
“And
you run… ran a country. Impressive
family.”
Kulinahr
sadlyKulinahr’s smile faded and put his cup
down. “Yes. Ran. I no longer govern my people.” His jaw clenched. “They are in
the hands of that madman, Fahrrad. And I trusted him. I believed him. I made
him my guest!”
Vickie
put
downset her own cup aside. “What
happened?” she encouraged him.
“It
began less than a year ago. As a small country trapped between many larger
ones, you understand, we always have our
share of external problems. But suddenly we began to have internal issues as
well—bombings, and kidnappings, and acts of horrible
violence right on the streets of Misr. Terrorists.”
Vickie’s
eyes widened. “What did they want?”
“To
distract me from my true enemy.” “That’s terrible. Did
you find out who they were?”
“TheyKulinahr
sighed, and looked into the small cup in his hand. “Oh, they said
they were freedom fighters, trying to liberate a particular sect of
peoplethe oppressed in my country. I
was furious. Who had I oppressed? They were an affront to my pride.” Kulinahr
sighed, and looked into the small cup in his hand. “.”
“But
you don’tI now think that’s what they really
were after.”their purpose was to distract me from my true
enemy.”
“No.”Who
was…?”
“So
how did Fahrrad enter the picture?”
.”
Kulinahr’s jaw worked. “Hafez Fahrrad was well known for
eliminating terrorist threats in his own country of Kalifad. As that is just
across my border, I was particularly aware of his reputation. I sent an
emissary to Fahrradhim, to
ask for his assistance. I should have known…I should have seen…the man
was a dinosaur in his own country. Decades past the age of perestroika, Fahrrad
is a staunch Stalinist.”
“And
he came?”
Kulinahr
sighed again. “Yes, of course. You see, I knew he was having problems in his
Kalifad. They have entered a period of enlightenment, following somewhat the
lead of their parent country into the age of peristroika. Fahrrad, of course,
was a staunch Stalinist.”
Vickie
grunted. “Mixes like oil and water.”“Did
you know that then?”
“Yes. So I
knew he would come. I did not worry, however. I thought our
country was far too progressive to give him a handhold.”
“Well,
that makes sense. If he was already having trouble just from new‑style
Communism, I can imagine he’d sink like a stone in a market economy.”
“I
did not . But I did not take his desperation
into account.” Kulinahr fell silent. Vickie watched as his
face grew more careworn. , his eyes fixed on
some point deep within.
Odd, she thought
Vickie. A ruler in. He’s a modern day ruler,
yet he looks like some of the ancient patriarchs must have looked. Plus caThe
more things change…
Vickie
thought back briefly to what she When the job had
read
in her research.first come up, Vickie had researched Middle
Yemen, until the coup, had been driven by Prince.
Driven by Kulinahr’s ambition to eradicate poverty and ignorance
among his people. He had taken his , the nation
had
risen from a poor, squabbling country to one of peace and
prosperity.
Now
the coup seemed to make more sense to Vickie. Obviously Fahrrad felt the rising
level of in just a
few decades. She considered it from Fahrrad’s point of view. The rising prosperity
in
Middle Yemen could mean of his neighboring
country probably looked like a cash, to fund Fahrrad’s private
war. “Why cow just over the fence. “How did you
believe himit happen, then?”
“First,
becauseKulinahr sighed. “I’m not saying he completely took
me in, but he painted a very pretty scene of a repentant
Communist. Second, becauseAnd though
my citizen’s militia is very good, but they
cannot be on watch all the time.” Kulinahr shook his head, as though he still
could not understand it. “I thought perhaps Fahrrad couldAll
he had to do was help us keep guard while
we were waitingwaited for
the security system to be designed and built.”
“Security
system?” Vickie’s ears pricked. That sounded like the
project that had started all this. Fahrrad had also been looking
for a security system.
Vickie
had known the new account would be trouble from the moment she was assigned to
it. Never in her wildest dreams, however, did she imagine how much trouble.
Col.
Hafez Fahrrad was the name on the cover letter. She had done her usual thorough
research and had discovered he was presently the dictator of a Middle East dot
on the map, Middle Yemen by name, recently coming to power in a particularly
bloody coup.
In
person he was a slight man in an overdesigned uniform and a too-big hat, with
small dark eyes and a tidy mustache.
At
their first meeting, in her company’s conference room, Fahrrad had stood as if
transfixed, eyes flat and glassy. “What an unusual color for hair. It is like a
sunset.” He reached out to touch a curl.
She automatically
slapped his hand away. She still could see his expression, his eyes sparking
with anger.
But
he controlled himself, and actually smiled, with a toothy, gold capped grin. He
gave a
slight bow in apology.
Vickie
knew weaseling when she saw it. Trying to get back in her good graces to get a
better price for his system. “So what is it you’re looking for, Colonel?”
“I wish
to implement a security system. Shall we sit?” He took a chair, then patted the
one next to him coaxingly.
She
stayed on her feet. “I’m not sure we can help you. Here at Fitzwater Software
and Consulting, we generally work in database design and implementation.”
“Yes,
so my advisor said. He also said that what I want is not so different, is it,
my dear?”
Terms
of endearment in the business environment grated on her. If Fahrrad hadn’t been
a client, she’d have made an issue out of it. As it was, she asked politely, “And
what do you wish to make secure?”
His
slow, sensual grin had not endeared him to her at all. It really looked more
like a leer, ruler of a country or not.
“Your
government’s headquarters?” she prompted. She remembered from her reading that Fahrrad
had infiltrated the palace and slaughtered all the people loyal to the Prince
Kulinahr in the coup. The world thought he’d killed the Prince himself and she
supposed at the time that he’d want security to make sure no one pulled the
same trick on him.
“Not
my headquarters, my dear. For the entire country.”
