Out of control, p.22
Out of Control, page 22
The door opened and King Abdullah walked in with Hakeem, flanked by two other men who appeared to be assistants, or maybe bodyguards.
We all greeted the king, who began a long, rambling speech about how he liked to pop in unexpectedly around the kingdom and see how people fared, to meet with them one on one, without a lot of fanfare. He nodded toward Hakeem. “Strange coincidence I ran into Hakeem out at the airport, and now I see we’re blessed with the Al-Fulani family as well.” He shook their hands, including Ara’s, then turned toward me. Most of my face was covered with my ghutra, but it was very clear to me that he wasn’t fooled at all. Nevertheless, after Nick explained about my throat and Faisal introduced me by my fake Arab man name, the king shook my hand and kissed my cheeks each in turn. He and Nick exchanged a look.
Hakeem went pale when he realized it was Nick and me, dressed in traditional clothes of the opposite sex. His eyes darted about, to Kaliq and Faisal and Ara and Zafer. He instinctively knew he was cornered, but was clearly confused and had no idea what was in store.
The king invited us to tour the port with him, and we moved as a group behind him and the Ports Authority master. He stopped and asked questions, turned and made comments, proudly pointed out the offshore loading terminals currently feeding oil into two tankers, including the one that “saved” Tim.
He took his time, seemed to be enjoying himself hugely, while Hakeem began to wear thin under the stress. By now he had to be wondering if the coincidence wasn’t one at all, if the king suspected he wasn’t the Golden Boy he painted himself to be.
And he had to be thinking about the load of Semtex Tim had left hidden aboard the Hellas Constellation. It had been set to blow by timer at two in the afternoon, when the tanks would be half full, providing the largest explosion possible. He didn’t know the Ports Authority master’d had the Yanbu police remove and disarm it as soon as Tim left for the airport.
Hakeem may have had an inkling the blasting material had been discovered, but he couldn’t be certain. What must be really throwing him off was Tim’s departure. If the Semtex had been found, Tim shouldn’t have been allowed to leave. And he knew for sure Tim left, because he went to the airport to make sure of it. Nawaf had tracked him via the GPS unit in his briefcase and called Nick to let him know. Hakeem had planned to drive from there back to Jiddah, but King Abdullah spotted him and insisted he come along to tour the port. Hakeem had no clue it was all part of the plan, but he clearly felt something was up. He was becoming more panicky as the minutes dragged by.
I could see the indecision in his expression, knew he was afraid. The port was supposed to blow at two o’clock. The closer it got to the hour, the more he sweated.
The king, on the other hand, was cool and collected. He knew about the Semtex, and the two o’clock deadline, and our accusation against Hakeem. If we were right, all would be well. If we were wrong…he’d assume Faisal was responsible for the Semtex, that he set up the whole thing to nail Hakeem, and we’d all end our days at the infamous Chop-Chop Square. When Robichaud called him with his suspicions, King Abdullah said he was fed up with Faisal and Hakeem’s feud, that this would be an end to it one way or the other.
At fifteen until two, Hakeem finally broke. He said he absolutely had to leave, that he was due for a meeting in Riyadh at four o’clock and needed to catch a plane right away.
The king waved away his pretext and said, “Call and tell them you’re with me. I’m sure they’ll forgive your absence.” He smiled at all of us, and we nodded agreement.
“Yes,” Faisal said, “we’d hate to lose your company, Hakeem.”
All of us, including the king, stared at Hakeem and he swallowed hard before he nodded and said, “Yes, of course. I’ll call and make my apologies. If you’ll excuse me?” He turned to walk away, making a big show of taking his cell phone out of his pocket.
Much as we’d watch a train wreck, we were totally focused on his progress toward his car. His pace actually increased as he got farther away, no doubt because he assumed we were all about to be blown to bits, so why would it matter if we saw him leave?
When Hakeem was in the car, pulling out of his parking spot, King Abdullah turned to Faisal and grasped his shoulder. “You’ve been done a grave injustice, which will be rectified immediately.” He glanced at one of the men who’d accompanied him and said something in angry Arabic. The man jerked his hand in the direction of the refinery and a small contingent of police appeared. When he pointed toward Hakeem’s car, they got in two sedans and took off after him.
Then King Abdullah turned to Nick and extended his hand. “Zafer was right about you, Mr. Robichaud. You make a most unattractive female, but you’re very much a man of courage. Thank you for calling my attention to this deplorable situation. I’m deeply in your debt.”
Nick removed his veil, looking funny with a beard and an abaya. He graciously accepted the king’s appreciation.
The king stepped in front of me and unwrapped the ghutra from my face. “You are far too much a woman to be mistaken for a man.”
I wasn’t quite sure how to respond, so I didn’t.
“I’ve been told of your trek through the Rub al Khali. Is this true?”
“Yes, Your Highness. Were you also told how I came to be there?”
He frowned. “It’s one of the reasons I allowed Mr. Fresh to leave. Your husband has a right to vengeance, and he assured me he would take it.”
“Yes, Mr. Fresh will be dealt with.” It was a little scary how eagerly I anticipated it.
“These are uncertain times, and telling the world that an American, one employed to protect your homeland, was involved in the attack on Ras Tanura, then planned to destroy something as vital as this port, is unwise. Don’t you agree?”
I nodded. “You can depend on our discretion.”
The king gave me a fierce look from beneath bushy brows. “Don’t misunderstand. We let Mr. Fresh leave Yanbu to confuse Hakeem, but he’s still in my country, under my control. I don’t only want discretion. I want him dead.” He glanced out the office window at the Hellas Constellation, still drinking the oil she’d carry around Africa through the Suez Canal and deliver to the United States. “If you will try to dissuade your husband from his promise, this is the time to say so.” He refocused on my face. “And I’ll take care of the problem.”
Wow. Mama never covered how to respond to a king who demanded I stand aside and let a man be killed. I shot a look at Robichaud, who looked almost as stern and determined as the king. Good God, he really did intend to kill Tim. What would happen to him if he did? He’d probably be sent to prison. Robichaud in prison was wrong on so many levels, I couldn’t agree to let him kill Tim Fresh. Ruin him? Make sure he went to prison? Beat the shit out of him? Hell yeah. But he couldn’t kill him.
I looked up at the king and slowly, carefully explained what I had in mind for Tim.
Dead silence. I kept my eyes on his, waiting. Finally, his expression softened a tiny bit and he actually seemed a little surprised. “For a woman, you’ve a devious mind.”
At least fifteen great comebacks popped into my head, but I managed to restrain myself. I’m many things, but stupid isn’t one of them. “Suppose this is how my husband claims his revenge?”
“Mr. Fresh will suffer, but it’s not enough. Not after what he did at Ras Tanura, and today, here at Yanbu. He and Hakeem deserve the severest punishment.”
“Respectfully, Your Highness, he murdered one of our pilots and tried to murder my husband. He grossly abused his position within Homeland Security, and when my plans for him are done, he’ll be brought up on charges of fraud. He’ll be executed in due time. At a minimum, he’ll spend the rest of his life in prison. Trust me, he’s not going to escape punishment. In fact, if we do it my way, he’ll suffer much longer.”
The corners of his mouth curved ever so slightly. “You are very much a woman, desirous of extending a man’s misery as long as possible.”
Yes, it was an insult, but I took it on the chin. “I’m as entitled to vengeance as my husband, and yes, I want to prolong his punishment.”
Instantly, he lost his small smile. “For what do you require vengeance?”
Robichaud stepped over to me and grasped my arm, squeezing it firmly. “My wife’s afraid of heights, but to save my life, and her own, she was forced to jump from an airplane into the Empty Quarter. You’ve been told what she endured in the desert. Naturally, she feels a great deal of anger toward Mr. Fresh.”
Evidently, I wasn’t supposed to mention that the son of a bitch tried to rape me—twice.
Abdullah met Nick’s eyes. “If your wife’s plan fails, if the United States court system fails, do I have your word you’ll make amends to Saudi Arabia on my behalf?”
“My word of honor,” Robichaud agreed, shaking the king’s hand.
He nodded and looked at me once again. “I hope you’ll return to Saudi Arabia one day before I am dust and be my guest, along with your husband.”
The likelihood was between slim and none, but all the same, I made my mother proud and said, “Thank you, Your Highness, it would be a pleasure.”
He turned aside and spoke to Kaliq briefly before he left the port office.
When we were sure he was out of earshot, we all congratulated one another with shouts of joy and much back slapping. I saw a genuine smile on Kaliq’s face and he looked like a different man as we left the office and headed for the parking area. Nick and I said goodbye to everyone but Zafer, who was to take us to Jiddah. Ara hugged me and said, “I know your time here hasn’t been pleasant, but please, come back someday, and stay with me.”
“I’d like that,” I said, and this time I meant it.
Then we were gone, headed for Jiddah, and finally, home.
And a wedding.
…
Our plans for Tim Fresh weren’t nearly as complicated as they’d been for Hakeem. Sweet had been in Saudi Arabia for the past three days, having left New Orleans as soon as he got word that the company plane was parked in a hangar outside of Jiddah and all of his employees were missing.
He was immensely relieved when Robichaud called him from the airport in Najran, and he readily agreed to what we planned for Tim. But he’d had no luck finding Ted and Hank, or rather, their bodies. That bugged the hell out of him, out of all of us, but he finally had to give up and make plans to leave. He’d brought two extra pilots with him, but they’d left not long after arriving, taking the abandoned jet back to New Orleans.
That left Sweet with the other corporate jet which, like all of company planes, had the logo on the tail. To fake out Tim, he’d had it covered with a Texas flag, and introduced himself as a rich Texan with business contacts in Saudi. He’d told Tim, aka “Richard Mullins,” he’d fly him home because he was headed that way anyway, and after everything Mullins had been through—floating around on a raft for days—he deserved a little pampering, didn’t he?
Tim bought it and boarded the plane without a peep of argument. Or hint of suspicion.
Idiot.
When Robichaud and I got to the Jiddah airport, we said goodbye to Zafer, then rode out to the plane on a baggage tram to make sure Tim didn’t see us. We boarded through the rear hatch into the cargo hold, and after taking off in the usual hard jumpseats, we made ourselves comfortable on the fat pillows Sweet had left for us. We had food and beer and a deck of cards.
We ate and drank and played cards and kissed and talked and generally celebrated—quietly—our success in taking down Hakeem, saving the port at Yanbu, and our future as Mr. and Mrs. Robichaud.
When the plane landed at Lajes to refuel, Sweet came back to see us. “We’re going to stay on the ground a while, to make the timing right for Fresh to call his broker. You two get some sleep and I’ll come back as soon as he makes his call.”
We said we would, but we were too pumped to go to sleep right then. We managed to find a way to kill the time. A few hours later, we finally settled down on the giant pillows, snuggled beneath a blanket and passed out in happy exhaustion.
When we awoke, we were tighter than two coats of paint and Sweet was there, nudging us, his face creased in a frown. I sat up quickly, fearing something had gone wrong. “What is it?” I asked nervously.
“I’d like to know what you two have been up to.”
Relieved the plan hadn’t gone awry, I didn’t give a lot of thought to my answer. “Robichaud says he loves me and asked me to marry him. I said yes.”
Nick cleared his throat to speak, but Sweet held up his hand before he could, and said in an uncompromising voice, “Don’t like any hanky-panky, understand? All these years, me and Trick worried about you working with the men. Figured they’d never get any work done with you around, always asking for dates and the like. But it’s not like that, see? And it needs to stay that way.”
“You’ll have my resignation as soon as we get home,” Nick said.
Sweet stared him down, his brow crinkled in a scowl. “Dammit, Robichaud, whydya wanna go and ruin our girl? Next thing you know, she’ll be having babies and leaving. Maybe you didn’t notice, but she’s one of our best hands, and damned if you can just come in and take advantage of her.”
“He’s going to marry me,” I pointed out.
“And get you pregnant, right off the bat. Can’t be totin’ babies around well fires, sister. You know that.”
“There’s this thing called birth control. How about I promise not to have any babies for at least three years?”
“Make it four.”
“Deal.”
He nodded and reached out to shake Nick’s hand. “Congratulations, I’ll be at the wedding, and if you resign, it’ll piss me off a lot.”
“Thanks,” Nick said with his cocky grin.
Sweet snatched me close and gave me a big bear hug and said, “Trick’s gonna have a fit like an old woman. But I reckon it’s time you found a man, and hell if Robichaud won’t work just fine.” He set me away from him and stared at me as if he was surprised. “Dorie’s right. You are a pretty girl.”
“You never noticed before?” Nick asked.
“Well, hell, she’s always just been little sister.”
“Thanks, Sweet,” I said. “I love you, too.”
He patted me and said, “You’ll love me more when I tell you how well it’s going up there.”
“What’s Fresh doing?”
“We watched the news,” he said with a wide smile, “and he asked if he could use the phone. He called his broker and told him to sell the oil first thing in the morning.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s one in the morning in New Orleans. Don’t know where his broker is, but it’s a good bet he was sound asleep.”
“So the footage looked real?”
Sweet nodded with a grin. “That Conaway is gonna make one helluva TV reporter. If I didn’t know it was her, I’d never have had an inkling. Wore a dark wig and fixed her eyes, or something. Had an accent like you wouldn’t believe. With Ras Tanura in the background, she talked like it was the port at Yanbu burning after gettin’ blown sky high. Even had an interview with some friend of hers in a suit, who said oil would probably open at two hundred bucks a barrel in the morning. She doctored that video so it looked just like it was an Al Jazeera piece playing on CNN, like they do, yaknow.”
I almost rubbed my hands together with glee. “The futures he bought are exercisable at one hundred ten dollars a barrel, and the trading will probably open at ninety. He’ll lose twenty dollars for every future he bought, which comes to a total loss of ten million dollars.” I glanced at Robichaud. “What’d he make when Ras Tanura blew?”
“Eight million, and he used over seven of that to pay for the Alaskan production. He’ll still be short at least two million, even after he sells the leases to cover his losses.”
“Which he’ll be doing from prison,” Sweet said. He looked at Nick. “You made a phone call yet?”
He nodded. “The feds will be at the airport to pick him up as soon as we arrive.” Nick got to his feet and said, “Let’s go tell Tim just how secure his homeland is now.”
Tim didn’t take it well when Nick and I came into the cabin. He knew right away that he’d been had, and tried to get to the phone again, but had some difficulty when Robichaud plowed his fist into his face. He never did get to the phone to call his broker and cancel the sell order. Instead, he spent some time in the cargo hold with Nick, who got his vengeance, and mine, several times over.
Nick didn’t kill the shark because he couldn’t, but he sure hurt him bad, and that was good enough for me.
…
A week later, we were married in Las Vegas at a little chapel on the strip. Elvis sang, and my mother cried, whether from sentimentality or horror over the total tackiness of the wedding, I couldn’t be sure.
I didn’t care. It was perfect for me and Robichaud.
He gave me his grandmother’s beautiful diamond ring, and I gave him a bolo tie mounted with a shark’s tooth. He didn’t quite get it, but that’s okay. It made me smile big, so he liked it.
We had dinner at a posh hotel restaurant, which included shrimp, and each of my sisters made a toast. Well, except for Courtney. She didn’t make it to the wedding because she was grieving over losing Cole. I didn’t tell her what a scumbag he was, because what was the point?
My father offered Nick and me jobs at Drake Oil and Gas, which we declined, but reserved the option for later, after we started a family. For the foreseeable future, we both decided we had a few more well fires to kill.
Cash and Harley, Sweet and Trick all came to the wedding, then left right after dinner, headed for the poker tables. Tissa and Wynne went with them, which blew my mind and had Mama wringing her hands. Dad told her to get over herself, then invited Nick’s parents to their suite for a nightcap. They all tripped off together, looking to be of a mind about their black sheep kids.
Conaway went mushy on me and cried all over my dress, which had it goin’ on, I must say. Miss Alabama could suck lemons. Conaway said, “If you don’t come see me in New York, I’ll air that video I got of you in your underwear and boots.”
