“Quit screwing around, you need to be in character.” The palace was growing larger through the window. We were close now. The walls were forty feet tall and thick enough to withstand anything short of 105mm direct fire. FLIR cameras swiveled downward to examine us. The massive front gate hydraulically opened as we neared.
I cleared my mind. For the next few minutes, I needed to think and act as if I were Ali bin Ahmed Al Falah, terrorist scumbag. We passed through the tunnel in the wall and entered the Garden of freaking Eden. A paradise waited inside the walls. It had trees, orchards, a lake with spiraling fountains, and behind that was the palace itself. The small model in our hideout had not done the thing justice. It was huge.
But I wasn’t here for the palace. I was after what was under it.
My trained eye picked up the multitude of cameras and guard posts watching us. We stopped at the base of the palace, and I prepared myself as my “bodyguards” exited and opened my door. Carl extended a hand and helped me out. The heat was like a blast furnace.
I was in character now.
A hulking brute of a man approached, with four rifle-armed guards trailing behind him. He looked awkward in a suit. “Ali bin Ahmed Al Falah, my name is Hassan, and I am the director of security for Prince Abdul.”
“What happened to Adar?” I asked suspiciously. “He was in charge of security the last time I was here.”
“He left for other opportunities,” Hassan replied without hesitation. In reality he had left for Iraq, where there were more opportunities to hurt people, until Falah had called him to Zubara.
“Of course. I had not heard from my old friend recently. I’ve been worried about him.”
“Please come with me, sir. The other guests have already arrived.”
I followed Hassan up the stairs, Carl and Reaper behind me, and the four guards behind them. I spotted at least one sniper on the roof. There were two helicopters parked on a nearby pad. Several other limos and expensive super-cars were parked just forward of mine. Through the steel-reinforced twelve-foot front doors, cold air washed over us as we came into the entryway that was bigger than the largest house I’d ever lived in. A solid gold chandelier was overhead, and the best word to describe the interior of the palace was opulent. Paintings and statues that would have been centerpiece attractions at the finest museums in the world lined the walls, mere trinkets here. The prince had some cash.
Hassan gestured toward a metal detector manned by two more guards. Adar’s box was safely concealed inside my padding. Whatever metal the key was made out of didn’t trigger metal detectors, we’d already checked. I stepped through, clean, followed by my crew.
Nobody brought weapons anywhere near the prince.
It beeped as Carl stepped through. The four guards lifted their guns slightly. Carl raised his hands. “I got a piece of metal stuck in my back,” he stated. Two other men appeared and immediately led Carl aside for a more invasive search. As a VIP, I knew that I would be spared such indignities.
Hassan held up one gigantic hand to stop me. “I apologize for the inconvenience, but surely you must understand, with all the questionable activity concerning your disappearance and the resulting confusion, I need to be sure of your identity before I allow you into the presence of Prince Abdul.” He held a small box with a scanner window in his other hand. It had two lights on it. One red. One green.
“But of course,” I replied. Without hesitation, I put my right thumb on the window.
Reaper had spent hours testing the prosthetic attachment. It was a relatively new technology, and the single, tiny piece of etched, synthetic flesh glued to my hand had cost a ton, and just to be on the safe side, I was wearing one on each finger. Micro engraved with preprogrammed whirls and ridges, it was the most practical way to fool a fingerprint machine. The machine would only read Falah’s fingerprints.
The red light lit up.
Not cool. A single bead of sweat rolled down my back. The guards shifted, spreading out around me.
Hassan shook his head. “Technology, it never works right. Please try again, sir.”
I put my thumb on the glass. Hassan nodded at the guard behind me. If this didn’t work, we were going to die. Horribly. Turn green, you little bastard.
Green light.
“Ah, excellent. I apologize for the inconvenience.” Hassan smiled. His teeth looked slightly pointed. “There is just one more thing. I have someone who wishes to speak with you, an old friend who was most shocked by your sudden disappearance.” He clapped his hands.
“Please hurry,” I said with some exasperation. This was not good. We had not planned on anyone close to Falah being at the palace. He was known to these people, but only because of an annual meeting. Conning a close associate was a thousand times more difficult than mere business acquaintances. “I do not wish to be late.”
A young man in a gray guard’s uniform came around the corner. “Al Falah!” he exclaimed, his face lighting up. “Oh, I was so sure you had been murdered.”
Flash back to the apartment, hours spent going over the cards, each card a picture of one of Falah’s people, with a name and a description on the back. Carl had quizzed me mercilessly, hammering these strangers into my brain. “Rashid!” I exclaimed. “What are you doing here?” Really, what was he doing here? Rashid was one of the bodyguards that had supposedly been killed during the hit. He had been in the chase car that had taken off after the sniper. This was way too close.
I’d been practicing for weeks, talking like Falah, moving like him, watching videos, listening to phone calls, and then finally watching him in person in the club, conversing with the man, playing games of chess against him, all coming down to this.
“I saw you get shot, and then we chased the assassins. They crashed into our car. I was the only one who lived. I woke up, and there was this tall American standing over me. He pointed this huge revolver at my face. I prayed for my life. He fired, but the bullet only grazed my head.” He eagerly indicated a long scar going down the side of his head. “I thought I was dead, but Merciful Allah spared me!”
Valentine, you cock-fag sack of shit monkey-humping pus ball!
I smiled broadly. “How fortuitous.”
“But how did you live?” He studied me carefully, obviously suspicious. Apparently he’d shared his concerns with Hassan also, because the tall man had that look in his eye that suggested he was ready to break me in half at a moment’s notice.
“I hired Khalid, from the club, to stand in my place. I had heard rumors of Americans operating in the city, and it worried me. Allah smiled upon me, as I had been wise to do so. Rashid, I’m so very glad to see that you are alive.” I spoke as he spoke. I moved as he moved. I was Ali bin Ahmed Al Falah.
“As am I to see you.” He grinned, buying the act, then nodded at Hassan. “I am working for the prince now, but I would be honored to serve you again, should you ever need me.”
“Of course. Thank you, my son.”
Hassan gestured toward the epic marble staircase. “Right this way, sir. The meeting is about to start. Your men will stay here, and we will provide them refreshment.” I nodded at Carl and Reaper. They knew what to do.
There was an elevator shaft in the center of the staircase. Hassan and I traveled up several floors. The motors were utterly silent, and it was the smoothest elevator I’d ever ridden. The control panel was encrypted, and the basement levels couldn’t be accessed without authorization from central control. Even the carpet inside the elevator was so thick that I left footprints.