“Leave it where it is, pal,” Drake said. “It’s nice to be warm. Where I come from the winters can leave you in a dozen pieces.”
“We are approaching the Jumeirah Palm,” the driver told them. “From here, all is man-made.”
Drake knew much of the story around the famous Dubai palm islands. Designed in the shape of palm trees topped by a crescent, they were entirely artificial, built on sand dredged from the Persian Gulf and protected by breakwaters containing several million tons of rock. Each rock was placed individually and given a GPRS tag.
The Palm Jumeirah itself — the one they were interested in — consisted of a tree trunk, the main highway through, a crown with sixteen fronds, and a surrounding crescent island forming the breakwater. Adding to the Dubai coastline itself, each frond housed hundreds of multi-million dollar homes and status symbol addresses.
A much more interesting fact for Drake was that the entire island was built only from sand and rocks — no metal whatsoever was used — and was the brainchild of the Prince of Dubai, who came up with the idea for the Palm Islands and also their design.
A hands-on boy, Drake thought. And not a man we want noticing us today.
And a forward thinker. The islands were primarily constructed as a tourist attraction to counteract the drop-off in revenue as oil reserves diminished in the region. Drake could see their appeal to the casual vacationer.
The taxi driver took them to their destination, Frond F; basically a long curving road with exclusive houses built on both sides. Gardens were greener than emerald jewels and every palm tree was lopped just right, perfection personified. Drake lifted his sunglasses up for a minute to get a better view but the glare bouncing off the white walls and the brilliance of the horizon sent him back under the shades.
“It’s quiet,” Hayden remarked as the driver pulled up.
“Not many live here all year,” he said. “Mostly vacation homes. Some American, some European.” He shrugged.
Drake didn’t have to voice what they were all thinking. The group, even dressed as tourists, were going to stand out like flies on a wedding cake. Still, tourists did visit the fronds, if only for curiosity.
“We shoulda hired a car,” he said.
“I can organize that for you,” the taxi driver said.
Drake blinked. “You can?”
The man laughed. “This is Dubai. We make everything happen.”
Hayden touched him on the arm. “Have it sent here, keys under the front wheel. Soon as you can.”
“I will need you to authorize a credit card.”
“Of course,” Hayden said. “And here’s something extra for you.”
With the transaction complete the taxi driver held her gaze one more second. “And why leave the keys under the front wheel? This is the Jumeirah Palm, not New York.”
Alicia whistled. “I do believe Lauren might call you on that.”
Hayden cracked open the door, allowing the intense midday heat to rush in. Drake followed the others until they were all standing around on the sidewalk, fake cameras in evidence, baseball caps slung low. In truth Drake actually felt more like a tourist than a soldier at that moment, a little awkward and a little dubious in the bright, hot, mega-rich area of Dubai. Hayden suggested they saunter up the road until they came closer to their destination.
Sounds reached their ears at last. The hum of a lawn mower, the clatter of a sand raker. Even a smattering of whispered conversation from places unknown. All the windows were dark and the upper balconies on every house were empty. Drake paused to stare up and down the wide road and saw no vehicles in either direction.
“Weird,” he said.
“Must be the time of day,” Beau offered.
“Maybe.”
Another ten minutes sauntering and they were nearing their destination.
Drake felt the absolute focus descend over him. He scrutinized every window, wall, hedge and door; every discreet garden and thick palm; the driveways and double garages; a parked 4x4 across the road. The house they sought looked very similar to all the others; except now there were several signs that it was being lived in. One of the two single garage doors was slightly raised and a yellow car sat in the driveway. Three adult pushbikes lay on one of the front lawns.
“Somebody’s home,” Mai said.
With no weapons, no comms systems save for their phones and no Kevlar, they were not best prepared. Still, they were exactly where they needed to be.
Hayden smiled and pointed at the horizon, leaning in as the others crowded around. “We walk up to the door. We look around. Got it?”
“Any sign of weapons?” Beau looked doubtful. “Or guards?”
Negatives were muttered all around.
“I feel naked,” Alicia complained, “without my armor.”
“God forbid,” Mai muttered. “Talk about visiting horrors upon the world.”
Alicia looked like she might stamp her foot. “Have you ever seen me naked, Little Sprite?”
“Are my eyes fried out of my head?”
“They could be.” Alicia turned on Mai, but Hayden hushed them with a word. Drake could see the exponential advance of the new enmity expanding between the two, and worried. The paths of their lives were coming together fast, and hard. The end was unknowable, but there was no way it would end up pretty.
It would be best to end it all, he thought. In our finest hours. In all of our finest hours.
The driveways were short, just over a car’s length. An arched front portico led to a solid oak door. One side of the house was inaccessible, blocked by what looked like an electrical box and then dense shrubbery. The other side looked more promising.
Three steps led up to a narrow pathway leading around the side of the house. The five of them ducked under the window ledge and made their way to the path, watching every angle and houses across the street. No sudden shifts were apparent, no movement of any kind. Hayden stopped at the bottom of the three steps.
“Ready?”
Beau slipped around her, nothing but smoke and shadow even clothed in his civvies. Low to the ground he pressed ahead, disappearing around the corner.
“I guess we’re clear then,” Drake grumped and followed Hayden around.
Alicia and Mai brought up the rear — bad planning perhaps but then this operation couldn’t be rationally organized. Even the SPEAR team were well out of their comfort zone.
The path was dark, secluded and narrow, its chest-high wall bordering right on next door’s property. Drake was surprised at the near proximity of the next fifty-million dollar home; he’d imagined money would bring legroom. But it did help their cause.
Drifting along, Beau paused at a side door, tried the handle, and gave them all a nod. So far the Dubai gods of fortune were liberally showering them with luck. Or, more likely, this was the norm for the Palm Islands.
Drake followed Hayden inside the house, hyper-alert, finding himself inside a kitchen whiter than white with contrasting smooth, polished black units, tables and even picture frames hanging on the walls. The floors were clean enough to eat off, mirror-polished enough to brush your teeth in.
“Spread out,” he said, feeling crowded. “We—”
A tall, thin man walked into the kitchen, clapped eyes on them and gave a slow wave.
“Hey.”
Drake paused in mid lunge, eyes widening in surprise. The man wore a white thawb with mirror sunglasses, and limped along at a languid pace, at peace with the world and his surroundings. Drake backed off, allowing Hayden to push forward.
“How you doin’?”
“Pretty good, sister. Pretty good.”