Men of Thorns

By Thomas Upadin

In the late 1970s, Thomas Upadin managed projects for an international shipping company specializing in military and government contracts in the Middle East. Based in Dammam, Saudi Arabia, his experiences there shaped the fictional story, Men of Thorns.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas Upadin
• Release date: Apr 6, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301624720

Thomas Upadin

I lived and worked in Saudi Arabia and this expericence helped me write my book, Men of Thorns. I grew up in Spokane, Washington but after college I lived in Las Vegas and from there flew to Australia with no return ticket.I hitchhiked and traveled nearly every inch of Australia. I got a job with an American Oil Company while living in Perth, Western Australia and the next thing I knew I was in Southern Louisiana working offshore on the oil rigs. The Cajun way of life was fantastic but not the living and working offshore. I left the oil patch and headed to Houston. I used my experience to land a position with an international shipping company that dealt with military and government contracts worldwide. I was based in Dammam, Saudia Arabia, but from there my work and business allowed me to travel to Africa, South America, Europe,the Far East, and extensively throughout the Middle East. At times it felt a long way from the wheat fields of Spokane, Washington and the little kid who used to dream of far away places. No matter if I was standing on the top of Ayers Rock,fighting through a sand storm in the middle of the Saudi Arabian desert or marveling at the beauty of the Serengeti plains in Kenya,the ten year old with holes in his jeans and a dirty baseball mitt was never far away. I survived some wild adventures and was lucky to find my wife. I'm married, and have two great sons and two grandsons. I'm now proud to call Oregon my home

Book preview

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Four friends have three days to save an

innocent man from a brutal death

A powerful Saudi Arabian leader and a corrupt American politician condemn an innocent American businessman to a brutal death in Saudi Arabia because he discovered their secret.

Four friends have three days to save his life. They must break him out of jail, hide him, and smuggle him out of Saudi Arabia. Their plans collapse and the hodgepodge group becomes the hunted in a race for their lives.

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About the Author

After college, Thomas Upadin traveled around the world several times. He worked in Las Vegas, hitchhiked around the entire country of Australia, labored in the oil fields in Southern Louisiana, and journeyed to Africa, South America, Europe, and the Far East.

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In the late 1970s he managed projects for an international shipping company specializing in military and government contracts in the Middle East. Based in Dammam, Saudi Arabia, his experiences there shaped the fictional story, Men of Thorns.

Married, the father of two sons, and grandfather of two, Thomas currently lives in Oregon.

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Men of Thorns

By Thomas Upadin

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013

ISBN: 9781301624720

Cover and interior design by Publish Your Words

http://www.publishyourwords.com/

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the author, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Dedication

This is the easiest part of the writing

journey and the most heartfelt.

You believed when I did not.

You were there when no one else was.

We did it together.

For all you are.

To my wife, Sherry.

Preface

Paris 1961

Harvey Walsh stroked and smoothed their hair, oblivious to the thick globs of blood coloring his hands. He kissed them, seeing who they used to be, not letting his mind see what the bomb had carved away.

He rocked them back and forth not letting the black grief that assaulted him take over his senses. He had to be here for them. This was his fault. He’d killed them.

He knew he’d committed the unholiest of all sins in his profession. He’d let his world of secrets, darkness, violence and evil people cross over into his private life. He’d let them into his private world, and that was not ever to be done or allowed. Both sides understood this. Beyond this door was the ultimate advantage where secrets could be bargained for lives, and in some cases killing for pure revenge. The sanctity of this threshold was never to be breached but it had been and now his wife and daughter were dead.

He wanted to absorb them and take them to a place where they could laugh again, not here, not like this, with shattered bodies and lifeless eyes. He couldn’t let them go. He wanted them fixed.

1

Secrets

Saudi Arabia 1968

Harvey Walsh stared at A.J. Phillips. Phillips had a burlap bag over his head, his hands tied behind his back, he was sobbing and he’d pissed his pants.

Walsh looked around. Darkness had come quickly to the Saudi Arabian desert, devouring all light, leaving in its place a silent blackness. Towering mountains of sand, which were no more than charcoal outlines against the darkened sky, surrounded him, looking like thunderous waves frozen in mid break. The wind rose and hissed across the desert surface, tracing disappearing figures in the sand.

A.J. Phillips pleaded for his life. Walsh had heard it all before, twenty years-worth, but the words didn’t penetrate his consciousness, bouncing off like rain hitting a concrete walkway.

Please let me go. Please, I won’t tell anyone. Please.

Walsh walked up to A.J. and shot him in the head. A.J. crumpled to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Walsh rolled him into a shallow grave, covered him with sand and headed for his car.

As Harvey Walsh roared across the desert, he heard his daughters scolding voice...Daddy, shame on you.

2

Digby

A few weeks later

The doorbell chime kept ringing, followed by a loud pounding on the door. Nick glanced at the clock on his nightstand, slipped into a pair of jeans, and headed for the door on the third floor, one floor below his fourth floor bedroom. The doorbell chime had stopped but the pounding increased.

It’s three in the morning. If this is Pike I’m going to light him on fire, Nick thought, as he hurried to the door.

I’m coming, he shouted.

He yanked the door open and was surprised to see Ken Digby. He had a cigarette in his mouth, one of his massive hands wrapped around a bottle of Jack Daniels, while the other one tried to smooth down his thick white hair that looked that looked like it’d been through a blender.

Ken?

Hi there...Nicky. Got a minute?

Ken...what are...it’s late. Are you okay?

Ken’s huge shoulders leaned against the door for support.Ya got a sec, Nick. I need to talk to you about something."

Ken burped and the mixture of booze and cigarette smoke assaulted Nick.

You’re plowed.

Ken moved away from the door, swayed but steadied himself by planting his feet wide apart. Yeah, I think so, but I still gotta talk to you. You got a sec?

It’s three in the morning, can it wait until tomorrow?

Ken seemed to think about this. Three? Sorry...sorry it’s so late but I didn’t know who else to go to. It’s a big fucking mess.

Nick knew Ken wouldn’t leave until he’d told him. Come on in. Can you make it to the couch?

Ken nodded. I’m a bit drunk, but not that drunk.

Nick hoped he could make it. Ken was a bit taller than Nick’s six-three, but was thicker and out-weighed him by forty pounds. Nick didn’t relish trying to carry two hundred and fifty pounds of drunken, dead weight.

Surprisingly, Ken walked a straight line to the couch and rather than collapse, he sat down slowly holding onto the bottle with one hand and a cigarette in the other.

That’s better, Ken said, sitting back. He looked at Nick holding up the bottle, Want a drink?

No thanks, Ken. Do you want a glass?

No glass. What I got to tell you is better straight out of the bottle. Ken took a big drink.

Nick sat in one of the over-stuffed chairs opposite Ken. Nick had worked with Ken and his company on several occasions and as the construction manager in Saudi Arabia Ken had a tremendous amount of responsibility. Nick liked Ken but like most of the construction managers in Saudi out of boredom, stress, or just being confined in this country, they tended to drink too much and the amount of booze they consumed correlated to how wild their stories got and the more the truth was layered in bullshit. However, Digger was a good person, and Nick owed it to him to listen to whatever was bothering him.

Ken took a gigantic pull on his cigarette, and exhaled long and slow like he was trying to purge his worries in one barrel -chested breath.

He pointed one of his big fingers at Nick and said, They killed him. The bastards killed him.

What?

They killed him, Ken repeated, taking another drink from the bottle.

Killed...who killed who? Ken how drunk are you?

Ken looked at his hands as if searching for an answer. Drunk, but I’ve been drunker. However, it don’t make any difference how drunk I am, it doesn’t change the fact the fuckers killed him. I warned old A.J. but the stubborn old Texan wouldn’t listen. I knew A.J. and Dotty way back when we was both getting started in Midland. That’s in West Texas.

A.J.? You mean A.J. Phillips?

Ken nodded, took another drag on his cigarette and a serious smokers cough seized him and he sounded like his lungs were crumbling. God dam smokes, should’ve quit thirty years ago. He wiped his eyes and said, Yeah, old A.J.

Ken, what’re you talking about. A.J.’s been killed? Who...who killed him?

Ken’s shook his head. It’s money. This whole God damn thing is about money. I should’ve told them to kiss my ass but a hundred thousand dollars, cash money, looks pretty nice lying in front of you.

Somebody gave you one-hundred thousand dollars and now A.J. is dead?

Ken put his cigarette in the ashtray. They called it insurance money.

Nick was getting a headache. Let’s start over. A.J. is dead. How...who killed him? What’s the insurance money?

We all got a hundred grand and we all gave them two million dollars.

What? You gave them two million dollars. Ken, who is they?

Ken sat up but still held the bottle. I told you it sounds crazy. Hell, it was easy to hide the two million in the books, too damn easy. When you have a five-hundred million dollar project, with ten percent built in for bribes and kisses, two million can disappear without any questions. Nicky, you know the song. Don’t make excuses, just get the fucking job done on time.

Nick knew where Ken was heading with his wild story but wanted to hear it from him. I think I understand but I want to know who you paid the two million to and why A.J. is dead.

Ken took another drink and lit a new cigarette. He held out the bottle to Nick but Nick shook his head. Hang on, I’m getting there. It’s tough knowing A.J. was killed because of all of this. They’re rotten bastards, Nick.

Nick waited.

Anyway, we all gave them two million dollars so nothing would go wrong with our projects. They called it insurance. Insurance my ass. It’s nothing more than extortion. They said they’d make sure nothing happened to slow down our construction schedules. You know how things work over here. A fart from some Arab mucky-muck can cause weeks in delays and they have more excuses and reasons to screw with you than Texas has cattle. Without the insurance they guaranteed our projects, along without careers, would be flushed down the toilet.

What about the hundred grand? Nick asked.

The hillbilly drool was too tempting to refuse.

What’s hillbilly drool?

Ken looked down at the floor. You know, watch the hillbilly drool with all that money sitting in front of him.

You all took it? Nick asked.

I knew it was wrong but God damn it to hell my company don’t pay me for my good looks. Everyday we’re told to keep the project on schedule. Hell, my boss bought some Arab big shot a brand new Mercedes, shipped it from Germany, delivered it to his door step, and probably kissed his ass in the process.

Nick understood. Most business dealings in Saudi happened with bribes. It was the way business was done and everyone understood. Nick had bought trips, cars, and had given cash to customers, but never without his boss knowing about it. It was the rules of the game. The Arab’s knew it was easier to kill you financially that resort to violence.

I should’ve broken some jaws instead of stuffing my pockets with their money.

Ken, I get all the insurance and bribe stuff, but I want you to tell me who’s doing this and why A.J was killed.

Ken put his cigarette into the empty Jack Daniels bottle. The official line is that A.J. went on vacation to Thailand, but nobody’s heard from him. A.J. going to Thailand without Dotty is like me being invited to the White House for dinner, it ain’t gonna happen. Dotty doesn’t know a thing about A.J. and his so-called trip to Thailand and hasn’t heard from him. I know where he is. He’s buried somewhere out in the fucking desert. It’s the same story with Walt and Jack.

Damn it, Ken. Who’s doing this?

They killed him, like they did with Walt and Jack. That’s three good men they killed, and I might be next. All three disappeared the same way, without telling their wives, friends, or bosses. They went to the bastard and told him they wanted out, like me, gave back the hundred grand, and then they all went on vacation. They’re all dead.

Ken, I want you to tell me one thing. Who’s doing this?

The eyes that stared back at Nick were defeated. No amount of whiskey could mask the hopelessness and shame staring back at him.

Ken rubbed his hands through his hair and rubbed his eyes. I can’t, Nick. Not yet.

Nick sat up and leaned toward Ken. What the hell—

I’m gonna meet with the sum bitch this morning, in about five hours, Digby said.

What?

I’m gonna meet with the slimy bastard. I already told them I want out, and I’m giving back the hundred thousand.

You’re going to meet with the guy, men, or whoever killed the others? Isn’t that what the other people tried to do? That doesn’t sound very smart.

Yeah, but the others didn’t know they’d be killed for it. I do. I gotta get this done and over with.

Nick stood and walked over to the window. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what I can do to help. I think it’s stupid to meet with them. Damn it Ken. Why won’t you tell me who they are? If I don’t know, how can I begin to help you? Do you have any proof?

Proof my ass. Don’t need it. I know, Ken said. I got proof. What about the money we gave them?

Can you prove you gave them the money?

The look on Ken’s face gave Nick his answer.

Nick paced back and forth trying to think of something to do. He stopped, sat down, and looked at Ken. O.K. here is the deal. You won’t tell me who the hell they are but if what you are telling me is true, then these men won’t hesitate to kill you, right?"

Ken nodded.

"I can’t help you here. This is out of my league. The only thing for you to do is get out of Saudi, and fast.

Nicky, I’ve worked hard all my life and have hauled my wife all over the world to some good places and some not so good. Shit, when all that money was stacked on the table I just figured what the hell. My company wastes more than that in a week. They bribe people all the time to get stuff done, so I figured it was like a bonus for all the years I’ve given them. Least that’s how I justified it. It was eaten on me though, always has. When I told Laurie what I done, she told me I only had one choice. Laurie told me to give the money back.

Does Laurie know about the murders?

Nope, and I ain’t gonna tell her.

You and Laurie have to get out of Saudi. Nick saw a way out for Ken. It was the only way. I can get Asad to push through your exit visas and you can be on a flight home in twenty-four hours. You can stay here at Sunstar. Nobody would know, and once you’re on U.S. soil they can’t touch you.

Thanks Nick, but I can’t do that. I gotta make this right. I want to let them know that I know they killed my friends, and I want to throw the hundred grand in their faces. Then I’ll leave. I want to look that bastard square in the eyes. I might even break his jaw, in broad daylight.

What about Laurie?

She’s staying with a friend, one they don’t know about. Soon as I meet with them, we’ll get out of here.

Listen, Ken. If they’ve killed the others what’ll stop them from killing you?

Like I said, I know what they did, the others didn’t. I’m going to meet them in broad daylight in the souk. There are too many people around for them to do anything.

I still think you and Laurie should stay here and then leave without them knowing it. Once you’re home, they can’t touch you. If you still want to fight them do it from there not here. You do it here and you’re playing on their field.

Nicky, I probably shouldn’t have come by and told you this. It’s been eating me up, and I had to talk to someone. Don’t worry about me, I’ve dealt with nasty guys in my time and I can handle these bastards.

You’re meeting them this morning? Nick asked.

Ken sat back and lit another cigarette. Yeah, in the souk at an outside joint.

I wish you’d tell me who they are, Nick said.

I will after I meet with them.

I don’t like it. Nevertheless, if you’re going to meet with them, come here right after the meeting. They won’t have any idea where you’ve gone. You and Laurie can hide here until you fly out. Also, Asad can get you out quicker, and he can get the visas without anyone knowing about it.

Maybe it’s a good idea for us to stay here until we fly out. If it was just me I’d fight them face to face, but I have to think about Laurie. They’ll be pretty pissed off, and sure as hell they’ll come for me as soon as it gets dark.

Nick glanced at the clock. They’d been talking for an hour. He knew he wouldn’t be going back to sleep. He needed time to think about what Ken had told him. Sixty minutes ago, his world was simpler.

Good. Don’t change your mind. Keep thinking of Laurie. If you are going to fight them, it’ll be easier and safer to do it from home.

Ken stood up, his knees cracked and it took him a bit to straighten up. Too much whiskey. Don’t get old, Nick. Thanks for listening. I had to tell someone. I can’t walk away. I have to let them know I know for my three friends. It makes me mad as hell I can’t do anything to make them pay for what they’ve done. Maybe when I get back to the states I can get them. I don’t like running, but I also know how these men work and I sure as hell ain’t putting Laurie in the middle. I ain’t very proud of myself right now. I messed up, but I’m gonna make it right. Thanks for listening to this old, drunk man. I’ll come by after I meet with them and pick up Laurie.

After Ken left, Nick walked around the third floor trying to think. Pike had no phone and going to the Saudi police would be like trying to talk to the keystone cops.

Nick knew what he had to do. He’d call Asad.

3

A Strange Joint

"Allahu...A...Kbar...

Allahu...A...Kbar..."

Nick Thomas closed his eyes and listened to the mesmerizing cadence. The haunting call to prayer reverberated from the mosque’s minarets, whose spiraling towers dominated the skyline, like swords pointing to heaven. The ancient message echoed over the entire city, it’s forceful command waking the slumbering city of Dammam, Saudi Arabia.

After meeting with Ken he couldn’t go back to sleep, so he called Asad and got him out of bed. Asad was the Minister of Transportation of Saudi Arabia and reported directly to the king. He wielded enormous power and was a member of an inner circle of men that met with the king on a weekly basis. If Digby’s story were true, Asad would know about it. Asad was also a partner in Nick’s company, Sunstar Shipping.

It took Asad a moment to figure out who was calling him at this hour.

Neeky? It...it early. You okay?

I’m fine, sorry to call you so early, but I have to talk to you.

Sun not up, Asad said. Talk now?

Sorry, but I hope you’re awake. This is pretty wild.

Asad yawned and said. I am awake. This better be good, or this old man might kick your butt when he sees you. So, what you want to tell me?

Asad listened without comment. When Nick was done, Asad told him three things, he’d meet him in the morning, don’t tell anyone else about this, and don’t call him again, then he hung up.

Nick felt better knowing that Asad was coming. There was nothing else he could do, so he did what he did nearly every morning since he’d come to Saudi Arabia, go to the roof of Sunstar’s four-story building, drink coffee, watch the sun come up, and listen to the morning call to prayer.

Nick listened to the melodious directive that announced to the masses God is great. He knew the call for prayer didn’t sound beautiful. It was a message for all Muslims to obey, follow, and live their life as directed by their prophet, as spelled out in their holy book, the Qu’ran.

The al-Muadhdin, hidden somewhere in the Mosques, shouted the morning call to prayer through loudspeakers placed at the top of the minarets. He couldn’t help from smiling when he heard, As-Saluatu Khayrum Minan-Nawm, prayer is better than sleep. It was to inspire the faithful that weren’t early morning risers.

To Nick, the early morning call to worship was the soul of the Middle East. The call for prayer demonstrated the power of the Islamic faith. Most Westerners in Saudi said the five daily Salatt’s were ominous and foreboding, like they were announcing no matter where you were you couldn’t hide from the power of Islam. Nick found them comforting in their conformity. They signaled a start of another day, and that everything was how it should be.

He stood on the rooftop of his company’s four-story building drinking his mismis ahwe. The apricot coffee was thick, strong, and Nick started each morning with a steaming cup.

He’d been doing this for nearly five years, yet each morning it was almost magical to watch the sunrise melt away the darkness as the call for prayer streamed to the followers. It was as though man and nature were working together to peel away the darkness from this ancient city.

He placed his cup on the four-foot high ledge that encased the roof, sighed and stretched.

It had been a long, short night, and it was going to be a longer day.

I hope Ken’s story is bullshit. It wouldn’t be the first time somebody went round the bend over here. Damn place can get to you. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Digby told him. If it’s true, he’s meeting with them now in the souk. They’d be somebody with power and very dangerous.

The summons ended and life on the streets below sputtered to a start. The noise from car horns, trucks, people, and animals would build quickly and the peacefulness of the dawn would collapse, like a popped balloon. Nick called it the full mouth roar of Dammam.

Nick took another sip of the bittersweet, thick, syrupy brew that tasted like caramelized apricots, and looked out over the city of Dammam. He leaned his head over the edge and spit a mouthful of coffee. Bulls eye, he said, as the coffee hit a piece of wood lying on the ground.

He gazed out past Dammam, toward the vast deserts of Saudi Arabia that stretched as far as the eye could see. The mountains of sand never stopped, rolling from one end of Saudi to the other, like a continuous 900-mile wave. Off in the distance, the white-hot sun obscured where the horizon began and the sand ended.

Water at my back and sand in my face, Nick always said of Dammam, the gritty, small city tucked against the Arabian Gulf, in the Eastern province of the vast Arabian Peninsula.

He heard a large metal door roll up on squeaky hinges and looked across the street as his friend Hamid opened the door to his small bakery. Hamid looked up, waved vigorously, and pointed to his mouth.

Nick waved, held up his coffee cup, and shook his head from side to side. Hamid smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and disappeared inside his shop. Several times a week, after Hamid returned from his morning prayer, Nick would go to the bakery to grab some fresh, hot bread, and have a cup of coffee with Hamid, but not today.

Why did Digby have to tell me? What am I supposed to do? It’s probably bullshit anyway.

He yawned and twisted from side to side. He kept going over and over what Digby told him. Nick stared down at the small bakery. Maybe he should go down there. It’d be good to listen to Hamid’s joke of the day rather than think about Digby’s nonsense.

As the sun rose, he could see more and more people filling the streets below him. The men in their ankle length white thaubs, topped off with their traditional headgear looked almost stately.

The woman obediently followed behind the men. They were curtained from shoulder to feet in the long, black, billowing abayahs. Their heads were covered and their and faces were veiled, holding secret to whatever lay beneath.

A slight breeze blew in from the Arabian Gulf making the morning tolerable and a good time to greet friends. Soon the ferocious dry heat from the desert would collide with the wet air from the gulf and submerge the region in a boiling, soggy mass of air even the locals cursed. It would feel like you were breathing through a wet blanket.

Then he saw her. Even from the rooftop he knew it was her. She was cloaked in the traditional garb, black from head to toe, but she had the green scarf tied to her wrist. The scarf he’d given her.

I know it’s her, scarf or no scarf. No other woman walks like she does. He wanted to whistle and shout so she’d look up at him, but he knew he couldn’t, not here.

The wind caught her garment and for a brief moment it showed a distinctly feminine curve, a narrowed waist, long legs and rounded hip, then just as suddenly it was gone, replaced by the billowing robes. Nick gripped his coffee cup tighter.

She has spirit, he thought, unable to take his eyes off her. Look at the way she walks, tall and proud. It looked like the other woman with her had to do a slow jog to keep up with her long, confident strides. She looked straight ahead, head held high, as if she was defying anyone to tell her that proper Arab woman looked down and took on a subservient demeanor.

It’s her. I wonder if she remembers me. She has to, she has the scarf. He remembered the moment as if it’d just happened.

He’d seen her for the first time two weeks ago in the crowded, narrow alleyways in the souk. Nick worked late, was bored, and decided to go down to the souk to walk around. He didn’t want to shop or buy, he wanted to be around the noise and energy that was always in the main shopping district of Dammam.

Goods from all over the Middle East were crammed into the vendor’s stalls and the shoppers, walkers, and talkers clogged the skinny paths, choking the aisles down like a

funnel so two people could barely get by. The motto by the vendors in the souk was if a lot was good, more was better, and if you ran out of room, you stacked it up. The souk always made him feel alive. The noise, smells, and people collided in the cramped quarters, like a mass of charged energy.

Nick had worked his way around a mound of Persian blankets stacked twice as tall as he was, barely dodged a man carrying a bleating goat, glanced up, and stopped.

My God, he’d remembered saying, unable to move or break his stare

She moved as if she were floating, and with every step her body moved with a sensuous precision that astounded him. The black robe and heavy veil couldn’t hide the raw, female energy imprisoned underneath.

The crowd suddenly jammed to a stop in the constricted pathway and Nick found himself beside her. He was surprised that she was almost as tall as he was. He had to look at her.

She met his stare. Her stare was direct and confident but also naughty. Her black eyes glimmered like liquid jewels. He felt light headed, almost hypnotized. Her eyes held him hostage.

The noise around him reduced to a faint murmur. Like a movie, she and Nick were the only ones in focus. The crowd became unimportant backdrops, their clamor fading away to nothing.

Her perfume took his breath away. They were inches apart. She exhaled long and slow. Nick smelled a trace of peppermint. Her seductive eyes pulled him into her world behind the curtain. He joined her for a moment and felt as though they were floating, far away from everything.

Nick’s breath came in short bursts. He wanted to talk to her, to hear her voice, but even staring at her pushed the limits of Islamic law.

He handed her a pale green scarf he’d bought for a friend. She glanced down briefly, and her eyes looked deep into his as she slowly drew the scarf from his hand, lightly touching his skin. For a brief moment, she stopped pulling the scarf and softly caressed the palm of his hand, never breaking eye contact.

Nick’s heart raced as she gently slid the scarf from his hand. She quickly hid the scarf up her sleeve. This was a trivial show of affection but in Saudi Arabia, it was paramount to making love in public. It was dangerous, foolish, highly romantic, and a simple act that he’d never forget.

She leaned closer to him, not touching, but close enough so he could feel the heat radiating from her body and whispered, ma’assalama, which Nick knew meant goodbye.

She quickly lowered her eyes, giggled, and floated away, like lovers parting after a secret encounter. The noise around him returned, and the crowd magically reappeared.

Nick watched her drift away, the green scarf tied to her wrist, and wondered about the woman beyond the disguise. He looked down at his hand. When he looked back up, she was gone.

He hadn’t seen her again until now, but even from this distance, the sight of her and the memory of her rubbing his hand made his body tingle. Nick watched her disappear down one of the side streets, the green scarf gently waving from her wrist. Does she ever look for me? For a brief moment, Nick thought about running after her.

What would I do if I caught up with her? Hey you, remember me? Can I buy you a cup of coffee? Um, you know, kind of like a date. So what if we’d be stoned to death and your family would live in shame forever. I’d like to get to know you.

He finished his coffee and knew that the best he was ever going to get was to hide up here on the roof and lust after her from a hundred yards. Still, he wished she’d reappear and look up at him and wave.

After the encounter at the souk, he’d written a letter to one of his college roommates telling him about the woman in the souk and about how he’d fallen in love with her eyes. His roommate had written him back telling him he needed to get laid.

What was left of his coffee had cooled so he dumped it over the side. How bad is my love life? I get all worked up over a chick whose face I haven’t even seen, and if I ever did I’d get my head chopped off. I’m in love with a black sack with eyes. I need a vacation. He laughed and said, No, what I need is a female, preferably with a face I can see.

He looked up and down the street, checking his watch. He wondered what was keeping Asad. He’d told Nick he’d be by early in the morning and would join him for coffee on the roof, but being on time was not one of Asad’s virtues. He knew ten minutes late was still early.

I hope you have some answers for me little man, Nick said. Nick thought about what Asad told him when he’d been in Saudi for only a few days. Asad told him that to read about the Middle East was like viewing a wild, Arabian stallion from a distance, but to live in the Middle East was to ride it.

Yeah, Nick thought, and then get bucked off and trampled to death.

He sat on the ledge a moment, and then swung around, his legs dangling over the side. He knew it wasn’t exactly a dignified pose for the Director of Middle East Operations for Sunstar Shipping International. I’m here and the suits are in Houston. They’ll only know if I fall, Nick said, swinging his legs back and forth.

He looked in the direction of the souk, wondering if Ken Digby was meeting with them at this very moment.

Nick heard the shuffling of feet, like someone taking small steps, and turned to see Asad Abu Rasheed come through the doorway that opened to the roof. Asad walked toward Nick carefully carrying a steaming cup of coffee.

4

Back to Darkness

The same morning

Harvey Walsh sat at a sidewalk table, sipped coffee, and waited. People streamed by, the air redolent of coffee, spice, and grilled lamb. The sounds of vendors hawking their wares could be heard as Arab men, wives following obediently behind, melted into the crowd.

A glance at his watch told Walsh Ken Digby would arrive soon. A stretch Mercedes screeched to a stop, nearly slamming into the back of a car stopped at a red light. A crescendo of horns erupted up and down the street, like falling dominos. The driver of the limo leaned out the window, shaking his fist. Walsh smiled.

It was getting hot, but it felt good. It felt clean in the bright sunlight. Walsh looked at his hands. They always looked different in the sunlight. He’d scrubbed them hard last night, too hard. His cuticles were red and cracked, but at least the dirt and sand were gone.

He was tired, but it was more than that. He was worn out, used up, empty, and didn’t give a shit about anything or anyone. Like a fool, he’d tried to sleep last night but the nightmares found him, with a vengeance.

He looked around at the commotion swirling around him. He wasn’t a part of it, and felt like he and his table was an island, invisible to the world. Like my life, he muttered.

His gaze focused on a tall man with a laborer’s face approaching. And, it begins again, Walsh thought.

You Walsh?

Walsh nodded. Have a seat, Digby.

The big man stared at Walsh. Don’t want to sit. Let’s get this over with.

Walsh stared up into a face that had seen a lot of sun, whiskey, and hard work. The white hair and weathered face contradicted the strong body. The man crossed his arms and stood with his legs spread apart. Where’s your boss, afraid to show his face?

Walsh took a sip of coffee, put his cup down slowly, and sighed. Privacy, even you can understand that.

The man’s eyes narrowed, scrunching up dark mounds of wrinkles around his eyes, resembling weathered ropes. He placed his hands on the table and leaned toward Walsh. The bastard, your fat boss, extorted money from me. You better understand that.

Walsh stared into his cup, feeling the transformation sweep over him. It was time to go back, back to the darkness. Whatever is between you and him is your business, not mine. Walsh finally looked up, I was told to give you a message. Past that I don’t give a shit.

An old man pulling a protesting goat slid by their table, followed by a woman cloaked in black from head to toe, only her eyes visible behind a thick veil. Horns blared, music boomed from several locations, and voices from hundreds of people crashed together around Walsh and Digby.

Walsh pointed to the chair again. Sit down, we need to talk. I don’t like staring into the sun.

Digby edged the chair away from the table with his foot and sat down, never breaking eye contact with Walsh. There were no armrests on the chair so he crossed his massive arms and sat back.

Walsh looked up and down the crowded streets that were covered in a moving mass of humanity and metal, each fighting for their space. Place is like a circus, Walsh said, shaking his head.

When do I get my money back? Digby asked.

Your money? You gave your money away, remember? Or are you referring to the hundred thousand dollars that went into your pocket?

Walsh watched the jaw muscles tighten in Digby’s face. I’ll give every God damn penny of it back when I get my two million. I don’t want a dime from that son of bitch.

Well Mr. Ken Digby, born of proud, but dumb-ass, poor white trash from Oki-Homa, we got us a small problem, Walsh said.

Digby leaned forward, tilting the table down toward him as his thick forearms rested against the top. Don’t you fuck with me you little bastard. I’ll snap you like a twig. You tell that boss of yours that I want my money, and I want it now.

Walsh felt the old, familiar feeling wash over him, just like it always did in these situations, calming him, heightening his alertness to a razor sharp edge, and most important of all, giving himself clarity of focus that seemed almost supernatural.

Walsh leaned slightly forward, staring directly into Digby’s eyes. Here’s the message I was told to deliver. You aren’t getting your two million dollars back. You have one choice and that’s to forget all of this and walk away and enjoy your one hundred thousand dollars. Walk away now and you’ll be forgotten.

Digby sat back and slowly stood up. His arm shot out as he jabbed a finger at Walsh, pointing it at his face as if it was the end of a rifle. When he spoke his voice was low, almost a growl. I know people here, people that’ll be interested to know you and your boss are nothing more than extorting bastards. If I don’t get my money, I’ll ruin the both of you. I also know what you did with my friends, and now others know it too.

Others? Wash asked.

Digby smiled. You bet your ass.

I see. Walsh sat back, crossed his legs, and threw a ten Saudi Riyal note and a piece of paper on the table. He looked up at Digby’s finger, then to his face, and smiled. There’s a lot of desert out there. If someone wanted to he could bury something...or someone and no one would ever know, no one, and never. You can be your ass on that.

Are you the one? Are you the one who does his dirty work? I ought to break your neck, right here and now. You little bastard, I know what you’ve done...and those men were better than you.

Walsh slowly stood up, stared at Digby for a moment, then turned and began to walk away. He stopped after a couple of steps and looked back. I was told to give you a second chance. My boss thought you’d be too stupid to take the first warning. Call me tonight before eight o’clock and we’ll forget we know you, my numbers on the piece of paper.

Before Digby could speak, Walsh had melted into the surging crowd of people.

5

My Dammam

It dangerous to sit like that. If you fall people might think I pushed you.

Nick smiled. From the first day they met, Asad Abu Rasheed reminded Nick of a bearded little wizard in baggy robes. Asad usually wore a slightly befuddled look, like he’d lost something and wasn’t sure where he’d lost it.

Nick swung his legs over the ledge and dropped back to the roof. Thanks for coming so early, Nick said. I didn’t hear you drive up. You come by magic carpet?

Asad carefully placed his cup on the ledge next to Nicks. Neither man spoke for a moment, each savoring the cool of the morning.

I love the morning, it like life start all over again, Asad said.

Nick nodded, I like the peacefulness. Sort of like the calm before an explosion.

Asad laughed. Yes, Neek, my Dammam like that, an explosion. This old, tired Bedouin miss the sand beneath my feet though. My Dammam grows too fast.

Nick shook his head. Nice try Asad. How would you know how sand felt? The only sand you see is out the windshield of your Mercedes.

Asad took a sip of his coffee and smiled but said nothing, looking out over the city.

The noise of the city was increasing and the cool morning breeze was quickly giving way to the liquid heat that had already dampened Nick’s shirt and pants. It’s going to be a hot one today, Nick said.

I wish you could see my Dammam when I was boy. It hanging on to past but the new is coming fast, some good, some bad. Old part of Dammam has always been old, but without all the new, we didn’t know it was old. Kind of like old woman who thinks she looks young until she looks in a mirror. I still like to walk in old Dammam.

Nick had heard this many times from Asad. I do too. It seems more like the real Middle East, especially the souks.

Asad nodded. They not change much, bigger, but still the same. We had souk before oil. We have souk after oil and all this money madness gone.

They both watched the near white sun climb higher into the pale blue, cloudless sky.

The boundary of the city formed a half moon shape, extending about eight miles from the Arabian Gulf to its outer most borders. The blinding sun light obscured where Dammam ended and the desert started. At night, the lights from the city ended abruptly, giving way to the blackened desert, as if severed by a sharp knife.

I know this old man told you this many times, but my Dammam once a peaceful, little village. People fished, grew dates and figs, and Dammam was as an oasis for travelers. Dates and figs still grow but the fish gone to oil. Travelers now come by ship, cars, and air jets. They bring treasures from the West world. My Dammam, like all kingdom changed by black gold.

Asad sighed and patted Nick’s arm. So, what you think about the wild story this, Ken Dugby man told you?

Digby, Nick said. Nick smiled and was used to Asad’s assault on the English language.

Digby then. He said someone want to kill him for money? Tell me details.

It’ll sound nuts, but I’ve got a feeling it’s true. If it’s true, there is a big problem. If it’s not I’m the crazy one for wasting your time. It seemed more real last night.

Asad chuckled slightly. Neeky, Neeky, you talk in circles...just like an Arab. We been friends a long time. Tell me, then let me judge if crazy or not.

Nick told Asad all the details about Ken Digby’s wild story.

Asad nodded a couple of times but remained quiet while Nick told his story.

Nick went on to tell Asad that Digby was going to meet with them this morning but was scared for he and his wife’s safety. They’re probably meeting in the souk as we speak, Nick said.

When Nick told Asad he’d told Ken to come to Sunstar and stay until he could get out of Saudi, Asad took his worry beads out of his pocket and slowly moved the beads up and down the silver chain. Who men who are doing this? Asad asked.

I don’t know. Ken wouldn’t tell me. He said he’d come by today or tonight and tell me.

Asad moved the beads faster up and down the chain, staring out toward Dammam. So, he meet with them now, in souk?

Nick nodded. That’s what he said he was going to do. So what do think? I told you it sounds crazy.

Asad shrugged his shoulders. That all he told you?

"Yes, he said he’d tell