A Bank Makes a Killing

By J. A. Hailey

A DARK AND DISTURBING THRILLER

This action-packed true-crime novel is a thriller, over and over, at many levels!

A PLOT HATCHED IN NEW YORK, ends in a frantic chase through the deserts of Arabia.
Chad Durbin impresses Carl Snyder, the big boss of Citizenbank, with a plan to scam the bank's credit card customers. As the bank's legal advisors warn that the scheme would be a criminal offense in the West, Snyder decides to get it going in Arabia, for which purpose Chad is transferred to Dubai. Snyder sets it up so that the special scam team in the bank will get a huge cut from the massive income resulting from the theft.
In Dubai, Chad coordinates the program with the regional bosses of the bank, constantly inventing steps of implementation, so as to keep the public unaware of what is going on.
However, Alam James, a credit card customer, sees through it, when in difficulty about repayment, and demands return of the amount stolen from him. When he and the bank fail to agree terms satisfactory to both, it is decided to silence him.
In due course, Chad becomes a member of The Little Sheikhs' Club, a small group of debt collectors in the bank, using unfair local laws to specialize in horrifically tormenting cardholders who are unable to make payments on schedule.
Of special interest to many, may be the research that Al does into credit cards, which gives great insight into their workings. It proves that people are not stupid when unable to manage credit card debt, but that credit card issuing banks purposely set things up, to ensure that no one gets out of credit card debt traps!
As Al and his wonderful girlfriend, Tatiana, plan for the release of the anti-bank book he has written, Snyder has plans of his own in the works, leading to a breathless, frenzied climax!

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. A. Hailey
• Release date: Apr 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215563748

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J. A. Hailey

COPYRIGHT AND MORAL RIGHTS BELONG EXCLUSIVELY TO THE AUTHOR.

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©2021 Indiependent Publishing

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This is a work of fiction. The characters and events described herein are imaginary, and are not intended to refer to specific places or to real persons, alive or dead. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher, except for brief quotations embedded in critical reviews.

1

Had the foul-mouthed vagabond parrot, crapping on his terrace the third day running, let off abusing and told the banker, as he read his morning paper, that the deeds in his horoscope would lead to both uncounted wealth and the loss of his soul, he would have cast macadamia nuts at it instead of peppering it with rubber bands.

The banker already had a lot going for him, having back-stabbed his way to the very top of one of the world’s largest banks, but what he truly craved was wealth, personal wealth, something far greater than the multi-million-dollar annual package, making him the world’s highest paid employee. He desired money for money’s sake, and the forewarning that what waited for him at his office, was a plan leading to torture and murder, would not have changed anything.

Deciding to investigate pellet guns to settle his feud with the bird, the banker had left for his office, smugly watching his face in reflective surfaces on the short walk there. He had seen what the world could see – confidence, ease, success, wealth, ambition... He had failed to see what the world also failed to spot; something at the back of the front, something indefinable, and something that, if ever seen, would have been hard to give a name to – evil in waiting.

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It was Monday, 7 December 1998, and Carl Snyder, CEO of Citizenbank, in his top floor office, was feeling good. The large glass window behind him let the pale mid-morning light of an overcast New York day into the room. He had been told it was bad Feng Shui, that one must face windows for luck, but Carl Snyder did not believe in Feng Shui. Come to think of it, as he thought of it, he did not believe in much else either.

Feng Shui? He’d had his back to that window all the years he had been CEO, and things had only kept getting better and better. What the fuck did the Chinese know anyway?

Carl Snyder was forty-five years old, short and overweight, with dark hair, thinning and graying. He did not care. Citizenbank was one of the world’s top three banks, a gigantic presence across the planet, and he ran the whole thing.

There were two other people in his office, sitting across from him. The older one, Bob Kerry, exactly fifty now, was a career man at Citizenbank. A tall, thin, pleasant man, he was Senior Vice President in charge of worldwide credit card operations. He had risen through the ranks, slowly but steadily, and had now reached the top, his top. Snyder had promoted him to his present position, and for all practical purposes he was now the number two man. Snyder knew that Kerry, already out of his depth at his present level, had no ambition to replace him - Kerry was no threat.

The other visitor was Chad Durbin, an obscure junior manager in the Credit Cards Department.

Snyder studied him. Tall, blond, blue eyed, good looking and reasonably athletically built, he saw that Chad was a true all-American - and smart too. The twenty-five year old had hatched the plot under consideration.

It was an audacious and truly dangerous idea, fraught with serious legal implications, but it had the look of a genuine money-spinner - provided, of course, a way was found to move it along.

You happy in your job? asked Snyder.

Sure thing. I already run credit card promotions, replied Chad.

Is that a big job?

Big enough at twenty-five, Mr. Snyder.

Snyder had done far better at that age. Who do you report to?

John Ridley.

Oh. What’s his position?

Credit card manager, New York district.

Um. Pay you well?

The usual. According to grade. Livable money.

You busy?

It’s a fairly demanding job. Lots of driving about and long hours.

Girlfriend?

Nothing serious.

You really believe we can charge without getting customers to sign up? Forced subscription?

Depends, Mr. Snyder, on how it’s worked.

Snyder’s mobile phone rang shrilly, vibrating madly on his desk. Carl Snyder here, said he, in a pompous manner. He heard the caller out, his eyes vacant, and without another word switched his phone off. Forced subscription, he mused. That’s a new one if ever there was a new one to screw dumbfucks. Kerry and he exchanged glances, laughing. I’m going to think it over, get legal advice and sound out some shareholders. Fortunately, the ones I want to meet are here in New York, and I’ll probably have lunch with them next week. We’ll meet again if I think there’s a chance to move forward. In the meantime, keep it under wraps; no one but us three.

When alone, Snyder delayed his restart, sitting back in his chair and gazing out of the window. The buildings around Citizenbank were as tall as it, and there was nothing to call a view. A glass encased building confronted him across the road, staring at which he found very conducive to thought. Sometimes, when reclining in his chair, he followed the clouds or an occasional bird, also good for thinking. He deliberated hard on the scheme Chad Durbin had proposed. How could one collect a useless charge? At the meeting Durbin had recommended that Citizenbank begin charging customers unsubscribed. Snyder had been appalled at the suggestion.

But Carl Snyder was a man in a hurry to make big money for himself, and desperately keen to find a way.

The very next morning, haunted by the thought that maybe there was something in Chad’s outrageous proposal, Snyder summoned the head of the law firm representing Citizenbank in the USA and Europe.

On being told of the scheme, the lawyer, Larry Cohen, instantly blurted out his objection. No way! No way to do it in America, Carl. You’ll get hit very hard by a class action. It’s positively fraudulent. He rattled off relevant sections under federal and state laws.

I like the idea, Larry. I want to find a way to work it, insisted Snyder.

If you have to, Carl, keep it out of America. That’s my advice, as lawyer and friend. Do it somewhere else, where you won’t face any risk, or at most low risk.

Where could that be? wondered Snyder. Europe? he enquired hopefully.

No, not Europe, not Japan, and no first world country, Carl. Leave them out. They’re very tough about these things. Do it, if you must, somewhere else, where, if you get busted, laws can be manipulated to keep you safe.

That gives us Africa, Larry. Nigeria, Chad, Ghana, and yes, I suppose there is Mongolia if we talk global, huh? sneered Snyder. But they don’t have money, do they?

Cohen ignored the attitude. Citizenbank was by far his biggest account. Why don’t you work it in Persian Gulf countries? Lots of money in the Middle East, and American corporations get away with anything there. I was visiting last month.

We can’t get sued there?

What sued? Cohen laughed. Maybe by some individuals trying their luck, whom we’ll shove so deep into jail we won’t need locks to keep them in. I don’t know what ground your entire scheme covers, but any trouble will be small shit because class actions are not entertained. We have set up offices in the area, as London has appointed us for Citizenbank work there. We have a smart Arab in Dubai, and you can meet him and take his advice. He’ll be able to guide you. And don’t worry, Carl, about legal issues, as the region belongs to us, America I mean. Place is run by a sheikh, you know, and you can do just about whatever you want. Dictatorship, Carl, the nature of the beast - pay the sheikh off and do your thing.

Snyder saw hope. The good guy you have, Larry, in the Persian Gulf; I want to meet him. Get him across immediately.

No problem. I’ll fix it for next month.

Snyder snorted. Larry, what’s this shit about next month? Nothing doing, next month. I want him here tomorrow. He had decided to be unreasonable.

Are you serious, Carl? spluttered Cohen. Why, travelling time alone is over twenty-four hours.

No, it’s not. Let him fly Concorde. Tomorrow. He should be able to be here by tomorrow evening. You’re both invited to dinner at my place.

What about seats? Maybe there are no seats?

Don’t talk crap, Larry, said Snyder condescendingly. I run America’s largest financial institution. Screw that. I run one of the largest institutions on the face of the earth, period. Don’t fuck with me about tickets and seats. Talk to my secretary; she’ll fix it.

The Arab lawyer did not fly Concorde, but still made it to New York in a little over three days after the summons.

They were four, that Saturday evening - Snyder, Kerry, Cohen and the Arab lawyer - in Snyder’s penthouse, nursing drinks and looking out over New York. A light snow drifted on the breeze. 

So you think it can be done? queried Snyder.

Yes, sir, said the Middle East law specialist, Mohamed Eida, a very fat, short and completely bald Palestinian in an oversized rumpled beige suit, under which he wore a full sleeved polo-necked sweater. He looked greasy, and had a fawning attitude. Yes, Mr. Snyder. No problem at all. Americans and Jews can do whatever they want.

You must give us a written legal opinion saying so. Clearly saying so, said Snyder.

We can’t do that, interrupted Cohen. Then, under Snyder’s unrelenting gaze, he remembered that Citizenbank was his company’s most valuable client, squirmed and said, Or can we give one from Dubai, Mohamed?

Despite his greasy unappetizing appearance and his poor dress sense, Mohamed Eida was a smart, quick thinking man. No, no, our opinion will not matter; it can’t help you, he lied swiftly. He knew that Cohen would get him to write the legal opinion on the obviously fraudulent scheme Citizenbank was cooking up, which the bankers had explained as a scheme to which they wanted to forcibly subscribe everyone. He had not been born yesterday. He had no plan to write a legal opinion giving them the green light and safety, and having the sky falling on his own unprotected Palestinian head when the shit hit the ceiling - or something like that. 

Snyder stood up, showing his exasperation. So why the fuck am I talking with you guys? he asked belligerently.

In the legal sense we would be okay, I mean, said Mohamed Eida hastily. He was the chief Arab lawyer in Cohen & Partners, and Citizenbank was his key personal account. The bank was in constant litigation, throughout the Middle East, against its customers, and there was so much work that the law firm had little time to devote to any other client. Mohamed Eida sometimes had half a dozen cases in a single session, was always victorious, and made easy money in the process. It was simple and financially rewarding work. We can draft out an opinion, Mr. Snyder, one that will stand up in court, but for the region it won’t work if we write it, as Cohen is an American law firm. If your scheme is challenged in court, judgment will not be helped by our legal opinion.

Why? demanded Snyder, now pacing the room. Why is Citizenbank represented by you guys? Why has London appointed people who have no value? He turned to the squirming Cohen. Cohen is our law firm - and your legal opinion cannot stand where you represent us? What’s wrong with your gang?

Mr. Snyder, said Mohamed Eida, Cohen is an American law firm, and the average Arab hates America. It’s the Palestinian-Israeli thing, you know, the problem of injustice to Palestine after the creation of...

Snyder cut him short. We’ve heard that crap before. Tell us why your being an American firm is an issue.

You see, said Mohamed Eida, disappointed and irritated, Arab courts would be negatively influenced if an American bank is supported by the opinion of an American law firm to run a scam.

What do you mean scam? Snyder whirled on the Palestinian.

He meant scheme, intervened Cohen hastily.

Yes, Mr. Snyder, I meant scheme, said Mohamed Eida, pronouncing scheme in a way that would create reasonable doubt about the accuracy of what Snyder had first heard.

Snyder cursed under his breath. It still means Cohen cannot assist us in the product launch, doesn’t it?

Not quite. We should be able to arrange what you require. I was not briefed before travel. Let me think. Mohamed Eida made a show of closing his eyes and thinking hard.

The room was silent, as both lawyers pretended to think. What we can do is quite simple, and should work for Citizenbank, continued Mohamed Eida, after a suitable length of time, but soon enough though for fear of Snyder’s ire. We can arrange a written legal opinion from the biggest and best local law firm in Dubai. That would be the most effective method, and should cover your bank against liability.

Will it stand up in court?

Of course, but in reverse, Mr. Snyder; rubbish in the west, but in the courts of Arabia a document of great worth. Sure, it must be from a big, well known law firm. Mohamed Eida had the bill in mind - vengeance would be his.

Will you be able to arrange it?

No problem.

But you’ll have to explain everything to them, won’t you?

No, no, not at all. Mohamed Eida made a dismissive gesture. I’m a big lawyer in my own area. I’ll draft out something, and those idiots will put it on a letterhead and sign the damn thing. All they want is payment, UAE locals. Money is everything. They have no brains anyway, and they’ll never understand if I word it right. Don’t worry.

And when can it be done?

Whenever you say. It’ll take me one day at most.

Snyder unwound. He had organized no dinner at home - in fact he had given his domestic help the evening off, to guard against the possibility of eavesdropping - and so he walked them over to a really nice, very expensive restaurant a block away. It was a brilliant dinner, and Mohamed Eida got his chance to sneak a little propaganda in for his fellow Palestinians, at which they shook their heads in fake sympathy, exchanging sly winks he failed to catch.

Walking away from the restaurant, having bundled the lawyers off in taxis, Snyder said, I’m meeting the shareholders early next week, maybe Tuesday. I expect approval, so you’d better start planning.

I’ll ask Cohen to get moving on the legal opinion right away, said Kerry. They work through our weekend in Dubai. Arabia, you know.

Dubai’s nice. Haven’t been for some time, though in my previous position I passed through quite frequently. But no, Bob, don’t create any paper from New York. Let Citizenbank Arabia organize documentation related to this project, and sort it out at an appropriate time. Let’s stay out of the picture, right?

Right. Kerry was relieved. He, too, wanted to stay as far from the epicenter as he possibly could.

Anyone in mind to place in the region? Specifically, I mean, to handle the deal?

I’d say Chad Durbin, don’t you think? After all, it is his plan.

I like that guy, said Snyder. He’s a bit young though, isn’t he? But it does have the advantage of not having to include yet another head with a potentially wagging tongue. Tighter group - and it’ll mean less people to share the benefit, the cash.

That’s right, agreed Kerry. But Chad may be the right choice in any case, as he thought it up and will be best placed to think it through on the ground.

Snyder nodded agreement. Make him volunteer.

We could simply depute.

No, Bob, make him volunteer. It’s better that way, as it creates desperation to succeed.

I’ll work on it, said Kerry. He was probably hoping we could do it here, but let’s see what he thinks of moving out.

And up, said Snyder.

erry. He was probably hoping we could do it here, but let’s see what he thinks of moving out.

And up, said Snyder.

2

As the British Airways flight from Heathrow commenced its night-time descent through clear starry skies, Chad kept his eyes on a ribbon of bright light, a road, cutting almost straight from the distance to somewhere ahead of the aircraft. The aircraft banked, and as it turned, there it was, Dubai, brighter than any city he had ever seen from the air. It was an absolutely smooth landing. Construction work was in progress at the airport, and passengers had to disembark on the tarmac and be shuttled in buses to the terminal.

Snyder was impatient, and had moved fast. The principal shareholders of Citizenbank, an Arab and two Jews who together owned over half its shares, had consented to the scheme and promised Snyder and his team a substantial slice of the pie, percentages to be agreed when figures began coming in.

Chad had abandoned his desk as it was, leaving John Ridley fuming. It was Sunday, 17 January 1999.

The terminal was slow going, probably because of the construction, he thought, but finally he was at the immigration counter. An Arab in local dress, many idle ones hanging around, completed his entry formalities.

Citizenbank, yes, good bank, very big bank. I have account there, also two credit cards, said the Arab genially. You are coming for holiday? Chad said yes, passed through immigration, collected his suitcase and headed to the exit. A pretty Filipina in uniform greeted him as he stepped into the city.

Welcome to Dubai, she said.

The next morning, a driver came to the hotel to take him to the regional headquarters of Citizenbank, which, he was surprised to see, was an entire building purpose-built by the bank. He did not then know that the growth of Citizenbank had been so spectacular that its five-year-old building had already become too small, offices sprouting up in nearby buildings, entire floors in most cases.

George Warner, Citizenbank’s Regional Director, met Chad in the office of the Director of Credit Cards. Warner had been with Citizenbank for almost ten years. He was forty-three, with one divorce and two children from that union under his belt, and was now married to a Lebanese woman with whom he had a six year old boy. He was extremely good at his work, and under his stewardship Citizenbank had begun to emerge as the dominant bank in the region. Indeed, Citizenbank had begun to move to the very top internationally too.

Warner had been informed that Chad Durbin’s posting to Dubai was for the introduction of a new credit card product. It was some top-secret item, and he, Warner, would be in the guidance committee. However, Durbin would manage the product entirely on his own, consulting the guidance committee whenever he saw fit, but generally reporting on its progress solely to New York. Warner wondered why his own people were considered incapable of launching a product, and why someone needed to be sent down from New York.

One other Citizenbank man, a good-looking, fair, affable Lebanese, attended the meeting. Michel Chamoun, Warner’s senior-most deputy, was Director of Credit Cards for the Gulf region, and the other member of the guidance committee. He spoke good English, with an American accent acquired during his university years in the USA. He, too, was forty-three, and was very comfortably settled with his wife of fifteen years and two young daughters. Warner and he went back a long way, having worked together at other banks, Warner always coercing him to follow whenever he changed jobs.

Introductions over, coffee in hand, they talked on a variety of subjects in Michel’s office, as Warner made his point on rank by not directly receiving Chad. He had decided he was not going to take the boy’s abilities too seriously, no matter that he had been sent by New York. Probably related to one of the top chaps there, or maybe a political appointee, he figured. He did not care - for the moment, anyway. Warner was a tough cookie, and, if the boy’s placement interfered with his work, was more than capable of screwing New York and London combined. He was not planning to upset any applecart though. Let them run any goddam program they want, he thought, as long as the kid did not step on his toes.

So, you’re here to introduce a new product, huh? queried Michel, his curiosity driving him up the wall. Any credit card product in his territory should have been handled by him, and he felt extremely vulnerable at the thought that someone in New York had been looking closely at his operations. Unfavorably too, he reasoned, if they had to send someone out rather than ask him. What the hell is it?

Relax, Michel, relax, said Warner. Let’s first make our newly arrived team member comfortable. Remember, we’re in the guidance committee. He screwed his mouth up, not bothering to hide it from Chad. Let him set up house, get a feel for our city, see how we work here. He must be quite overwhelmed - Dubai is a far cry from New York. How do you like the place, Chad? First impressions, I mean?

Chad said it was fine. They were friendly and chatted long with him, which would normally have been strange, as Chad was quite seriously outranked by Michel Chamoun and utterly inferior in position to Warner, but it was not that strange, as, instead, those two were extremely curious about Chad and his unprecedented posting.

They agreed that he would begin work after setting himself up, taking a few days to acclimatize, finding accommodation and furnishing it, buying a car and sorting out his residence visa. It did not amount to much work really, but, unlike recruits from the east who are made to commence work immediately on arrival, new employees from the west are routinely given a couple of weeks to settle in. Race matters.

3

Reclining comfortably, a sexy Russian redhead beside him on the bed, Chad gazed out of his hotel window at the creek below. It was 2 a.m., and he had completed his first week in Dubai. The creek was mostly quiet, but on one of the wooden dhows parked three deep in the water, loading still continued. The dhows amazed him. He had learned that they were even now constructed much the same as they had been for centuries, except that they were now driven by diesel instead of wind power, and were extremely sea-worthy and rarely sank. The dhows, looking tiny and over laden, were actual ocean faring vessels, moving cargo from the Persian Gulf to India, Pakistan, Somalia and further.

The girl had cost him 750 dirhams, the local currency, about $200, but she was worth it. Young, beautiful, and willing to do anything he fancied, he had picked her up at a bar in a nearby 5-star hotel disco packed with fresh young arrivals from ex-Soviet countries. She said this was her first visit to Dubai, and that she had never done it for money except after arrival a few days ago. She liked Dubai.

So did Chad. The weather was great, the city cosmopolitan, humming with activity, and safe. The days passed pleasantly – searching for accommodation, shopping, a bit of sightseeing, a trip into the desert, afternoons at beach and pool, and steamy nights with gorgeous young hookers.

Chad had been re-employed by Citizenbank. To the amazement of both Warner and Michel, they discovered that Chad had actually resigned his position in the bank before leaving New York. He was to be re-employed as a new, locally found employee, and no one was to know that he had been sent by New York. They had no option but to comply, but George Warner and Michel Chamoun speculated and gossiped late into the night.

A couple of days after purchasing a vehicle, Chad entered Michel’s office, looking distraught. The owner of the villa has confiscated my deposit, Michel, he said.

How? Confiscated? Forfeit, you mean?

Yes. I gave him twenty-five percent up-front in cash, with the understanding that he would return the money when I handed him Citizenbank’s cheque for the full amount. We agreed to three days. Those three days he dodged me, and now he says he won’t return my money. Matter of fact, he now refuses to rent the villa to me.

Got anything in writing?

No. He’s a big man; this one property alone contains over two hundred villas. He gave me his word.

Michel sniggered. Word? He slapped his desk. Warner peeped in just then. George, Chad gave deposit money against rent to a local, and took his word - the word of a local. Warner entered, hastily shutting the door behind him, as he too began laughing.

We shook hands, said Chad gravely, causing the senior men to guffaw. He took the name of God; he promised, persisted Chad, driving the two laughing men hysterical.

As Chad stood around, shocked, his bosses got hold of themselves. Chad, said Warner, still giggling. You have a lot to learn about Gulf Arabs. They are the world’s greatest liars and its most blatant thieves. They make laws to steal, and when you start regularly reading local newspapers, you’ll find them in open debate daily over new, extremely inventive laws designed exclusively to rob expatriates.

Cheating is their principal defining characteristic, said Michel. They’re just dying to convince that their word is good and that they are honorable men, purely to cheat. They love lying and cheating.

And downright stealing and robbing, added Warner. You have to be very careful when dealing with Gulf Arabs. They pretend to be insulted when their word is not taken as binding, precisely so that they can avoid paperwork. Paperwork is proof, Chad, otherwise it’s your word against theirs – and they always win. Be very careful in future. Yours is a little pocket money, a deposit against rent, but we can show you hundreds of businesses and dozens of factories stolen from expatriate owners.

But the man swore and took God’s name, insisted Chad.

Ah, Inshallah, said Warner. "Was it Inshallah? Chad nodded. Michel, tell him about Inshallah."

Chad, Inshallah, or to be accurate, Insha-Allah, is to be understood if you are to survive in this part of the world, said Michel. "Inshallah is, when honestly spoken, the best phrase in all the world’s languages, leave alone Arabic. It means God willing. Muslims, excepting Gulf Arabs, mean it as it translates; it’s quite a powerful oath, and most Muslims consider themselves bound to undertake fulfillment of implied promises when saying Inshallah. Not so Gulf Arabs. Inshallah is a cheating tool, and when a Gulf Arab invokes it, know for sure he means to cheat you. Nobody here accepts Inshallah as a promise. It is, when uttered by Gulf Arabs, an absolute guarantee of insincerity, and every year thousands of people are cheated in Dubai alone by locals who dupe them into accepting their word. They try very hard to convince people to leave paperwork for later, why bother now? You have my promise and God is my witness, but when it comes to the crunch they comfortably hold the Quran and lie. Gulf Arabs’ love of cheating and stealing knows no bounds."

Shit, I didn’t know. I reckon I’ve lost my money. And the villa.

Warner raised a hand. "Maybe, Chad, and maybe not. Depends on who the guy is. Big man, huh?’

The crook, appropriately enough, turned out to be a customer of Citizenbank, and Michel sorted it out - though the man swore every oath to prove his entitlement to swallow Chad’s advance.

Chad soon moved into his villa, in a compound of similar villas, with shared swimming pool, gym and sauna. He had a generous furnishing budget, and managed to set the villa up nicely. His vehicle entitlement had allowed him to buy a top-of-the-line 4-wheel-drive Jeep Cherokee. His tax free take home pay had been settled at much more than he had been getting in New York, and his electricity, water, fuel and telephone bills would be paid by the bank. Carl Snyder was deftly placing his Man Friday in the theatre of operations.

The only other anxiety Chad experienced in this period was when he was told to go for a blood test to be conducted at a government hospital. What for, he had asked, a little annoyed. For AIDS, the personnel chap had replied. For AIDS? He had gulped fearfully, thinking of the whores, but had calmed himself down with the reassuring thought that if that was the system, the girls he had taken to bed had obviously also been tested and were therefore clean and AIDS-free. Not at all, said the personnel chap, realizing by the look on his face that the American had been at the nightlife in Dubai. Visitors are not tested for AIDS; only residents.

Good grief, thought Chad, dismayed, you can import AIDS direct from Africa, but not pass it around locally? But he fretted needlessly. His medical report was ready a day later, and he was okay on the HIV score.

On his first working day, he again met Michel Chamoun in the latter’s large plush office. Michel welcomed him and enquired how he had been getting on. Perfect. Everything has been sorted out perfectly, said Chad.

We have a problem about an office for you, said Michel. There’s absolutely no room available in this building. Unless you’re okay operating from the credit cards office.

No, I must be separate. My work is extremely confidential and highly sensitive. I don’t mind being in some other building.

Then, no problem. We have many offices, actually many floors of offices, walking distance, one or two minutes only. Best is to go around with someone from Properties and see what you like. Want to do it immediately? We can have lunch together later.

Chad Durbin found his office in the first building he visited. It was on the top floor, floor-7, and he had a view. The entire floor was Citizenbank’s, but only one other office was occupied; a small brass nameplate on its door read ‘Citizenbank, Loans Department’.

On the second day, as his office took shape, one of his neighbors looked in. He was a local Arab, about thirty, of medium build and height, sporting a moustache and a close-cropped beard. You have come to share our private floor, said he, nodding his head and watching Chad’s furniture being assembled. You must be with Citizenbank.

Yes, I am. Nameplate’s going on later today. I’m Chad Durbin. You from loans?

Yes, same bank. We’re brothers, ha, ha. I’m Jamal Hareb. You’re American, right? Come sit with us and have some tea or coffee. The carpet glue will make you sick and dizzy. Chad agreed. The glue was indeed going to his head, and he had been considering going out to find coffee. He followed Jamal into the loans office.

Two despondent looking men sat on a sofa, fidgeting. In a far room, which Chad could see into through its open door, a woman waited at a desk with no one behind it. That’s my room, said Jamal. Let’s sit in this room. Hey, Larry, said he to the room’s occupant. Meet a countryman, Chad. He’s with Citizenbank too; the guy moving into 703.

Hi, Chad, Larry came around his desk and shook hands. Sit down, sit down. We’re neighbours, eh? Tea? Coffee? Coke? Chad noticed that Larry had a pronounced limp.

Larry Gregg was thirty-two years old, and had been with the bank almost four years. He was single, thin and pale, with a gloomy, slightly seedy look about him, staring at his computer screen while talking. Chad was to discover later that this was, by and large, how Larry spent his working day.

Suddenly, a male voice started shouting in Arabic, from a room that had its door shut. Chad was startled and peered round out of the door, to see the two men on the sofa at the reception seeming to shrink into their seats, eyes darting nervously here and there. Larry, however, was unperturbed, and behaved as though nothing unusual was happening.

Jamal, brows furrowed and mouth open, rushed into the room where the action was taking place, slamming its door shut and joining in with raised voice. They shouted together, the unknown shouter and Jamal, and then began to coordinate and shout in turns. Between the bouts of yelling, a small defensive male voice could be heard pleading. The unknown aggressive male began thumping a desk, the tempo rising, and coordination was lost again. The whole thing continued a good five minutes. Then a shaky low voice could be heard, and by the