DUBAI INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
WEDNESDAY, 7:55 P.M. UAE LOCAL TIME (11:55 A.M. EST)
Jessica strode off the Air France flight and beelined for her next meet. The Dubai airport’s hallways were jammed with Western businessmen and Arab families. She brushed past a cluster of women in all-black Saudi abayas, peeping through their veils into a brightly lit shop window displaying handbags by Prada and Louis Vuitton.
Jessica entered the duty-free store and found the sporting goods section, which was packed to the ceiling with jerseys and fan gear for the 2018 FIFA World Cup in Russia. She paid cash for a green backpack emblazoned with the Brazilian flag and then quickly moved on to her next stop.
Without slowing down as she walked, Jessica slipped her passport, wallet, and air ticket into the backpack and slung it over one shoulder. When Jessica arrived at McGettigan’s Irish Pub, she took a seat at the bar and placed the backpack on the stool next to hers.
“Grey Goose, rocks,” she said to the barman.
“Hendrick’s and tonic, twist of lemon,” called a voice next to her in an elite British accent. The man was South Asian, probably Indian, wearing an expensive and finely sculpted business suit. “Do you mind?” he said apologetically, signaling to the stool.
Jessica shrugged and moved the backpack to the floor between them.
“So you fancy Brazil?” the man said, settling into the seat.
“Desculpe, senhor,” she said in perfect Portuguese, without looking at him.
“No time to chat. Very well,” he said in the Queen’s English.
“I’m late for my flight,” she said.
“England is looking mighty good for Russia, don’t you agree? This is our year to win the World Cup. Just like ’66.”
“You won’t get through the group stage,” Jessica said matter-of-factly in English with an accent that hinted of the favelas of Rio de Janeiro. “England was a disappointment in Brazil in 2014. I predict it’ll happen again.”
The man was about to reply when their drinks arrived. “I’ve got these, love,” he said, slapping down a fifty-pound note. “Cheers.”
Jessica held up her cocktail, nodded, and sipped her vodka.
“The world’s gone mad,” he said, setting down a carefully folded newspaper on the bar. She glanced at the business section of that day’s edition of the Times. A headline caught her eye:
Another US Oil Co Withdraws from Indonesia
JAKARTA—Texas-based Wildcat Oil LLC announced today that it has relinquished its controlling interest in an offshore oil license in Indonesia following a series of attacks against its employees. This is the third overseas operation that the privately held Wildcat Oil has closed this year. Analysts suggested a deteriorating environment for frontier market prospects. . . .
Jessica drained her drink. “Obrigada. Thank you. Good luck to England in Russia.” She slipped the man’s newspaper under her arm and stood to leave without the backpack.
“Anytime, love. Good luck to Brazil,” he called out.
Jessica walked briskly along the airport corridor, then into the women’s restroom and directly into a stall, where she locked the door. Sitting on the toilet, she tipped the contents of the newspaper onto her lap: an envelope stuffed with euro notes, an Emirates Airline first-class ticket to Istanbul, and a new Brazilian passport. She flipped to the passport’s photo of herself and quickly memorized the name and birth date.
Time to go. She stood to leave, when she had a second thought. Jessica pulled a BlackBerry from her jacket pocket and powered it up. The lights flickered, a few moments later the phone connected to the local network, and then the phone pinged three times with text messages, all from Judd.
All good. Boys fine.
Gotta quick trip 2Nigeria. Sitter moving in. Back before u. See u @home.
sorry xoxo
Fuck, she hissed to herself. Judd’s going to Nigeria?
She quickly flipped through the Times, searching for anything on West Africa. In the World News section, she found only two minor items.
Crime Wave Hits Nigerian Metropolis
LAGOS—The murder of Internet television star Funke Kanju is the latest attack on prominent Nigerians in the past month. The Lagos Deputy Inspector General of Police released a statement denying any connection between Kanju’s death and the disappearance of football legend Nuhu four weeks earlier. . . .
Jessica’s eyes moved on to the next item.
Nigerian Judge to Face Corruption Charges
ABUJA—Nigeria’s attorney general today announced a formal inquiry into the business dealings of a former supreme court judge charged with leading anti-corruption investigations. The surprise move was sparked by allegations in the local press that Judge Bola Akinola, chairman of the Nigerian Crime and Corruption Task Force, had failed to accurately account on his asset disclosures for luxury properties held in Monaco, London’s posh Mayfair neighborhood, and a villa in the Cayman Islands. The attorney general declined to provide any further details of the inquiry, but sources within the Ministry of Justice confirmed that the judge was being suspended from the CCTF and that criminal charges were expected soon. Akinola could not be reached for comment. . . .
Jessica tossed the newspaper into the trash and ran for her gate.