Chapter 20

Lukas was hungry. With no watch or phone, he estimated it had been more than five hours since he voluntarily allowed himself to be taken from the San Rafael hotel. His captors had not given him any food or water since his arrival to wherever he was. He patted the side pockets of his sport coat that he surprisingly still wore. He felt something inside and fished it out. Wrapped in a piece of cellophane was the dinner mint Betty had given him. This will help us find you, he remembered.

Footsteps approached the door to his detainment room. He quickly unwrapped the mint and popped it in his mouth. It started to dissolve, and he swallowed it quickly. Lukas heard the key go into the door lock, and he saw the deadbolt turn. He pretended to be asleep when he heard footsteps approach him. A hand grabbed his shoulder and shook it, attempting to awaken him. Lukas opened his eyes slowly, acting as if he had really been asleep. He looked with happy relief when he saw who had entered the room. His father, John Halloran, smiled back at him.

****

Molly, Linda, Donna, Betty, and Taylor sat at a corner table tucked toward the back of the dimly lit San Rafael bar. Each of them opted for a non-alcoholic beverage so that they could have clear heads to plan out actions. “Taylor, have you spoken to Tory about the plan?” Molly asked.

Taylor nodded as he swallowed his cola. “They are on their way to Al Maktoum to get things ready. They took all of our stuff, and they’ll gas up the jet. The Goose will be ready to go in three hours.”

Molly turned to Betty. “Any signal yet?”

“Not yet.” She opened her laptop to confirm. “I hope he understood my not-so-subtle hint.”

As if on cue, Betty heard a ping from the laptop. “We got a location. Faint signal, but it’s there.” Betty zoomed in on the location. “He is outside of the city. I’ve been looking for hours. The poor guy must have gotten hungry.”

“Looks like he listened to his Aunt Betty.” Donna smiled.

“Can you see his exact location or just a general idea?” Linda asked.

“Within five hundred feet. That’s as accurate as this thing gets.”

“How do you have a location for him? I’m not following you,” Taylor asked.

“I slipped a candy mint with a mini location tracker inside his jacket. It’s a prototype, so I wasn't sure if it would work,” Betty answered. “I’m sending you all a screenshot of his coordinates to keep on your phones.”

“So this thing is inside Lukas?” Taylor asked. “Any idea how long it lasts?”

“Not long,” Molly jumped in. “Forty-five minutes, an hour max. It will eventually pass out of him. The digestion process pretty much destroys the tracker. He won’t even feel it.”

Linda’s reading glasses balanced on the tip of her nose. “Looks like he’s in an area called Al Quoz…not sure if I’m saying that right. Looks like it’s a thirty-minute drive from here.”

Taylor googled Al Quoz. “Wikipedia says Al Quoz is a neighborhood in western Dubai, big art scene, galleries. Used to be more an industrial area, but it’s transitioning to hipster. Upscale areas and some sketchier ones.”

“Anything about residential areas?” Molly asked.

“Yes, both Emirati families and expats.” Taylor continued reading. “Makes sense. Also, a lot of hotels and dormitories that house foreign workers.”

“It’s eleven p.m. Let’s go visit Al Quoz,” Molly exclaimed, unaware of the person standing by the table.

Molly gasped in surprise when she saw him. “I live there, I’ll show you around.” Patrick Aziz smiled.

****

Lukas hugged his father. “Dad, I’m glad to see you. Did they hurt you?”

John shook his head. “How are you, Lukas?”

“Never been a hostage before, but I’m fine, considering. How do you feel, Dad?”

“Yeah, same. Sorry you got dragged into this.”

“Dad, what the heck is this all about? Poseidon?”

“My guess is that it is. But I haven’t talked to anyone about why I’m here. I’m not sure where I even am. No windows or anything, so it’s been pretty disorienting.”

“We’re in Dubai, Dad. Not sure where, though. They brought me here from the San Rafael. I was blindfolded.”

“How’s Mom?”

Lukas nodded. “She’s okay. I learned a lot about her younger years in the last few hours.” Lukas knew better than to say more about what he learned, not knowing who might be listening to him.

John smiled. “She’s something else, isn’t she? One of a kind.”

“Actually, more like four.”

Realization crossed John’s expression. “The Herb Society?”

Lukas nodded. “Why did they take me, Dad?”

“Leverage, maybe. I don’t know. Maybe they think you know something.”

“Well then, they’re in for a surprise when they—”

John cut Lukas off. “Someone’s coming.”

****

Taylor, Molly, Linda, Betty, and Donna stood outside the revolving entrance door to the San Rafael, waiting for Patrick to pick them up in the van.

“I’m not sure why you are suspicious about Patrick,” Linda stated.

“Not sure? I’ve told you he rubs me the wrong way, plus how long was he listening to our conversation in the bar?” Molly asked.

“Well, God help anyone who rubs Molly Halloran the wrong way. Jeez, why are you so hard on him? He seems like a nice kid to me. He’s polite, attentive, helpful,” Linda added.

“I’ve been asking myself the same question. John thinks the world of him, but Patrick seems guarded, like he never shares anything about his personal life. Have you ever met someone who immediately just grates on you, and you can’t explain why?”

Donna jumped in. “Yes. You.”

Molly was taken aback.

“Yes, Molly, I didn’t like you when I first met you. You were kind of a know-it-all and kind of a snob.”

Molly reacted. “Really? A snob? You never told me this before, Donna.”

“I know,” Donna replied. “Because I gave you a chance, and very soon, I found out what a cool lady you actually were. You were none of the things I initially thought. And we became friends, didn’t we?”

“Can I say something?” Linda asked.

“You’re going to anyway, so have at it.” Molly tried not to sound defensive. “I trust each of you, no matter what.”

Linda continued, “You’re cold to him. Sometimes even mean. I’ve never heard you say one nice thing to him. And you wonder why he acts guarded around you? But do you even know him? Have you asked him anything about his life?”

Molly thought about what Linda told her. “Thank you for telling me that. You’re right. I have been kind of a bitch to him. I feel like he looks down on me because I’m a woman. Maybe because I’m old.”

“Maybe you’re making assumptions, which isn’t fair to the kid.”

“Maybe not,” Molly said.

“Think about how you would feel in a similar situation. In a big job, in a new city, your boss is thousands of miles away, then he’s kidnapped. I wonder how I would act at his age; probably intimidated, afraid I did something wrong, scared, and anxious to please,” Linda explained.

Molly sighed. “Thank you. That makes me feel a bit ashamed actually.”

Linda and Donna gave her a side hug.

“Try to be nice to him,” Donna interjected, “even a little bit, and he’ll forget you were once the Ice Queen.”

“Ouch! Now who’s being the bitch?” Molly laughed. “But seriously. Thank you.”

Linda smiled. “That’s what the Herb Society is for. Keeping each of us in line and real.”

“Taylor,” Molly called out, suddenly changing the subject. “I need a bag from the plane, but I don’t want to make a big deal about it. Can you call Tory and see if she can bring it out to me when we get to the airport?”

“Of course. What color and how large is it?”

“It’s a Prada bag, Papaya orange. Can’t miss it.”

Taylor nodded and dialed his phone. As he spoke to Tory, he gave Molly the thumbs up that the bag would be ready for her. “She said it’s a beautiful bag.”

In a few minutes, Patrick pulled up to the hotel entrance, driving a black Mercedes Sprinter van. Taylor held the door while Molly, Linda, Donna, and Betty got in the back, and he sat himself in the passenger seat. “First stop is Al Maktoum,” Taylor announced. “Molly, I mean Mrs. Halloran needs something from the plane. My daughter will bring it out to us.”

“Al Maktoum is close to the Al Quoz area.” Patrick nodded as he accelerated out of the hotel driveway and into the busy Dubai traffic.

“You’re a very calm driver, Patrick. I would be a nervous wreck in this traffic,” Molly complimented him. Linda winked at her for trying.

“Thank you, ma’am. I drove a taxi during my university days.”

“Here in Dubai?” Molly asked, surprised by this information.

“In London, ma’am, mostly. Sometimes I drive people around here on weekends or if I can’t sleep. Just to make some extra money.”

“And how is it living in Dubai, Patrick?”

“It’s very nice, Mrs. Halloran. I enjoy working for Phoenix Equities, and I appreciate the trust you and Mr. Halloran have put in me. Otherwise, I do miss my family at home.”

“How often do you get to see your parents?” Molly asked him.

“I see them when I go back to Britain to see my wife and daughter. They are the ones I miss most, and usually why I can’t sleep.”

He has a wife and daughter? He’s so young, Molly thought.

“Many people working in Dubai come from somewhere else,” Patrick explained. “And many of us live in the area of Al Quoz. There are two societies here, the Emirati and those who serve them, plus expats like me who are here temporarily. It’s okay for now, but not where I want to raise Bella, my daughter. She’s five. I want her to be empowered to be anything she wants to be…like her mother.”

The motorway around Dubai was quiet, unlike the commuting hours. Patrick pointed at the airport sign, knowing his guests could not read Arabic. He glided the van off the exit ramp and toward the Al Maktoum private jet terminal, where the Goose was being fueled.

“It feels like we’ve been here a week,” Betty said.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Donna seconded. “It’s been a little over twenty-four hours.”

Patrick parked the van, and both Taylor and Molly ran out to meet Tory, who was already standing outside with an orange duffel bag. Taylor kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks, honey. I hope we’re back here soon and get the hell out of here. Where’s Diego?”

“He had to make a few phone calls.” Tory shrugged. “But I’ll be ready for you, Dad.”

Taylor and Molly ran back to the van. “What is the address in Al Quoz?” Patrick asked.

“I don’t have one, actually. Betty is handling the navigation from her laptop, but I have a screenshot from earlier. You can see Lukas’ signal there, but I can’t read any of the Arabic.”

Patrick studied the map. “I’m not familiar with this area of Al Quoz.” He zoomed in. “I believe this is an area of art galleries from some of the shop names. Why would Lukas be here?”

“There has to be something in the area—a basement or a secluded apartment, somewhere he is being held, and probably John, too.” Molly paused for a minute. “Gosh, I hope they’re together.”

Molly tensed her shoulders. She had no idea of what she was walking into. What if there were crowds around or if there would be gunfire? She was out of surveillance practice, and this was personal for her with her son and husband as hostages.

“I’m going to drive to the general area, and we can go from there.” Patrick accelerated the van in the direction of Al Quoz. Betty sat in the back row, her face lit by the laptop screen as she monitored where they were heading relative to Lukas’ location.

****

John and Lukas continued to talk about banal things, knowing they were probably being monitored. They had been in the room together for nearly an hour when they heard the door lock turn. Both men sat up straight. Clown Face entered the room and pulled up a chair directly across from them. He sat down, crossed his legs, and rested a hand on his knee. Nobody said a word. He removed his mask, revealing his actual face. John was not surprised, but Lukas didn’t recognize him. “Oh my gosh, I never would have guessed. It’s Malik,” John said with deadpan sarcasm. “I suspected you may be involved in this. Your subtle ambush on Palm Jumeirah was my first clue.”

“John, my friend. Good to see you. Again.” He extended his hand to Lukas. “And I see you’ve brought your son along.”

“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting,” Lukas said coldly to his father’s abductor.

“Malik Bawadi is my name. Your father knows me. I’ve been pestering to get on to Phoenix’s board, but alas, no success.”

“Kidnapping the CEO is probably not the way I’d go about it,” Lukas responded.

Malik laughed like Lukas’ comment was the funniest thing he’d heard all day. “Your son is quick, John.”

Malik Bawadi was a Syrian national born to immigrant parents who fled Afghanistan in the 1970s. Fluent in Arabic, English, Pashto, and Farsi, he was charming and clever and had a reputation for resourcefulness, as he called it. This often meant he used what he had to—theft, bribery, kidnapping, and murder—to get what he wanted. The whole Middle East was Malik’s playground, but he also worked with secretive countries like Russia and North Korea if the prize was tempting enough. He was always on the move, carefully slipping in and out of a country before any of his enemies knew where he was.

Malik did not divulge much about his past. His father, also named Malik, was a crafty businessman who learned how to buy and sell what people wanted. Malik Sr. started by selling simple things like cigarettes and phone cards. His business grew when he arranged sales of assault rifles and bullets for small militant groups growing in the area and leveraged his old contacts in Afghanistan as both customers and suppliers. He brokered sales of opium to countries around the world, which brought him huge amounts of money and helped fund the Taliban in their fight against the Soviet Union. The family lived comfortably from the opium profits, until one day, he was assassinated by a sniper while walking to his mosque.

After the funeral, the Syrian government confiscated what little his family had, claiming that it was acquired with drug money, which was true. Malik was ten years old, leaving his mother to raise him and his older sister by herself. They struggled, had little money, and often went hungry. They slept on the streets, sold trinkets to tourists, and begged.

When Malik was sixteen, he found work doing manual jobs for the wealthier residents of Damascus. While walking home from work one night, he stumbled upon a couple having sex in a dark side street. It was an older man taking a younger woman from behind, and in an instant, he recognized the woman was his sister.

He learned both his mother and his sister had turned to prostitution in order to survive. Single women had few options to them, but the thought sickened him, and he vowed he would support his family in a legitimate way. By the time Malik was twenty, he was already a millionaire several times over, but his family was falling apart. His mother was murdered by one of her clients and left dead in the street. His sister became pregnant by an unknown father and was jailed for adultery—a charge that was never proven. She gave birth and died shortly after in prison.

Malik was now forty-eight, unmarried, and consumed with his business dealings. Ashamed of his childhood of poverty and desperation, Malik invented a back story of intrigue, wealth, fine education, and legitimacy as a member of the exiled Afghan royal family. This gave him a mystery and veneer of respectability while he built his business on the back of a fake resume. Malik had met John Halloran several years prior at an investment conference in Riyadh and had been pursuing him ever since, attracted by John’s reputation and the stellar record that Phoenix Equities maintained as an ethical business. Malik was a strategist who played the long game, and he hoped his association with Phoenix would give him the respectable business pedigree he craved.

Malik directed his comments at Lukas. “You know your father is an icon in the private equity world. He is a tough negotiator but also a visionary. Trusted implicitly, which is why I wanted to be associated with his board.” Malik cleared his throat. “It would do well for my reputation.”

Lukas wanted to spit at him. “I’m sure it would,” was all he could say.

Lukas and Malik glared at each other for almost a minute, Malik breaking eye contact. “So, Lukas, what do you think of all this? Poseidon and all. Did your father tell you I outbid him for the Poseidon technology?”

“No, he did not. We don’t usually talk about business.”

“What?” Malik feigned shock. “Father and son not collaborating? How strange.” He looked at John with accusing eyes. “I wonder why that is? Maybe it’s your different, shall we say, lifestyles?”

Neither John nor Lukas took the bait. Malik paused for one to speak or argue with him.

“Poseidon. It’s true; I was willing to pay four times what your father paid, but the technology developers trusted your father and apparently not me.”

Shocking, Lukas thought. “So is this your attempt to steal it? I’m not sure why I’m here other than to pay the ransom you requested.”

“Ahh yes, Lukas. The ransom.” Malik paused and walked around Lukas and John. “What a good son you are for wanting to save your father, despite his obvious embarrassment about you, the oldest of his three…well, whatever you call yourself, Lukas?”

John’s face started to redden with rage. Lukas gave his father a reassuring look that he was not playing into Malik’s mind games. “Yes, Malik. I got the ransom together to save my father so that he would accept me and love me for who I am.” Lukas’ sarcasm escaped Malik, and his barely noticeable smile let his dad know he was messing with the guy.

“Get to the point, Malik!” John growled.

“Well, Lukas, I have some news for you. What would you say if I told you there is no ransom?”

What? Lukas thought. He looked at his father, who was equally surprised. “I’m not sure I follow you. We were given instructions to bring five million d—”

“And the bitcoin, yada yada, I know. It was my way of getting you here. To let you know this was serious. It obviously worked.”

Malik walked over to a small, wheeled table, on top of which sat a large, overturned cardboard box. “I’d like to show you something.” He wheeled the table and stopped in front of John and Lukas. Malik lifted the box. Underneath, a small machine was unveiled. John’s eyes went wide. “Voila!” Malik said.

“How did you…?” John questioned him, alarmed.

“Not everyone is altruistic, John. Everybody has a price, my friend. Five million dollars in ransom is a pittance compared to what this machine will bring me, or whoever I decide to sell it to.” He turned to Lukas. “Know what this is, Lukas?”

“Let me guess…an air fryer?”

“It’s a prototype of Poseidon, built by the inventor. I’ve tried to have it reverse engineered, but to no avail. The programming is hard coded into the unit, so I can’t extract that, either.”

Malik pointed to the machine, explaining its various parts. “You see, we have tanks of hydrogen and oxygen. The reaction happens in a small, controlled explosion within this unit. We have the basic formula; you may have heard about it.”

“In first grade. Two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen, right?” Lukas said sarcastically.

“Correct, but the magic is how we split the two oxygen atoms and join the two hydrogen atoms. That’s the part we can’t figure out, and I’d rather be safe than blowing us all to oblivion. The programming is encrypted, and I need the key to decipher it so I can reprogram this lovely machine.”

“And how do you intend to do that?” Lukas asked, thinking back to the project he and Betty worked on during the flight over.

Malik smiled, “That’s where you come in, Lukas.”