55 |
55 |Dubai International Airport Dubai, United Arab Emirates
Reading shuffled down the aisle of the plane, always marveling at the chaos that ensued the moment the plane came to a halt from the impatience of people desperate to get into line.
Like his seatmate tonight.
What was the point of standing, hunched over because you were too tall to be upright with a luggage rack over your head, just so you could eventually squeeze into a line of people barely moving, when you were at the back of the plane?
Just sit tight, let the herd clear, then stand up, grab whatever you had stowed in the overhead bins, then stroll off the plane.
But no, jackhole at the window seat had to be up and in the line, and with Reading’s height, there was no way the man was getting by him without Reading getting into the aisle.
I see why Jim and Laura are always flying private jets.
And again, he was envious.
He was tempted to pull an asshole move and yank out his Interpol ID, ordering everyone out of his way, but it wouldn’t work. There were hundreds of people in front of him, with nowhere to go.
Besides, he was halfway there.
He checked his messages, finding an update from his partner Michelle informing him that his friends were not in custody.
He froze.
They should have arrived over half an hour ago.
He quickly fired a text back.
Was flight delayed?
The reply was almost immediate.
No, still checking. Stand by.
Someone shouted, giving him a bit of a shove. He looked up to see the line had moved on, and was about to move when he received another poke and angry shout in what he assumed was Arabic.
He pulled his ID and turned, inflating his chest as he did so.
And glared into the eyes of a five foot nothing grandmother.
He smiled. “My apologies.”
He turned back, catching up to the line, shaking his head the entire way as he smiled at what he had planned on saying.
Control your temper, Hugh!
Finally in the jetway, he had some room to maneuver, and hurried past the less swift passengers, emerging in the terminal where an old colleague of his waved.
“Hugh, over here!”
Reading smiled and strode over to the man he had met several times at Interpol over the years, and extended his hand, heading off the cheek kisses the man preferred. “Khalil, so good to see you!”
“You too, my friend!” Khalil Zakaria smiled broadly, taking Reading’s hand then moving in for the kiss. Reading placed his left hand on the man’s shoulder, patting it and keeping him at bay without his intentions being obvious. Denied, he grabbed Reading’s bag instead. “Do you have any checked baggage?”
Reading shook his head. “No, I’m traveling light. I figured I’d just be taking custody of our suspects then getting the next flight right out.”
“No! Stay the night. I’ll show you the city, we’ll have a great time. You can leave in the morning with them.”
Reading regarded him for a moment when four heavily armed soldiers jogged by. He surveyed the area and frowned. “Is this level of security normal?”
Zakaria frowned. “No. There’s been an explosion at the Burj Khalifa.”
Reading’s eyes widened. “Terrorism?”
Zakaria shrugged. “No idea yet.”
They resumed walking, Zakaria using his ID to expedite Reading’s clearance through customs. “My partner seems to think you don’t have the suspects in custody.”
Zakaria frowned. “No, we don’t.”
Reading stopped, suddenly very concerned, though forced to hide it. These were suspects, not friends, as far as anyone here was concerned. “Explain.”
“The two suspects arrived as scheduled less than an hour ago. They were supposed to be picked up by my partner and local law enforcement.” He became somber. “My partner’s body was found in a toilet stall in the main terminal about fifteen minutes ago. He never made it to the security station to coordinate their arrest.”
Reading’s chest tightened. “Then who has them?”
Zakaria shook his head. “We don’t know. We have footage of a team arresting them and taking them to vehicles that were in a secure area. Whoever they are, they’re very well connected.”
“Where did they go?” Reading closed his eyes, holding up a hand. “Wait, let me guess. The Burj Khalifa.”
“You know your suspects well. Any idea what’s going on?”
Reading regarded Zakaria for a moment, wondering how much he could trust him. They weren’t exactly friends. They had met on several occasions, and had gotten along well—two old fogies in an agency of youngsters obsessed with advancement and power.
Reading’s only problem with the man was that he wouldn’t hoist a beer with him. Other than that, he seemed honest and reliable.
He sighed, a leap of faith about to be taken he hoped wouldn’t backfire. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret.”