One Night in Dubai

Inside were ten notes, one thousand dirhams each. It was a hell of a tip, but Zhang had earned it. And I'd probably never see him again.

"May the five blessings come to you," he offered as an oddly solemn farewell.

"Thanks Zhang, drive safely."

The smell of diesel exhaust was heavy in the confined space of the underground docks. At the top of the stairs under a flickering fluorescent tube, Nick was waiting for us. We'd only parted company a few hours ago, but he looked like he hadn't slept in days.

"Phones," he said curtly, holding open a foil bag. "In here now."

"Hey man, my whole life is in thi--"

"And the police may already be tracking it," he cut me off.

"Fine." I dropped my phone in the bag and Jaleh did likewise without complaint.

"Keep that blood stain on your sleeve out of sight," he told Jaleh. "Row, quit rubbing your jaw."

Nick summoned a service elevator and punched for floor one-nineteen. My ears popped as we road up together in silence. We got off the elevator and then walked up another two flights of stairs to an office door where Nick swiped a key card and entered a PIN. Once inside he ushered us both into an empty conference room.

As far as I could tell, the entire suite was unused.

I was starting to get the idea that Nick's job didn't really involve as many rocks and minerals as I'd been lead to believe.

"This is an off-the-books office that the embassy maintains," he explained. "You should be safe here until we can sort things out."

"Do geologists need off-the-books offices very often?" I quipped.

"Shut up, Row!" he snapped at me. "Just... just shut up!"

I'd had a rough night and wasn't in any mood to be yelled at.

"What the Hell was I supposed to do, Nick?!" I snapped back. "They were gonna kill her!"

"You were supposed to wait for me like I told you!" he retorted. "Plans were in the works, ok? Things were happening."

"Well, you didn't exactly give us a lot of confidence when you left the restaurant," I sneered. "We did what we thought we had to."

"...And you did the right thing," he admitted with a sigh, leaning against the conference room table and hanging his head. "I'm not saying you didn't... But sometimes doing the right thing can be... messy. And people who aren't you have to clean it up."

"...I'm sorry for the mess," I apologized. "It wasn't supposed to go down like that. The... the bodyguard got in the way."

"I figured," he looked up at me wearily. "You know that guy's Republican Guard? You'll be able to drink for free off that story in any military town in the states. Which one of you stabbed him?"

I nodded towards Jaleh. Then I made an educated guess. "You're with the CIA?"

"...Yeah," Nick confessed, hanging his head again.

That caught Jaleh's attention. "CIA?" she turned on him glaring. "How fortunate I took my father's computer. You're not actually helping me at all, are you?"

"That's not... that's not entirely true," Nick defended himself. "But it did change the calculus. The laptop makes it an intelligence matter rather than a diplomatic issue and the CIA has some latitude... And since you brought it up, may I have the computer?"

Jaleh rolled her eyes, but ever obedient she reached into her bag with a disgusted expression.

"No," I interjected, putting a hand on Jaleh's forearm to stop her.

"You don't have a real strong bargaining position here, Row," Nick cautioned me.

"The way I see it, the CIA maybe—maybe—has some legitimate interest in my well-being. But I don't see how they care about her's. The computer is our only bargaining chip... You can have it once she's safely out of her father's reach."

"This isn't some cheap spy-thriller paperback, Row. Reality is a lot more complicated."

"Tell me I'm wrong, Nick."

But he didn't. He turned away with a heavy sigh. "Fine, you hold on to it for now. You know, your file says you're usually compliant with authority figures, Row. When did you grow a pair?"

"You have a file on me?"

"Rowan Martin Lee, male, born in San Francisco," and he recited my birthdate. "Mixed Asian heritage, unmarried, no children. Parents divorced, one younger sister. Speaks thirteen languages. Has discrete access to high-profile individuals. Maintains extensive professional contacts in a wide variety of fields, legal and otherwise. No debt. No known vices. No known hobbies...

"Of course we have a file on you, man. I've been looking for ways to leverage you as an asset for the last two years."

There was something oddly disconcerting about having your life reduced to an executive summary like that. I tried to play it cool.

"Never gonna happen," I chuckled. "You know they publish government salaries right? I've seen what you guys pull down."

"Exactly," he frowned. "You're a mercenary, Row. The only thing you care about is money..."

That kind of stung. Mom would be disappointed.

"...and apparently tits," he added with a glance in Jaleh's direction. "I suppose I'll have to update that. But I didn't say 'recruit you as an agent'. I said 'leverage you as an asset'. You know just today you confirmed for me that Jamshidi is leaving Dubai on Wednesday? 'I can't talk about work,'" he mocked. "Hell Row, you never talk about anything but work."

But I had stopped paying attention.

The TV mounted to the wall of the conference room was showing Al Jazeera News with the volume muted. I'd been ignoring the video feed talking to Nick, until I noticed Jaleh staring at the screen and I turned to see our faces on TV.

I don't read Arabic nearly as well as I speak it, but I could tell from the chyron text that the Iranians had offered a reward. Nick scrambled around looking for a remote to turn up the volume. By the time he found it, our passport photos had been replaced by a sound bite from Councilor Jamshidi pleading for the safe return of his daughter.

Jaleh couldn't bear to watch and turned away, back to the windows.

For the moment, the UAE authorities considered me a "person of interest" rather than a suspect, but it was clear the Iranians had other ideas.

The bodyguard was still in surgery.

"I'm going to make some calls and see if we have an official response yet," Nick excused himself setting the remote on the table. "You two stay here—in this room—and wait for me. I'll be back soon."

"I'm sorry I dragged you into this," Jaleh offered as I moved to stand next her and stare out the window at the distant lights from Dubai's man-made islands just off the coast.

"It's not your fault," I told her. "We had a good plan. It should have worked." In the dull, light-polluted sky, airplane landing lights queued up for approach and helicopters zipped back and forth above the city.

"But what if I was wrong?" she sighed. "What if Aunt Leila was wrong and this is all a terrible misunderstanding?"

"Esan made it pretty clear that Leila was right. You were right to believe her."

"I don't know what to believe anymore... My father on telly... That's the man I know—the man I've loved and respected and admired my entire life. How could he be so... so... different?"

"I don't know," I admitted, because I didn't.

I tentatively put an arm around her shoulder and instead of recoiling, she leaned into me and rested her head against mine.

We stood there watching the lights of Dubai in silence until Nick returned.

"Alright, the police seem to see a run-away lovers scenario here, but they're putting on a show for Tehran. No one has mentioned the missing laptop, so either the Iranians are keeping it a secret, or your father hasn't noticed that it's gone." Nick looked at Jaleh for her opinion, but she was staring out the window.

"Jaleh, is it possible that your father hasn't realized the laptop is missing?" he asked directly.

"...I don't know... Maybe... It was in the safe with the passports."

"Well as long as no one tells the police about the laptop, consensus seems to be that we can sell the run-away lovers story and paint the assault as self-defense. It was self-defense, right?"

"Damn right!" I answered rubbing my jaw again. "The guy was gonna shoot me."

Nick's brow furrowed. "There was no mention of a gun."

"Oh, there was a gun. A big, shiny automatic, like a forty-five or something."

Jaleh clutched her bag to her chest and turned back to the window. I'm sure it wasn't a pleasant memory.

"Alright. That will make it easier to sell self-defense," he explained, spinning a conference room chair and flopping into it. "Under the circumstances, I think the CIA will be willing to transport you to the U.S. and back your request for asylum in exchange for the laptop."

"You 'think'?"

"Our Station Chief is in the air," Nick continued. "She's flying commercial back from Washington, so it will be a few hours until she can be fully briefed on the situation. It's officially her call. Since there's no immediate threat, we're going to play stall ball."

"I don't know what that means," Jaleh frowned.

"It means I'm going to see if I can rustle up a couple of cots so you two can get some sleep, and then we'll meet with some people in the morning."

Sleep. That sounded nice. It was pushing midnight now and I'd barely gotten four hours last night. Save the cot, I'll stretch out here on the table.

"Nick?" Jaleh asked, "Does the CIA have a helicopter watching the building?"

"No," Nick answered sitting up, suddenly alert. "Why?"

"That same helicopter has passed the building five times. I think it's circling."

"You're sure it's the same helicopter?"

"Yes. I noticed it because the number on the tail is the same age Kiana was when she died."

"Shit!" he exclaimed, not standing. "We might be blown."

"How'd they find us so quickly?"

"Maybe they tracked your phones after all," Nick suggested. "Maybe your cabbie sold you out. Maybe this office isn't as off the books as we'd like to believe. It doesn't matter. What matters is what they're going to do next. Is that chopper still visible?"

"No," I answered tensely. "It just moved out of sight."

"Ok... think this through... Ok... Ok..." Nick muttered to himself standing and pacing. Then to us, "Stay by the window where you are. We don't want them to know they've been made. As long as they think they have the element of surprise, they'll act carefully. Nobody wants panic or collateral casualties."

"Shouldn't you call for backup, or something," I asked, the anxiety I'd just managed to shed suddenly ramping back up again.

"No..." Nick replied. "No, if they've connected this suite to the Agency, they might be tapping our communications. We don't want to do anything to force their hand and make them storm the office. Hopefully, they'll try to create a safe perimeter... evacuate any nearby civilians first. We're going to try to slip away with them."

"Ok... Ok, that makes sense," I agreed. "How do we do that?"

"Separately. They're looking for an Asian man and a Muslim woman together." Nick explained and Jaleh gripped my arm. "But first we need to make them think you've gone to sleep, so they don't get suspicious when you're not standing by the window anymore.

"Stay here, I'll try to find the cots," Nick ordered as he left the room again. "When the helicopter comes by, don't look at it... But don't look like you're not looking at it... You know what I mean."

The helicopter made another slow pass, and if they were looking, they would have seen Jaleh and I sitting in swivel chairs watching the room's TV. Nick returned with the cots, and we waited until the next pass to make sure any observers saw us setting them up in front of the window.

"Once we turn the lights out, we're going to have to move quick," Nick began laying out his plan as we twisted the window blinds closed. "Jaleh, can you lose the hijab? I mean take it off and go out without it for a while?"

"...Yes," she nodded reluctantly. "If I must."

"Ok, do have makeup with you?"

"I'm Iranian," she sighed with a put-upon expression. "Of course I do."

"Good. Do you think you can redo your makeup to look like a westerner?"

That actually elicited a smile from Jaleh, and she nodded again opening her purse.

"Row, do you--"

"I think I've got something," I interrupted. "We're on the hundred and twenty-first floor, right? 'Atmosphere' is right above us. They're open until two." The restaurant takes up the entire hundred and twenty-second floor, and I've made more last minute reservations at 'The World's Tallest Restaurant' than any other in the city.

"That's right," Nick confirmed. "I don't suppose the maitre'd owes you a favor, does he?"

"No, probably the opposite," I admitted. "But they employ plenty of Chinese kitchen staff. I can probably blend in with them if I wear your white undershirt." I never understood T-shirts under polos, but it was a look Nick prefered.

"Yeah, good. That's actually better than what I had... Jaleh, what if you wore Rowan's shirt? It'll look a lot more western."

"I'll try," Jaleh agreed, frowning, as she attempted to put on mascara in a compact mirror.

After tucking my wallet and passport in my pants pockets, I laid my suit jacket on the table and started undressing while Nick stripped off his shirts.

The buttons on my tailored white shirt strained against the contours of Jaleh's figure in a way that couldn't help but draw a man's eye, and the pattern of her black lace bra was faintly visible through the fabric. It probably put a toe across the line of what was considered "modest" by UAE standards.

On the one hand, we didn't want to draw attention. On the other, the outfit was exactly the kind of mistake a western tourist would be forgiven for making. Nick was betting that any police we encountered would be too focused on finding Jaleh Jamshidi to waste time lecturing a westerner.

And with her dark hair tumbling loose over her shoulders, Jaleh looked every inch the western tourist.

"Row, you go first," Nick explained. As we stood next to the suite's back door. "Turn right and go up the stairs to Atmosphere, then grab a trash can or something and take the service elevator down to the loading dock."

"Jaleh and I will wait ninety seconds then follow you. We'll go up to the Sky Lobby on one-twenty-three and take the hotel elevator down like any other tourists."

My suit jacket was a little tight over his polo shirt, but it gave Nick a smart-casual American look that enhanced Jaleh's disguise when they stood together.

I was a little jealous.

It only then occurred to me to wonder if we could actually trust Nick, or if he was just trying to separate us in order to get the laptop. But it was too late to object.

"If you see any police, don't look at them. Just go about your business like nothing's wrong. If they try to direct you out of the building, let them. We'll rendezvous across the footbridge in front of the Opera House. Ready?"

I nodded agreement, and Nick opened the door. The dimly lit hallway was empty, and the exit sign that marked the stairwell was only two doors down. With Jaleh's hijab tied apron-like around my waist, I hoped I looked enough like a Chinese dishwasher to fool a casual glance.

My heart was racing as I pushed open the stairwell door, turned up the steps, and came face to face with a Dubai police officer standing on the first landing up. He was decked out in body armor over his khaki uniform and held a German submachine gun slung across his chest.

Too late to avoid eye contact, I smiled and nodded and climbed the steps as nonchalantly as I could.

"Stop," he ordered in Arabic, holding his palm up to me. "What are doing on this floor?"

"No Arabic," I told him, holding my hands up and shrugging.

"You. Here. Why?" he demanded, pointing to emphasize each word.

I mimed a cigarette and then a cell phone, trying to convey that I was on a break. Of course, I had neither cigarettes nor a cell phone on me and the officer's eyes narrowed.

"Back to work," I pointed up towards the restaurant, hoping that was the kind of Arabic phrase a migrant worker might pick up.

"No. Turn around," he shook his head and gestured with a swirly motion.

Hoping that he was sending me down the stairs and out, I turned and saw another policeman coming up the stairs from the landing below to block the door I'd come through. The police had this floor covered, coming and going. Odds are the other stairwells and all the elevators were guarded as well.

I raised my hands a little higher.

"You think this is the guy?" second cop asked first, still in Arabic. I played dumb.

"Could be," first cop responded. "Asian male, one-point-eight meters, seventy-five kilos. He kind of looks like the photo."

"They all kind of look like the photo."

"Says he works upstairs. Nice watch for kitchen labor though."

Shit. I was still wearing my Breitling.

"It's a fake," second cop argued. "Probably the most expensive thing he owns. Besides, where's the girl?"

In less than a minute, Nick and Jaleh were going to follow me through that door unless I could figure out how to warn them.

"Call it in?" first cop suggested.

"Not yet," second cop declined. "They were pretty clear about radios for emergency only. I don't want to catch the blame if the Americans get tipped off."

Apparently both sides were worried about the other monitoring their communications.

"Do you have ID?" second cop asked me.

Double shit. As soon as they saw my passport, it would be over.

"No Arabic! No Arabic!" I stalled, trying to come up with some way to warn Jaleh and Nick away.

First cop grabbed my shoulder and pushed me back down the steps past the door to the landing half a floor below while second cop covered us from above with his gun, still watching the door.

"I didn't do anything wrong!" I yelled out in Mandarin, staying in character, hoping the commotion could be heard through the heavy steel fire door. "Why are you arresting me? I just want to go back to work!"

I was forced up against the wall, palms and chest against the concrete, with the downward stairs beside me. This was going to end badly one way or another. Any moment Nick and Jaleh might open the door, and then they'd be caught too.

So I did something stupid.

As first cop reached for my back pocket, I bolted. I was hoping to catch them by surprise, to force them to chase me, and maybe get a floor or two down before they caught up to me. I was hoping if the cops followed me down, Nick and Jaleh might slip past them unnoticed.

But first cop still had a grip on my shoulder, and while my feet scrambled towards the steps, the rest of me didn't.

Reflexively, my hands flailed, grasping for anything to arrest my fall, and I caught hold of first cop's vest saving myself from hitting the stairs too hard.

I must have dropped farther down the stairs than first cop was expecting though, because he teetered off balance above me. When I instinctively tried to pull myself back up, I ended up pulling him down. As he stepped forward to catch himself, his feet got caught up in mine.

He lurched forward over me into the empty air above the steps, pulling me after him. With an almighty clatter of steel and plastic on concrete we tumbled down the stairs and came to a stop in a heap by the door one floor down. With a groan, I sat up on top of him. He wasn't moving.

Isn't it weird how time slows down, and a moment lingers?

Second cop stood on the landing above us, the butt of his gun held tight to his shoulder, the barrel aimed at me. I could see his pupil dilate through the gun sight. I could see his finger move from the guard to curl around the trigger.

Then his eyes moved, towards the left and up. The gun barrel wavered in a lazy S and suddenly tracked with his eyes, up and left. There was a sound like thunder, and a flash of light, and a blossom of nylon and ceramic dust erupted on second cop's chest.