《Dune Devils: The Dark Side of the Dune》 Prologue Prologue It would be Eid tomorrow, or so the mullah predicted, praying fervently for a new moon to prove him right, but neither smuggler had yet shown up with their usual gift of a goat for the communal pot. Empty dhows floated on the placid creek, and the local men had nothing to do other than fret for supplies. It was hot and bothersome, quarrels frequent, and it was all the sheikh could do to keep the menfolk from murdering one another. Indeed, it was all he could do to keep himself from murdering them, as he irritably heard a great variety of petty disagreements and routinely dispensed whimsical justice. He squatted on the sand, in a small open tent beside the creek, gazing towards its mouth, willing the Indian outlaws to turn up, while regularly and petulantly cross examining their resident agents, who grinned at him and urged him to stay calm. The thieving party he had despatched had returned empty-handed when its supplies had run out, having scouted no less than three neighbouring tribes, without chancing upon unguarded camels or unwary lads. It looked like it would be a bleak Eid. He certainly would not run the generator; the little diesel remaining in the barrel on his rundown motorboat would be just about sufficient to give chase to one vessel. Perhaps the pickings would be better this time around, although piracy was in itself getting riskier by the day. Last month, the British Agent had come by and warned them he would string the whole lot up if they ever again attacked European or American vessels. That had been a close shave; had the motor not malfunctioned just when in grappling range, all would have now been dangling by their necks. Why did they not fly flags? British and American he could recognise, and the rest would be fair game. The sheikh batted at flies hovering over his meal - a handful of dates, dry bread and a mug of camel milk - brought by his youngest wife. The smugglers had promised him a teen girl, but a dozen visits later, no girl had materialised; perhaps God would send an angel to oversee their next buccaneering venture, and they would chance upon some women. A new squabble was brewing, off to one side, and he resolved to cane the disputants, but before it could reach its climax, and they dragged each other to him, the lot were diverted by the drone of an aircraft as it slowly flew overhead. The only aircraft that ever landed in their tiny settlement was a Dakota piloted by two Englishmen, who took payment for diesel in cash and kind, enjoying their women while cursing the shoddy pickings. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. They counted themselves the poorest and most misbegotten people on earth, though with little idea of how the planet looked or what it was. All they knew was that they lived on unyielding sand, on which nothing grew, and that it stretched for hundreds, perhaps thousands of miles about them. Their poverty and ignorance would have been legendary, except that there were no legends about them; their cares, longings, hopes and desires would have made the stoniest hearts weep, but none cared to hear - for they were an utterly irrelevant people. And so they sat daily on the sand, while time did its thing with them, from birth to death, as it had ever done through the millennia, fretfully waiting, hoping and praying for trifles counting as fortune, and wondering, as generations of forebears had done, what it took to get a slice of the unattainable pie constituting easy living. But their trial was almost over - great change brewing, as the world began moving on their case - and their little plot of sand was to become part of a new country the British were conjuring up. Luck was headed their way, and the days when aircraft merely flew by would end, spectacularly too, for, as they scratched about in the dust of their wretched lives, the world would fall into their laps and they would become its wealthiest people. It would lead to no good, evil multiplying throughout the earth. These devils of the dunes would run child kidnapping rings, enslaving uncountable thousands of children for entertainment, abusing them rampantly and mercilessly. They would facilitate the smuggling of narcotics, trade nuclear components, launder illegal money, cheat workers, hunt protected wildlife, mastermind global terrorism, and commit novel crimes as could never have been imagined, becoming the vilest people the world would ever know, being beastly without compulsion. Instead of thrift, they would confirm poverty¡¯s lesson to have been wastefulness. There would be no intermediate stage from being beggars to becoming the proudest and most arrogant swaggerers, instantly commencing to compete in displays of wealth, as though the thousand years of poverty had never been, as if the prior days of their lives had not been lived. But the most astounding aspect to be embraced by these devils, would be a feeling of innate superiority over their betters. It would be remarkable, that people of the very generation that once were beggars - with neither history nor culture, without literature, with not an invention to their credit, knowing not how to extract their own oil, illiterate, ignorant, and still largely irrelevant, and suffering every handicap other than penury - could presume to feel superior to anyone else. These were people who would forget themselves. Ch. 1 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 ¨C 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 ¨C evil in waiting. 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 greying. 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. Liveable 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 proposed 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.¡± If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°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, who 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 corporations 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, 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 unappetising 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 court 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, judgement 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 will 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 will 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 will 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 organised 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 organise 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 epicentre as he possibly could. ¡°Anyone in mind to place in the region? Specifically, I mean, to handle the deal?¡± asked Snyder. ¡°I¡¯d say Chad Durbin, don¡¯t you think? After all, it is his plan.¡± ¡°I like that guy,¡± said Snyder, nodding. ¡°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. Ch. 2 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. There is a bank near Safa Park, a British bank, housed in a large white two-storied building, very imposing indeed, with this sign - ¡®open Saturdays to Thursdays, 8 a.m. to 6 p.m.¡¯. This is Dubai, the place to be in the Persian Gulf. Shopping malls are open from 9 a.m. to 11 p.m. every single day of the year, and shops across the city seem to never close. The country is the United Arab Emirates, UAE in short, and is a federation of seven individual emirates, the word coming from emir, which is like king, though it was Bahrain that had an emir while not being called an emirate, and the UAE has sheikhs who call sheikhdoms emirates. But the Bahraini ruler declared himself king, converted whatever to kingdom, and sorted out a part of that muddle. The UAE is a fairly new country, created in 1971 by Britain, when it exited after having governed the region for a couple of centuries. Seven small sheikhdoms clubbed together to form a federation. Abu Dhabi, the largest of the seven, is one of the world¡¯s main oil producers, and its ruling sheikh is president of the UAE. Dubai ranks second, has a little oil and does its very public international thing, whereas the remaining five are placed on lower rungs, descending into poverty. Arabs of the Lower Gulf, in comparison to the ones further up, are clearly more inclined to peacefulness, though that may have something to do with the load of oil money around. UAE tribes have survived through the centuries with a sea-faring tradition, trading with the Indian sub-continent, and absorbed some element of give and take into their bloodstream, besides actually absorbing a lot of foreign blood into their veins, though, as part of the status game, they robustly deny anything other than blood purity ,despite traditionally having acquired wives from the most-deprived classes of the sub-continent, Iran and Africa. That has changed now, and while the class from which they acquire women is pretty much the same, newfound wealth allows import of comelier females from as far afield as Egypt, Syria and Morocco. Of the entire lot of big chiefs, the Dubai ones are considered the canniest. The ruler in charge when the federation got going, was a true visionary. This is also said of its current rulers, but the departed sheikh had to envision a future in what was then a tiny coastal village, whereas the current crop have been building on what he left behind ¨C a trading hub, a World Trade Centre, Jebel Ali seaport, which is a massive manmade port, Jebel Ali Free Zone, and many things besides, plus a seemingly liberal, bustling city. Thus, despite the fact that Rashid of Dubai, as Indian police knew him, was a wanted man in India, he was a visionary in the desert. He was wanted in India for smuggling. Dubai, under his rule, was a staging post for smuggling goods into India - gold, textiles, watches, electronics, cigarettes, liquor, and what not. India has now opened up and lifted restrictions on imports, and this market has more or less died, but Dubai is a brash new kid, and death has not come calling here. The city¡¯s traders are so good at supplying the needs of the region around it, that every demand was and still is met by Dubai-based traders. Helped at first by Indian import restrictions, then by the Iran-Iraq war, then the Iran-Iraq peace, the break-up of the Soviet Union, the First Gulf War, the Iraqi embargo, formation of Eritrea, lawlessness in Somalia, entry of Taliban, exit of Taliban, re-entry of Taliban, the Second Gulf War, and at one point even by the opening up of India, Dubai continues to thrive uninterrupted, driven by its lack of financial regulations and the aggressiveness of its trading community. And that is the heart and soul of Dubai ¨C trading. Its current rulers have succeeded in putting Dubai on the map in a big way, their declared intention being to convert it into a business and tourism hub - to which end they work ceaselessly - and Dubai is now, in all probability, the fastest growing city on earth, and quite possibly its number one construction site. Emirates Airlines, poised to become the world¡¯s largest carrier, belongs to Dubai; the world¡¯s most innovative hotels are in Dubai; Jebel Ali seaport, already huge, is being expanded; the free zone is growing rapidly; Dubai hosts practically all meaningful trade exhibitions in the area, including an air show; it hosts the world¡¯s richest horse race; it has become a leisure destination, with dozens of five-star hotels and hundreds of lesser star ones, huge malls, wild nightlife and many recreational activities; its airport is already the region¡¯s busiest, and maybe the world¡¯s busiest too; and when the many artificial islands currently under construction are completed, all figures will rise again. And, of course, the world¡¯s tallest building, Burj Dubai, with its intended final height undisclosed, is under construction too. A secret of Dubai¡¯s success is, strangely, the failure of countries and cities around it - failure to create liveable, hospitable environments attractive to foreigners, who must take up residence to create busy, bustling, successful cities, as without foreigners no Gulf Arab country can do well. They simply do not have the skills to cater to the region unless they include foreign partners. In fact, supremacist and lazy to the core, they cannot even cater to themselves. Foreigners are essential ¨C and there is no city, for foreigners, like Dubai. Its population is reported to be about one and a half million, but Sharjah and Ajman, two neighbouring emirates, continue from its edge in an uninterrupted metropolitan area. That takes greater Dubai¡¯s total population to nearer three million. Then there are additional tens of thousands daily in Dubai from other emirates, from Gulf countries, and from the rest of the world. Less than a fifth of the population is local - the rest are foreigners, the bulk being from the Indian sub-continent, as most construction crews are from there. Indians also make up a major part of Dubai¡¯s trading community, which includes Pakistanis and Iranians. There are hordes, too, of Western expatriates - British, French, Australian and, if oil crews are counted, American. Recently, someone made a statement to the press, in which it was claimed that Dubai has more nationalities resident than there are countries in the United Nations! But there is a darker secret to Dubai¡¯s success ¨C crime.[i] It is the world¡¯s foremost money laundering hub, and the primary transit point of contraband cargo. The Pakistani bomb was built through Dubai,[ii] the Iranian nuclear programme is supplied through Dubai, and huge consignments of narcotics pass through Dubai. Thousands of shipments of fake goods pass into and through Dubai every week. Gangs in Dubai operate VAT fraud and all sorts of global financial frauds. Copyright violations, pirated goods, fakes and duplicates are the norm.[iii] It is a strange blessing, this free trade thing. It allows everything to go on. Thus the Indian mafia, confirmed terrorists, is resident here alongside Al Qaeda, Somali warlords and pirates,[iv] Russian crime bosses, global drug lords and fugitives from everywhere. Every Islamic terror chief has probably sited his family and bank accounts in Dubai. No terrorist explosions occur in the UAE, for, as local wisdom has it, why would terrorists attack home?[v] Hawala, a system to transfer money unrecorded, moves vast sums through Dubai, possibly more than its banks handle. Businesses can be started up in a day, and, with no overt controls on business activity, dirty money can be rapidly washed spanking clean. So Dubai, if its self-promotion is taken at face value, is headed upmarket, while paradoxically hosting global lowlife and ill-gotten wealth. Its uncountable new villa and apartment blocks are sold out but largely vacant - because owners are not really resident in Dubai, merely passing by from time to time to launder bags of loot. It helps a lot when international crooks and fugitives actually own property in a laundering country. They slip through its airport and slink into anonymity - not that easy were they to stay at hotels. Residence and property entitle them to permanent visas; they own cars; they own companies; they have employees. Dubai is extraordinarily user-friendly to crooks. Dubai is a sheikhdom, which means dictatorship, and thus, as with any other dictatorship, its laws are particularly unfriendly to its non-criminal population. After all, its rulers are solely interested in their own betterment, and possibly that of their teams. Quite easily achieved, as rights are what ruling sheikhs confer by decree.[vi] Dubai is all there, well promoted, booming, plain to see, and, in a concrete, metallic and glassy way, beautiful to behold ¨C a bit like a good looking whore. If the outer covering is what one seeks, there she is, but when probed a little, dug a bit deeper, any number of flaws may be uncovered in the soul of the creature.[vii] About that bank near Safa Park? With utter contempt for its employees¡¯ well-being and human rights, it forces them to work a 60-hour week. The fabulous glittering shopping malls better even that - with a slaving rate of 91 hours weekly. The city is being built, as it has been up to this point, on slave labour.[viii] Poor foreign workmen routinely commit suicide because they are not allowed to leave their jobs. Held against their will in truly appalling conditions, many forced to live without electricity and running water, they are transported to and from work sites in conditions amounting to captivity, and made to toil incredible hours for almost nothing. The minimum wage by law is barely US $3 per day, and even this pittance is often withheld or altogether stolen by employers - with the Sheikh¡¯s blessings. Practically every foreigner is a hostage here.[ix] In order to confer upon themselves every conceivable advantage and authority over employees, they have laws preventing change of job.[x] Dubai is greedy, crooked, prejudiced, racist and cruel indeed. Behind its gleaming new towers, lie squalid shanties in which its richest men hide enslaved labourers. Concealed under the overalls they are made to wear is the fact that they are more slave than employee, with rights routinely vandalised by their masters,[xi] for what could be the shape of human rights in a state where the only Human Rights Department is an affront to sensibility, headquartered in police headquarters, staffed by policemen and headed by the chief of cops?[xii] Dubai is all about money, howsoever acquired. It is far from the great economy that glancing at its concrete and glass structures makes one believe. That is the investment opportunity of crooks. Dubai¡¯s total trade is under 100 billion US dollars annually, and mainly in re-export - consignments heading into its ports destined for consumption elsewhere. But much money can be made by hosting crooks and facilitating illegal activities. For that, one needs banks, and Dubai most definitely is a banking centre. Banks are powerful in Dubai, with laws in place to help them help themselves to a sizeable chunk of the goings-on. Although banks have frequently and routinely proven to be most prolific law-breakers, Dubai knows different. Laws are concocted to make every worthwhile crime lawful, for Dubai is where crooks call home.[xiii] The next morning, a driver came to Chad¡¯s 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. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. 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, he 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. Unfavourably 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 acclimatise, 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.
[i] An Unlikely Criminal Crossroads From Egypt to Afghanistan, when terrorists and gangsters need a place to meet, to relax, maybe to invest, they head to Dubai, a bustling city-state on the Persian Gulf. The Middle East''s unquestioned financial capital, Dubai is the showcase of the United Arab Emirates, an oil-rich federation of sheikdoms. Forty years ago, Dubai was a backwater; today, it hosts dozens of banks and one of the world''s busiest ports; its free-trade zones are crammed with thousands of companies. Construction is everywhere--skyscrapers, malls, hotels, and, soon, the world''s tallest building. But Dubai also serves as the region''s criminal crossroads, a hub for smuggling, money laundering, and underground banking. There are Russian and Indian mobsters, Iranian arms traffickers, and Arab jihadists. Funds for the 9/11 hijackers and African embassy bombers were transferred through the city. It was the heart of Pakistani scientist A. Q. Khan''s black market in nuclear technology and other proliferation cases. Half of all applications to buy U.S. military equipment from Dubai are from bogus front companies, officials say. "Iran," adds one U.S. official, "is building a bomb through Dubai." Last year, U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents thwarted the shipment of 3,000 U.S. military night-vision goggles by an Iranian pair based in Dubai. Moving goods undetected is not hard. Dhows--rickety wooden boats that have plowed the Arabian Sea for centuries--move along the city center, uninspected, down the aptly named Smuggler''s Creek. U.A.E. rulers have taken terrorism seriously since 9/11, but Washington has a half-dozen extradition requests that they refuse to honor. The list includes people accused of rape, murder, and arms trafficking, and the last fugitive of the BCCI banking scandal. The country has put money laundering controls on the books but has made few cases. Interior Minister Sheik Saif bin Zayed Al Nahyan told U.S. News the U.A.E. has made great strides in cracking down, but he insists that the real problems lie elsewhere. "We are a neutral country, like Switzerland," he says. "Give us the evidence, and we will do something about it. Don''t blame others." Not everyone agrees. "All roads lead to Dubai," says former treasury agent John Cassara, author of Hide and Seek, a forthcoming book on terrorism finance. Cassara tried explaining U.S. concerns about Dubai to a local businessman but got only a puzzled look: "Mr. John, money laundering? But that''s what we do. " This story appears in the December 5, 2005 print edition of U.S. News & World Report. http://www.usnews.com/usnews/news/articles/051205/5terror.b1.htm [ii] al-Qaeda isn''t the only organization that has found Dubai useful. The father of Pakistan''s nuclear program, Abdul Qadeer Khan, has acknowledged heading a clandestine group that, with the help of a Dubai company, supplied Pakistani nuclear technology to Iran, Libya and North Korea. http://www.usatoday.com/news/world/2004-09-02-terror-dubai_x.htm [iii] Goods from UAE to be physically examined KARACHI, Dec 8: The customs authorities have put all consignments originating from the United Arab Emirates (UAE) under strict physical examination to check rampant mis-declaration and under-invoicing. The Dubai port is widely used as a ¡®third country¡¯ for a contravention objective, and strict physical examination is being made after detection of large-scale misdeclaration and contravention cases on consignments originating from the UAE. http://www.dawn.com/2008/12/09/ebr4.htm [iv] The pirates are earning millions of dollars. A lot of that is invested in businesses in the United Arab Emirates. A pirate network is believed to stretch from Europe to Dubai, identifying targets and feeding intelligence to the gangs based along Somalia''s long coastline. http://www.csmonitor.com/2008/0827/p06s01-woaf.html Ahmed Dahir Suleyman is cagey as he talks about the global network that funds and supports piracy off the coast of Somalia. "We have negotiators, translators and agents in many areas ... let me say across the world," said Suleyman, a pirate in the harbor town of Eyl, where scores of hijacked ships are docked. "These people help us during exchanges of ransom and finding out the exact person to negotiate with," he told The Associated Press. Sheik Qasim Ibrahim Nur, director of security at Somalia''s Interior and National Security Ministry, said evidence points to Somali expatriates in Kenya and the United Arab Emirates, but declined to give further details. [v] The al-Qaeda factor For Salafi jihadis, Dubai may be worse than Sodom and Gomorrah put together. An al-Qaeda attack in Dubai would instantly turn the overbuilding capitalist frenzy into ashes. So why does it not happen? First and foremost because al-Qaeda and assorted Salafi jihadi funds still transit through Dubai. Money-laundering in the financial mecca of the Persian Gulf has been virtually uncontrollable. The US government''s case against Zacarias Moussaoui documented how money to finance the attacks of September 11, 2001, was laundered through the UAE. During the mid- to late 1990s, the air path from the UAE to Kandahar was crammed with private jets taking Arab notables on falcon-hunting trips in Taliban-controlled Afghanistan. Frequent fliers included UAE and Saudi rulers - the UAE and Saudi Arabia, along with Pakistan, were the only countries that recognized and maintained normal relations with the Taliban regime. Return flights laundered Taliban and al-Qaeda operatives. A famous Dubai joke has a real-estate agent telling a client to "buy a house in Jumeirah Beach. It''s the safest place to be. Half the bin Laden clan lives there." http://www.atimes.com/atimes/Middle_East/HF07Ak01.html [vi] The government''s respect for human rights remained problematic. The following human rights problems exist or were reported: http://www.state.gov/g/drl/rls/hrrpt/2005/61701.htm [vii] ''We''ve made a pact with the devil to be here'' Before I arrive in Dubai, I meet ''Clare'' on an expat website who insists I visit her at her home in the Meadows, a housing development in the city''s suburbs - ''to give you an idea of how so many people get misled into thinking they are in Milton Keynes''. ''Oh yes, it looks good, doesn''t it? But we''ve all made a pact with the devil to be here. You get the tax-free salary, but in return you have to give up all your rights. There''s no accountability, no transparency, no rule of law. There''s no legislative body. Very few employment rights. It looks like a modern country, but it takes more than a few skyscrapers to create one of those. Scratch the surface and it''s a different story. http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2008/oct/05/middleeast.gender [viii] "Once you get rich on the back of the poor," she says, "it''s not easy to let go of that lifestyle. They are devaluing human beings," she says. http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2008/oct/08/middleeast.construction [ix] Employers normally hold their employees'' passports. Because the law does not prohibit this practice, servants do not have the recourse of leaving their employment and returning to their home country or finding another job. http://www.state.gov/g/drl/rls/hrrpt/2001/nea/8306.htm [x] For a migrant worker, changing jobs within the UAE is a cumbersome, bureaucratic process and requires the consent of the original employer. To begin with, labor regulations require a worker to have completed two years of service with his current employer before being entitle to switch employers. He may seek only the same kind of job, and there must be no UAE national available for the job. Most significantly, in order to move to a new employer, a worker must obtain a ¡°letter of no objection¡± from his current employer and request the Ministry of Labor to reregister his visa and work permit in the name of the new employer. The fact that employers usually hold on to workers¡¯ passports makes it even more difficult for the worker to switch jobs. Nataranjan explained, ¡°We want our employer to give us a ¡®letter of no objection,¡¯ so we can look for another employer and get a decent wage. But he says, ¡®Either work for $5 a day or I¡¯ll revoke your visa and you have to go back to India.¡¯¡± http://www.hrw.org/sites/default/files/reports/uae1106webwcover.pdf [xi] All of these men are part of a huge scam that is helping the construction boom in the Gulf. Like hundreds of thousands of migrant workers, they each paid more than ¡ê1,000 to employment agents in India and Pakistan. They were promised double the wages they are actually getting, plus plane tickets to visit their families once a year, but none of the men in the room had actually read their contract. Only two of them knew how to read. "They lied to us," a worker with a long beard says. "They told us lies to bring us here. Some of us sold their land; others took big loans to come and work here." Once they arrive in the United Arab Emirates, migrant workers are treated little better than cattle, with no access to healthcare and many other basic rights. The company that sponsors them holds on to their passports - and often a month or two of their wages to make sure that they keep working. And for this some will earn just 400 dirhams (¡ê62) a month. A group of construction engineers told me, with no apparent shame, that if a worker becomes too ill to work he will be sent home after a few days. "They are the cheapest commodity here. Steel, concrete, everything is up, but workers are the same." http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2008/oct/08/middleeast.construction Some domestic and agricultural workers were subject to de facto compulsory labor. Employers routinely held employees'' passports, severely restricting their freedom of movement. There were increasing incidents of employees being prevented from changing positions because their contracts stipulated that they were banned from working for a "competitor" for six months after their original employment ended; the only way to overcome the six-month ban was to seek a letter of "no objection" from the original employer. However, some employers, as retribution, refused to sign such letters http://www.state.gov/g/drl/rls/hrrpt/2008/nea/119129.htm Domestic workers were routinely subject to physical, sexual, and emotional abuse. Workers'' jobs were not protected if they removed themselves from what they considered unsafe working conditions.. http://www.state.gov/g/drl/rls/hrrpt/2008/nea/119129.htm [xii] There are no independent human rights groups. Government restrictions on freedom of the press and public association make it difficult for such groups to investigate and publicly criticize the Government''s human rights restrictions. A human rights section exists within Dubai Emirate''s police force to monitor allegations of human rights abuses. http://www.state.gov/g/drl/rls/hrrpt/2001/nea/8306.htm The government did not allow international human rights NGOs to be based in the country but allowed representatives to visit on a limited basis. There were no transparent standards governing visitation from international NGO representatives. http://www.state.gov/g/drl/rls/hrrpt/2008/nea/119129.htm [xiii] A Time magazine cover story on BCCI. The Bank of England shuts down Bank of Credit and Commerce International (BCCI), the largest Islamic bank in the world. Based in Pakistan, this bank financed numerous militant organizations and laundered money generated by illicit drug trafficking and other illegal activities, including arms trafficking. Bin Laden and many other militants had accounts there. ¡°BCCI did dirty work for every major terrorist service in the world.¡± Beginning in February 1991, the mainstream media began reporting on BCCI¡¯s criminal activities as more and more whistleblowers came forward. Most of the bank¡¯s top officials will escape prosecution, and remnants of the bank will continue operating in some countries under new names. A French intelligence report in 2001 will suggest the that Osama bin Laden will later build his financial network on the ruins of the BCCI network, oftentimes using former BCCI officials A majority of the bank is owned by Sheik Zayed bin Sultan al-Nahayan, President of the United Arab Emirates (UAE), and the UAE similarly indicates that it will not extradite any of the 18 top BCCI managers living there. The UAE is also sitting on most of BCCI¡¯s financial records. [Time, 8/3/1992] BCCI branches in the UAE are not shut down either, but are simply renamed to become the National Union Bank. [BBC, 8/5/1991] http://www.historycommons.org/entity.jsp?entity=zayed_bin_sultan_al_nahyan_1 Ch. 3 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. His days passed pleasantly ¨C 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. The very day he bought 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 money 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. These 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 honourable 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 these people. 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 ¨C 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 fulfilment of implied promises when saying Inshallah. Not so these people. Inshallah is a cheating tool, and when one of them invokes it, know for sure he means to cheat you. Nobody here accepts Inshallah as a promise. It is, when uttered by these people, 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. Their 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 turned out, appropriately enough, 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, realising, 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 neighbours 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.¡± This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. ¡°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 here 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 coordinating and shouting 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 tone, Chad could tell it was surrender. Jamal wandered back, grinning. ¡°Motherfucker,¡± he said. ¡°I told you guys to fuck that bastard first and talk sense into him afterwards,¡± said Larry. ¡°We¡¯ve done it, Larry. He¡¯s agreed.¡± Chad saw an unfathomable look pass between the two. It was exchanged in a flash, before Larry half closed his eyes and nodded. ¡°How long?¡± he asked. ¡°Two weeks. Bashir¡¯s sorting it out.¡± ¡°That¡¯s too long, Jamal. Why the delay?¡± ¡°Delivery is immediate.¡± ¡°Oh, I see what you mean.¡± A few minutes later, a very shaky thirtyish Arab walked out of the room in which the shouting had taken place. His head hanging low, he walked to the door, to which he was seen patronisingly, an arm around his shoulders, by a very fat black man in an ill-fitting green suit and white sports shoes. A red and white polka dot tie hung loosely from his neck, and his blue shirt¡¯s collar button was undone. ¡°He who the lion catches, must buy his way with meat,¡± said the black man. ¡°An old African saying. Remember it, my friend.¡± The shaky Arab hung his head ever lower as he walked through the door. The fat black man, with an odd British accent, was Ibrahim Bashir, Sudanese, aged forty-seven. He turned from the door and addressed one of the nervous guys on the sofa. ¡°Hey, Gopal, got it?¡± ¡°Sir, I have half in cash with me,¡± replied the young man, standing up like in front of a school headmaster. ¡°Half? Gopal, Gopal, Gopal, you defaulters are all the same. You never learn till you get a good whacking. Spare the boot and spoil the child; an old native saying. But Gopal, half is only half. Didn¡¯t you go to school? Or did you go to some dirty rotten school because dad spent his money on booze and whores? What about the other half?¡± ¡°Sir, my new employer has written a letter for you. Sir, please.¡± Gopal spoke gaspingly, and proffered a letter in a transparent plastic folder, his hands trembling violently. Bashir put an arm around Gopal¡¯s shoulders and walked the few steps to Larry¡¯s office, dragging the fellow with him, stopping at the door. He held the poor bastard tight and glanced through the letter. ¡°His new employer guarantees the balance,¡± he said. ¡°He¡¯s a good boy,¡± said Larry, without looking up. ¡°You¡¯re a good boy, hear that, Gopal?¡± said Bashir, squeezing the latter¡¯s neck, his arm having slid up from the unresisting man¡¯s shoulders. ¡°Yes, sir,¡± said the hapless Gopal needlessly. ¡°He agrees with you,¡± said Jamal, laughing. ¡°He¡¯s okay. Let him go,¡± said Larry, grinning at Bashir. ¡°You heard that, Gopal? You can travel. Pay cash at the counter; do it today. Go.¡± Bashir withdrew his grip from around the young man¡¯s neck, losing interest. ¡°I can go, sir?¡± asked Gopal hesitantly. ¡°You want us to change our mind?¡± threatened Jamal, coming to stand next to Bashir. ¡°No, sir. Sorry, sir.¡± Gopal left hurriedly. ¡°What about him?¡± asked Bashir, indicating the man on the sofa, who had assumed a most hopeful grin. ¡°He¡¯s going to jail,¡± said Jamal. The man slumped like a bullet had found him. ¡°I¡¯ve told him to go home and enjoy his last moments of freedom before the police pick him up. I¡¯ve returned his papers to legal for action. I don¡¯t know why he¡¯s still here.¡± He addressed the young man. ¡°Riaz, go away. If I see your thief¡¯s face any more, it¡¯ll become worse. Do you want me to call the police here?¡± The man on the sofa leapt up and threw himself at Bashir¡¯s feet, clinging to a fat leg and pleading. ¡°Please, sir, please, one more month, please. I can do it after one month. Next month, sir, please help me, sir, give me one last chance, please.¡± Bashir grinned at Jamal and Larry. ¡°What¡¯s your problem, Riaz? Think of jail as home. You¡¯ll find all missing family members inside. You Pakistanis are all criminals, no? There¡¯s going to be a family reunion at last. Have you thanked Jamal for that? No? That¡¯s very ungrateful.¡± Riaz now became fairly hysterical, grabbing at Jamal¡¯s legs. ¡°Please, sir, Mr. Jamal, you can do it. Just one chance. One more month and I¡¯ll have enough to repay. As my brother, as Muslim to Muslim, please, I beg of you.¡± ¡°One more month?¡± said Jamal contemptuously. ¡°So that you can trick me and catch a dhow to Karachi? Up, stand up.¡± He grabbed Riaz by the arm, forcing him to stand, and pushed him out of the office. ¡°You want to make a fool of me? Fuck off, you crook.¡± ¡°Assholes,¡± Jamal explained to Chad. ¡°They take huge loans, have a good time, and become brothers when they can¡¯t repay. Assholes.¡± Bashir looked at Jamal and enquiringly raised his eyebrows, indicating Chad. ¡°Meet Chad,¡± said Jamal. ¡°The guy setting up office in 703.¡± Chad and Bashir shook hands. ¡°Call the Australian airhostess please, Jamal,¡± said Bashir. ¡°Tell her to make it tomorrow.¡± ¡°She¡¯s in my room.¡± ¡°Shit, can you see her? I want to leave.¡± ¡°Sure thing, man. I¡¯m going to be here anyway. What do you want me to say or do?¡± ¡°It¡¯s okay. She can change her cheques. Get her to issue post-dated cheques on her new bank account, plus a security cheque. Oh, here¡¯s Gopal¡¯s letter. Ask an office boy to take it across, and tell the legal assholes that Gopal¡¯s matter is closed. I¡¯m leaving. It¡¯s almost lunchtime. Larry, you coming in this afternoon?¡± ¡°Yes, why?¡± ¡°Ahmed¡¯s bringing photographs. You choose.¡± ¡°Who Ahmed?¡± ¡°The Algerian fellow in the morning.¡± ¡°We¡¯re getting choice?¡± ¡°It¡¯s about equal,¡± said Jamal. ¡°I¡¯ve checked it out.¡± ¡°Anyway, let Larry choose,¡± said Bashir. ¡°Pictures, Larry, pictures can lie, so choose wisely. I¡¯ll call you guys in the evening.¡± The very day Chad settled into his new office, word came that Kerry was visiting soon. He had already commenced his travels, hopping towards Dubai, stopping at a couple of cities along the way. ¡°Bob Kerry is arriving in a few days,¡± said Michel Chamoun, at dinner with Chad in a 5-star hotel. ¡°We¡¯re to meet together ¨C the first meeting of the guidance committee. How¡¯s your office coming along?¡± ¡°It¡¯s done. Two buildings away from HQ. In fact I¡¯m ready to start work, and I¡¯ll be needing you.¡± ¡°Great,¡± said Michel. ¡°Come and see me tomorrow. I don¡¯t know what exactly you¡¯re here for, but whatever it is, let¡¯s get you started.¡± The next day, Chad was at Michel¡¯s office. ¡°I need to have a survey conducted,¡± said he, after the usual pleasantries, ¡°to find out how credit card customers use monthly statements.¡± ¡°Use monthly statements?¡± said Michel disbelievingly. ¡°Toilet paper probably. Who cares what¡¯s done with statements? Use statements? What do you mean?¡± ¡°Precisely that. How many read it, how many study it carefully, how many keep it, how many don¡¯t read it, how many throw it away. Whatever they do, we need to know. Accurately.¡± ¡°Why? It hardly matters as long as they pay up. Or does it?¡± ¡°It matters a lot - it¡¯s the starting point of our new product.¡± ¡°New York¡¯s said you¡¯re to have whatever you want. No big deal. We have a contract with a company, the name escapes me, but it¡¯s no problem, and I¡¯ll instruct that your orders be executed. When do you want it done?¡± ¡°Immediately. The survey needs to cover a large cross-section of cardholders. A big sample is required.¡± ¡°How big?¡± ¡°How many credit card customers do we have in the region?¡± ¡°Region? You want the entire Gulf surveyed?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Two million, plus minus.¡± ¡°Then the minimum to survey is twenty thousand.¡± ¡°Twenty thousand?¡± Michel was shocked. ¡°That¡¯s a huge number.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a huge project.¡± ¡°George will go bananas if we spend that much money.¡± ¡°Then he¡¯ll have to go bananas. The second thing is going to cost more, much more.¡± ¡°And what¡¯s that?¡± ¡°A promotional offer for customers who¡¯ve held credit cards at least six months.¡± ¡°What promotion?¡± ¡°A discount on minimum payment due, if they pay cash into a special box in our branches.¡± ¡°Discount? George will go crazy.¡± ¡°Better George than Snyder.¡± ¡°Carl Snyder? The program originates from him?¡± ¡°I told you it¡¯s a huge thing.¡± ¡°And how much discount?¡± ¡°Fifteen percent, maybe twenty,¡± said Chad offhandedly. Michel looked heavenwards with a sigh. He sent for his secretary. ¡°Rashmi, Mr. Durbin¡¯s launching a new product. Very secret, spy versus spy stuff, so make sure not a whisper leaks out. He wants to run some surveys and promotions. Get them organised. Highest priority, dear.¡± ¡°I also have to send a letter to a legal firm here,¡± said Chad. ¡°I¡¯ll need Citizenbank letterheads.¡± ¡°Something wrong?¡± asked Michel, with an enquiring look. ¡°If it¡¯s Citizenbank work, we have a large legal department. I can ask it to assist.¡± ¡°Nah, simple stuff. Instructions from New York that I can handle alone.¡± ¡°Suit yourself. Take a few letterhead pads with you to keep in your office.¡± Chad followed Rashmi out and gave her his instructions. ¡°I¡¯ll get it organised immediately,¡± she said. That afternoon, he wrote a letter to Cohen & Partners in Dubai. It was time for Mohammed Eida to walk the talk.