Layover in Dubai by Dan Fesperman

Author:Dan Fesperman
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery And Suspense Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Fiction - Espionage, American Mystery & Suspense Fiction, Dubai (United Arab Emirates), Fiction, Suspense, Thriller, Thrillers, Suspense fiction, General, Crime, Espionage
ISBN: 9780307268389
Publisher: Random House, Inc.
Published: 2010-08-15T07:00:00+00:00

14

“I’ve sold you into slavery,” said the grinning man whom Laleh had just introduced as Ali al-Futtaim. “Not really, of course, but that’s what it’s going to feel like.”

Sam looked to Laleh for further explanation, or some hint of a smile to indicate this was Ali’s idea of a joke. He noticed she had put on an abaya for Ali’s benefit. She shrugged and shook her head, seemingly as befuddled as he was.

The three of them stood in Laleh’s office with the door closed. It was dusk, and everyone else had gone home. Her work space contained none of the ambiguity of her bedroom. White walls, gray trim, all the furniture upholstered in red. Nothing frilly or frivolous, but there were plenty of designs and mock-ups for proposed advertisements and marketing campaigns, posted on walls and easels, and spread across the broad white expanse of her desk. The desk itself resembled a command post—three-sided, with two phones, a PC, and a Mac. The Mac had a flat-screen monitor bigger than the television in her bedroom.

The view through her smoked-glass window looked out across Jumeirah Beach Road toward the palms of the Royal Mirage resort and beyond, across the emerald waters of the Persian Gulf. Off to the right, you could see the glittery archipelago of the huge Palm development, with its beehive of new villas and hotels.

From his hiding place in the office next door, Sam had listened for more than seven hours as phones rang and people came and went in the corridor. Some were her employees, others were clients. All sought her advice, and everyone spoke English. Once or twice he overheard animated discussions in which Laleh’s point of view sometimes yielded ground but always prevailed. Not by fiat, but by persuasion. The prevailing attitude among her employees seemed to be that Laleh Sharaf knew what she was doing, and you had better as well if you wanted to keep working there. Not once in those seven hours had Sam heard the call to prayer. Either no one had yet built a mosque out this way or the nearest muezzin wasn’t amplified enough to overcome the insulated walls and the constant sigh of air-conditioning.

Sam realized he had judged Laleh unfairly from all the trappings in her bedroom. No matter how she’d come up with the money to start her business, this was no dabbler or hobbyist. She was a young woman with a plan, a dedicated professional.

The question now was what to make of this fellow Ali, who frankly seemed a touch too slick to be a confidant of a rumpled old pro like Sharaf. His white kandoura was pressed and spotless, which made it seem as if he was gliding with every step. He wore a spicy scent and had an enormous watch and three rings on his fingers. From his smooth English and his familiar and comfortable manner it was clear he was accustomed to dealing with people of every nationality from all walks of life.

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