Wild Storm

CHAPTER 26

SOMEWHERE IN THE MIDDLE EAST

He didn’t have the address. He didn’t have a map. He was more or less groping his way there on feel, telling himself with each turn that his route still looked familiar.

The only things going for Professor Raynes were that the cargo truck had been fully gassed up and that he had been to Ahmed’s place twice before.

The gas was good, because already his credit card wasn’t working. It told him the Egyptian authorities were on to him and were taking steps to make his movements more difficult.

And his faint recognition of his route was good because he couldn’t waste time reaching Ahmed. Raynes had concluded that the man who had let him run off — Talbot, or whatever his name was — was actually quite correct. The promethium in back was a fine retirement plan. He would cash it in and disappear to somewhere no one would be looking for him. Maybe somewhere in the Mediterranean. Like Elba. If it was good enough for Napoleon, it was good enough for Professor Raynes.

He could feel his desperation growing as the time clicked on and he still hadn’t arrived. He was sure he was lost at least twice, then he would recognize another landmark, telling him he was on the right track.

Then, finally, as the sun began to set and the lights of the suburban neighborhood he was crawling around started to come on, he found it: the narrow road that led to the walled compound where Ahmed conducted his business.

He saw the familiar sign — AHMED TRADES METAL, it said in Arabic — outside the gated entrance, which had a guard shack next to it. He was greeted by a man with an AK-47 hanging from a strap in front of him.

Raynes announced himself, and said he was there to talk to Ahmed. The man then spoke into a two-way radio. Raynes could hear angry words pouring out of it. The name Stanford Raynes had become an unpopular one in this place.

But eventually the man with the rifle said, “Okay. Come on.”

The man got out of the guard shack, opened the gate, and waved Raynes to a spot just off the driveway, not far from the main house, under the long shadow of a tall eucalyptus tree.

“Wait in the truck. Someone will come for you,” the man said, then returned to the guard shack, closing the gate behind him.

Raynes did as instructed, cutting the truck’s engine. He gazed at the inside of the compound. All around him, heaping piles of scrap metal sat, slowly oxidizing. He recognized a mound that was strictly junk cars. Another was primarily refrigerators and other abandoned household goods. Yet another was tangles of wire of varying gauges.

Raynes had never given much thought to who Ahmed was or what he did with the promethium. He had assumed, quite simply, that Ahmed was nothing more than the proprietor of a business called Ahmed Trades Metal. Was he really a terrorist, as Talbot suggested? Or was that something Talbot was just saying to throw Raynes off?

At this point, Raynes didn’t particularly care. He had worked too hard throughout his life to end up penniless and imprisoned. He’d sell to the devil himself. And if he already had? Well, so be it.

After five minutes or so, a man appeared. It was one of the men from the botched promethium exchange earlier in the day. He had a bandage on his bicep with a dapple of blood soaking through. He winced as he walked, glaring at Raynes the whole time. There was no question who he blamed for his discomfort.

“Come on,” he said. “This way.”

The man led Raynes to the main house and into Ahmed’s office, where he and Ahmed had conducted business before. Ahmed was not there yet.

“Sit,” the bandaged man said, as he then departed the room.

Raynes selected one of the two chairs in front of Ahmed’s desk. In the corner, there was a flat screen television playing Al Jazeera with the sound off. The professor’s gaze shifted to the large painting that covered most of the east wall of the room. It was a man — a fisherman, by the looks of him — wading into a river to retrieve an ornate trunk. It was obviously a scene from a fable or piece of Middle Eastern mythology, but Raynes wasn’t immediately familiar with it.

Two minutes later, Ahmed himself walked into the room. He had a bandage on his shoulder. He did not sit down, but stood where he could tower over Raynes.

“You have a lot of nerve showing up here,” Ahmed said.

“That wasn’t my man shooting at you, and I’m sorry he did,” Raynes replied. “I told him specifically not to. He was acting on his own.”

Ahmed narrowed his eyes. “Why should I believe that you didn’t set us up? Why should I believe that your plan wasn’t to kill us all and take my money?”

“Because, believe me, if that man wanted to kill you, you would be dead right now. And, besides, I’m here now.”

“That’s only because your plan failed. I should have one of my men come in and shoot you in the head right now.”

“Slow down, slow down,” Raynes said, his voice calm. “Think it through. Why would I want to harm you or your men? We have a very profitable business relationship. You pay me good money for my promethium. To my knowledge, you are the only man who has cultivated a large market for promethium here in Egypt. But, at the same time, I’m your only source for that promethium. We need each other.”

Ahmed glowered down at Raynes for a moment more, then walked over and sat behind his desk. “So, yes, you are here. Why?”

“Because I want to complete the transaction,” Raynes said.

“Very well. I’ll have my men remove the promethium from the truck and replace it with the money. The bills are unmarked, as you requested.”

With his left hand, the only one that was working very well at the moment, Ahmed reached for a two-way radio.

“Not so fast,” Raynes said. “It has to be more.”

“More? More what?”

“More money.”

Ahmed furrowed his brow. “That’s not our deal. You have the nerve to shoot my men and then demand more money?”

“Promethium sells for three thousand dollars an ounce.”

“On open channels,” Ahmed said. “We both know the private market is a different matter.”

“Still, I’ve been giving it to you for nine hundred. I want a bigger cut.”

“How much bigger.”

“Eighteen hundred.”

“That’s outrageous!”

“That’s now the price,” Raynes said, leaning back in the chair, keeping his gaze steady.

Ahmed returned it. He no longer had his hand on his radio. He was now stroking his beard. It made him look thoughtful.

“You are doubling the price because this is your last shipment,” Ahmed declared.

“No, no. That’s not it. I’m just…I think it’s fair I get a bigger slice of the action. You’re still getting the promethium you want.”

Raynes could hear his own voice faltering and hated the sound of it.

“My father taught me long ago how to spot a liar sitting in that chair, and you are lying,” Ahmed said, growing more sure of himself. “That man who shot at us is now in control of your encampment. And if he is in control of your encampment, he is in control of your promethium.”

“That’s…that’s not true. I mean, yes, the dig site is…it is lost to me. But the promethium, I can get back to it. The man who shot you doesn’t know where it is. It is well hidden.”

“I don’t believe you,” Ahmed said. “In any event, I’m changing the deal. I am not buying promethium from you today. You are giving me this shipment, as a sign of good faith and as compensation for the wounds my men and I have suffered. When you return with a new shipment — as you say you are capable of doing — we can negotiate a fair price. Perhaps even a small increase. But this one is, as you Americans say, ‘on the house.’”

Raynes could feel his panic rising. He couldn’t give away his retirement plan. Without it, he’d have nothing. His credit card was already frozen. His bank accounts probably had been, too.

“No. Absolutely not. Fine, I’ll…I’ll stick with nine hundred. A deal is a deal.”

Ahmed was smiling. “I’m sorry. The deal has already changed.”

Raynes stared hard at Ahmed. Then he reached into his thobe and pulled out the Pocket Police. Ahmed didn’t know Raynes was down to one bullet. He aimed it in the direction of Ahmed’s turban-wrapped head.

“I’m not here to be pushed around,” Raynes said.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” Ahmed said. “That’s not good business.”

“Yeah? And what are you going to do about it?” Raynes demanded.

Ahmed held up two fingers. “This,” he said.

From the chamber behind the painting of the fisherman, from within Ahmed’s beloved aman — his safe place — came a single bullet. It entered the left side of Raynes’s skull and exited the right, followed by a thick spray of blood and brain matter.

Ahmed clapped and two men appeared. “Clean this up,” Ahmed said. “And take the body to the smelter. We’ll burn it in the morning.”