Layover in Dubai by Dan Fesperman

rough, prepared to haul Sharaf to safety at a moment’s notice. Anything less, and he might never resurface.
    Just thinking about it made him a little short of breath. Or maybe he was just tired. He sighed deeply, shut his notebook, and headed for the exit.

     
    4
    “Who the hell was that?” Sam asked after Lieutenant Assad shut the door.
    “A nuisance. One you needn’t worry about.”
    “Callous jerk is more like it.”
    Sam hadn’t liked the look of him. Another officer in green, but his uniform had sagged like the skin of a toad, or a balloon losing its air. Hot air, at that.
    “Will he be wanting to talk to me?”
    “No,” the lieutenant said. “It is not his case. If he tries to contact you, I want to know immediately.”
    Just what Sam needed, to get caught in a turf war between rival cops. For the moment at least, he seemed to have landed on the right side.
    “Should I refuse to speak with him?”
    “Yes. And you will be perfectly within your rights.”
    “I’ll tell him you said so. I’d like to keep this as uncomplicated as possible, at least until our chief of corporate security arrives. She’s due later today.”
    “She has already phoned.” Assad consulted his notes. “Miss Weaver?”
    Nanette had moved fast, and Sam was grateful for her efficiency. He supposed he should have expected no less.
    “Where were we, then?” Assad asked.
    Sam hoped to avoid revisiting the awkward subject of why he had searched through Charlie’s pockets.
    “I, uh, believe we were talking about how long we’d been in the country.”
    “Thirty-six hours, you said. Meaning you arrived Friday afternoon.”
    Assad flipped back a few pages in the notebook. Sam cleared his throat and wiped his palms on his trousers. Charlie’s datebook was burning a hole in his pocket.
    “What I’d like you to do now, Mr. Keller, is to take me back through everything you two have done since your arrival. People you met, things you saw, particularly with regard to Mr. Hatcher, even on occasions when you might not know a name. Physical descriptions, whatever you can tell us. I know you are tired, and much of this may seem trivial. But there are people in Dubai who prey on wealthy businessmen who come to places like the York. Someone may have been following you all evening, or even from yesterday. The sooner I have any sort of lead, the sooner I can find who is responsible.”
    Where to begin? Sam had seen quite a lot in a short time, and most of it had left a vivid impression, beginning with Charlie himself. Sam had been nervous about how the old boy would greet him. But when they met at JFK Charlie bounded forward with the easy warmth of a shaggy retriever, a little overweight and a little untrimmed, his eyebrows arching readily in good humor. It was as if the Brussels job they’d cooperated on had ended only the week before, and they were picking up where they’d left off. Sam spent a few minutes feeling guilty about the role he was about to play, then decided to relax and let Charlie set the tone.
    It made for an easy passage, despite all the long hours on the plane, and from the moment they landed, Charlie had offered a running commentary on all things Dubai, beginning with the modernesque airport, which to Sam looked like a spaceport with palm trees and Armani billboards.
    “Take a good look,” Charlie said as they stood in the passport line. “But reserve final judgment ’til departure, when we run the gauntlet of Duty Free. Gold, caviar, Cuban cigars, shoppers in a frenzy. Last time I came through, a single planeload of Poles packed away sixty DVRs and eighty cases of Johnnie Walker Red. I just wish you could’ve been here for the arrival of one of those all-girl Aeroflot flights. Five a day, sometimes.”
    “All-girl?”
    “Whores. Flew ’em in a hundred at a time, like mail-order brides on the Wells Fargo. But that was before the government started paying attention. Not so easy anymore, alas.”
    Good to hear, Sam