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Authors: David M. Salkin
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and instructions to shut up. Tariq was terrified, but he tried his best to show courage. This was most likely just standard operating procedure when dealing with powerful men who had huge bounties on their heads. The car jostled and whined as it worked its way out of the old section of the city to a highway. Tariq didn’t know where he was, but when he felt the car hit smooth pavement and pick up speed, he knew he was on one of the major highways. Headed to where , he had no idea.
After an hour and a half of silence, one of the men up front instructed the man next to Tariq to remove the hood. Tariq blinked a few times and glanced around. He was on a major highway, which most likely meant Route 10. The highway cut through the orange desert like a road on Mars. As far as Tariq could see, there was nothing but wasteland and occasional steel towers from which hung heavy voltage wires. They allowed him to see, because there was nothing to be seen.
After another hour had passed, the men spoke in whispers up front, and the car slowed and made a right turn onto a smaller roadway. They snaked along a narrower two lane road, through rocky ravines and scrub grasses with herds of camels roaming freely through the desert. Tariq tried his best to get his bearings, knowing they had been heading east by the morning sun in his face. It had to be either Highway 10 or 40; they were the only major highways from Riyadh through the desert. Now that they had turned off, he was truly lost.
The car began bouncing again on squeaky shocks as the road became more primitive. As they came over a rise, a few farms with circular irrigation systems came into view—green circles on a Martian landscape. They drove off another road, and as they reached the area of irrigation, the wasteland came to life. Fields of crops appeared next to fields of solar panels. Barbed wire fences enclosed herds of cattle and sheep that roamed through fields of grass planted just for them. A large, well-maintained house appeared, and the car drove past it to another smaller house in the rear. They stopped, and Tariq and the others got out of the car.
There was no reason to speak. Tariq followed the men to the house, and they let themselves in. It was neat and comfortable inside, but they walked through the house and out the back door. Tariq found himself in the rear yard, which was enclosed by six foot stone walls. Dozens of sheep carcasses hung from a wire strung between two poles, the bloody sheepskins in a pile nearby. Alone at a small table sat Abu Mohamed, sipping tea under the shade of an awning.
He motioned for Tariq to sit with him, which he did. The men that had brought him stood silently nearby, out of the way.
Abu leaned forward and spoke quietly. “Fifty million dollars is quite a promise. What you asked for was also quite a large undertaking. I laid out millions to acquire your shipment. Millions of my own, as well as associates—investors, if you will. And now everyone needs to be paid. There was to be a truck.”
“Of course. The truck was sent. The fifty million is yours,” said Tariq nervously.
Abu leaned back and stroked the small chin beard. “The time and place was quite specific, Tariq. That was two days ago.”
Tariq felt his mouth go dry. “The truck was sent. I don’t understand?”
Abu looked over at his men, who immediately grabbed Tariq and had him up on his toes, one large man holding each arm very tightly. Abu walked over to the pile of sheep skins and picked up a long bloody knife.
He walked over to Tariq with the blade in his hands. “I’m only going to ask you one time. Where’s the money?”
Tariq’s face had turned white. “It was sent! Let me make a call!”
Abu studied him for a moment, and then spoke to his men. “Let him make his call.”
Tariq pulled a cell phone from his pocket with a shaking hand. He had been given a number to call in case of emergency, but only in case of emergency. Tariq stared at the knife and
After an hour and a half of silence, one of the men up front instructed the man next to Tariq to remove the hood. Tariq blinked a few times and glanced around. He was on a major highway, which most likely meant Route 10. The highway cut through the orange desert like a road on Mars. As far as Tariq could see, there was nothing but wasteland and occasional steel towers from which hung heavy voltage wires. They allowed him to see, because there was nothing to be seen.
After another hour had passed, the men spoke in whispers up front, and the car slowed and made a right turn onto a smaller roadway. They snaked along a narrower two lane road, through rocky ravines and scrub grasses with herds of camels roaming freely through the desert. Tariq tried his best to get his bearings, knowing they had been heading east by the morning sun in his face. It had to be either Highway 10 or 40; they were the only major highways from Riyadh through the desert. Now that they had turned off, he was truly lost.
The car began bouncing again on squeaky shocks as the road became more primitive. As they came over a rise, a few farms with circular irrigation systems came into view—green circles on a Martian landscape. They drove off another road, and as they reached the area of irrigation, the wasteland came to life. Fields of crops appeared next to fields of solar panels. Barbed wire fences enclosed herds of cattle and sheep that roamed through fields of grass planted just for them. A large, well-maintained house appeared, and the car drove past it to another smaller house in the rear. They stopped, and Tariq and the others got out of the car.
There was no reason to speak. Tariq followed the men to the house, and they let themselves in. It was neat and comfortable inside, but they walked through the house and out the back door. Tariq found himself in the rear yard, which was enclosed by six foot stone walls. Dozens of sheep carcasses hung from a wire strung between two poles, the bloody sheepskins in a pile nearby. Alone at a small table sat Abu Mohamed, sipping tea under the shade of an awning.
He motioned for Tariq to sit with him, which he did. The men that had brought him stood silently nearby, out of the way.
Abu leaned forward and spoke quietly. “Fifty million dollars is quite a promise. What you asked for was also quite a large undertaking. I laid out millions to acquire your shipment. Millions of my own, as well as associates—investors, if you will. And now everyone needs to be paid. There was to be a truck.”
“Of course. The truck was sent. The fifty million is yours,” said Tariq nervously.
Abu leaned back and stroked the small chin beard. “The time and place was quite specific, Tariq. That was two days ago.”
Tariq felt his mouth go dry. “The truck was sent. I don’t understand?”
Abu looked over at his men, who immediately grabbed Tariq and had him up on his toes, one large man holding each arm very tightly. Abu walked over to the pile of sheep skins and picked up a long bloody knife.
He walked over to Tariq with the blade in his hands. “I’m only going to ask you one time. Where’s the money?”
Tariq’s face had turned white. “It was sent! Let me make a call!”
Abu studied him for a moment, and then spoke to his men. “Let him make his call.”
Tariq pulled a cell phone from his pocket with a shaking hand. He had been given a number to call in case of emergency, but only in case of emergency. Tariq stared at the knife and
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