Layover in Dubai

Even ambitious flunkies had their limits, and Sharaf knew better than to risk further ill will.

“The affidavit, then. It looks finished.”

He snatched it from the desk before Habash could protest. Better than nothing, he supposed.

Habash looked doleful, as if he knew this would only lead to trouble. He nonetheless took Sharaf’s money and bolted for the door, hoping perhaps that everything would turn out okay if he fled quickly enough from the scene of the crime. His departure set off a fresh round of groans from the waiting area, where everyone was quick to note that only two of the six desks were now manned.

“This way,” Sharaf said to Keller.

The American looked like he didn’t know whether to be relieved or upset. Not having read the charges, Sharaf couldn’t yet say which reaction was more appropriate. He shut the door to his office. Keller took the only other chair, facing directly across the desk.

“I should have known you were behind this,” Keller said.

“Sergeant Habash seems to think it was Lieutenant Assad’s idea.”

“Oh, I see. Good cop, bad cop. Which one are you?”

“I’m the ignorant cop, looking for an education.”

“On a stupid trumped-up sex charge?”

“Sex charge? Assad is charging you for what happened at the York?”

“No. For what happened last night at the hotel. Or didn’t happen. It’s a complete misunderstanding, and if you’d just phone Ms. Weaver …”

“Please. Allow me to examine the paperwork. I might actually be able to help.”

The affidavit had been filed by the hotel security staff. Apparently someone had observed bawdy behavior on a hallway surveillance camera. Hardly the first time Sharaf had seen such a charge, but it was fairly astonishing at a high-ticket spot like the Shangri-La, where Westerners were generally allowed to cavort as much as they pleased, as long as it was behind closed doors. Perhaps the security man was new. Or maybe Assad had indeed played a role, seeking something in return.

“So they arrested you at your hotel room?”

“Woke me up. I was alone, of course, not that anyone cared. The whole thing’s ridiculous. All they need to do is contact Ms. Weaver. She’d clear it up in about ten seconds. By now she’s probably wondering where the hell I am. If this is your way of pressuring me for more information, you’re wasting your time. I’m more than willing to cooperate. This will only get a lot of people upset over nothing.”

Obviously the fellow had no idea what he was up against. But Keller wouldn’t be at all useful to him in this agitated state unless Sharaf could first develop some leverage.

“So you think this charge is nothing? Are you aware of the penalties in my country for this kind of behavior, Mr. Keller? I have seen men brought in on suspicion of prostitution simply for occupying the backseat of a taxi with an unmarried woman. Another poor fellow got three years—three years, sir—for disrobing on the beach at night with his girlfriend.”

Sharaf watched, satisfied, as Keller’s eyes widened.

“We are a young country, Mr. Keller. Young and wealthy. And like any young and wealthy individual, we can famously act on a whim, with a spirited temper to match. So, whatever you do, do not underestimate the grave potential of the charge facing you.”

Keller swallowed hard. Sharaf placed a freshly opened bottle of water before him, and the man dutifully drank some. When Keller next spoke, his voice was subdued, chastened.

“But I really did do nothing. Ms. Weaver will back me up.”

“Don’t worry, I will contact her shortly. We at least owe you that much. Yet what am I to make of this affidavit? The hotel staff cites the indisputable evidence of video footage in which you are very clearly seen entering the room of a female guest late last night. In an obvious state of intoxication, I might add.”

Keller reddened, then seemed to recover some of his previous spirit, and he sat up a little straighter. Sharaf was relieved to see it. In order for his plan—still hazy, still forming—to stand any chance of success, the American would first have to show some potential for tenacity, even rebelliousness.

“Look. Yes, I went in her room. Guilty as charged. But it was for business. I was delivering a …”

He paused, seeming to stumble as he reddened slightly. “I was delivering a business item that Ms. Weaver had requested. And if they check the time signature of the video they’ll no doubt see I was only there a few minutes.”

Sharaf wondered what sort of “business item” could have made him blush, but that was a subject for later.

“A lot can happen in a few minutes between a man and a woman, Mr. Keller, as you and I well know. But even the possibility of an illicit sexual congress could be overlooked if you hadn’t entered her room so forcefully.”

“Forcefully? She invited me in.”

“Apparently that’s not what the tape shows. I’ll read from the affidavit: ‘Subject then forced his way through doorway, despite female’s attempt to resist. Female pushed subject’s chest, but subject continued forward and shut door behind him.’”

“But that’s crazy. I—”

Keller stopped abruptly, and his frown disappeared.

“Okay,” he said, brightening. “I think I know what happened. She dropped her key card and nudged me back so she could stoop to pick it up. All the video probably shows is her hand coming out through the doorway to push me.