An Act of Treason

opened his leather briefcase and took out a file. “Good news and bad news, really bad news, I fear, Gunny, but the only deal that is open to us.”

Swanson liked this quiet and studious man. Obviously Ivy League by education, probably a good lawyer who decided to embark on a course of public service while he was still a young man. Most likely an old-school diplomat who had seen many a tight negotiation in his time. If he said the deal was the best, it probably was.

“There has been a hard bargain made, with the upside being that the Pakistani government doesn’t want you around. Therefore, a team from the Diplomatic Security Service will come over here at noon tomorrow, remove you from this prison, and take you to the embassy. Another twenty-four hours, Gunny. Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir. I can do that.”

Riles used his hand to flatten a typed document on the desk. “Now for the bad news. You are being charged with violating Article 118 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, specifically with unpremeditated murder. There are twelve specific charges, but that number probably will grow.” Riles looked at Swanson straight. “The maximum punishment will be directed by a military tribunal, and such punishment may include dishonorable discharge, forfeiture of all pay and allowances, and confinement for life.”

Swanson thought hard. “Not a death penalty?”

“That was part of the bargaining, son. No death penalty. You will be held in Fort Leavenworth, but the court- martial will be held at Camp Pendleton. At least we get you out of here and back in the USA, and you will have a fair trial, with a good lawyer. It’s the best I could do under the circumstances.”

Swanson slumped in the chair, mentally swinging between despair and happiness. He looked at Riles and gave a grim smile. “Okay, sir. Better than a piano wire around the neck some night over here. Thanks.”

Riles was on his feet. “I look forward to seeing you at the embassy tomorrow, Gunny. Get you cleaned up and some decent food and we can talk about this in more detail, with a temporary defense attorney present. Is there anything else I can do for you before I leave today?”

Swanson actually let out a little laugh. “Actually, there is. Downstairs I have to pee and crap in a bucket. I sure would like a trip to the warden’s bathroom before you call them back. I can waddle over there and will leave the door open. Won’t take but a minute, and I’d like to wash out my eyes, too.”

Riles started putting away the papers and strapping up his briefcase while Swanson made his slow way to the bathroom, closing the door slightly with his elbow. Moving to the toilet, he quickly scanned the small room, and when he finished urinating, he flushed and moved to the sink and turned on the water. A mirrored medicine cabinet was above it, and Kyle pulled it open and discovered a treasure chest of possibilities. He quickly grabbed a small roll of dental floss that he could keep in the palm of his hand and tucked a blue-handled plastic safety razor into the waistband of his trousers.

31

DUBAI

UNITED ARAB EMIRATES

JIM HALL TOLD THE taxi driver that waited at the front door of the beachfront hotel to drive him to the Burj Dubai mall. He wanted to buy several pairs of comfortable gloves that would serve until he could have some hand-crafted to disguise his missing finger. The sharp pain of having it severed was only a memory, and he was already exercising as if the digit were still there. He settled back into the soft seat and let the strong air conditioner flow while he watched the passing landscape.

So this is what is going to happen to the entire Middle East when the black gold runs out. Dubai was the second largest of the seven sheikdoms in the United Arab Emirates, but most of its oil wealth was controlled in Abu Dhabi, the capital of the federation. That had compromised the funds needed to pay for Dubai’s grandiose desires, so the city-state had concentrated instead on becoming an international trade and financial center, with the underpinning of real estate development, most of it through companies owned by the government. When the global banking and real estate markets utterly collapsed in the first decade of the twenty- first century, little Dubai was left with billions and billions of dollars’ worth of debt. It had taken years just to stabilize the economy, and even today apartment buildings, office complexes, avenues of private homes, and resort hotels stood unfinished in the desert sun.

In addition, sticking up in the middle of the desolation like a toothpick in the dirt stood the world’s tallest tower, the Burj Dubai, 2,717 feet high. Somehow the billionaires and the state would not let the project fail, as if national survival were at stake. Soon enough, the one being built over in Saudi Arabia would make the Burj Dubai look small in comparison, but Hall did not care.

The taxi let him off at one of the many entrances to the supermall attached to the tower, and Hall spent a couple of pleasant hours wandering around the shops. He found some gloves, watched the skaters gliding along the improbable giant indoor ice rink, visited the aquarium, and then drifted into the tower itself, stopping in the lavish lobby to read the long list of tenants. The energy consulting firm of Baker Harris & Associates occupied the entire seventh floor. It was a CIA front company that posed as a legitimate business, analyzing myriad amounts of energy data and production for clients while also trolling for intelligence nuggets for the Agency. Standing in the lobby, he dialed the business number on his cellular phone.

“Baker Harris and Associates,” came the greeting in English, the universal language of business. “How may I help you?” The answer was bland, giving away nothing.

“Connect me with Margaret Dunston’s office, please.”

“One moment.” A pause, a click, and a ring.

“Margaret Dunston’s office. This is Malia. May I help you?”

“Hello, Malia. I’m Preston James, a reporter for the Wall Street Journal. We’re putting together a story on the Dubai recovery efforts, and I wonder if Ms. Dunston might be able to give me a few minutes right now for an interview. I understand it is inconvenient and short notice, but I just happen to be in the tower and another interview canceled. Could you ask, please?”

“Oh, Mr. James, I’m so sorry. She is just starting an important luncheon meeting, and the rest of the day is packed full. Her schedule is absolutely jammed. I know she will be sorry not to be interviewed for your story, so if you leave me your… Hello? Hello?”

Jim Hall had hung up in her ear. All he had wanted was confirmation that covert CIA operative Maggie Dunston was in her office today. Which meant she would be returning home tonight. Where he would be waiting, just like in the old days.

A few hours later, in the sluggish dead heat of the afternoon, Hall strolled into her exclusive apartment building and directly to the elevator. The doorman gave him no more than a glance of attention because he looked vaguely familiar and walked as if he belonged in this exclusive enclave of foreigners. In the elevator, he punched twelve and got off on the exact floor of her apartment, making no attempt to cover his approach. He wanted people to remember this visit. Her door was the third on the right along the carpeted corridor and made of shining oak, not more secure metal. He knocked, not expecting an answer because he was sure Maggie still lived alone. He already had the key he had stolen two years ago in his hand, and it fit perfectly. A quick turn and the lock opened and he was inside, with the door closed and locked. Silent but for the hum of the central air-conditioning.

Margaret Dunston had been a project of his for years, starting when he was first assembling his plan of escaping the clutches of the CIA and getting rich. He had mentored her, courted and bedded her, made friends with her gray cat with the blue eyes, Sapphire, and stolen her apartment key.

The place was dim because she kept the blinds and curtains closed to deflect the heat. He peeked through the window coverings and once again saw the impressive view, beautiful if you liked flat land. The Burj Dubai Tower could not be seen from this angle. He let the drapes fall closed again. If she happened to glance up on the way home, they would seem undisturbed.

The furniture was expensive, and the apartment was well kept but not extremely neat. A big flat-screen television on a low black table dominated the main wall, and a built-in cabinet next to it contained a rack of home theater controls. A matched sofa and love seat combination faced it. Fashion magazines lay on a table, and there