phone.
“Well, let us circumvent the obvious ethical problems of breaking into a locked box. We’ll assume the person who sent it to you didn’t mean you to be unable to open it.”
Qasid stood and walked across the wide expanse of the room to the back corner. Here a large breakfast bar extended away into the kitchen. He opened a cupboard and pulled out a large glass pitcher, which he filled with water and placed on the side.
“You think I might have been sent it for safekeeping?” Blake asked, as he appreciatively accepted a glass of iced drink.
“It’s possible but I don’t believe so.” Qasid said, pulling up a number on his phone. “I think you were meant to have the contents and use them.”
“Why?” Blake asked.
“ You’re a journalist. Who would send you a locked box and expect you not to look inside? And fortunately for you I know just the gentleman to help us do just that.”
15
Asp and Mehr Zain walked through the landscaped gardens around the base of the Flamenco Towers in Dubai’s marina district. They sipped store-bought coffees as they mingled among the joggers and mums taking their children for a trip around the small lake. On the far side of the high-rise apartments, yachts of the Gulf’s super elite bobbed gently on the artificial harbour waters.
A bird looped low, trilling as it flew between the jacaranda trees.
“Dubai is amazing,” Zain commented as it began hopping along the branches.
“It’s an Indian Warbler,” Asp said dismissively. “It’s a common and familiar bird in North Oman. You can tell from the long beak, grey back and bright turquoise plumage about the neck and belly.”
Asp’s head was bowed. He hadn’t even looked up, identifying the bird simply from its song.
“Ten years ago,” Mehr continued, “this was an arid desert wasteland in the middle of nowhere. When I arrived there was no wildlife. The place was sterile.”
Mehr loved birds.
He didn’t go bird spotting or read about them in books, there was hardly time in his life for that kind of frivolity. Yet, he had always thought them beautiful creatures. Often, in his most wistful moments, he imagined how his life might have been if he’d been born wealthy or been brought up somewhere other than the slums of Cairo’s downtown district, say in America, or Ireland – he’d visited that country on work with Asp: its green beauty, happy people and troubled history seemed different, yet somehow so complimentary to the Middle East’s.
An ornithologist. Or a falconer. Perhaps he’d have owned an aviary. In another life, birds with their delicacy and freedom, their speed and strength, would have been a poignant symbol for him, he decided.
Asp drank his Americano. Mehr watched his friend let the acidic taste of the thick, black liquid wash around his tongue before he swallowed.
“It’s funny to think we’re witnessing life colonise a completely new place,” Zain said, waving his arms with enthusiasm. “Now the parks are slowly filling with nature to compliment what man has restored.”
Asp stopped and stared out across the pond. He picked up a palm-sized pebble.
“You’re right it’s amazing,” he said, throwing the stone out across the water and watching it skip across the surface. “You’d think they’d have all been eaten by the stray cats.”
The stone ricocheted, bouncing as surely across the cobalt flatness of the lake as a well struck ping pong ball dances across a table.
“Boss, with the greatest of respect, you’re a buzz kill,” Zain replied. “Dubai is in the neighbourhood from hell. If you were buying a house, you wouldn’t want one on this street. Living around you, you’ve got Iran, Iraq, Syria, Yemen, Palestine, Israel and Saudi Arabia. The fact that this place is so free – so easy-going – is a wonder of the modern age. Dubai is truly a blessed and special place.”
The arches of the pebble lessened until, with a satisfying plop, it sank from view.
“Well, let us circumvent the obvious ethical problems of breaking into a locked box. We’ll assume the person who sent it to you didn’t mean you to be unable to open it.”
Qasid stood and walked across the wide expanse of the room to the back corner. Here a large breakfast bar extended away into the kitchen. He opened a cupboard and pulled out a large glass pitcher, which he filled with water and placed on the side.
“You think I might have been sent it for safekeeping?” Blake asked, as he appreciatively accepted a glass of iced drink.
“It’s possible but I don’t believe so.” Qasid said, pulling up a number on his phone. “I think you were meant to have the contents and use them.”
“Why?” Blake asked.
“ You’re a journalist. Who would send you a locked box and expect you not to look inside? And fortunately for you I know just the gentleman to help us do just that.”
15
Asp and Mehr Zain walked through the landscaped gardens around the base of the Flamenco Towers in Dubai’s marina district. They sipped store-bought coffees as they mingled among the joggers and mums taking their children for a trip around the small lake. On the far side of the high-rise apartments, yachts of the Gulf’s super elite bobbed gently on the artificial harbour waters.
A bird looped low, trilling as it flew between the jacaranda trees.
“Dubai is amazing,” Zain commented as it began hopping along the branches.
“It’s an Indian Warbler,” Asp said dismissively. “It’s a common and familiar bird in North Oman. You can tell from the long beak, grey back and bright turquoise plumage about the neck and belly.”
Asp’s head was bowed. He hadn’t even looked up, identifying the bird simply from its song.
“Ten years ago,” Mehr continued, “this was an arid desert wasteland in the middle of nowhere. When I arrived there was no wildlife. The place was sterile.”
Mehr loved birds.
He didn’t go bird spotting or read about them in books, there was hardly time in his life for that kind of frivolity. Yet, he had always thought them beautiful creatures. Often, in his most wistful moments, he imagined how his life might have been if he’d been born wealthy or been brought up somewhere other than the slums of Cairo’s downtown district, say in America, or Ireland – he’d visited that country on work with Asp: its green beauty, happy people and troubled history seemed different, yet somehow so complimentary to the Middle East’s.
An ornithologist. Or a falconer. Perhaps he’d have owned an aviary. In another life, birds with their delicacy and freedom, their speed and strength, would have been a poignant symbol for him, he decided.
Asp drank his Americano. Mehr watched his friend let the acidic taste of the thick, black liquid wash around his tongue before he swallowed.
“It’s funny to think we’re witnessing life colonise a completely new place,” Zain said, waving his arms with enthusiasm. “Now the parks are slowly filling with nature to compliment what man has restored.”
Asp stopped and stared out across the pond. He picked up a palm-sized pebble.
“You’re right it’s amazing,” he said, throwing the stone out across the water and watching it skip across the surface. “You’d think they’d have all been eaten by the stray cats.”
The stone ricocheted, bouncing as surely across the cobalt flatness of the lake as a well struck ping pong ball dances across a table.
“Boss, with the greatest of respect, you’re a buzz kill,” Zain replied. “Dubai is in the neighbourhood from hell. If you were buying a house, you wouldn’t want one on this street. Living around you, you’ve got Iran, Iraq, Syria, Yemen, Palestine, Israel and Saudi Arabia. The fact that this place is so free – so easy-going – is a wonder of the modern age. Dubai is truly a blessed and special place.”
The arches of the pebble lessened until, with a satisfying plop, it sank from view.
Similar Books
