Arabian Storm (The Hunter Killer Series Book 5) by George Wallace (different ereaders .txt) 📕

Rothbert noticed a strange light shining in the Arab’s eyes. They seemed to glow with an inner fire. As Nabiin sat up even straighter, his words appeared to be emanating from some inner source.

Rothbert could not help it. A chill ran up his spine, even though the cave room was warm and comfortable.

“Al mu’min will soon be performing Allah’s bidding, and for that, they will need resources. You will distribute those resources precisely according to my instructions but in a way that will be undetectable by the usual observers. We know you are well acquainted with the methods to do such a thing. There will be some other inconvenient banking laws and borders that you will necessarily avoid, using the means with which you and your company are also well versed. You and your bank have proven your discretion and willingness to accomplish our goals in the past, even when they required, shall we say, unorthodox manipulations. And we have taken the liberty to inquire about you and your abilities from several other… how should I describe them?… off-the-books customers of yours. We have observed for some time your company’s willingness to bend or circumvent unnecessary regulations to protect your customers’ interests. We are convinced that Starling-Rothbert will fit our needs and continue to serve us during this next most important phase of our operation. Let me again stress the importance of these transactions remaining utterly discreet. For such service, you will be very well compensated and continue to benefit from our very lucrative association.”

The banker had already almost choked on his last bite of kahk. He slurped some tea to clear his throat.

“But Shaik Khalid, you must understand that our firm must always pledge to observe…”

“Nabiin, the Prophet.”

“What? Yes. Yes, of course. Nabiin, the Prophet, we certainly must follow all laws and regulations of any country in which we have financial dealings. I could never agree on the record to...”

Nabiin suddenly stood and waved a large hand in Norman Rothbert’s face.

“Mr. Rothbert, you have done just that, for us, for others, and we know about all of them. And you will continue to do so, at our behest. As of this moment, you are my khadim, my servant. A khadim does as he is told, without question or hesitation. That is Allah’s will.”

“Nabiin, so I am to gather that you brought me here to threaten me. Well, I must tell you…”

Nabiin suddenly dropped to his knees, his face inches from Rothbert’s, his eyes blazing.

“Your wife, Nadine, is at this very moment at Nail and Brush Spa on West 51st Street in Manhattan, enjoying her twice monthly massage from Lars, a muscular and quite queer person, in your country illegally from Sweden. Your daughter, Samantha, is five years old next month with a party already planned at a certain establishment named Chuck E. Cheese. She is now in mothers’-day-out at St. Luke’s, adjacent to Grant Park. On Thursdays, she studies her numbers and learns a song about Jesus which she will sing for you when you make your regular call home tonight at 7:00 p.m. Eastern Standard Time. I should also note that if your government’s Securities and Exchange Commission knew even an iota of the details of your company’s recent dealings with a certain Panamanian company named Petro-Plasm Industries, you would be under indictment within a week. We know far more than an iota of those details, Mr. Rothbert, and would be delighted to share them with the proper authorities. As well as myriad details about many other such dealings. Need I go on?”

Rothbert swallowed hard, his heart pounding, suddenly finding it even more difficult to breathe the thin, dry air in this place.

“No. That is not necessary.”

“Then I look forward to a long and prosperous relationship, my khadim, my servant. We will, together, do Allah’s will. Quietly and discreetly. Exactly as I direct. And now you know why I required you to meet with me face-to-face, Mr. Rothbert. I had to look you in the eye to adequately assure you of the importance of the nature and the requirements of our continued business relationship. Are you convinced, Mr. Rothbert?”

The banker nodded vigorously.

Nabiin glared at him a full fifteen seconds, his eyes still burning. Then the old man stood abruptly, amazingly agile for one so large and elderly. He dismissively waved Rothbert toward the door to the outside as it swung open. One of the men who had pulled him up the rock face stood there in the bright sunlight, waiting.

Rothbert glanced back toward Nabiin, but the man had vanished.

1

A shimmering pale-yellow sun illuminated an almost perfectly placid and peaceful sea. Torrid high-summer humidity stifled even the tiniest hint of a refreshing breeze. The Arabian Sea’s deep blue water lay undisturbed, glass-like calm, in all directions. Not even an errant gull disturbed the blank scene.

The docile vista he watched through his periscope lens did not fool Commander Ashwinder Vikat. As commanding officer of the submarine INS Argihat SSBN 86, the Indian Navy’s newest ballistic missile-armed nuclear submarine, his instincts told him better. The captain stepped back from the periscope and wiped sweat from his brow with his handkerchief. He paused, pondered for just a second why he would be sweating in the cool, dark control room. Then he glanced around quickly, seeing if any of his crew noticed. And also to make sure his largely inexperienced team was still attentive to their scopes, screens, and gauges. Only then did he step back up to the periscope to once again stare at the vast blue emptiness that stretched out in all directions only fifteen or so meters above the hull of his submersible ship.

It was a thought that often entered Commander Vikat’s mind as he surveyed the sea. How difficult