Free Rigged by Ben Mezrich Page B

twenty-first-century roads, bridges, and tunnels. Camels on dirt paths just twenty yards from Ferraris on superhighways, Arabic men and women in traditional robes and burkas strolling past Europeans in Armani suits and the latest fashions of the Parisian runways. London was cosmopolitan; this was simply another planet altogether.
    “Like a dream,” Khaled said as he touched the floor-to-ceiling windowpane with his outstretched fingers. Directly ahead, in the distance, he could see the great Burj Al Arab Hotel rising up above the coastline, its beautiful billowing sail soaring a thousand feet into the air. Khaled had checked into the world’s only seven-star hotel the night before—and the miraculous construct had been even more mind-blowing at night, surrounded by dancing sculptures of water and fire. Beyond the Al Arab, he could just make out the palm tree–shaped man-made island, Palm Islands—still under construction, but already one of the great wonders of the modern world. And closer, nearly straight down from where he was standing, he could see the great arched, three-hundred-foot-high, glazed-granite building that acted as the entrance to the city’s work-in-progress financial center, the Gate.
    Khaled shook his head, stepping back from the window. The scale of it all was almost dizzying. Especially from twenty stories up in one of the most modern office buildings in the world.
    “Indeed, it is a dream. Though at times, you’ll see, even the most wonderful dreams have a way of keeping you awake at night. The work here never ends.”
    Khaled smiled as he turned to face the portly deputy finance minister. Minister Hakim Al Wazali was a good head shorter than Khaled, with a round, amiable face, puffy cheeks, and thick, sausagelike lips. His white ceremonial robes did not help his appearance, making him seem more marshmallow than man—but Khaled knew that this marshmallow was actually one of the more powerful people in the region, and truly deserving of his post at the forefront of one of the greatest financial miracles in Middle Eastern history.
    “It is an absolute honor to be here. I thank you for the opportunity from the bottom of my heart,” Khaled responded, and he truly meant what he said. Looking around the glass-walled office, at the sophisticated decor that included a glass desk with inboard computer, multiple flat-screen TVs, bookshelves filled with finance texts resting side by side with religious literature and political tomes—it was a dream come true.
    He could hardly believe that this office was now his own.
    “No need to thank me,” Hakim said, waving a thick hand in the air. “Your résumé is nothing short of spectacular. Top grades at Cambridge and the University of Geneva Business School. Five languages, proficiency in computers, mathematics, and religious law—we were lucky to find you.”
    Khaled nodded, accepting the compliment, though inside he felt a slight tinge of guilt. He knew his résumé was only part of the reason he had been offered the position, working directly beneath the finance minister in this office in the staggeringly modern Emirates Tower, just two floors below the minister’s own. The truth was, his uncle was a great friend to the nation as a whole, and a personal friend of Sheik Maktoum bin Rashid Al Maktoum, the all-powerful emir of the magical city-state. Sheik Maktoum and his brother, Sheik Muhammed, had created this futuristic oasis by sheer force of will; Khaled’s uncle had sent Khaled to work for them because, in his mind, there was no greater place for a young man to grow into a true leader.
    “Anyway,” Hakim said, pulling his robes around him as he headed for the office’s smoked-glass door, “I’ll give you a chance to settle in before afternoon prayer. After prayer, I’ll take you to meet the rest of the staff. You’ll see that we have a top-notch operation—you’ll fit right in, I’m sure.”
    Khaled thanked the man again and watched as