Free Origin - Season Two by Nathaniel Dean James Page A

sir?” the guard said.
    “A client,” Francis said. “A very wealthy client who I’m sure would be most grateful to you for letting us get on our way.”
    “And where is this meeting?” the guard said.
    Francis considered telling him it was none of his damn business, but thought better of it. “The Burj Al Arab.”
    “Let me get this straight,” the guard said. “You have a meeting in twenty minutes at the Burj Al Arab with a very wealthy client. Correct?”
    “Yes. I’m pretty sure that’s what I just said.”
    “Well, I hate to disappoint you, sir,” the guard said, “but the Burj Al Arab has been closed for over a week. Perhaps you want to try another answer?”
    Before Francis could reply the guard sent his colleague back to the patrol car.
    “I’ll need you to wait here,” the guard said.
    “Listen,” Francis said. “I may have gotten the hotel wrong. The truth is I go to so many meetings it all just kind of—you know.”
    “You can explain it to the police when they get here,” the guard said. “Perhaps they can help you find the correct hotel.”
    “Is it a question of money?” Francis said. “I know your time is valuable, sir. And we’re wasting it.”
    “Now he offers me a bribe,” the guard said. “My friend, perhaps you should stop speaking. For your own sake.”
    Francis, his mind now racing, surveyed the scene. Titov, who had remained silent throughout this exchange, was looking at him with wide eyes.
    “Start the car,” Francis said, mouthing the words rather than saying them. Titov nodded and reached for the ignition.
    “Now,” Francis said.
    The guard jumped as Titov revved the engine into the red. Francis tackled him to the ground and kept running. The guard who had returned to the patrol car was on the phone. When he saw Francis he dropped it and reached for his gun, but he was too late. Francis knocked him into the driver’s seat and slammed the door on his protruding leg, then ran back and kneed his colleague in the ribs as he tried to get to his feet. He picked his passport off the ground and jumped into the Porsche just as Titov popped the clutch. The rear tires screeched, sending up a cloud of white smoke.
    “I really hope you have a plan,” Titov said. “Because if you don’t, we’re both dead.”
    “Oh, I don’t know,” Francis said. “I think I’m the one who would be dead. You’d probably just end up in jail for a very long time.”
    When they reached the highway, Titov pushed the accelerator to the floor and took the car up to a hundred and ten.
    “Slow down,” Francis said. “No need to advertise where we are. Get off at the next exit and head for the coast.”
    “We gonna make a swim for it?” Titov said.
    “Actually, I’m thinking we might be able to get away with a little more style than that.”
    As they turned off the highway three police cars came flying by in the opposite direction, lights flashing and sirens blaring. They crossed an enormous turning circle and joined the road running parallel to the coast.
    “Pull in there,” Francis said, pointing to a parking lot in front of a complex of glass-fronted buildings. “We need to get rid of this thing.”
    They left the car in the parking lot, crossed the street on foot and set off in the direction of the water just as two more police cars came thundering past. Five minutes later they were strolling along a white, sandy beach.
    Dubai being what it was, it didn’t take Francis long to find what he was looking for. The marina was surrounded on two sides by a wide breakwater that extended several hundred yards into the sea before curving sharply to form an artificial bay of sorts. It sported a collection of perhaps two hundred yachts, ranging in size from the merely absurd to the completely ridiculous. Anchored beyond the breakwater was a vessel that looked more like a pocket cruise ship than a yacht.
    “I don’t mean to sound pessimistic,” Titov said, “but how far do you think we