“I think that I will continue to host Rolf and Gretchen until after your hearing,” Sheikh Hakeem said. “It would be better that way, I think. Temptation can make people behave in ways that they normally wouldn’t.”
“What about those two men?” Krista asked.
“Come with me,” Sheikh Hakeem said, getting to his feet and leading the way out the tent and down towards the beach where they found his men digging a hole well over six feet deep, Chet and Pavel lying on the sand moaning in pain.
As they stared in shock, the sheikh’s men tossed the men unceremoniously into the hole after helping the diggers out, the turning tide already seeping into the bottom of the hole.
“A man should always be prepared to pay the price for an act of folly,” Sheikh Hakeem said as they watched the two men struggle to their feet, their ankles and wrists still bound by zip-ties, futilely trying to scale the soft sand walls, only to cause it to cave in. They watched for 15 minutes, the water slowly rising, only turning away and following the sheikh back to the tent when the loose wet sand had covered their heads.
“It is not something that I do lightly, though it needed doing,” Sheikh Hakeem told them when they were back in the tent. “Now, I imagine that you safely have two days. What would you like from me?”
“I need an internet connection so that I can charter a jet to take us to The Gambia,” Zach replied.
“I’ll make it even easier for you,” Sheikh Hakeem said, smiling. “I’ll have you flown there in my personal Gulfstream G550.”
“You-you have a Gulfstream?” Krista asked, awed.
“I find it convenient when I must travel,” Sheikh Hakeem replied with a smile.
“Sheikh Hakeem, how can I ever thank you or repay you?” Susan said, overcome.
“Dear lady, we Bedouin might seem primitive and backwards to the modern world, but we have an ancient, rich culture. Abraham himself was a Bedouin. We are a matriarchal society, even though men ostensibly rule. I’m sure you have seen in these few weeks who really wields the power here,” he added with a smile. “My honor could not tolerate not helping when a woman is threatened, especially not for mere lucre.”
“You must let me reimburse you for your expenses at the least,” Susan said.
“The two of you sharing my bed one last time is recompense enough for me,” Sheikh Hakeem said. “And when any of you realize that the world you are going back to isn’t for you and you long for the simplicity and purity of our Bedouin life, our tent will always be your tent.”
“I-I don’t know what to say,” Susan said, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.
“You might do me one kindness, though,” Sheikh Hakeem said. “Even with the finest of educations and top honors, our people still have difficulty in finding positions worthy of their academic achievements. The world barely tolerates educated Arabs, a Bedouin is beneath contempt, even to Arabs.”
“Anyone you send to me will have the full backing and support of the Kumms Corporation,” Susan said. “If we don’t ourselves need what they offer, we will know somebody who does. You have my word on it.”
“You do me great honor, lady,” Sheikh Hakeem said, taking her hand and softly kissing the back of it.
The next afternoon Sheikh Hakeem personally accompanied them to the Salalah International Airport, all red tape disappearing and their passports perfunctorily stamped before they boarded his Gulfstream G550.
When they landed at Banjul International Airport in The Gambia some 4, 700 miles and 10 hours later, they were still experiencing the culture shock of going from a nomadic desert existence to the quiet luxury of the Gulfstream. They found a taxi and asked to be taken to the Seafront Residences & Hotel near Bijilo National Park, also known at Monkey Park, some 11km west of the airport on the Atlantic Coast.
The Gambia is the smallest country within mainland Africa, located on the west coast and completely surrounded by Senegal with just 80km of Atlantic Ocean coastline. It is 210 miles east to west and 30 miles north to south and Banjul is the capital, with the Gambia River running the length, running 700 miles from the Fouta Djallon plateau in north Guinea and going through Senegal before entering The Gambia and continuing on its way to spill into the Atlantic Ocean at Banjul where it was almost 6 miles across. A former French and then British colony, most Gambians speak French and English, as well as one or more tribal tongues.
“Can I help you?” the heavy-set man behind the reception of the Seafront Residences & Hotel asked.
“We need a place to stay for a couple of weeks,” Zach replied.
“You’re not the usual tourists, are you?” the man asked. “We usually get mostly older women from northern and eastern Europe and Russia.”
“Rolf told us to come here,” Zach said.
“Rolf?” the man asked, his face blank. “I don’t know that I know anyone by that name.”
“He’s not from Hamburg,” Zach said, as Rolf had instructed him. Apparently he and Max — Zach already knew his name — had some less-than-legal business dealings from time to time.
“How is Rolf these days?” Max asked. “I’m Max.”
“It’s pretty hot in Oman right now,” Zach replied. “I’m Zach, this is Susan, and Krista. We need to be invisible for the next couple of weeks.”
“The law after you?” Max asked.
“No, angry husband,” Zach replied.
“No problem,” Max said. “One of our villas is vacant, which is very unusual this time of year. It’s got two bedrooms and is very private and comes with staff; maid, cook, and gardener.”
“How much for two weeks?” Zach asked.
“What currency?” Max asked.
“US dollars,” Zach replied.
“$2, 000,” Max said.
“We’ll take it,” Zach said, reaching into his bag and extracting $2, 000 and handing it to him.
“I’ll show you to the villa,” Max said. “Any luggage?”
“No,” Zach replied.
“You’ve never been to The Gambia before, have you?” Max asked as he led them across the property towards a villa behind a high wall.
“No,” Zach replied.
“Well, this area, the beach in front from the park about 500m to the right to another kilometer to the left, is why people come here,” Max explained. “The surf is never very severe, the water temperature is mild, and there are a couple hundred young men just waiting to entertain the women who come here to be entertained. They’re not dangerous or anything and they’re all pretty educated by African standards in this area, and they’re here — excuse me for being blunt, ladies — to fuck these older women who nobody wants anymore. They’re hung like horses and they know how to use them.”
“How delightful,” Susan said deadpan, smiling at Krista.
“Just so that you understand,” Max said as he opened the villa. “They respect the word no, but they’re even more willing to respond to yes.”
“And this happens on the beach, publicly?” Krista asked.
“It sure does,” Max said, nodding. “For a kilometer and a half along the beach you will see upwards of several hundred people having sex on the busy days. This time of the year there’s seldom less than 100 women on the beach just dying to get laid.”
“It sounds wonderful,” Krista said, smiling at the surprise on Max’s face.
“I’ll send some of the staff to go grocery shopping for you,” Max said.
“We’ll want lots of French champagne,” Krista said, “and white wines and beer.”