Deadly Straits (A Tom Dugan Novel) (4 page)

In the aft end of the hold, men emptied the weapons container, hoisting its contents over the main deck to the crumbling concrete dock, while forward, the chief engineer squatted on the deck, cutting through plating. The hissing torch changed pitch, and a neat circle of steel tumbled into the water of the ballast tank below, hot edges belching steam. Sheibani glanced up through the hatch at patches of blue sky through overhanging tree limbs and camouflage netting, then moved to the ladder, reviewing preparations as he climbed to the main deck. All that remained was rigging a web of wires around the hold, tight between the pad eyes at the bottom of the hold and the top of the hatch, to corral the boats directly under the open hatch. God willing, he could sink his prison at dawn. He would not miss
Alicia
or the heat or the Indonesian monkeys.

***

The sky was lightening as Sheibani stood with the crew on the dock.
Alicia
was below the dock now, and a short, steep gangway led down to main deck. The camouflage netting was gone and the hatch open to the sky as the chief engineer climbed the gangway.

“It is done, Major,” he said. “She’s down past her marks with the bow a bit deeper. I’ve started flooding the cargo hold through the broached ballast tanks. The water will run to the forward end and speed the sinking of the bow. The engine space aft will flood last. By the time the water shorts out the pumps, she will be free-flooding.” He paused. “God willing, she will settle straight down.”

Sheibani nodded and watched. Water rose in the hold, and the boats floated free, rising as the ship sank beneath them. Then
Alicia
’s
deck went under, and water poured over the hatch coaming, cascading down on the boats from all sides like a waterfall. The boats bounced and bobbed under the torrents, and within seconds
Alicia
fell out from under them with a great bubbling swirl. A relieved grin split the chief engineer’s face as the boats bobbed to the surface unharmed, and a spontaneous shout of “
Allahu Akbar
” rose from the throats of
Alicia
’s former crewmen.

***

The tile was cool on DeVries’s cheek as he lay trussed hand and foot. His head throbbed from the beating, and he felt the deck tilt beneath him as the hull moaned under unfamiliar stresses. The lights winked out and he closed his eyes and wished for an end to the bad dream, opening them as water wet his cheek. He flopped about in the deepening flood, cursing ships and the sea and his stiff-necked family. In the end, his grave was marked by a section of the bridge deck and the tops of the masts and king posts, rusted brown and blending with the surrounding jungle, the only sign that Captain Jan Pieter DeVries, master after God of the good ship
Alicia
, had gone down with his vessel.

Chapter Five

US Embassy
Singapore
27 May

Dugan sat in the same conference room, waiting. When Ward appeared, Dugan raised his eyebrows. “Where’s the Boy Wonder?”

“Gardner flew back to Langley this morning,” Ward said. “Management conference.”

Dugan snorted, then continued. “Any news on
Alicia
?”

Ward shook his head. “Negative. The Indonesians are being their usual noncooperative selves, but we have our own assets on the ground tracking down every available crane. And we’ve tasked the satellites to collect imagery of every dock capable of supporting a large crane and every anchorage deep enough to support a floating crane. We still got bubkes.”

“Crap.”

Ward shrugged. “It’s still our best lead. Obviously they’ve found a hiding spot, but, sooner or later, they’ll have to come to a crane or a crane has to come to them. Intelligence is a game of patience, Tom.”

Ward changed the subject. “You call Kairouz yet?”

“Since you’re bugging my calls, you know the answer to that.”

“Make the call.”

“So,” Dugan asked, “what happened to ‘intelligence is a game of patience’?”

Ward scowled.

“Don’t get your bowels in an uproar. My relief arrived last night, and I showed him around
Asian Trader
and gave him my turnover this morning. Alex will be expecting a call. I was just waiting until it seemed natural.”

“No time like the present,” Ward said.

Dugan sighed and pulled out his cell phone.

Offices of Phoenix Shipping
London

Alex’s stomach boiled from too much coffee, even at this early hour, and he was tense and irritable from lack of sleep. Nothing had been the same since Braun’s arrival with his thug Farley. He eyed his overflowing in-box. His productivity had suffered as well, and he’d instructed Mrs. Coutts to hold all calls while he attempted to clear the backlog.

He looked over, annoyed, as the intercom buzzed.

“Yes, Mrs. Coutts?”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but Mr. Dugan is on line one.”

He smiled despite the tension. Trust Dugan to charm his way past Mrs. Coutts. He mashed the flashing button.

“Thomas. How are you? Did Guido arrive?”

“I’m fine, Alex,” Dugan said. “I picked him up at Changi airport last night, and we walked the ship together this morning. She’s off the dry dock now and should shift to the ExxonMobil refinery to load sometime next week. Guido’s got it.”

“Excellent, Thomas, and thank you for helping me out in a bind.”

“No problem, Alex, but there’s something else I want to discuss. I think I’m ready to take you up on your offer and come to work for you full-time.”

Alex sat stunned. Thomas couldn’t come. Not now. If he sensed something wrong and went to the authorities—

“Alex, are you there?”

“Yes, yes, Thomas. I’m just … surprised. Why the change of heart after all these years? Are you serious? What about your consulting practice?”

“Serious as a heart attack,” Dugan said. “As to why, I guess you’ve finally convinced me I should spend more time behind a desk. And since you’re seventy percent of my billings anyway, I’m not concerned about the practice. If it doesn’t pan out, we’ll just go back to the way it was. You know money’s not an issue for me anyway, thanks to Katy’s financial wizardry.”

“What about Katy?” Alex asked. “Won’t she be upset if you move to London?”

Dugan laughed. “Let’s face it, Alex, I’m traveling most of the time anyway, and just because my kid sister lets me crash in her pool house between trips, doesn’t mean I’ll be missed that much. I’ll still get back home for holidays, which is about as much as they see me now, anyway.” Dugan paused. “But what’s with all the objections? You trying to talk me out of something you’ve spent ten years talking me into?”

“No, no, not at all. It’s just unexpected, and the timing is a bit … awkward. You see, I just hired a fellow as director of operations,” Alex lied on the fly, “with the understanding that he’ll eventually move into a newly created general-manager slot. I had no idea you’d reconsider, but if I bring you on now as general manager, he’ll take it as bad faith.”

“I see your problem, Alex. How about this? I don’t mind competing for the GM spot, so why don’t you hire me for a trial period as this guy’s equal, say director of engineering. Then after a while, you decide who’s the best fit. If I later decide to leave, you have this new guy in place. If we decide I should continue, you’ll have a choice. It will be no hardship for me to resign later if necessary.”

The logic was unassailable. Alex stalled again.

“You’ve really caught me by surprise, Thomas. May I call you back?”

“Sure, Alex,” Dugan said, “take your time.”

“Fine, Thomas. Talk to you soon.”

Alex Kairouz disconnected and buried his face in his hands.

***

“Captain Braun, Mr. Kairouz is not to be disturbed,” Mrs. Coutts said.

Braun stood in Alex’s door, hand on the knob as he glared back over his shoulder.

Mrs. Coutts gave Alex a look of helpless apology.

“It’s fine, Mrs. Coutts,” Alex said.

She nodded and retreated to her desk.

Braun shut the door and moved to Alex’s favorite armchair.

“You should sack that old bitch, Kairouz, and get someone easier on the eyes,” he said, pointing to the sofa. “But come sit. I don’t have all day.”

Alex stood, stiff with rage. “I’m cooperating, Braun, so don’t abuse my staff. Clear?”

“That’s
Captain
Braun, and you’re
not
cooperating, or that old hag wouldn’t interfere. She’ll have an accident if she isn’t careful. Is
that
clear? Now sit,” Braun said, pointing again.

Defeated, Alex complied.

“Now,” Braun said, “who is this American?”

“Thomas Dugan, a consultant and friend. I’ll get rid of him.”

“Won’t that arouse curiosity, given his rather logical offer?”

“Perhaps,” conceded Alex, “but I can hold him off. Long enough for you to finish whatever this business is and be gone.”

Braun shook his head. “I think not. I don’t want some curious Yank starting to ask questions. Better to keep him close and watch him. Besides, he may prove useful.”

“I’ll just get rid of him,” Alex repeated.

“On the contrary,” Braun said, his voice hardening, “offer him the job, effective immediately.”

“No. Best keep him away.”

Braun sighed. “How tiresome.”

He rose from the chair to snatch Cassie’s photo from the desk and toss it into Alex’s lap. Alex set the picture on the end table and glared.

“Time for a reminder, Kairouz? Must we review the videos?” Braun paused. “Then again, she does look like your dead wife. Perhaps you’ve already begun her education. Bedding the retard are you, Kairouz? Perhaps I can help. Have her broken in by a dozen big fellows while you watch. Sound appealing?” Braun laughed and awaited the expected response.

Alex charged, but Braun was younger, fit, and well trained. In seconds, Alex was face down, his right arm twisted behind him, as Braun ground his face into the carpet.

“I grow tired of these lessons, Kairouz. The next time you cross me, Farley will rape the retard in front of you as a down payment. Understand?”

Alex nodded and Braun released him. “Good. Now phone Dugan.” He sneered. “After you pull yourself together, of course. You’re pathetic.”

Alex heard Braun leave as he lay unmoving, and tears of impotent rage stained the carpet.

US Embassy
Singapore

“That’s great, Alex,” Dugan said into the cell phone. “I’ll e-mail Mrs. Coutts my flight information. I assume I can stay at your place as usual until I find a place of my own?”

“Of course, Thomas,” Alex said. “Cassie will be excited when I tell her.”

“I look forward to seeing you all. Bye now,” Dugan said and hung up.

He sat silent for a moment until Ward spoke.

“So what do you make of that, Tom?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Dugan said. “He … he has been acting a bit strange lately, and he definitely seems a bit less enthusiastic than I anticipated.”

“Yeah, something’s up, all right,” Ward said.

Dugan didn’t respond.

“Having second thoughts?” Ward asked.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Jesse. I may have taken a few photos and snooped around for you a bit, but I’m not a spy, and I sure as hell can’t learn to be one in twenty-four hours.”

“Don’t worry. The Brits will backstop you. MI5 is putting together a team now.”

“I sure hope you know what you’re talking about, pal,” Dugan said.

Offices of Phoenix Shipping
London

Karl Enrique Braun, freelance “problem solver,” formerly of the East German Ministry for State Security (Stasi), returned to his spacious new office, the former home of three disgruntled ship superintendents now displaced to the cubicle farm. He was sated from an excellent lunch, courtesy of his new Phoenix Shipping credit card, and he smiled at the sign on the door: Captain Braun—Director of Operations. The “captain” was a nice touch and as real as his name, after all. He’d been many people in service to the state. When the end had come, he’d forecast it a bit more clearly than his former colleagues and arrived in Havana hours after the wall fell. The Cuban Ministry of the Interior (MININT) was a Stasi clone and always in need of talent, especially talent with fluent Spanish and Cuban roots. He touched his face. The Cubans had excellent plastic surgeons.

His Nordic good looks and native fluency in a half a dozen languages provided the Cubans an asset of incalculable value, and he parlayed that to his own advantage. He’d become a “consultant” and then a free agent, protected by the Cubans in exchange for sharing intelligence. Capitalist by default now, he worked for anyone with his fee, from drug lords to African dictators. His best clients to date were Latin American demagogues, champions of a failed model, buying the votes of the dispossessed with promises no economy could make real, especially not the bungled economics of the neo-socialism.

Braun smiled again. No client had been as malleable and oblivious to fees as that idiot Rodriguez in Venezuela. It would be a shame to lose the cash flow should it prove necessary to sacrifice him as damage control. Then again, the Iranian had proven to be more than generous and deserved his fire wall. Braun was looking forward to a very comfortable retirement.

He settled in behind his desk and contemplated the latest turn of events. He didn’t like this American lodging with Kairouz, but it was apparently an arrangement of long standing; best to keep to routine. Besides, Kairouz was thoroughly cowed, and this Dugan was one more American he could throw into the mix to make things all the more believable.

Willingly to the slaughter. Braun could hardly believe his good fortune.

Chapter Six

House of Islamic Knowledge
Dearborn, Michigan
27 May

Mohammad Borqei stood, balled fists in his back as he stretched to ease the stiffness of the old shrapnel wound. American shrapnel, for the Great Satan had been generous in aid to Saddam when the madman had been murdering Iranians. Borqei swallowed his anger. He moved from the window to his desk and picked up the message from Tehran.

A wistful smile crossed his bearded face at thoughts of Iran, a home he’d never see again. It had taken years to craft his “legend” as a moderate, advancing viewpoints he despised in mosques across Tehran, enduring the hostility of colleagues, and finally imprisonment for seditious acts. Then he’d “escaped” to the US via Canada, and the foolish Americans had tugged the Trojan horse through the gate.

He’d settled in Dearborn, with its large Muslim community, joining interfaith groups and preaching tolerance. When the Imam of the House of Islamic Knowledge died in a car crash, he was the logical choice to assume leadership of the community’s preeminent mosque. Able to count Islamic voters, the local congressman fast-tracked Borqei’s citizenship application and stood smiling as he took the oath. Indeed, Borqei’s public “assimilation” was so convincing that it undermined his mission. His inner circle of the faithful was small and resistant to all efforts at expansion.

For, despite cynicism about American ideals as preached and practiced, the Muslims of Dearborn were optimistic. Conflicts with their “real” American neighbors were frequent but waged with words during meetings, not by stone-throwing mobs or suicide bombers. Each grudging compromise was a small victory, as their sons played American football and ate
halal
pizza, and they built new lives, much better than those they’d left behind.

Borqei had faced the paradox. His need for “assimilated” Americans would never be met by American-born Muslims, who were corrupted beyond redemption. Hezbollah had come to his aid, trolling teeming refugee camps for orphans. While they trained in Iran, Borqei prepared the ground, helping the faithful of his inner circle get citizenship, allowing them in turn to use the Child Citizenship Act to adopt “foreign-born children,” all graduates of Hezbollah training. They arrived, committed to serving Islam by becoming ever more American in appearance. He had a dozen now, and the first was the finest.

Yousif Nassir Hamad, or “Joe” Hamad, was finishing college, with honors, on a US Navy ROTC scholarship. Fluent in Arabic, he was courted heavily, and Borqei had been helping him review his options, deciding just where in the navy he could best serve Islam. Now it had been decided for them. Borqei gazed at the message with distaste.

Kairouz Residence
London
28 May

“No!” Cassie glared defiance, flopping the hair bow on the table. “This dorky uniform is bad enough. Please, Papa, tell her I don’t have to wear it.”

Alex studied the bow over his cup, remembering Cassie’s delight when Mrs. Farnsworth first made it. As Cassie, at age fifteen, struggled between her physical and mental ages, conflicts had become frequent—difficult for Cassie, but harder still on Mrs. Farnsworth.

“Cassie, the bow makes you even prettier,” he said.

“I hate it, I hate it,” Cassie spoke into her cereal, pouting.

“Cassie,” Mrs. Farnsworth said, “a proper young lady does not pout. People respond to courtesy, not petulance or angry demands. Would you like to ask me again, young lady?”

Alex stiffened. The proper-young-lady campaign was difficult for him, but Mrs. Farnsworth was insistent that repeated challenge strengthened Cassie’s abilities. He accepted the theory but was incapable of causing Cassie discomfort. He bit his tongue and left correction to Mrs. Farnsworth, thankful she was made of sterner stuff.

“Please, Mrs. Farnsworth, must I wear it?” Cassie asked, barely audible.

“Not if you don’t wish to,” Mrs. Farnsworth said. “Now go up and tidy your hair. It’s almost time to go.”

“Oh thank you, thank you,” Cassie cried, rushing to the door. She stopped midstride and turned. “Oh. I almost forgot. When will Uncle Thomas be here, Papa?”

Alex smiled. “He arrives this evening, Cassie. He’ll have dinner with us.”

“Cool,” Cassie said, then bolted for the door.

“Don’t ….” Mrs. Farnsworth said at Cassie’s retreating back, “… run.”

Alex chuckled as Cassie disappeared. “A bit late, I’m afraid.”

Mrs. Farnsworth smiled. “She’s coming along nicely.”

“You expected that?”

The housekeeper nodded. “Self-assertion. Notice how she tried to play us against each other? A good sign.”

Alex deferred to her judgment. She’d cared for Cassie since infancy, and the shelves of her bedroom overflowed with books on development, special needs, and remedial teaching techniques. Many nights he saw her through the open doorway, pouring over arcane tomes.

He sighed. “I have mixed emotions at seeing innocence replaced by manipulation.”

“Loss of innocence is inevitable, sir, if she’s to achieve independence. We won’t be around forever.”

Alex nodded as they sipped coffee in silence. Mrs. Farnsworth seemed uneasy, on the verge of speaking several times, then studying her coffee.

“The coffee isn’t that interesting. Speak your mind, Mrs. Farnsworth. If it’s about Thomas—”

Mrs. Farnsworth shook her head. “I resigned myself to your friendship with the boorish Mr. Dugan some time ago. It’s this Farley I’m concerned with. He’s not working out, sir.”

Alex stiffened. “Go on.”

“I can’t understand why, without notice, you engaged him as our driver, replacing Daniel after years of loyal service. I’ve managed to keep Daniel busy with other tasks, but he feels wronged. He may leave us.”

“You’re quite right, Mrs. Farnsworth, and I do apologize. The need arose suddenly and for reasons I can’t discuss, but I’ve handled it badly.”

“‘Need,’ sir? What need? Farley’s reckless and unsavory in the extreme, hanging about the kitchen, offending Mrs. Hogan with crude humor, and calling Daniel an ‘old kike’ to his face.” She lowered her voice. “And he ogles Cassie with undisguised lust. The lout must go.”

Alex tried to speak several times before succeeding.

“He’ll leave soon,” he said. “Until then, make sure Cassie is never alone with him.”

“Did you understand what I said, sir?”

“Perfectly,” Alex said through tight lips, “but I can’t discharge him yet. He’s a bodyguard. There have been … kidnap threats against Cassie.”

“Good Lord. From whom? Have you notified the police?”

“Anonymous e-mail threats,” Alex lied, reciting the story Braun invented. “The police are investigating. I hired Farley at their recommendation.”

Mrs. Farnsworth digested the news but focused on the imminent threat.

“Understood, sir. But I still don’t trust Farley. We must replace him.”

“Impossible,” Alex said.

“But surely the agency you engaged—”

“God damn it, woman!” he said, red-faced. “I’ll thank you to stop meddling and do as you’re told!” He glared at her, then seemed to deflate as he sat, elbows on the table and face buried in his hands, as if hiding from his own outburst.

Mrs. Farnsworth sat shocked until Alex spoke again, his head down, avoiding her eyes.

“That was unthinkable. Please forgive me, Mrs. Farnsworth. I’m overwrought with concern about Cassie.”

She stiffened. “As am I, sir. Will that be all?”

“I’ll hire another car and use Daniel to run errands around the office. That will salve his feelings and spare him contact with Farley.”

She rose. “Whatever you decide, sir. I must check on Cassie.”

Alex called her name as she reached the door, and she turned.

“About your … suspicions. Please watch Cassie closely.”

“I always do, sir. I always do,” she said softly.

***

Alex smiled as he watched Dugan rub his stomach in mock distress.

“It’s clear I’ll have to find my own place quickly, Mrs. Hogan,” Dugan said to the cook. “If I stay here too long, I’ll be needing a new wardrobe.”

The cook beamed as she poured coffee. “Sure, and it was nothing fancy, Mr. Dugan,” she said, retreating to the kitchen.

Another Dugan conquest, thought Alex. Thomas had even managed to defrost Mrs. Farnsworth a bit this evening. He noticed the housekeeper’s approving glance as Cassie chatted happily with their house guest.

“Cassie, you have homework, so say good night,” Mrs. Farnsworth said.

“Please, please, may I do it in the morning?” Cassie pleaded.

“No, dear. I’m sure your father and Mr. Dugan have matters to discuss.”

“Oh, all right,” Cassie said, standing to hug Dugan. “I’m so glad you’re here, Uncle Thomas.”

“Me too, Cassie,” Dugan said. “We’ll talk tomorrow after school. Daniel will be driving you home before you know it.”

“Not Daniel, Farley,” Cassie said.

“We’ve a new driver,” explained Mrs. Farnsworth, her distaste obvious.

“And he’s really creepy, Uncle Thomas,” Cassie said. “But Papa says he’ll go away.”

Dugan looked at Alex, confused.

“I’ll explain later, Thomas,” Alex said. “Now Cassie, where’s my kiss?”

Cassie hugged Alex and pecked his cheek as Mrs. Farnsworth stood.

“Will that be all, sir?” the housekeeper asked.

Alex smiled and nodded, hoping to hide the sudden tension, but the look on Dugan’s face signaled he’d been unsuccessful.

“So, what’s up?” Dugan asked, after Cassie and Mrs. Farnsworth left.

Alex hesitated, then lowered his voice. “There have been kidnapping threats against prominent families.”

“You’ve been threatened?”

“Not directly,” Alex lied, “but I was concerned. I engaged Farley as a bodyguard. Turns out he’s not the most personable chap.”

“But why’s Mrs. Farnsworth upset?”

Alex sighed. “I didn’t consult her. You know how proprietary she is regarding Cassie. Farley being a lout made things worse.”

“I see,” Dugan said, but the look on his face said he didn’t see at all. Tactfully, he changed the subject.

“Fill me in on the work situation,” Dugan said. “What about this other guy? How do you envision the work split?”

“His name is Braun, Captain Karl Braun,” Alex said. “He’s director of operations—scheduling, crewing, fuel purchases, payroll, that sort of thing. You’ll be technical director—maintenance, yard repairs, and so on. We’ll play it by ear on overlaps.”

“Sounds fine,” Dugan said. “I’m eager to start.”

Alex hesitated. “There’s really no rush, Thomas. Why don’t you work half days a few weeks to settle in, hunt for a flat, and get your feet on the ground?”

“I want to earn my keep.”

“Of course, of course,” Alex said, “but it’s a marathon, not a sprint.”

“OK … I guess,” Dugan said. “Easy does it” was not Alex Kairouz’s style at all.

“It’s settled then,” Alex said, rising. “Join me for a nightcap?”

Dugan yawned. “No thanks. I’m jet-lagged as hell. See you in the morning.”

***

Two hours later, Dugan lay awake in the dark, mulling Alex’s strange behavior. From what he knew, Alex failing to involve Mrs. Farnsworth in any matter related to Cassie was unthinkable. However, even if he had, Dugan didn’t think Mrs. Farnsworth would nurse a grudge when Cassie’s safety was concerned. Something was definitely not right.

Penthouse, Plaza on the Thames
London
28 Maybe

“How is it you’re livin’ like a fuckin’ Saudi prince, and I’m in a bloody closet over a garage?” Ian Farley asked, glaring from the sofa. At six foot and two hundred pounds, he looked like a muscle-bound skinhead, full of quiet menace. If he would only stay quiet.

Braun took a sip of brandy, then held the snifter to his nose, savoring the aroma as the liquid slid down his throat. He looked from the dancing fire to the glass wall of the huge living room with its view of Parliament across the Thames. Rain on the glass refracted the lights to dazzling effect. Cuban weather was better, but he couldn’t enjoy the finer things in the worker’s paradise, and Braun was making the most of London. At Kairouz’s expense, of course. He looked at Farley and sighed. No more than his due, given the fools he had to endure.

“Because, Farley, your cover is a servant. You live in servant quarters.”

Farley started to speak, but Braun’s look chilled him.

“And don’t leave the girl’s proximity again, unless she’s at school or elsewhere your presence would be suspicious. Understand?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

Braun sipped again and studied Farley over the rim of his glass. For all his faults, Farley had the necessary skills—and he was expendable. The rest of the operation was equally lean, his only other operative a techno-geek eager to keep past work for foreign governments secret. Blackmail wasn’t Joel Sutton’s only incentive. Braun had dismissed the IT staff and contracted Sutton at a huge fee, again with Kairouz’s money.

Sutton had bugged Kairouz’s office and phones—office, home, and mobile—and now controlled the company computers. Braun monitored the work phones in real time and other phones via recording. He’d avoided bugging Kairouz’s home; the daily chatter would be tedious to sort through and reveal little. Dugan’s presence might change that.

“With Dugan around, spend time in the house,” Braun said. “Keep your ears open.”

“For what?” Farley asked.

“Signs Dugan is suspicious, of course.” Idiot.

“Not so easy, guv. That bloody Irish bitch hates me. She’d poison me tea given the chance, and that snooty cunt Farnsworth stares holes in me. I ain’t exactly Mr. Invisible.”

Braun sighed. “All right. Do the best you can.”

“OK.” Farley rose to go. “When do I get a go at the retard? Remember our deal.”

“Keep it in your pants, Farley. I’ll tell you when. And you can’t damage the goods. She’ll bring a fortune in the Middle East. The wogs love blonds.”