A dull repeating sound woke me with a start. THUD! THUD!
THUD! I frantically looked around the almost pitch black room, trying to get my
bearings. Jenny moaned beside me and then rolled onto her side. I glanced at
the digital clock on the nightstand and saw that it was only 3 am.
“What the fuck is going on?” she asked lifting her head.
“Someone is trying to knock the door down Jen. Better put
something on.” I stumbled out of bed and headed for the reception room.
Thankfully, after Jen and I had fooled around for a while
the previous evening I had slipped into a pair of white cotton panties and
t-shirt. I chose one that bore the logo ‘I do it standing up!’, so I felt a
little foolish as I headed for the front door. The air conditioned rooms were
far too cool for my liking, but Jen preferred it that way.
We had left a desk light switched on so that a crack of
light showed around the door in the bedroom. Ever since I could remember I had
been afraid of the dark and had never grown out of the phobia. I blinked as I
entered the larger room and ran my fingers through my strawberry blond. I
peered through the spyhole to see a hand holding what looked like an official
ID card on one side of a wallet.
“Who’s there?” I called through the solid barrier, before
switching the lights on.
“G. I. D. Police,” came the rather gruff response.
My heart leapt into my mouth. I was expecting it to be
room service knocking on the wrong door. I turned to find Jenny approaching.
She looked the worse for wear, but had managed to slip into a thigh length blue
beach dress.
She saw the
startled expression on my face.
“Who’s there, babe?”
“It’s the police!”
She pushed me out of the way and took a look for herself.
“Put some shorts on,” she said reaching for the door.
It had a double lock, so she had to turn the brass handle
through 180 degrees. She took the chain off and slowly opened the door, only
for the front guy to push his weight against it and step forward. His move
surprised Jenny who stepped back hastily to save from being bowled over.
I turned and headed for the bedroom, but a voice called
out in perfect English. “Stand still girl. Stay exactly where you are!”
I turned and was shocked to see two tall, burly Arabs
strut into the room, followed quickly by a woman wearing a black abayas and
hijab. The first man was pointing directly at me.
“Who the hell are you and what’s the meaning of bursting
in here at three o’clock in the morning?” Jenny asked, standing her ground and
sounding outraged.
She wasn’t blocking my view, but because of a large
armchair they would have to move her aside to get to me. The woman closed the
door, set a large bag down beside it and assumed a position with her back
against the door.
The men, who were wearing light grey suits and white keffiyeh
headdresses, parted and looked around the room.
“Is there anyone else in the suite?” the older man asked.
“You haven’t answered my question. Who are you and what
do you want?”
The Arab scowled at her. “My name is Fakih Awad and my
colleagues are Khalid Sherazi and Mina Saliba.” He pointed to the diminutive figure standing by
the door. “We’re from the General Investigation Directorate …”
“Mabahith?” Jenny asked with a trace of surprise in her
voice. “Can I see your ID please?” I detected a slight softening of her
attitude.
We both stood stock still while the pair took out their
wallets and showed their photo identity cards to Jenny. She examined them
carefully and nodded that she was satisfied. I was only wearing a pair of
extremely thin cotton panties and t-shirt, but the shock of having police
officers barge in on us had caused me to forget my appearance. I suddenly
snapped out of my fugue.
“I … I’m just going to put some clothes on,” I said,
starting to retreat.
“Stay where you are!” he said gruffly.
His tone shocked me and stopped me in my tracks.
“What do you want?” Jenny asked.
“No more questions. We’re going to search your room and
ask you a few questions,” the older man said. “I want you both sitting on the
sofa.” He pointed across the room.
The bearded officer was clearly in charge and wanted to
dominate the conversation. He pulled his jacket aside and removed a short baton
from his belt. I caught my breath seeing his aggressive move and the appearance
of a weapon.
“Jen, what do we do?” I blurted out.
“Do as you’re told,” the officer interjected, pointing
the baton at me.
The sofa was up against a wall of long curtains and only
a few paces away.
“Keep quiet babe and sit with me.” We both crossed the
room, skirted a large coffee table and sat down on the eight feet long settee.
The pair of officers exchanged a few words and then Fakir
Awad approached us. My eyes expanded when he pulled on the end of the baton and
extended its length to about 24 inches. He pointed it at Jenny.
“Give me the code to the safe,” he demanded.
“What are you looking for officer?”
THWATT! We both jumped when the officer slashed the baton
onto the seat of the sofa, just a few inches from Jenny’s bare leg. I put my
hand over my mouth to stop myself crying out, but Jenny was made of sterner
stuff. She put her hands up to try and calm him.
“I’m sorry officer. The code is 2879. You’ll find our
passports, airline tickets and cash in there.”
He ignored her comment and strode off into the bedroom.
“What are they looking for, Jen?” I whispered.
“Dunno. The fucking Mabahith
are a law unto themselves.”
I tried to steady my shaking hands by clenching them
together. “The Maba … what?
“Secret police. They investigate political crimes and
have unlimited powers of arrest.”
“He’ll find our toys,” I warned in a low voice.
“I know.”
Jenny had worked in Riyadh for several years, but I was
visiting the country for only the second time. She worked for a London based
advertising company, Capital Enterprises. They had offices all round the world,
but Jenny spent roughly 25% of her time in England. I met her in London in
January and when she offered me the chance of a fortnight’s holiday in Riyadh
and Dammam, I jumped at the chance.
We had a great time, so when she invited me again we flew
from London together and stayed at her flat for 10 days; before driving down to
Dammam for the last 4 days of my holiday. We had been at the Saffri Hotel for three days and nights and I was about to
catch a plane in the morning to start the first leg of my flight home. I had
been having the time of my life. What a shame, I thought, that something like
this should happen on my last night in the country.
Jenny looked pensive, but appeared unruffled by the
appearance of the police officers. Her tough attitude gave me strength, which I
sorely needed in such an unexpected and stressful situation. Her bold attitude
was one of the things that attracted me to her the first time we met.
Being 29, eight years older than me, and having an
assertive nature, had been two of the major factors in our burgeoning
relationship. I knew from the outset that I would only see her for part of the
year, but that arrangement suited me down to the ground. I worked from my flat
as a freelance writer and slaved away all the hours of the day to make ends
meet.
Jenny hadn’t had any children, so her figure was still as
shapely and firm as mine. She was a little heavier than me and a size 10 to my
8, but we were the same height, 5’5” and had almost identical figures. Our
other features were completely different though. Her hair and eyes were brown,
while mine were hazel-green, complementing my blond hair. I thought she was
prettier than me, but she disputed that vehemently.
I was going to ask her another question, but the officer
returned to the room carrying a waste bin in one hand and an empty vodka bottle
in the other. Then, surprising both of us, he emptied the contents of the bin
onto the coffee table. Our double ended dildo was the first item that clattered
onto the glass surface along with a vibrator, two pairs of leather cuffs and
connecting chains.
The toys were followed by our passports, airline tickets,
a roll of Saudi Riyal, wallets, phones and an assortment of makeup items from
our dressing table. He placed the empty bottle in the centre of the table,
picked up the passports and opened one.
“Jenny Collins?”
“That’s me,” my friend replied.
He examined the picture and then opened mine. “Ellie
Martins?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Do either of you deny that these items belong to you?”
He poked the double ender with the corner of my passport and then touched the
bottle.
“No we don’t and why should we? We’re using them in
private and not involving any other person,” Jenny pointed out indignantly.
“Are you aware that homosexual activity and consuming alcohol
is against the law in the kingdom of Saudi Arabia?”
He was looking at both of us, but I was too shocked to
answer his question. I had discussed the laws with Jenny, but she assured me
that so long as the practices went on behind closed doors the authorities
generally left the individuals alone. I was beginning to fear that she had
mislead me and that we were in serious trouble.
“We know of the laws, but we don’t think we’ve been
flaunting them, officer.” Jenny explained.
The second officer came through into the reception room
carrying my suitcases. After taking them to the entrance door, he set them down
beside the female officer’s bag. The young woman standing by the door looked on
emotionlessly and had hardly moved a muscle since they arrived.
“Those are my cases!” I exclaimed.
I couldn’t resist the outburst knowing that everything I
had with me was packed away in the cases. The bearded officer set the bin down
on the floor and pointed his weapon at me. “Be quiet girl. We will be taking
you and the cases to G.I.D. Headquarters.”
“But, our flight leaves at 10 o’clock tomorrow morning.
There’s not enough time. We’ll miss our flights.” I didn’t know where the
headquarters were, but knew I had to
be at the airport at 8.30 am.
Jenny put her hand on my arm and shook her head, warning
me not to question the officer’s actions.
“Then you’ll miss them,” he retorted.
He continued to examine the passports for a few moments
and then tucked them away in his pocket. When he slipped the roll of Saudi
Riyal, our tickets and mobile phones into the pocket on the other side of his
jacket, Jenny held up her hand.
“There’s exactly four thousand Riyal in that roll.”
The officer glared at her, clearly furious at having his
integrity brought into question.
“A list of your possessions will be drawn up when we get
to headquarters,” was his response.
The second officer returned to the bedroom, presumably to
get Jenny’s bags. She was going to catch the same flight as me, but I was
continuing on to London after we arrived at Riyadh. Jenny had planned to stuff
the toys that we had left scattered about the bedroom into her suitcase, at the
last minute, but it hardly mattered if they were going to search our suitcases.
He pointed his extended baton at us and then at the low
coffee table. “Stand at the end of this table, remove your clothes and then
lean forward so your hands are flat on the surface.”
Shocked by his command I turned to Jenny for guidance,
but her look of horror only ramped up my own panic and dread. A situation that
had begun to look serious had suddenly gotten out of hand and we were being
ordered to do one of the most appalling things imaginable!