The Disruption of Thomas Read online

needed for a trip to the Middle-East was not a decision a company of Montech's size or for that matter of almost any size could take lightly. Moreover in going to Arabia Thomas feared he might resurrect the serious sort of personal travel he had managed to all but eliminate.

  Nonetheless after he sorted his thoughts on the matter he decided to go. It was an enormous personal concession for Thomas.

  By some standard the trip would go well but not without an ambush or two. Thomas might have been overly optimistic as to how much control he would have on how his plans would unfold. He underestimated the resourcefulness of Arabian businessmen native or expatriate in demonstrating progress where only movement exists.

  By mid-August four weeks after his last talk with Herr Gunther Thomas received confirmation Mr. Sultan would sponsor him in Saudi Arabia. He applied for visas to Consulates of the Arabian states he wished to visit. Within a couple of weeks he was ready to go. He flew Lufthansa business class out of Mirabel International Airport North of Montreal headed for the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.

  The plane taxied towards its arrival gate at King Khaled Airport in Riyadh. Another plane already occupied the space.

  The Captain came on.

  PING,

  '... This is the Captain. ... A Saudia Boeing 747 full to capacity with foreign workers has landed just ahead of us. ... I'm afraid that getting through customs will take some time; ... we will try to help.'

  A hum filled the business class section as passengers discussed the inconvenience of the unfortunate coincidence.

  The Saudia flight had to de-plane the foreign workers before Lufthansa could take its place at the gate. Most foreign workers had small carry-on cloth sacs; most of the others had no baggage at all. They stampeded like a hungry herd to the barn and arrived in the customs area well ahead of the Lufthansa passengers.

  Thomas retrieved his luggage from the carousel in good time. He tried to decide which line would bring him to a customs booth quickest. He found no lines, only a solid mass of people with no gaps between them. Exhausted after a fourteen hour flight interrupted by a four hour stop-over in Frankfurt he looked forward with dismay to hours of single step advances every few minutes to get to a customs booth and out to meet Mr. Emilio who might still be there.

  Unexpectedly in a selfless heroic effort to save business class passengers the horrors of slow dreary progress to a customs booth while ahead of them a portion of the Kingdom's labour force trickled through, a head popped-up above the crowd and shouted with arms waving,

  'Lufthansa passengers follow us.'

  Whereupon four Lufthansa air crew instantly took off through the crowd like pursued hares on a wild sprint through thick bushes. They expertly squeezed through a mass of humanity with elbows bumps scrapes occasional cries of "sorry" or "coming through" and inevitable treads on sandaled toes. Only the trim and fleet of foot were able to keep pace with the intrepid leaders of the chase and only with wild improvised dance steps in efforts to avoid direct collisions.

  The passengers arrived at the customs booth normally reserved for airline employees in less than one minute; out of breath somewhat dishevelled but otherwise intact and with their possessions—some of course were lost along the way and not seen again.

  When Thomas's turn came the customs officer spoke a single word to him with the intonation of a question. To his ear it sounded like 'adwah?' He scoured his brain. Even allowing for the accent he had no idea what the man wanted or expected of him. He mentioned he didn't speak Arabic; the officer shot back a look that plainly said "I'm-not-speaking-Arabic". He worried he'd made things worse. Twice he asked him to repeat and still couldn't understand what the officer wanted. He became nervous and kept silent. He didn't want to say the wrong thing or ask the man to repeat again.

  'I knew I shouldn’t have come.'

  The customs officer understood,

  'Kanda adwah captl.'

  Which gave Thomas a welcome if not exactly decisive clue to words possibly meant as a friendly remark.

  'Oh, yes! Right, Ottawa is Canada's Capital' he said with a wide smile that masked dissipating panic.

  A moment earlier he thought,

  'Here I am on my first trip to the Kingdom not even fifteen minutes on the ground and I'm probably about to be provided at the King's expense with one of their courtesy cells until they can sort out whatever is bothering them about me.'

  Now he intensely felt but easily restrained the urge to smack this guy and shove his royal beret down his throat badge and all.

  Satisfied his worldliness and knowledge of Canadian geography were established the customs officer quickly disposed of the luggage inspection, checked Thomas's visas and stamped his passport.

  Thomas searched for the arrival exit lobby in the unfamiliar airport. Hopefully Mr. Emilio still waited there for him with a sign that said Emilio or Maloin from Canada or some other relevant words. Thomas often corresponded with Mr. Emilio but had never met or spoken to him.

  Happily he soon "Magooed" through the correct door where Mr. Emilio waited all smiles recognisable by an easily understood sign. He was a short Pilipino man fortyish with a full head of thick black hair and visibly in excellent physical shape.

  Herr Gunther assigned Mr. Emilio Areltrade's office manager to make sure Thomas got to his hotel safely. He treated Thomas as one might treat a rich relative never met before but often heard spoken of in glowing terms since childhood by older much respected members of the family.

  Somewhat taken aback by the courteous familiarity of someone he met only moments ago but exhausted after a long trip to a place with an unfamiliar and strange culture Thomas accepted the favoured treatment and asked no questions. He reciprocated as far as he thought proprieties allowed. All the same he vaguely wondered whether an ulterior motive for this treatment might not eventually surface. For the moment he could only look forward to the comfort of a room.

  They walked through the airport parking to Mr. Emilio's car. A light dry breeze felt soft and warm, comfortable as an early summer evening when no one speaks of wind-chill or humidex. They drove off towards the hotel.

  'You will be bery comfortable and enjoy your stay at de Excursion Inn.'

  'The Excursion Inn? But I'm booked at the, er ... I forget the name.'

  'Yes but we chenged it because dat is a European style hotel. Bery small rooms wit toilets and telepone down de hall etc. Mister Gunter tought you would not enjoy dat kind of hotel for the lengt of stay so he told me to chenge de reserbation'.

  Thomas got the picture. Herr Gunther was right. The unplanned unannounced change bothered Thomas but fatigue considerably weakened his resolve to insist arrangements be observed. After all the Excursion Inn standards would be North American.

  Mister Emilio helped Thomas carry his luggage to the hotel lobby. Before leaving he said,

  'If you hab to take a taxi to come to de office wile you're here ask to go to the wite Honda dealer building; de office is upstars.'

  'What's the address?'

  'Dere is no address here Mister Thomas. People just describe de place were dey want to go. It's just in case. I intend to be here.'

  Once checked-in Thomas settled down comfortably and phoned Norma to let her know he'd arrived safely. She answered before the first ring ended; she sounded unnerved. She was relieved but still uncertain once she heard his voice.

  'When I didn't hear from you I phoned the hotel where Areltrade reserved you a room. They told me they had no reservation for you and no one with your name tried to check-in. I was very worried.'

  She relaxed once Tom explained what happened and assured her all was well.

  'I didn't dare wait to see if you would phone so I called the embassy and left a message on their answering machine. I said I hadn't heard from you and asked what they could do to trace you.'

  'That's alright. When we're done I'll phone to let them know everything is back to normal. Have you heard from Fabio?'


  Fabio a top notch especially practical Power Electronics Engineer often served as consultant to Montech. He skipped the artistic fuss many design engineers go through and quickly made things work when at first they didn't.

  Thomas hoped he would be available if needed to explain certain functions of the equipment in more detail. Regrettably Fabio tended to be un-findable at the worst moments. It once took two days to get hold of Fabio because he was busy fixing a neighbour's garden gate. Thomas had resignedly quipped that fixing the gate was probably a greater technical challenge to Fabio than Power Electronics.

  'No I haven't so I phoned his house and Rosa said he's free for the next week or so. She said she'd make sure you could reach him.'

  'Well that's something. I'm not likely to need him anyway.'

  When they hung-up Thomas phoned the embassy and conversed with the same answering machine Norma had. After it assured him his call was important, said someone would get back to him tomorrow, asked he please leave a message and squealed in his ear Thomas reassured it normalcy had returned to his situation and hung-up.

  He didn't feel like turning-in just then. Dealing with the stuff in his briefcase didn't appeal much to him either. He decided to see if he could get a snack somewhere in the hotel.

  He was in luck; the dining room was still open. He sat down and ordered a sandwich and tea from the menu. The waiter offered almost in a whisper,

  'Would you