Post by Riley Lo on Jun 27, 2012 10:23:35 GMT -5
The meet was scheduled to take place in a teahouse not far from the scene of the bombing Riley had mentioned. David and Riley had registered at their hotel as journalists from Beijing and while David was on the streets, this would be his cover. It was possibly the safest cover the MVA could create for him, far safer than allowing him to walk around this part of the Muslim world as an American.
As an American, he would be a target for practically any of the militant groups battling in Syria. China, though, had close economic ties to Syria. Judging by the prevalence of Chinese-made weapons on display in the hands of military forces, those ties weren't limited to just trade goods. His official cover should serve him pretty well, and the hidden persona as a Chinese arms-dealer wouldn't be out of place, either. He'd speak only Mandarin if possible, and, if forced to use English, he would employ an accent matching that of his father. So far, he thought as he approached the teahouse, it was working just fine. He'd seen quite a few soldiers as he walked, but they'd taken his obviously Chinese looks at face value.
The tea house had once had outdoor seating, but since the bombing, the patio had been cleared and now stood empty. The interior was peopled mostly by men of David's age and older; the younger men were either out on the streets or hiding in backrooms. David was the only non-Muslim in the place, making it easy for Muhammad to spot him and wave him over to his table. He walked through the crowd easily, inwardly and outwardly composed. He had no doubt there were all manner of guns and knives concealed on people around the room, but if things went pear-shaped in these close quarters, he was confident of his ability to take away any weapon he needed from its current owner. When he reached Muhammad, he gave the man a short bow. "Nihao," he said. "Wo Tsao Wo-Yuen."
Muhammad nodded and indicated the seat next to him. "Great to meet you," he said, his voice full of Oxford, England, despite his very Middle Eastern looks. "Please, won't you join me, Mr Tsao?"
"Xiexie ni de yaoqing." He took the seat Muhammad had pointed at and looked expectantly at the man.
He chuckled softly as he poured tea into tall glass cups rimmed with brass. "I'm afraid my Mandarin isn't quite up to snuff. Would you like some tea?"
"Yes, thank you," David replied in heavily accented English. It wasn't hard for him to pull off the accent; he'd grown up hearing it every day.
Muhammad poured tea and served David, all the while keeping his eye on the crowd around them. No one was paying any particular attention to them, but that did not mean no one was listening. "How are you finding Damascus, Mr Tsao?"
"Much fighting." He bowed his thanks for the tea, lifting the cup and taking a sip. "Much excitement."
"Much profit?" the man asked, his black eyes glittering with avarice.
Another quick dip of his head. "For some kind of people, yes." His little grin said that he was assuredly one of those kind of people.
"Would you like to meet others like us? There is a little get-together this evening, taking place not far from the French embassy. I could introduce you, help you make friends. Are you interested?"
David nodded several times. "Yes, I am interested, thank you." He looked around the room casually, checking to see if anyone was paying more attention to them than would be usual. They were being ignored for the most part, though occasionally someone would glance over. It was most likely the novelty of seeing David in the teahouse, however.
Muhammad reached into the pocket of his summer-weight linen Saville Row blazer and produced a business card for David. "Be at this address at eight o'clock. It is black tie. I do trust this will not be a problem for you?"
"No problem at all," he assured the man, hoping that it wouldn't be. They hadn't exactly packed tuxes and ballroom dresses for this trip. "I am looking forward to it."
Muhammad nodded and finished his tea before rising from his seat. "I look forward to seeing you there, Mr Tsao. Have a pleasant afternoon." He dipped his head in a bow and left.
David waited until Muhammad had left the building, then rose and went to the door. No one followed him out, so he headed back towards the hotel, keeping an eye out for anyone looking too interested in him. Fortunately, the presence of so many soldiers on the streets kept most people moving quickly, their eyes on the ground in front of them. He made it back to the hotel without incident.
As an American, he would be a target for practically any of the militant groups battling in Syria. China, though, had close economic ties to Syria. Judging by the prevalence of Chinese-made weapons on display in the hands of military forces, those ties weren't limited to just trade goods. His official cover should serve him pretty well, and the hidden persona as a Chinese arms-dealer wouldn't be out of place, either. He'd speak only Mandarin if possible, and, if forced to use English, he would employ an accent matching that of his father. So far, he thought as he approached the teahouse, it was working just fine. He'd seen quite a few soldiers as he walked, but they'd taken his obviously Chinese looks at face value.
The tea house had once had outdoor seating, but since the bombing, the patio had been cleared and now stood empty. The interior was peopled mostly by men of David's age and older; the younger men were either out on the streets or hiding in backrooms. David was the only non-Muslim in the place, making it easy for Muhammad to spot him and wave him over to his table. He walked through the crowd easily, inwardly and outwardly composed. He had no doubt there were all manner of guns and knives concealed on people around the room, but if things went pear-shaped in these close quarters, he was confident of his ability to take away any weapon he needed from its current owner. When he reached Muhammad, he gave the man a short bow. "Nihao," he said. "Wo Tsao Wo-Yuen."
Muhammad nodded and indicated the seat next to him. "Great to meet you," he said, his voice full of Oxford, England, despite his very Middle Eastern looks. "Please, won't you join me, Mr Tsao?"
"Xiexie ni de yaoqing." He took the seat Muhammad had pointed at and looked expectantly at the man.
He chuckled softly as he poured tea into tall glass cups rimmed with brass. "I'm afraid my Mandarin isn't quite up to snuff. Would you like some tea?"
"Yes, thank you," David replied in heavily accented English. It wasn't hard for him to pull off the accent; he'd grown up hearing it every day.
Muhammad poured tea and served David, all the while keeping his eye on the crowd around them. No one was paying any particular attention to them, but that did not mean no one was listening. "How are you finding Damascus, Mr Tsao?"
"Much fighting." He bowed his thanks for the tea, lifting the cup and taking a sip. "Much excitement."
"Much profit?" the man asked, his black eyes glittering with avarice.
Another quick dip of his head. "For some kind of people, yes." His little grin said that he was assuredly one of those kind of people.
"Would you like to meet others like us? There is a little get-together this evening, taking place not far from the French embassy. I could introduce you, help you make friends. Are you interested?"
David nodded several times. "Yes, I am interested, thank you." He looked around the room casually, checking to see if anyone was paying more attention to them than would be usual. They were being ignored for the most part, though occasionally someone would glance over. It was most likely the novelty of seeing David in the teahouse, however.
Muhammad reached into the pocket of his summer-weight linen Saville Row blazer and produced a business card for David. "Be at this address at eight o'clock. It is black tie. I do trust this will not be a problem for you?"
"No problem at all," he assured the man, hoping that it wouldn't be. They hadn't exactly packed tuxes and ballroom dresses for this trip. "I am looking forward to it."
Muhammad nodded and finished his tea before rising from his seat. "I look forward to seeing you there, Mr Tsao. Have a pleasant afternoon." He dipped his head in a bow and left.
David waited until Muhammad had left the building, then rose and went to the door. No one followed him out, so he headed back towards the hotel, keeping an eye out for anyone looking too interested in him. Fortunately, the presence of so many soldiers on the streets kept most people moving quickly, their eyes on the ground in front of them. He made it back to the hotel without incident.