The ARK Pgs. 01-30

"It's an invitation to the boys Birthday party next month, I'll understand if you can't make it, but the boys wouldn't forgive me if I didn't invite you... no pressure" The Colonel started laughing. "I will be back home on leave too, so put me down to attend. I wouldn't like to disappoint the boys.

Don't worry about the other thing I'll look into it" Briggs put his hand on Mike's shoulder; he might be Mike's commanding officer, but they were also friends. They had served together, he had put Mike's name forward for this position, and he was the godfather of Mike's eldest son; he was family.

Mike turned and headed to his digs; I'll shower first before I head to the mess to hear the complaints about my crew; he had a chuckle and headed off.

CHAPTER 2 - Damani makes his pitch

Cruising down the main street of Mogadishu in his storm bay coloured BMW iX xDrive 50 with bulletproof windows, because after all, this is Mogadishu. The day was sunny and peaceful; one could easily forget that in the space of 24 hrs, it could easily be turned into a horror fest of gunfire and explosions, but today, it was sunny, and there was optimism in the air. Aarth Damani, an Indian-born billionaire business tycoon, made his first million selling internet porn. His parents were killed on a trade mission to North Korea when he was 15. Now at the ripe age of 45 was in the top 5 richest men in the world (The richest if people knew the whole story). Art, as he is known worldwide, chooses to accept the sunny part anyway of this day.

On the other hand, Arts bodyguard had the look of, 'we could all die today,' which they possibly could. Art told him in the briefing, "we could all die tomorrow if things don't go to plan." By "We," Art meant his driver Terry Lamb, his bodyguard Fred Collier and himself.

He offered a business plan to the self-elected President and Dictator of Somalia, General Hassan Abdullahi Abdi. It was the start of an ambitious project that Art has been working on for 5 years, life-changing, world-changing, but... today, it could get him killed. Art has taken many steps to ensure their safety, but he has no army or police at his back, just Fred, Terry, and a fantastic sales record, plus a bucket load of money.

As he looked at Fred's face, he came to realise that it wasn't Fred's death face, that was Fred's regular face; the man could scare and stare down anyone he knew, which was great when ordering Burger King through the drive-through, with that face they never stuffed up our orders. Of course, Fred hated placing the orders; Art knew this, but it amused him, plus what else would amuse an eccentric billionaire.

As the car rolled up to the Presidential office, the passers-by didn't suspect anything; they didn't know a deal could be struck to change their way of life for the better, they didn't realize that the start of world peace could be a pen stroke away. No one suspected that in minutes there could be gunshots and his body thrown from a 5-story window; life was full of possibilities.

Art was taken aback by the stark contrast of the modern office building and the ancient Muslim Mosque across the road. It was good to see countries hanging on to their culture, especially architecture.

As Terry opened Arts door, he gave Fred a stern look and said, "stay frosty..." Not even a twitch in Fred's face at Arts quote from a dozen B grade movies. 'The man's not alive, I'm sure of it,' Art thought. As he turned around and looked up at the building, Art took three slow deep breaths...paused... said to himself, "Go big or go home." As he walked through the front foyer in his custom Italian suit, you would think his footsteps roared with the sound of a giant coming; such was the confidence he exuberated.

As Art was ushered into the office of President Abdi, it was everything he expected it to be and more. He had seen the pics of the office and the President but seeing this giant of a man behind this desk and on his beautifully carved office throne chair was excessive, impressive but excessive. His office chair looked like a throne from a 1970's Tarzan movie. Carved from some rare tree, no doubt with the skins of lions draped off the sides. On top of the back of the seat sat a lion's head, obviously to portray that he was king in this country and no one else. When he stood up, all 6'7 and one hundred and fifty kgs of him, he thrust out his hand in an excited greeting to Art; Art sensed he had something to offer.

"Mr. Damani, what a pleasure to meet you," in a very cheerful greeting. "Please sit, I have been waiting for this meeting, to meet the man crazy enough to put such an outlandish, absurd proposal to the people of Somalia," which he means himself.

"I read your proposal several times, to just try and believe what I was reading. I just had to meet you out of curiosity, to see how you thought you'd be able to pull it off". 'Pretty much the response I thought to get from the President, so no need to squirm in the seat just yet,' Art thought to himself.

"Well, Mr. President, I'm not noted to think small, go big or go home, I think the moto says" Art gave a little cosmetic laugh at the end.

"True, Mr. Damani, but there's big, and then there's way too much for you to carry. So let me see if I get the vision right before you tell me how you're going to get two counties that have been at war for decades to all of a sudden become friends and work together and share borders."

"Please go ahead, Mr. President; we need to make sure we are on the same page" Art politely gestured.

"Ok, you would like to build a World Nature reserve on lands that cross Somalia and Ethiopian borders, to protect and repopulate animals from all over the world, like a big zoo. But not just anywhere, YOU want to build it in the Bale mountains, which I might add is a UN World Heritage-listed area. Good luck with getting permission from those tight arses. Then," President Abdi paused to gather his thoughts, "You want Somalia and Ethiopia to open their borders to work together in peace and harmony. Is this what you are proposing, Mr. Damani?" The cynical voice of 'how dare you, this is my country' was what Art was waiting for.

"Well, that is a simplified version of my plan, but basically, yes, that is what I am working towards." War and fear were what was keeping this lunatic in power. The chess game had begun, and Arts internal clock gave him fifteen minutes to win the President over or be dragged out and shot.

"Mr. President, my ambition is to bring some of the world's leading scientists to your country and set up breeding programs to repopulate the animals of the world, especially those currently listed as about to go extinct and thus bring billions of dollars of revenue and advances in medical research to your...."

The President abruptly barged into the conversation, "Yes, yes, wonderful for the animals and money and culture to Somalia, but how did you think that dog of a President, Conde' and I would agree to such a ridiculous proposal?".

Time for a change in tact; Art thought, "Mr. President, this is going ahead." Art said in a no wavering voice, "It's just a matter of whether you want to be a part of it. If so, what will it cost!"

"You think you can buy me and buy my country; do you know who I am!" yelled the President as he hammered his huge fist onto his desk.

In a calm but cold voice, "I know exactly who you are," retorted Art.

The following moves on the chessboard will result in a win or possibly death. The carrot or the stick? The carrot was Art's first choice to use; he hated the stick but was prepared to use it to get the game to checkmate. "Mr. President, I don't want to buy your country or you. I want to give your country the funds, jobs, and future it deserves. Still, I need you; your influence and control of your country this is what your country is going to need for this transition, Somalia will only listen to you" Art nearly choked on the words; they were sort of true. Still, he could easily replace him. He did have three others in line waiting to be called up.

"This is what you have in your bank account right now ...All of your bank accounts" The words took the President aback as Art opened his laptop and placed it on the desk facing the President. In front of him, the President saw five screens, with all of his bank accounts, including the two overseas hidden ones, well, the ones that were supposed to be hidden. Nothing can't be found by Art or his company. But, if he wants to know it, he will find it. That's part of being the giant of the World tech industry. Art's company AZTECK, over the last 10 years, has led the world with its innovations. So, if the world uses it, Art has a back door into it. In this room alone, there are two microphones and two video cameras that have been here for six months undetected.

"$2.76 million a nice effort for eleven years of...effort for your country, but... if you joined as a leader of change for your country, you and your family would never have to worry about money, ever again. I would put you on ten million dollars a year for you to control your soldiers, weed out the trouble makers and retrain them into a well-financed peacekeeping force. You and your family could live in comfort and peace for the rest of your lives". Art dropped the 'Peace' into his speech, knowing that his family lives in a soldier's compound, to protect them from reprisals for many of the Presidents crimes against his own people in his 11-year reign. The carrot was dangled; now, it was time to see if it would be taken. President Abdi was impressed with the offer but kept his poker face to see what was available.

"I suppose the dog President has been offered the same deal?" Abdi calmly asked, "No, I haven't spoken to him yet; I came to you first because you and Somalia are more important," which technically was true. After all, he couldn't do it with only one country's support.

Abdi tried to play his hand and get control of the negotiation. "This all sounds impressive, if not totally unmanageable," Art sighed; he couldn't help it; he knew Abdi was pushing for more. There was more to be given, Aarth Damani was generous for the effort people put into their work, but Art needed Abdi submissive and working to support him, not always looking for his equal footing. 'Stick time,' he thought; this is where it could get ugly; even with the precautions he put in place, this monster, when angry, could still crush him with his bare hands.

"President Abdi push button 3"

Abdi is looking at Art suspiciously and pushes button three. A look of instant shock and horror came across his face as he looked at the screen of at least twelve live video feeds of his family, his mother, wife, and four children. Horror soon turns to rage as Abdi slams both closed fists onto his desk, making a thunderous bang. Abdi springs up out of his seat, leaning over the computer.

"You dare threaten my family. I will destroy you and anyone who goes near my family" Abdi's eyes were filled with rage, teeth bared like a rabid bear.

"Push button four," Art said calmly and firmly. Without thinking, Abdi pushed button four, instantly the rabid bear face was toned down by a slight confusion,

"What is this?" he demanded, "The complete movements of you and your family for the last six months, plus every conversion with everyone you all have spoken to." Art said firmly, his stomach tightening into a tight notch. Abdi quickly reaches for his desk's top draw, pulls out a Gold plated 45 magnum pistol, and points it straight at Arts head.

"I have had enough of this conversation; it was a poor decision to threaten my family, Mr. Billionaire; they will not find any sign of your body or that of your friends outside." The click of a hammer hitting an empty chamber from this pistol sounded just as loud as a loaded chamber to Aarth Damani. But, to his credit, he kept his composer and didn't flinch. Even though he knew the pistol wasn't loaded, the whole atmosphere was extremely frightening. It was worth the $2000 he paid to one of Abdi's subordinates to empty his gun before the meeting, well worth it indeed.

The look of shock and surprise on President Abdi's face was the opening Art needed to move into checkmate. "Sit down, Mr. President, I told you this is happening, with or without you. What's it going to be, security for your family and your country or something else?". The President slowly slid back into his seat as thoughts raced through his head. He glances over and notices his 2nd in charge standing by the door at attention, not flinching, he hadn't even seen him standing there this whole time, but he noticed him now.

"15 million, I want 15 million! "Abdi tried to have one final push for control, but the words choked as they came through his dry throat." 15 million ... " Art made a dramatic pause. "Done, Mr. President, push button five" The President pushed the five on the keyboard and noticed his hands felt very heavy. Another look of surprise and shock came across his face as he looked at pictures of his eldest daughter in her school uniform talking to two other youths he did not know.

"What is this???" he inquired. "These are the two street boys from a local gang that want your daughter to help them peddle their drugs through her school by using her family name and influence" Art hands over a manilla envelope to Abdi. "These are the details of the boys, names, and addresses, and where the gang hangs out; consider it a gift. As I said, I want your family to live in safety."

Art rises to his feet, checkmate he thinks to himself. "Mr. President, I will be in touch with you shortly, with the details of all our work in Somalia together. Take the rest of the day off to be with your family". President Abdi rises, gathers some composer, looks at the envelope. "Firstly, I have some work to do. Thank you, Mr. Damani; I look forward to working with you in the future." The men shook hands; Art then turned and walked to the door and down the hall into the elevator. As he walks to the foyer door, he struts with the form of a warrior, a giant slayer.

As he walks to the car, Fred Collier, his security guard, stands there with the door open, and Terry has the car running. Art stops in front of Fred and offers a smile. "We are still alive, Mr. Damani, so I assume the meeting went well?" Fred inquires. "We are alive; yes, it went perfectly," responded Art. As he nestles into his seat, Fred closes the door.

Terry speaks up, "To the airfield and home boss?"

"Yes, Terry home, but first we need to find a department store,"

"A department store?" Terry enquires

"Yes, I need to purchase some fresh undergarments."

Terry lets out a laugh. "OK Boss, done"

CHAPTER 3- LET THE SHOW BEGIN

From across the river, the Blue Renaissance centre was a picture to behold, with radiant ocean blue its reflection copied onto the Detroit River, doubling the effect of its magnificence. It wasn't the only one with the colours of the night skyline showing off a patriotic array of red, white, and blues.

As Aarth Damani looked out the large tinted glass wall, he thought to himself that one penthouse room of a luxury hotel is the same as the next; it came down to service and scenery for him. Even though the views over Detroit were lovely, they weren't as spectacular as those in Switzerland or Australia, but it was nice here. The scenery wasn't ranked the highest for Art, but this was one of his favourite hotels. The Detroit Hilton had one of the best contingents of staff members he had encountered, with Lynton the Butler for the penthouse being the best staff member he had ever experienced.

His likable personality and attention to detail were impressive. He always had the room prepared with all Art's favourite snacks and colours of decor. Not known by too many, Art's favourite colour was Hot Pink. He believed it showed creativity, passion, strength without anger, sexiness without being a big tart. Lynton had lamps and crystal balls in hot pink brought in for him and a white satin quilt on the bed with hot pink satin sheets; everything was tasteful without overpowering.

Chocolate-covered Turkish delight in the bowls and a jug of freshly made Iced coffee in the refrigerator with a fresh chicken and salad roll. No lobster or caviar for Art; he likes the simple life when it's just him. Lynton had one of the most impressive networks in the city for getting anything Art needed in a hurry. It was like he was a boss of the local mafia. When he needed something, his minions were on to it straight away and had it delivered promptly. Lynton would be a great asset to AZTECK, but he was sure he couldn't be bought for any price; Lynton looked like someone who loved what he was doing. What Art liked about Lynton the most was he believed that if some hard-working blue-collar worker saved for years to spend a weekend in the penthouse, Lynton would treat them like a King or Queen going above and beyond to make it a magical time for them. Unfortunately, the Lynton's in this world are a rare breed.

As Art looked out the window, there was a knock on the door. Lynton poked his head inside and said, "You have a visitor, Sir, Master Abayomi" "Send him in, Lynton, thank you," Art replied.

"Morning Father, any word yet?" Abayomi inquired. Abayomi Thoyana was Art's adopted son from a small village south of Bulbula in central Ethiopia.

"Not as yet, but soon, very soon. Then the fun begins; Ab, you and I will be very busy for quite a long time. Have you heard from Lexi and Doby this morning?", "Yes, they both reported this morning rather excited by yesterday's inquiries from the expo. A 29% increase in inquiries with government and major corporations. Father, how did you know that the government sector would turn up on a Saturday instead of coming during the week?" Ab questioned, puzzled.

"Well, the government delegations can say that they were busy, doing their normal work during the week. But, then, travel in luxury, stay at the best hotels, eat lavishly, then claim it back off their respective departments as work-related on their days off, then turn around and claim it off their personal tax at the end of the financial year. Art informed him that they all do it son because their governments never close the loopholes," Art informed him.

Ab laughed hard. "Maybe I should try that, "Ab joked. "You have more money than you know how to spend," Art said with his phony stern voice. "Oh, I think I know how to spend it," Ab said in a confident voice, smirking from ear to ear.

"I've told you; you can't buy Australia!... anyway, I have first dibs" The pair broke into simultaneous laughter, knowing they both had a liking for Australia and its people. They have often dibbed up the Australian states as if they owned it, judging them on their food, scenery, and resources.

As the laughter was subsiding, Art pointed to the refrigerator and said, "There's a fresh jug of iced coffee there if you want some." Just as Ab was about to reply, the phone blasted out its ringtone with a Queen song, "I want it all, and I want it now." Art takes a deep breath and summons his confidence and business voice; Ab calls him the voice chameleon, he answers. "Aarth Damani, yes, hello, Mr. Tambuka" Art looks concerned and listens intently. "Yes, yes, that is agreeable, and the committee has agreed to the announcement terms for tomorrow. Excellent, it will be a pleasure working with you, Mr. Tambuka. Yes, all well, greetings to your family too, yes thank you and goodbye now." Art's demeanour changed immediately; he went from the poker face, confident Billionaire who negotiated billion-dollar deals every week to the excited carry-on of an 8-year-old on Christmas morning.

"They agreed, they agreed, yes! All steam ahead for plan A" Art was beaming, all the approvals for his world adventure have been granted. The phone call was from the chairman of the World heritage committee. The committee had voted on the proposal from AZTECK, Art's leading front company, for permission to build Art's dream vision on world heritage land in Somalia, East Africa. The vote was unanimous. Even though Art suspected the approval for the grant would go through, he never left anything to chance. He had approached each committee member secretly to make his pitch because each has their own views on the proposal, especially since no other person, company, or country has been allowed to do it before.