Chapter 32
“Welcome to Santa Barbara Pythagoras Lodge” said the sign. It was a modern building that had several bedrooms and bathrooms set aside for brothers visiting from around the country and abroad.
The guest went to the first floor where a number of
Brothers waited for the opening of the Lodge’s stated communication. The older
ones glanced at him. A young Brother approached him with a smile and asked how
he could be of assistance.
The guest smiled back and said, “I am a Lebanese Brother. I have with me a letter from my Grand Lodge attesting to my good standing as a Freemason. With whom should I speak? Who is your secretary?”
The young Brother asked him to wait and be seated. He then went inside the temple. A few minutes later he returned accompanied by a middle-aged Freemason.
“I am the Lodge secretary. Welcome. Can I please see your papers?”
The guest handed him some documents. After examining them, the secretary said, “Welcome among us. Brother Habib Fareh. Our meeting will start shortly. You borrow an apron from the box next to the guest book where you will kindly sign your name and list the Lodge you belong to under the authority of the Grand Lodge of Lebanon.”
“Thank you,” answered the visitor. “I prefer to wear my own apron – it’s here in my carry-on.”
He then entered the temple and sat on the south near the Junior Warden. Before beginning the opening ritual, the Lodge’s Venerable Master approached Habib Fareh and greeted him warmly. Then he went up the three steps of the Orient, put on his top hat, rapped his gavel and began to open the Lodge with the Senior and Junior Warden.
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“Dear Brother, come and enjoy our buffet. It’s modest fare,
but a way to stay together a while longer,” said the Lodge’s Worshipful Master.
As always, after ceremonies, a spread of sandwiches, chips, salad and ice cream
was offered and the Brothers heaped it all on their plates. Habib Fareh picked
a slimy cheese sandwich, a bag of chips and a soda and went to join another six
Brothers at the Worshipful Master’s table.
“Are you here for work or as a tourist?” asked the head of the Lodge.
“For work. I am looking to buy an apartment in Arizona, at Lake Havasu where I want to open a photography studio. I have done a lot of work in the field.”
The Worshipful Master smiled. “If you don’t already have one, I know the perfect real estate agent for you.”
He turned to one of the Brothers at a nearby table, “Kevin, perhaps you could be of assistance to our Lebanese Brother.”
Slightly surprised, Kevin – who was one of Santa Barbara’s best known real estate agents ‒ came over and shook hands with Fareh.
“Hello, Brother. How can I help you?”
They agreed to meet the next day at Kevin’s office.
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“Why Lake Havasu?” asked Kevin. He was puffing on a cigar
and was sitting with his feet on his desk.
“A perfectly legitimate question,” answered Fareh. “Beginning with Lake Havasu, I want to study how these three enormous man made lakes bring water to three states – especially California, that would die of thirst without it. It was a violent attack on nature and to the desert and had a tremendous effect. Something similar was done with the dams on the Tigris and the Euphrates. The dam built by Ataturk in Turkey gave life to a vast area of cultivation. The three lakes on the Colorado river are great tourist attractions; provide a never-ending source of electricity and bring water to the thirsty inhabitants of Nevada, Arizona and California.”
“The world is beautiful because it is varied,” commented Kevin. “I can help because I am also licensed in Arizona.” He browsed through his laptop.
“I think I’ve found something interesting. Come look. There’s a big loft in the English Village close to the London Bridge – the English monument that has been brought to this country and rebuilt here by Robert McCulloch, the chainsaw manufacturer. He’s also famous because his engines were used on the first go-karts. Do you like go-karts?”
“To tell you the truth, not at all. In any event, I see that it might be what I am looking for. How do we do this?”
“Listen, since you are a Brother and I need a few days off, I’ll take you. We have to leave right away because it’s more than 300 miles away. We’ll sleep at the London Bridge Resort. Tomorrow we’ll see the loft. We’ll take care of everything and I’ll go back to Santa Barbara in the afternoon.”
“That’s quite a haul for you…”
“I’m glad to do it, in true Masonic spirit. We will leave in thirty minutes. OK?
“Fine.”
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Chapter 33
After almost five hours of driving over the
speed limit of 75 miles per hour on the I-10 and CA-62 they arrived in Lake
Havasu City. Kevin was a great driver – the kind of guy who preferred driving hundreds
of miles rather than take an airplane – he was terrified of flying.
And yet he had done three turns of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan as a captain in the National Guard. In any event, even while driving his powerful Mercedes CL63 AMG, Kevin was still at work. Habib Fareh pretended to be napping, but he noticed that Kevin was constantly getting and making phone calls, dictating messages to his on board computer or voice texting.
And yet he had done three turns of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan as a captain in the National Guard. In any event, even while driving his powerful Mercedes CL63 AMG, Kevin was still at work. Habib Fareh pretended to be napping, but he noticed that Kevin was constantly getting and making phone calls, dictating messages to his on board computer or voice texting.
They drove by the London Bridge, purchased from England and rebuilt stone by stone in Lake Havasu City. The mayor of London came for the inauguration in 1971. Then they headed towards the London Bridge Resort – a vast complex with pools, water slides and a marina.
As soon as they got out of the car they were hit by a blast of heat from the Mojave Desert. The temperature was over 100 degrees. The lake tempered the humidity but it still felt like being in an oven.
A smiling young woman welcomed them at the front desk and checked them in. It was almost 7 p.m.
“Let’s meet at the Mojito Restaurant next door at around 8. But first a shower, OK?” said Kevin.
“Perfect,” said Fareh.
The restaurant was dimly lit, with candles on the tables
and a long bar to one side.
Kevin, in honor of the restaurant’s name, was already on his third Mojito and in the process of ordering an expensive vintage Italian wine.
Habib Fareh resisted Kevin’s pressure to join in the libations.
“I am a practicing believer,” he replied.
When it was time to order, he chose a Caprese salad of mozzarella and tomatoes. The mozzarella wasn’t the requisite water buffalo one and the tomatoes were probably from Mexico, with concomitant risk of salmonella.
Fareh was in no mood for talking and, despite all of Kevin’s efforts to keep the conversation going, after eating his pseudo Italian salad he begged off saying he was tired and needed to go to sleep. They agreed to meet the next morning at 8 a.m. for breakfast and then go see the loft.
Kevin polished off the bottle of wine. He felt at peace with the world. He had seen so much death while at war that at times he still had nightmares about it. But he had been lucky and come back all in one piece physically and mentally. For this reason he felt it was his duty to help others – and in this case it meant helping this Arab fellow Freemason however eccentric he may be. Tomorrow would be a busy day with a long drive home.
He had a few shots of grappa (he was crazy about all things
Italian even though he had never been there) and then stumbled back to his
suite with its nice, big Jacuzzi.
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“Did you sleep well?” asked Kevin as he tucked into his breakfast
of eggs, pancakes, bacon and home fries.
“Like a baby,” replied Fareh whose dark complexion seemed to have taken on a greenish tinge. He ordered some fruit and yogurt.
After breakfast they walked through some gardens with waterfalls to the English Village and its pseudo British streets.
“Here we are,” said Kevin in front of a Tudor style building. He punched in a code on the lock box and took out a key. The loft was very big and in good condition. The owners had obviously renovated it before putting it on the market.
“What do you think?” asked Kevin.
“It seems fine. How much do they want?”
“They are asking $360,000 non-negotiable.”
“I’d prefer to rent it first if possible.”
“I have carte blanche on the property. The rent is $5,000 a month, but it requires a one year lease.”
“No problem. I’ll pay the year upfront in cash, but the lease must be made out to my company.”
Kevin got on his cell phone and powered up
his laptop. From his carry-on he pulled out a small wireless printer and got to
work.
Meanwhile Habib Fareh walked around the apartment.
Half an hour later Kevin said:
“Everything is ready, all you have to do is sign. I will deposit the cash in my account and then transfer it to the owners who are not Americans.”
Habib Fareh signed the lease in his capacity of director of a Lebanese company, opened a suitcase and gave Kevin the required amount in $100 bills.
Kevin knew that people paid in cash when they wanted to hide something. But, as the saying goes, “money talks.” Plus he’d be able to take off the top a large commission and cover his expenses. Kevin wondered how Fareh had put his hands on so much cash. It occurred to him that he should make sure the bills weren’t counterfeit.
“I have to step outside for a while because I’m having trouble connecting to the Internet. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”
Kevin left the loft, crossed the London Bridge and went to a nearby Bank of America branch office in the Village’s downtown. He asked the teller if she could split two $100 bills. The girl was a bit perplexed. Kevin told her he had three Bank of America accounts in Santa Barbara.
The teller verified the information and then asked Kevin how he wanted the money. “In $20 bills,” he replied. Before handing over the cash she stuck the $100 bills in a device that checked their authenticity.
Kevin pocked the cash and headed towards the apartment. He crossed the bridge and ran into Fareh who asked him, “Everything OK?”
“Yes, I found a bit of trouble but I took care of it. Here are the keys. What are your plans? Want to drive back with me?”
“No. While you were out, I made a few calls. Tomorrow a truck is coming from San Diego with my equipment. I have to stay, but thank you for everything. Let’s get in touch in a few hours.” And then he gave Kevin a triple fraternal embrace.
After paying for his room, Kevin went to
the parking lot. He put the case full of $100 bills in the trunk of the car and
drove off at a leisurely pace.
While he was driving he kept wondering who the hell that Lebanese guy really was.
“He’s a fellow Freemason and was introduced to me by my Worshipful Master,” he thought as he cruised along listening to a Chopin prelude on satellite radio.
“One thing is sure – paying in cash is fishy. It’s a good thing I checked to see if those bills were fake. I sure meet a lot of strange people in my job.”
While he was driving he kept wondering who the hell that Lebanese guy really was.
“He’s a fellow Freemason and was introduced to me by my Worshipful Master,” he thought as he cruised along listening to a Chopin prelude on satellite radio.
“One thing is sure – paying in cash is fishy. It’s a good thing I checked to see if those bills were fake. I sure meet a lot of strange people in my job.”
By then Kevin had reached San Bernardino and the traffic was heavy. Kevin was tired so he had to pay extra careful attention. You never know what can happen on a six-lane highway. Someone wacked out on booze or drugs could swerve right into you.
The flames leapt out from under the hood and were followed by an explosion. The Mercedes left the ground and crashed into surrounding cars. Then it rolled over several times, while cars trying to get out of the way ended up running into each other. The Mercedes finally came to a stop in the highway median.
The fire had almost completely destroyed it and the incident caused the closing of the highway with miles of backed up traffic. There were many wounded, several critically.
Two police helicopters hovered and ambulances helicopters rushed to the scene.
The police investigation established that a malfunction in one of the Mercedes’ turbo-compressors had caused the explosion.
The car’s manufacturer immediately asked to examine the wreck. It would find no trace of the plastic explosive and magnetic min itimer that Fareh had placed under the front bumper.
A police investigator, however, did find a few half burnt $100 bills. They were sent to the Bureau of Engraving and Printing in Washington, where they were determined to be perfectly counterfeit.
