The safehouse in Dubai was less of a house and more of a fortress disguised as a palace. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the Burj Khalifa pierced the skyline like a needle, and the city lights hummed with a wealth that felt insulting compared to the blood and dust Tony had just washed off his skin. Karim had insisted they stay here, tucked away in the "Golden District," where the private security was tighter than a military base.
Tony stood in front of a mirror in one of the guest suites. He wasn't wearing his combat vest or his cargo pants. Karim's staff had brought him a charcoal-grey suit. It was high-quality, flexible fabric, but to Tony, it felt like a straitjacket. He checked his reflection, reaching back to ensure the small 9mm pistol he'd tucked into the small of his back didn't print against the jacket. It was the only thing making him feel even remotely comfortable.
A knock came at the door. Nadia stepped in. She looked completely different. The grime of the desert was gone, replaced by a deep emerald dress that made her look like one of the elites they were about to meet. But her eyes were still the same—sharp, scanning the room for threats.
"I feel like a target," Nadia said, her voice tight. "In the desert, I can see a threat coming from a mile away. Here, there are too many corners. Too many people."
"That's the point of a party, Nadia," Tony said, adjusting his cuffs. "Keep your head up. Karim says his inner circle is the only group invited. No outsiders. But in this city, 'inner circle' just means the people who haven't stabbed you in the back yet."
They walked down the grand staircase into the main hall. The party was already in full swing. The smell of expensive perfume and roasted meats filled the air. It was a sea of white thobes and expensive European suits.
The contrast was most obvious when Tony spotted the other mercenaries. The Red Fang survivors, Grind and his partner, were huddled near the massive bar. Grind was already on his third drink, his loud laughter echoing off the marble walls. He looked like a bull in a china shop, his scarred face and rough hands completely out of place among the polished guests. The Iron Vulture team was even weirder to look at; they stood near the balcony, four men in black suits who still managed to look like they were standing in a tactical formation. They didn't talk to anyone. They just watched.
Karim spotted Tony and pushed through a group of oil magnates. He looked relieved, almost manic with gratitude.
"Tony! My savior!" Karim shouted, drawing eyes from across the room. He grabbed Tony's hand and shook it vigorously. "Look at you! You look like a CEO. But we know the truth, eh? You're the man who does what the CEOs are too afraid to do."
"Karim," Tony nodded. "Yusuf is doing okay?"
"Sleeping like a baby. My doctors are with him. He asks for you, you know," Karim's face softened for a second before hardening into a mask of cold fury. He lowered his voice. "But the men who did this... they are still breathing. My guests here, they think this is just a celebration. They don't know that tonight, we plan a funeral."
Karim led Tony and Nadia toward a group of older men smoking cigars near a fountain. "Everyone, listen. This is Tony. If you ever find yourselves in a hole you can't climb out of, he is the one you call. He brought my son back from Blackwater's clutches."
One of the men, a thick-necked guy with a heavy gold watch, looked Tony up and down. "Blackwater? Julian Vane's boys? You got lucky, kid. Vane has deep pockets and a lot of old government hardware."
Tony didn't blink. "Luck had nothing to do with it. And Vane's pockets are going to be empty soon."
The man laughed, but there was an uneasy edge to it. The "inner circle" knew that a war was brewing, and in Dubai, war was bad for business.
Later that night, as the music slowed, Karim pulled Tony into a soundproofed study. The walls were lined with monitors showing security feeds from around the estate. Karim sat down and poured two fingers of scotch, pushing one toward Tony.
"Julian Vane," Karim began, spitting the name out. "He was my rival in the ministry years ago. When the shift happened and the PMCs took over the security sector, he used his remaining influence to build Blackwater. He's a parasite, Tony. He thinks that because he has a headquarters in the Hamrin Mountains, he's untouchable. He thinks Iraq is his personal playground because he knows the terrain."
"He's wrong," Tony said.
"I know he is. That's why I want you to go back. I've already moved a massive shipment of supplies to one of my safehouses near Tikrit. Ammo, explosives, whatever you need. I want Vane and the leader of his PMC—a butcher named Kael—dead. Not captured. Dead."
Tony leaned forward. "I have my own reasons for going back. They have Nadia's brother, Leo. They're using him for tech support because they made him think Nadia is captured and are in their hands but now that she should be dead in their eyes, i don't know what they will do to leo, so I have to go."
"Then we have an agreement," Karim said. "I will handle the Iron Vultures' payment. They are greedy, so money will be effective. And what Red Fang, they just lost their leader, do you think they will join or will leave?"
"They're joining with me," Tony said. "They aren't doing this for money anymore and if they ask for any compensation for the upcoming mission then you handle it."
The night ended slowly with the cold realization that the luxury of Dubai was just a brief pause. The real world was waiting for them back in the dirt.