Two Texas oilmen stood on a street corner in the business district of Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates, talking about their hobbies. Both were private pilots and one had recently bought a Pitt's Special, a small aerobatic aircraft.
"That sucker climbs like a coon shinnying up a tree with hound dogs on his tail," he said. "What I like most is doing hammerheads. It doesn't have enough power to hang on its prop so I kick it over before it loses momentum.
"How do you get it to fall off straight?"
"Just before the airspeed indicator hits bottom I poke in full left rudder and push the stick over to the right."
"Did you ever let it tailslide?"
"Only once. I wanted to see what would happen so I stayed with it and when it started down I figured I'd add rudder and it'd fall off to the side. Problem was I let it gain too much speed and must've come back on the stick. The tail came up and the nose fell, whoomp! Pulled six Gs but it was kind'a sudden like, y'know. Not like doing a loop where it comes on gradually."
"Did you ever do an inverted spin?"
Before he could respond a burka-clad woman bumped into him then backed away muttering in Arabic. She never raised her head.
He looked at the retreating figure for a moment then seemed to regain his line of thought. "Yeah. Yeah, I did. It's a little scary so I quit after two revolutions and headed home."
The men chatted for several minutes more then stepped to the curb waiting for a traffic signal to cross the street. A dark sedan skidded to a stop, blocking their way. Three uniformed Emirate policemen hustled out of the car, shouting in Arabic. They grabbed both Americans, threw them to the sidewalk and began handcuffing them.
"What the hell's going on?" One of the men yelled.
The officer who seemed in charge grabbed his arms, yanked him to his feet and puhed him face down on the hood of the sedan. "Are you armed?" he asked, feeling around the American's crotch, belt and ankles.
"No, of course not," the indignant Texan said.
"Where are your guns?"
"I don't have a gun."
"What government are you plotting to overthrow?"
"Overthrow! What the hell are you talking about?"
"One of our undercover officers heard you talking about revolutions. Soldiers of fortune convicted in the Emirates are beheaded."
"Soldiers of fortune! We're businessmen working for Odessa Petroleum. We were talking about flying airplanes. Nobody said anything about overthrowing a government."
"You were talking about revolutions--isn't that how governments are overthrown? Ah, yes. I see it now. You were planning to have an airplane for your attack, no?"
"No. We are both pilots and I was telling him about my new airplane. It's a single seater, and besides, it's back in Texas."
"A one-seat airplane! Is it a fighter? A bomber? Or is it a spy plane? How many men are in your organization? Does your oil company finance your exploits?"
A Mecerdes van pulled up behind the sedan and both Texans were manhandled into the back of the vehicle. The policeman in charge stared at the men sprawled on the floor, his dark eyes shaded beneath bushy brows, pupils and irises blending into dark orbs. "Yes. I have heard how you Americans are always scheming to get our oil. Now we will see how much plotting you do without heads."
He slammed the door and brushed imaginary dirt from his trousers.