Karim, King of England

by Baz Wade

  “You can keep it on one condition,” smiled Ali, “that you marry me!”

  “But that’s bribery…”

  “It’s okay, I was only joking, you can keep it anyway, whether you marry me or not – however I’d still like you to marry me – so will you marry me, please?”

  “Well I’ll have to think about it,” said Caroline, pocketing the ring. Ali looked disappointed.

  “Okay, I’ve thought about it, and the answer is… yes!”

  The couple just about managed to embrace in a tangle of skis and poles.

  Two hundred metres away, Luigi had managed to record this happy event by a series of maybe thirty snaps on his Nikon.

  He, too, was an expert skier and had not been fooled by the pantomime at the mountain restaurant.

  As he put the Nikon back in its case, he reflected on what the snaps might fetch on the market. He reckoned he could get Closer magazine to pay him well into five figures for a selection of the photos plus something similar for the photos plus a briefing to his contact in the British Secret Service – MI6.

  For some reason he felt like an assassin – but put that thought behind him. Besides, he had a sick wife and two children to look after – as well as a recreational drug habit that needed funding…

  Christmas Day 1993:

  MI6 HQ, London

  Ray Watkins was perusing a full set of the photos Luigi had faxed across. Ray was not especially bothered about working on Christmas Day – he tended as a bachelor to find Christmas somewhat lonely and boring. When asked by colleagues why he wasn’t married, he would respond by saying he was a member of the “Misogynist Community.”

  This did not stop some of the secretaries smiling and fluttering their eyelids at him encouragingly, but to no avail. Ray reckoned they did not know what “Misogynist” meant and decided not to make an issue of it by telling them. Maybe they thought “Misogynist Community” was some kind of religious Order of quasi-monks. Maybe they weren’t far wrong, he reflected!

  Ray had paid Luigi only $6000 for the photos and nothing extra for the briefing, which was really more valuable. Ray knew that Luigi would try his luck also on the magazine market where he might get ten times as much – there was nothing Ray could do to stop that.

  Be that as it may, from what Luigi said, the couple’s body language and the expensive package, it looked like Ali was proposing to Caroline and in those circumstances Ray had orders to contact the appropriate MI6 rep in the field with a message. Ray had originally jokingly suggested “the eagle has landed”, but his boss settled on “the bird has flown.”

  Ray had no concern about what would happen then – as a mere mid-ranking spook, he operated only on a need to know basis and did not enquire too deeply into political, ethical and diplomatic niceties.

  Ray duly faxed the coded message to the MI6 rep, in this case Tony Scarman, care of the British Consulate, Venice.

  Cortina

  Meanwhile at his chalet, Ali and Caroline were busy with festivities and with breaking the news of their engagement to his family, including his father, Hassan.

  “I’m delighted for you, but also worried – in a way,” said Hassan on hearing the news – “James and the other British royals won’t be keen on Richard having a Muslim stepfather, in my view.”

  “But I get on just fine with Richard, we both like fast cars and yachting and so on – we need never discuss politics or religion – why would we?” responded Ali.

  “I think it goes deeper than that – they will worry more about security and who Richard might meet unofficially.”

  “I’m sure we can handle that kind of thing. We don’t want to endanger him any more than they do.”

  “If you have a child, Richard will have a Muslim half-brother or sister, they won’t want that either.”

  Before dinner that evening, when they were alone, Caroline made an announcement. “Darling, I think I’ve got another Christmas present for you.”

  “What do you mean, think?”

  “I think I’m pregnant.”

  Ali hesitated, then smiled – “I’m delighted but kind of worried as well – I think there’s some truth in what my dad said earlier. We will have to tread carefully.”

  “I’m sure it will all be fine – so long as the baby’s got my looks and your brains and not the other way round,” joked Caroline. Ali smiled “I will tell dad, but no-one else – for the time being. By the way, you’re lucky I understand your sense of humour, otherwise it would be Burka time for you!”

  Venice and Cortina

  28 December 1993

  Scarman verified the message from Watkins, discovered it was genuine and put in a call to his “appropriate contact”, an individual called Cesare Navarra.

  Scarman gave Navarra the password and said “It’s over to you now, better get on with it sooner rather than later – you know where to find them.”

  Navarra had been warned by Scarman that there might be a call and many of the necessary arrangements were already in place. The former made his living employing, financing and organising mainly Mafia hitmen.

  Navarra prided himself on being the consummate professional – discreet, efficient and clinical in regard to the execution of his orders – hence his nickname – the “Surgeon.” The Police knew of him by his nickname only – they might have had their suspicions regarding the identity of the Surgeon, but Navarra was too clever covering his tracks to leave any hard evidence – besides his brother, Alberto, the Lawyer, would always look after him. Alberto was a Mafia money launderer and fixer. The Surgeon and the Lawyer, both as clever and cunning as foxes, were a formidable team. Importantly, all payments for the Surgeon’s services were made by way of cash to Alberto’s firm. The latter had sufficient contacts in the Banks, including those in Switzerland and the United States, to make the laundering of cash payments routine, even though seriously illegal. Law firms were the ideal recipients of such cash, which could be used to make loans, buy property and other investments and create plausible paper trails in the event of anyone asking awkward questions.

  Today Navarra had got up early. His team of four operatives in Cortina had been fully briefed as to the targets and their vehicle – a silver Mercedes Estate, registration number MO-7 7322, but he might be called upon to make a decision in the event of something unforeseen arising.

  The chosen vehicle to take care of the Merc was a black Range Rover with false number plates.

  There would be two operatives in the Range Rover and the other two would be in the back-up vehicle – a recovery truck with four-wheel drive and a turbo charged engine.

  Back in Cortina, Ali had also risen early. He had planned with the others to ski the Sella Ronda, a forty kilometre ski trek round the principal Dolomite, starting at Selva, a thirty-minute drive away.

  The party of five comprised Ali, Fiona, Marco (the driver), Eva, a Czech chalet girl who had volunteered to join the party instead of Caroline, who had dropped out at the last minute due to feeling ill, plus Jan, Eva’s Czech boyfriend.

  Rod had wanted to join the party but felt duty bound to remain at the chalet with Caroline.

  Marco would not be skiing, so the party climbed aboard the Merc Estate with 4 sets of skis and poles. Everyone was jovial and looking forward to the New Year celebrations which Hassan in particular usually celebrated with great generosity and enthusiasm.

  They did not notice the Range Rover parked nearby which proceeded to follow them down the valley, at a discreet distance. The slush on the road had frozen overnight and Marco was driving slowly and carefully, causing Ali to remark “No need to overdo the caution, Marco, we haven’t got all day!” Marco increased his speed by a few kph to please his boss – the Range Rover increased speed also, and 15 seconds later the Range Rover had drawn level with the Merc, to Marco’s justified consternation. He had time to shout “Maniac!”, at which point t
he Range Rover rammed the side of the Merc causing the girls to start screaming. The Range Rover’s first attempt caused Marco to lose control of the Merc. The Range Rover’s second ramming attempt saw the Merc pushed through what was left of a crash barrier following an accident a few days earlier, over the precipice, and the car cartwheeling down the near vertical cliff face, coming to rest upside down on the rocky valley floor below. Everyone in the car was rendered unconscious. Ninety seconds later, leaking fuel ignited, causing what was left of the car to catch fire. There were no survivors.

  The Range Rover stopped and the recovery truck ground to a halt in front of the Range Rover, which was then quickly loaded onto the truck – the 4 mobsters hastily embarked and drove off with hardly a glance back at the carnage they’d caused.

  As it was still only around 7.30 am, the road had not been at all busy and, apart from the 2 perpetrators and their 2 accomplices, there was only one witness, a taxi driver called Matteo who managed to call the Police to raise the alarm, but had the presence of mind to refer to the event as an accident rather than criminally intentional. He knew if he made accusations he might be called upon to appear endlessly in Court, which was not a welcome prospect. Besides, if the culprits were the Mob, where would it end? He had to think about his wife and family.

  There was something else bothering him and he put in a call.

  “Signor Khaled?”

  “Speaking.”

  “It’s Matteo, your taxi driver, I think I may have some bad news. Your son’s car – I think it’s a silver Merc Estate?”

  “Yes – go on.”

  “There’s been an accident – it went through the crash barrier on the Selva road and caught fire—”

  There was several seconds silence while Hassan tried to recover from the initial shock and think straight.

  “Signor? Signor?”

  “Yes – are you sure it was an accident?”

  There was a pause –

  “No, maybe not, but I don’t want to give evidence…”

  “It’s okay, you can trust me.”

  “I saw a Range Rover force the Merc off the road – it was then driven away on the back of a recovery truck. Who was on board, Signor?”

  “Ali and various friends.”

  “I’m very sorry Signor, if it is as we think it is.”

  “Thank you for letting me know, Matteo. Please keep in touch and don’t speak to anyone about this without conferring with me.”

  “The Police have my number – I will just say it was an accident.”

  “Ok.”

  Hassan had taken the call in his study – he decided to break the bad news without delay and went into the living room where Rod and Caroline were playing backgammon.

  “How are you feeling Caroline?”

  “Better, but not 100%.”

  “I am afraid I may have some bad news –”

  “Why do you say may have?”

  “There’s been a car crash involving what I believe to be Ali’s Merc and it looks like it wasn’t an accident. I think Ali and the others didn’t survive.”

  There was a few seconds silence followed by Caroline bursting into tears.

  “How did you hear about this?” asked Rod.

  “From Matteo, a taxi driver I often use – he witnessed the Merc being forced off the road. The point is we need to act fast before the Press and the Police get here, and we should give the impression that you two were in the car so the culprits don’t try again to finish you off.”

  Rod’s Army training had by now kicked in and he immediately saw the sense in what Hassan was saying.

  “Okay, we’ll lie low on the top floor and you can deal with the Press and Police.”

  “You may need to make a run for it overnight,” said Hassan.

  “Where to?”

  “I’ve got contacts in Morocco who owe me a favour or two. My plane could pick up both of you at Treviso Airport.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” sobbed Caroline.

  “I’m sorry sweetheart, it could be a question of life or death,” said Rod.

  “… and there’s the baby to consider” added Hassan.

  At Cortina Police Station, Captain Gino Lucetti was nursing a severe hangover. The last thing he felt like dealing with just now was a car crash involving celebrities and British Royalty, or ex-Royalty. He had listened twice to the recording of Matteo reporting the accident and had brought to bear his 28 years of experience on the case. Something about Matteo’s somewhat faltering diction had persuaded him that Matteo was not disclosing the full story. But if it wasn’t an accident, then it was a highly professional and well organised hit so the likely culprits were the Mafia, or a government agency – either way, he would incur their extreme displeasure if he were to ask awkward questions.

  He lit another Camel cigarette, studiously ignoring the “VIETATO FUMARI” sign, and sipped again at the mug of black coffee which rested on a beer mat near the front of his desk.

  The immediate problem was to establish precisely who had been on board the Merc Estate which had crashed and caught fire. He had discovered the registration number of the car and he would have to visit Chalet Torlarin, which was the address of Ali Khaled, the registered keeper of the car.

  Meanwhile, back at the chalet, Hassan and Rod were planning Caroline and Rod’s escape from their hiding place on the top floor. Hassan had already put in calls to his friend, Zaid, in Morocco who owned a secluded Camel Ranch west of Marrakesh and also to Francois, the pilot of his executive jet – Hassan had taken both into his confidence about the matter and he knew he could rely on them. Zaid said the couple could stay on his ranch incognito for as long as they liked – some of his family and employees were based at the ranch but all would be 100% discreet if he asked them.

  Francois mentioned a potential problem with Passport Control at Marrakesh Airport but thought he could get round that with a well placed bribe – he would think $5000 would probably do it, but would check.

  Francois confirmed the plane would be waiting for them at Treviso Airport at 4.00 am the following morning. It was agreed that Caroline would wear a niqab for the journey and if anyone asked questions, she was an Arab princess with her European lover on the run from her furious family.

  It was around 1.00 pm when Captain Lucetti rang the doorbell of Chalet Torlarin. He was accompanied by an assistant and a driver – the latter remained in the car during the duration of the meeting. Anna, Hassan’s housekeeper, opened the door and ushered the visitors in to Hassan’s study.

  “It’s a terrible business, Captain – I’ve been expecting you – it looks like half my family have been wiped out.”

  Hassan was having trouble controlling his emotions but managed to remain coherent.

  “Can I offer you some lunch? We have paninis and soup if you like.”

  “That would be very kind, Signor –”

  “Please take a chair – both of you – Anna will arrange the food.”

  Lucetti said “I need to ask you a few questions but I realise this must have been a terrible shock so I could delay this process if you prefer…?”

  “No carry on, let’s get it over with –”

  “Grazie, Signor – firstly, may I ask how you first found out about the crash?”

  “Yes, the taxi driver, Matteo, who was a witness, phoned me and told me he’d raised the alarm with you.”

  “Yes, that’s right – Matteo said he reckoned it was an accident – do you agree with that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did your son have any enemies?”

  “Some members of the British Royal Family did not like Caroline consorting with an Arab Muslim, otherwise none that I am aware of…”

  Lucetti sighed.

  “… But if Matteo was the only witness and he says it looked l
ike an accident then I suppose we must accept his word for it – I’ve known him for many years and regard him as trustworthy.”

  “Quite so,” said Lucetti.

  “My next question is who was travelling in the Merc at the time?”

  “Marco, the chauffeur, Ali…”

  At that moment Lucetti’s cell phone rang and Lucetti, observing the number, took the call.

  “Si – Lucetti here” – after several seconds of Lucetti saying “si” and sighing again – the call ended.

  “My team have recovered various personal possessions from the car including a ski jacket containing Caroline’s ski pass.”

  Lucetti carefully refrained from mentioning that the ski jacket was partially burnt.

  Hassan looked surprised for a split second then took refuge in burying his head in his hands to mask the surprise and the despair he undoubtedly felt.

  Lucetti let Hassan recover his composure and then said “Shall we return later or can you go on…?”

  “You can go on, Captain – if you like – but please let’s get this over with…”

  “Grazie Signor – just to recap, it looks like we can place Marco, Ali and Caroline in the Merc – who else?”

  “That would be Rod – Caroline’s bodyguard – and Fiona, Caroline’s friend,” replied Hassan, almost in a whisper.

  “We will have to hold a news conference – I would suggest at 7.00 pm tonight in the School gymnasium – there’s no obligation for you to attend – but it may be in your interest to do so to stop the Press hounding you so much… Okay, let’s leave it there for the time being – thank you again Signor for your co-operation.”

  On the top floor of the Chalet, Caroline and Rod had both packed rucksacks with survival kits, to use Rod’s terminology. Anna had told them Lucetti and his assistant were in the building and they were keeping a very low profile – Rod’s expression again.