I guess you could say that most of my time ‘on island’ was in fact the real holiday – beautiful beaches and total isolation for the team. If we wanted to be alone together we would head down the plantation end of the island. We would enjoy a sail away on a yacht, enjoy scuba, snorkelling and chasing turtles in order to hitch a ride out into the abyss that we called the shelf. The shelf was where the lagoon’s beautiful clear waters would give way to the black depths of the Indian Ocean, a sheer underwater rock face that descended from the island’s coral reefs into the depths of the ocean. Sometimes we would float submerged at about 10m deep just on the edge of the shelf and look out into the black ocean beyond to be absolutely scared to death by inbound shark, tuna and wahoo that would literally zoom right past you into the lagoon, obviously escaping something much bigger that lay out in the darkness.
Then it was time. The team would find its own way into Dubai whilst I would travel back to Singapore, do a big shopping trip for the right clothes and everything else to give the best impression that I was on a gap year, then on into Dubai by civil airline. We had an extended briefing session in my bungalow. I explained my intentions and how I would identify known targets to the team, how I would communicate both in an emergency and once I was satisfied that I had the information the Steering Group was seeking. I needed to try and get transport details, shipping routes, storage facilities, as well as names and destinations. It was sort of a loose op, open-ended, and there was further opportunity on this trip but it came simply with the condition that at the end of the ‘vacation’ Ahmed Haddad and Mohammed Al Zidjali would be scored off the Steering Group’s list.
I arrived in Dubai. Fuck, it was different this time – very serious, intense, more at stake and my neuro electrical synapses were being fried by an overload of information, excitement and expectation. It’s the swan syndrome, looking smooth as fuck on the surface but paddling like mad underneath. I needed to settle into the role and get in control of where this was all at. Relax, you’re just meeting old friends, I was telling myself but simultaneously trying to mentally reinforce the Steering Group’s directive on overfamiliarity. To observe, record and investigate, not to become too involved, not to be overfamiliar, to be unnoticed like in the training modules. I calmly made my way off the aircraft and through the customs halls, picked up my luggage and was out in arrivals in under 20 minutes, back undercover doing what I was good at, doing the shit right at the sharp end, re-entering the underworld, adding deeper layers of paranoia to my already overactive mind for a future disentanglement nightmare. Fuck, I loved this job.
There was no need to have fired up all the engines; as soon as I cleared customs, I was in a bear hug with Anatoly and Evgeny, the overfamiliarity clause busted in less than two minutes. It was emotional and I deliberately didn’t hold back. I let the whole thing pour out, more genuine than anything else in a collision of emotions, so pleased to see my friend Anatoly. Fuck, I loved this guy, but it was a train smash of other emotions that were in betrayal of any friendship that I had. He was on the kill list, for fuck’s sake. Anatoly was so excited as it had been years since we had said goodbye in Moscow and it was truly like we were brothers meeting up again. He was looking a little red from the sun and his now long pompadour-styled blond hair was bleached almost white from too much sunbathing and swimming. He was clean-shaven now, no moustache, and looked very smart indeed. He had grown up since we last met, matured a little and become quite the statesman. I don’t know if it was harder or easier to play the part knowing there was a bullet with Anatoly Pavlovich’s name written all over it, but I plunged myself deeper into the role and became more determined than before. This mission was different; the student scenario of my previous deployment was all spent and now I had a more serious and aggressive agenda and would need to employ all my skills to get what I wanted.
The fact that Anatoly and Evgeny had come to the airport to meet me actually meant so much to me; it was more than anyone had ever done for me before. None of my actual family members at that time had ever met me back from a trip abroad whether by sea or air. This was the family I loved and knew so well. It’s fucking scary to look back and see how well I played this role, and outside all of the unwritten boundaries of the Steering Group. The point being, I had to go deep enough to extract the real diamonds of information everyone was craving and there wasn’t going to be any fruit unless I was intensely engrained into their trust. We all stood admiring each other, how much we had grown, matured and all that bullshit. There was so much to catch up on and all the family were waiting for us back at the apartment. Evgeny carried my bags as Anatoly gripped on to me like he was never gonna let me go again. There was a nice Mercedes waiting for us out on the concourse, ice-cold air con hitting me and burning my nostrils as we climbed into the back, dark leather seats and tinted windows, all very bling but nice. It was an easy switch back into my old role and it all made for an easy day at the office.
We weren’t staying in a hotel – this caught me by surprise – the family had purchased an apartment in downtown Dubai. Back in the early ’90s it was very much still an embryonic building site to the vision it has now become. The main roads were like sleek straight black shoelaces through an otherwise barren brown desert, passing isolated building plots and bizarre green golf courses that were the initial parts of flesh being applied to the skeleton of the master plan of development. The Dubai skyline wasn’t that impressive; there were a few exceptions but not the ‘Everests’ that pierce the stratosphere we see today. However, there were enough bright lights to satisfy any Westerner, and the culture was being slowly retrained to accept the US dollar and ignore, or should I say tolerate, Western habits in the tourist zone for the needs of the profit makers. The foresight of Erik and Alex to buy in Dubai at this time was nothing short of remarkable and I’m sure it was all part of a bigger insurance plan. Old Dubai and the markets or souks are still the same today and probably the best, or should I say the most authentic, areas in my opinion.
We arrived at the apartment block and in true Russian style everything and every detail had been thought of. Everyone was waiting. Things were obviously going much better for the family now, and everyone was dripping in Dubai gold and Western clothing. The days of being excited at a pair of Nike trainers or a few CDs had long passed. It was strange and intriguing to see what the family as Russians had adopted into their lives, all the Westernisms they had embraced which blended awkwardly with traditional Russian culture – heavy gold rings and chains for the guys, and too many of them, coupled with a substantial appetite for anything with a label, especially shirts and bags for the women. Evgeny had adopted the suit with Nike trainers, a look which I thought was ridiculous especially with his scraggy beard that didn’t suit him, which both Anatoly and I insisted he shave off. I must admit I was fascinated by what I was seeing, how money was changing the family that I had seen cope so well in more humble times. Anatoly dressed a little plainer and more carefully. His immaculate appearance had only allowed himself to indulge in smart shirts and tie pins to accompany what must have been a nice selection of bespoke suits. His tie pin caught my attention, the Russian letters A P either side of a pearl embedded in white gold; it was very unique and he saw me admiring it a number of times. He had lost the moustache and was much more mature in his ways, very handsome and businesslike. Evgeny needed to catch up, and I guess Anatoly and I would work on that as our third wolf needed a little training.
I changed quickly into a T-shirt and shorts then joined the family on the terrace where there was a good-sized 15m swimming pool with views out to the Gulf. It was blistering hot, and as I came out onto the terrace I was greeted by Erik and Alex – shit, he was worse than me for emotions and welcomed back his little wolf, plainly excited and happy to see me again. Then I immediately sat down at a large table under umbrellas next to Natalia who held my hand like any good mother would do, with Erik endlessly welcoming me home to the family. Shit, I knew I had made an impression on my
first mission but these feelings truly ran deep within the family. The mental battle for supremacy of loyalty between the family and the mission had begun, and compromises had to be made as to the levels of my engagement, or should I say entanglement. I couldn’t be distant, it would raise a lot of suspicion, so I allowed myself to slide into the safety net and open arms of the family. It felt great, and it released me from the stiffness I was feeling by being bound to the mission.
Erik told me how desperately sad Anatoly and Evgeny had been this last year or so. They missed their brother and I had to stay until at least the end of the month. I agreed, and Erik was just so happy that I would stay he kissed me on the forehead and thanked me, leaping around the room like I was the prodigal son or something crazy. I didn’t know why he really wanted me to be back with Anatoly and Evgeny at the time; it seemed so important to him. Suspicious thoughts were always on my mind. Drinks were brought in by what must have been caterers, to accompany the biggest seafood salad ever seen. I was starving and overindulged in shellfish and ice-cold white wine, answering a barrage of questions about my travels, showing them proudly all the (false) stamps in my passport and telling stories of Singapore and all the beautiful sights and sounds I had experienced there. Alex and Erik continually tried to find a girl in my stories. Anatoly expressed his desires to travel with me as he came and pushed a chair closer to me. The afternoon soon became very relaxed and wound down away from any formalities, with the entire family changing into swimwear and enjoying the pool, all us guys ending up floating around in inflatable chairs with cupholders for our wine or vodka. It really was a bizarre but very happy afternoon. The family was complete and whole for this short and pleasant time.
As the sun started to set that evening, we all sat together in the lounge and huddled together as a family, and they argued who would sleep with me in the guest bedroom whilst playing cards and drinking. There were some surprise guests arriving tomorrow, and in the afternoon all the family were to go into the desert for a BBQ and dune racing. Everyone was so excited. I allowed myself to enquire of Alex and Erik how well the family was looking and how they must be up on their fortunes to be able to enjoy such surroundings. I laced the comments carefully with a subtle insistence that I should pay something toward the cost of the holiday. Alex was infuriated, in a nice way, and enforced the necessity for me to be here and spend time with Anatoly and Evgeny, which would be the price of my stay. Natalia squeezed my hand. I knew there was more to this than was being released, and she would no doubt fill me in.
It was two days later, while the entire family was out in the desert and I was getting some ice from the tent for my drink, when Natalia came and told me. The boys were racing each other on quad bikes over the dunes. Anatoly and Evgeny had become very depressed after I had left Moscow, and Anatoly had tried to commit suicide. His time at the military academy had been so hard and the pressures for him to do well had by all accounts been incredibly suffocating. He was a loner and didn’t have any friends. I was his friend who couldn’t be with him, and now it was just the government job that took up all his life, devoid and empty of personal friendships or relationships. Evgeny had visited Anatoly in hospital and had later disappeared for almost two months after he had been diagnosed with a heart condition prior to Anatoly’s attempt to take his own life. The family was finding it so hard to comfort either of them. I remember standing there crying and saying, “Natalia, why didn’t you tell me?” She never replied, just gave me a hug and beckoned me to go and enjoy being with my brothers.
Fuck, what had I walked back into? I was in a difficult position in which I had to contemplate every move very carefully, but at the same time the personal troubles of the family made for a window of opportunity to exploit. It’s simpler to extract information from emotional people. I could use the situation to my advantage whilst being compassionate and showing empathy to each individual’s needs. It was simply opportunity meeting requirement on an open playing field. I just had to capitalise on my position. I felt the betrayal demon creeping into my mind and into both sides of the game.
I remember that my talk with Natalia was the moment when the weight of suspicion was actually lifted; there appeared to be genuine reasons for the huge welcome back into the family. My support in Moscow for the boys following my time in DECAF had been a real tonic and a lifeline of hope for them I suppose, and I had been desperately missed. Neither of the boys had ever had such an amazing friendship like the bond we had together during my time with them in Moscow. I guessed it had been special but not of this magnitude. Thinking back, the family was probably guilty of keeping both the boys as isolated as possible from society because of who they were, who they were working for, and ultimately what they their parents were involved with. The family had to be tight, closed off, to keep things in check, no room for uncertainty in any camp. Who knows what had taken place but it allowed me to infiltrate beautifully in to the family and their business.
I promised Natalia I would stay as long as possible but just hinted that my financial situation wasn’t as good as the family’s. Erik overheard and said he would find me work if I was interested. I managed to park my suspicious and overactive mind to allow things to play out to try and extract all the information that I needed, giving myself time I didn’t actually have. Unlike in Moscow I had a whole team out in the dunes watching and listening, a backstop of safety on this tour unlike in Moscow. I guess the build-up in London, the unveiling of the list and all the time spent with the guys at Poole made this trip so very different from my ‘student’ time in Moscow. I had real purpose now and I think that hit home. It was a passing moment of uncertainty in my mind that would resurface occasionally, irritatingly distracting me when I needed to concentrate on releasing the sleuth from my toolbox and be the kind of emissary agent the Steering Group wanted, which was of course a complete paradox. In the end the Steering Group was only interested in solid intel and confirmed kills. The whole thing was now all being played out like in a bizarre TV soap opera or reality show with a loving Russian family in Dubai.
Our guests arrived at the encampment we had driven out to, and as soon as I saw the motorcade on the dune horizon I knew the day was gonna be of special importance. It was all starting to unfold. Six black Toyota and Jeep trucks threw sand and dust up in the air as they approached our little oasis, the dust lifting away from the rear of the caravan to the east as the wind caught it and then turned it into mini twisters that soon blew themselves out. The catering staff were going wild as the carpets were laid out from the main tents to greet our guests with cold towels and iced drinks. There was a lot of commotion and everyone gathered on the carpet. The cars pulled up and out flew Asad followed by his father Mohammed Al Zidjali, Ahmed Haddad and Nasser Tamei, with their wives and children. It was just a mind-fucking moment and I needed to take a minute to bring it all into focus. I managed to turn my twisted stomach cramps and nerves into excitement and greeted Asad, then allowed Alex to introduce me formally to Ahmed and Mohammed. Thank fuck for Asad, who insisted I race him on the quads. It later turned out that the whole event was being filmed and photographed by the team, and I am sure the guys were just as fucking amazed as I was at how things were playing out. I didn’t see them and didn’t want to; they knew what they had to do and I knew I was safe with them in the background. The Steering Group would have miles of tape to make fun of on my return.
I remember it was a few days later I had decided to take a walk while the adjacent apartment partitioning was being removed for the remainder of the holiday so as to allow our guests to be free to join us from one apartment to the other. Evgeny was always exhausted and hadn’t recovered really from all the week’s excitement, so Anatoly and I put him to bed for a daytime sleep after a light breakfast. I read him a story from Kolobok, one that he’d loved so dearly as a younger boy, and watched him drift off to sleep; he hadn’t the energy he’d once had. Anatoly insisted he come with me and we headed off to the old harbour and took a dhow ove
r to the souks. We talked all the way to the harbour, and on the dhow we sat together and looked into each other’s souls and found ourselves at a loss as to how this separation sickness was ever going to be remedied. My mind was in absolute turmoil; none of this shit was supposed to be happening and it had thrown me way off course, so I was in a parallel of paradoxical worlds, in two lives each as attractive as the other. No amount of ‘paper-clipping’ was going to be of use in this scenario. I was sailing closer to the wind than I had hoped to; the realities of being so involved were suffocating my judgement, but somehow I remained mindful of what was purposeful and what was contradictory to the mission. It’s like giving yourself a mental bollocking when your mind drifts into the no-go zones of an op.
Anatoly and I wandered for an hour or so between all the market stalls and shops. Like pinballs we bounced our way through the narrow alleys of overcrowded shops and stall traders, from carpet sellers to fig and date stalls as high as mountains; this, together with the spice sellers and the flower stalls, all equally contributed to the complexity of smells and aromas that filled the heavy humid air, giving you a full nose of pungent pleasant slow suffocation. Eventually we settled down at a café in the gold souk on some crap old wooden chairs that were synonymous with failing restaurant chairs in England, creaky, uneven and uncomfortable but exactly what we needed as we ordered coffee. I asked if they could bring some dates to share also. My favourite to this day is Arabian coffee and dates – it’s a match made in heaven and the coffee is never reproduced as well in a packet back in the UK. We shared a hookah, or Hubbly-Bubbly , a water pipe with some fucked-up tobacco. It made us laugh and we shared a special afternoon together, just talking, wandering through a forest of issues and topics including poor Evgeny’s health. We must have had a dozen cups of coffee and damn near smoked that pipe inside out before I plucked up the courage and asked him why he had tried to take his own life.
The Steering Group Page 24