I remember getting up very early and ordering a cab. I had breakfast with Alex and Erik who had me firmly in their sights to get Anatoly to close the deal that day by agreeing to release the documents soon. I had to make contact with the team and get the information out to the Steering Group and get the grown-ups in London to agree to at least attempt to haul Anatoly in. I think, looking back, I was more intent on saving Anatoly’s life than passing on all the other information regarding the planned arms movements and technical information transfers to the Iranians. I politely finished breakfast then asked Erik to send Anatoly to the souk café at midday once he had woken up, and said that I wanted to go and figure out how I could best talk with him about last night. Erik was pleased and asked me to bring him back some more cigarettes. He gave me a hug and wished me success for the family.
I was picked up by Hugh in a registered Dubai taxi – damn near scared the life out of me. I only had the time of the ride into town to pass him all the intel regarding the arms deals and technical information transfers that were being planned and a possible defection. It all needed to be transmitted to the Steering Group and I would fill in all the details once my ‘holiday’ was over. Hugh did nothing but take the piss and make light of it all. He looked like a proper scabby Arab driving that taxi but his presence was a very welcome relief for me. I would need a taxi again at about 1.30pm I told him and that’s when he would get to meet Anatoly. No big deal to Hugh, and he said he would have the response from London to all my questions and any changes to the original mission directives by 1.30pm. I bailed out of the taxi and disappeared into the souks to get lost amongst the madding crowd and the heavy perfume of all the stalls.
I think that afternoon with Anatoly was remarkable. We ordered coffee and smoked as usual. He had relaxed into a shirt and jeans but with highly polished shoes. Looking fresh and more alive than the previous night he wanted to apologise for the family. I just sat and listened as he calmly explained the mess he was in, running his fingers through his blond hair and taking a drag of his cigarette. He was reticent at first but slowly let go and asked me to help him, brother to brother. There was a genuine look of fear in his dark and almost vacant eyes as that awkward moment lingered for longer than is usually comfortable as we tried to interpret each other’s body language. The noise of the souk was drowned out by the internal silence we both secretly shared. I explained to Anatoly I was an Englishman, I couldn’t get involved working like this for the family, it was illegal; he was trying to interrupt but I spoke over him to say I would do this one job for the family and the trip to Romania with Evgeny for him, but in return I wanted to know everything that I was getting involved with. I needed to know all the details.
Anatoly’s retort was exactly what I needed to hear; he desperately wanted to get out of the whole thing. I couldn’t offer the deal of defection, I hadn’t got authorisation, shit, shit, shit. So I bungled the whole thing by saying something dumb like I would work out a way he could come to England once it was all over and we would work together. It was a sticking plaster on an amputated soul. It didn’t work, and Anatoly was upset. I took him to one of the malls and we walked together round and round the shops aimlessly like a bored husband with a wife who won’t buy the dress she saw in the first fucking shop. I needed him to buy us both some time. I coaxed him into engineering a stall for the information transfer that would allow us to pacify the Arabs for the rest of our holiday and to meet in secret outside of the family before he went back to Sarov and I went back to England. I encouraged Anatoly to conclude the deal, push for more money so it looked authentic, in fact to be almost rude with a proposed new price. Then we would simply meet again outside of the wider family and spend some time alone to figure it all out. Anatoly was desperate, and I was riding to his rescue in a way he could never have possibly imagined at the time. A bullet had his name on it and was all but locked in by my support team. Fuck, he had no idea how close he became to meeting his maker that very day.
It was probably about 3am one morning when we found ourselves awake in our bedroom in the apartment. We started talking about when it had all been fun, when we were in Moscow, how simple life was back then as boys. He turned to face me, allowing me to see how disturbed he had become. He was very restless about the betrayal of his country, the family pressure to deliver the documents to the Arabs and the sure knowledge it wasn’t a one-time deal, there would always be another deal and another deal. He described himself as an information mule, but instead of drugs he was selling information which was more addictive than heroin and it would inevitably end badly sooner or later. He wanted to play the Arabs some more to get a deal that would help the family decide that it was enough money to quit and find a place somewhere warm to live out the rest of their lives. It was a ridiculous dream – the family was far too deeply involved in bribery and illegal activities involving the Kremlin, Lubyanka and our friends in the Middle East to be allowed to simply take the money and walk away to some exotic island. Either way, I was thinking the list would be signed off.
We talked about Moscow, travel, London and England, eventually returning again to the subject of the documents he had for the Arabs. I managed to steer the conversation round to him allowing me to see the documents he had prepared for the Arabs. He flicked on the bedside lamp and rummaged in his hand luggage before pulling out a neat brown file with only about 20 papers, each protected in a sealed plastic sleeve, perfectly numbered and labelled. Schematic drawings, formulae and shit I didn’t actually understand other than there was no mistake regarding the references made to ICBM warhead assembly, which a child could have worked out from the detailed diagrams. I suggested that as there was so much pressure on Anatoly it would be easier for him and safer for the family to allow me to take custody of the documents before he handed them over to the Arabs, ensuring there was no sneak previews or discussion as to their worth before the deal was struck and the monies were transferred later that week. Alex had become infectious with the need to conclude business and was yet to understand the real value of stealing government technical secrets.
The days that followed our talk, however, were played out very calmly, each of us enjoying as best we could the family time and our holiday time with the Arabs, who had become more relaxed having attained the knowledge from Erik that my walk into Dubai with Anatoly had got a result that would bring his proposal to the table on the penultimate day of the holiday at the latest. The situation was diffused for the time being, but Alex was always seeking an early briefing that neither Anatoly nor I would give. Evgeny, Anatoly and I took a lot of time out away from the apartment to escape the politics that the Arabs, Alex and Erik so enjoyed discussing – who the business was benefitting and what causes deserved their efforts and how it all gave power to the right people in order to give control where they thought it should be. It was actually all very sick how they saw the world. I think Anatoly and Evgeny were more interested in the beach, a few good drinks and fantasising how we would spend millions of dollars should we ever be as rich as it then seemed possible.
I had managed to engineer some time away from the family on my own and rendezvoused with Hugh after ordering a taxi to go and collect ice creams from a special outlet in one of the malls after getting a list of requests from everyone. I took the documents. It was film night and Alex had arranged a big screen to watch a Russian war film. Hugh arrived to collect me. He was alert and serious for a change as I explained the developments in Arabic in the back of his cab. I needed the original documents replacing for an identical set that were imperceptibly flawed replicas for me to pass back to Anatoly. I needed them within two hours, I explained to Hugh as I handed them over, noting the time left on the film, the time an ice cream interlude usually took the family and calculating how much time was gonna look out of place and how to engineer the exchange of documents once they had been received. Hugh dropped me off for the ice cream at the mall. It was the longest hour and a half before Hugh returned, but amazingly with
the new set of documents. The Steering Group was happy to end the show here on what I had obtained from Anatoly but would allow a defection. Hugh was exaggerating how pleased the Steering Group was and how I was their little pet, taking the piss all the time. The top two, however, must be eliminated and the supply chain funding destroyed. I was soon back with the family, overloaded with ice cream and other goodies, explaining that I had thought it would be good to share some traditional Arabian cakes as we had guests so I had stopped off at the bakery producing Luqaimat, baklava and an assortment of other sticky stuff I had thrown in a box, which all seemed to be well appreciated.
It was all very simple on paper. I now had a green light to affect the partial defection of Anatoly if possible. The transfer of false documents from Anatoly to the Arabs would be made in the apartment with everyone present. All monies needed to be confirmed as transferred by Alex and Ahmed before anyone left the apartment or Dubai; this would give legality to the Steering Group’s plan to the politicians should anything leak. Once the deal was sealed, the Arab contingent would be eliminated before reaching their next destination. The Russian family and I needed to leave Dubai before the Arabs to give confidence no one was involved in the elimination of Mohammed and Ahmed. This in effect meant the team needed to execute the mission either in the apartment after I and the Russians had for all intents and purposes left the country, or eliminate them in the desert. The backstop was to eliminate all family members and the Arabs simultaneously if the deal was to fall through. The team would need to enter the apartment and prep for this possible eventuality.
It was all set for a Thursday morning. The family had their flights arranged for Thursday night so nothing needed to be manipulated, except that my spoof flight needed to be arranged a number of hours before the Russian departure. The Arabs would be exiting the UAE by road to Qatar and onward to Iran by plane the following day, so it would be an en-route motorised elimination that was anticipated. I was not really ready to approach Anatoly that day but it was the finals, graduation day for everyone. I was all set to have the big discussion with Anatoly at the souk café. It led to many dead ends. Our conversation was strained for the first time in the holiday so it was almost impossible to approach the subject of defection, and so I contained my inner desires and encouraged Anatoly to do this one transaction, go back to Moscow/Sarov and hide behind the system.
Eventually Anatoly gave me the look I was waiting for. His eyes were wide, deep oceans of tears encased behind a glass prison of fear in which servitude and misfortune reigned under the red flag of the hammer and sickle from which he so wanted to escape. This, coupled with the family, the guardians of his future, whispering in his ear not to betray them. I lit a cigarette and gave it to him with a newspaper. I asked him to pass it back after he had read the article about Norway. In the text were his instructions for defection. He looked at me calmly and took a deep drag on the cigarette before returning his concentration to the paper, which betrayed his nerves as it shimmered and shook in his hands as we sat together in silence. I had shown him a window into his future and lit a lamp so bright that it warmed his soul enough to give me a smile that simply meant Thank you and Yes. My friend and closest companion would be taken off the Steering Group’s list.
Fuck, if he had declined I would have had to kill my friend, my brother, that very hour.
Alex and Erik were waiting at the Arabs’ apartment for us to return, and Evgeny and Asad joined us in the Arabs’ living room. The living room had three double settees and a matching pair of chairs all neatly arranged to accommodate our first official meeting trading technology for money and arms. The furniture was low but comfortable and encompassed high-quality Persian rugs which were deep red and made from only the choicest material, thick enough to dig your toes into. The bi-fold doors were closed and the blinds averted upwards. Drinks were available from a hostess trolley and it was as though we were all meeting for the first time. Mohammed sat unusually distant from the family with his son Asad and requested the documents from Anatoly. Asad had studied nuclear science with Anatoly in Moscow and was a Middle Eastern mirror of Anatoly but in Iran, a nuclear development specialist, scientist/engineer. Clumsy drinks were poured by Erik as Mohammed mulled over the documents with Asad. Asad, who had matured in some ways, was looking sharp on this important day. He had the authority of his father to accept or decline the documents supplied by Anatoly. He stroked his sharply trimmed beard so stereotypical of young Arabian men, trying to look important. I think Asad must have read all the papers through and was looking either perplexed by the level of detail in the documents or putting on a good show for the audience with perhaps no clue as to what was actually in his hands.
Mohammed lit a cigarette and asked Asad whether they should prepare to make the transactions, giving away his lack of patience. Asad was being a prick; he just nodded and said, “Maybe,” leaving the room in silence. It was Alex who looked the most vulnerable. My understanding was that there were many party members wanting money from this arms trade and on top of this Alex was dancing the tightrope with the lower echelons of the army’s officer corps to release the armaments on time to the transports. I’m still not sure to this day how high the level of corruption went with regards to the transferring of technical information, or whether this was the only leverage Alex and Erik could use to pull the deal off, and perhaps this sweetener was only really fully understood within the family.
The magnanimous Asad eventually returned and declared the papers agreeable, stood up and invited a toast. The room was elevated into the stratosphere of relief, and conversation broke out in a joyous manner as the whisky and vodka were poured and consumed. I was looking at Anatoly, and I held my glass up to him and congratulated him for his success for the family and the cementing of Russian–Arab relations, but was also inwardly relieved he hadn’t double-crossed me by mentioning our plans for him to escape to the UK. Mohammed and Ahmed looked more relaxed now, easing back in their chairs secretly satisfied they had met their master’s every wish.
The moment was short-lived as the computers were then immediately turned on, keyboards frantically tapped and then inevitable pauses as programs were loaded and internet access achieved. Anatoly went and sat with Ahmed and Mohammed, slipping them a piece of paper, obviously with the new price tag on it. Alex was watching carefully but there was no upscaling of temper or circumstance. Ahmed completely and professionally folded the paper away and looked toward Alex and said that, because of the level of cooperation, his clients were more than happy to pay double the amount Anatoly had passed. This was a gesture of goodwill by the end customers who would now be demanding on-time deliveries and a continued agreement for further technical information in the future. I think Iran wanted that information more than anything and at any price. And their true agenda was yet to be revealed. They were using the good relations between Russia and Iran to further their own nuclear abilities but lacked technology, which was soon to be limited again by the 1995 Gore-Chernomyrdin agreement which further fuelled the demand for illegal technology deals. There were some big smiles being restrained under the alcohol-fuelled relief from the family. Anatoly and Evgeny looked relaxed as the computers transmitted all the transactions to the banks and unknowingly to the Steering Group which had been waiting 48 hours to intercept all the transmissions from the entire street in Dubai back to London. If only computers could build trust or pull the trigger at the right moment, my team and I would have already reached mission complete.
That afternoon everyone dispersed from their business stances into a celebration as the women and children were invited back into the room and the doors opened up back onto the pool. There was no rushing off to the airport or apparent need to get on with the logistics. I think right at that moment the entire group needed to release the pressure that had been building up over the past week. I was the first to leave for my flight to London. I made my excuses and promised Alex I would look after Evgeny in Romania but begged him to make sur
e he didn’t split us apart from Anatoly. It was obvious due to the success he would probably not allow Anatoly to be with his brothers in Romania as more information needed to be fed to the hungry wolves now at the door. There were some emotional goodbyes before I left, especially from Anatoly and Evgeny, who were in tears at my side as Natalia gave me a really affectionate hug. Saying goodbye to the Arabs was a longer, more intense affair: “Ma’salama” and “Allah Maak”, to be safe in my travels and for God to be with me, then the touching of noses like in New Zealand Maori culture whilst shaking hands. I was then at that point accepted as a friend in the Arabian family. Mohammed and Ahmed were very grateful to me for bringing Anatoly to close the business deal on time and wanted me to accept a gift by way of invitation to a gathering in Damascus. Now I was family it was expected that the maximum time an Arab friend would be away from you would be three days at the most before they would like to make contact with you again, so I would have to be more available now, as they put it.
That was it. I was in the taxi with Hugh, ready to switch back and await the departure of Mohammed and Ahmed. Hugh drove the Mercedes taxi out of town, gently at first then frantically after reaching the city limits. The guys had been staying in a hotel near the port in Jebel Ali. It was great to be back with them, a relief in every way. I was mentally drained and emotionally exhausted from all the individual demands that had been put upon me, not just from Anatoly but from all the family. They had an ice-cold beer waiting for me and wanted me to debrief them quickly as they prepared to get underway ahead of the Arabs. Fuck, the paper-clipping and undoing takes a little adjusting when you switch roles so quickly, but I was soon back with the team with the original objective firmly in my sights. We packed, geared up and prepped for insertion into the desert and to shadow our targets to the border. The hotel room looked like a gangster’s paradise, littered with small arms, ammunition, body armour and a plethora of other technical goodies, not to mention the shit Baz and Cheesy had been working on in the bathroom. The dustmen were next door waiting to sanitise the room from any explosive residues etc. on our departure.
The Steering Group Page 26