I’m hungry,” Todd announced. “Where d’you want to go for breakfast?”
“Anywhere that serves bacon and pork sausages,” Max said simply. “I would kill for a pork sausage just now.”
The others laughed, having heard Max grumble about the restrictions on the sale of pork in Dubai over the last few weeks. “Veal bacon and chicken sausages are not only tasteless, they’re an affront to every right thinking Englishman,” he announced, before sinking back in his seat as Todd took the wheel and they headed into Karachi.
***
Pete Adams and Aara handed over their passports and e-tickets to the airline representative who was checking them in. They were all sitting at a desk in the business class section of the terminal. She ran through all of the usual questions and then handed them Business Class boarding cards, which also acted as invitations to the CIP Business lounge, which turned out to be only moderately comfortable, but which had the advantage of not being overcrowded like the rest of the airport.
They helped themselves to drinks, but avoided the packaged snacks, and before too long their flight was announced. They were on their way to Bangkok on Thai Airlines, and just an hour and a half after landing they would take off on a Qantas 747 to Melbourne.
As relaxed as they were after being pampered at the Raffles Club, they were nevertheless dreading the long journey ahead. Even in business class, air travel was stressful.
***
Travelling in the Learjet was far less stressful. In fact, Todd was asleep again just a few minutes after take off. Jamie and Max moved over to a small seating area with a coffee table between the seats, and Max opened his laptop.
For the next two hours they edited photos and video which they uploaded from the memory cards in their cameras. When the editing was done and the files saved, the results were emailed via the skynet in-flight WiFi system to the Brigadier, who would pass them on to the relevant authorities. Max bagged the original video and still pictures, and sealed the bag. He wrote on it ‘Chamlong Rattakul’.
Max made additional copies of the pictures, and the sat back and looked at Jamie, who was watching him and smiling. He frowned, and she laughed.
“You know, Max, when this job is over I’m going to miss you. I never met a journalist I didn’t want to shoot and kill, until I met you.” She grinned as she continued. “And now I’ve met a journalist I only want to seriously wound.” They both laughed.
“What will you do after Dubai?” Max asked. Jamie thought for a while and then answered.
“I’ve decided to take a leave of absence, Max. I’m thirty one years old, single, and unless I count my Dad’s old house, I don’t have a home. I want to travel and meet nice guys like you.”
“And Todd?” Max asked. Jamie looked across to see whether Todd was still asleep, but his none too gentle snoring confirmed it.
“No, not like Todd. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a great guy. He would be my first choice for an older brother, but we would be too competitive to be more than that. I think I need a cerebral Englishman.”
“Are you hitting on me?” Max asked, grinning. She smiled, and shook her head.
“No, you don’t need to worry. But I would expect you to accommodate me whenever I came to London. Then you could take me to dinner, the theatre and show me the sights. They say it’s the most vibrant city in the world.”
“You can happily stay with me any time you like,” Max agreed. “Separate bedrooms, of course.”
“Of course, Max. What kind of girl do you think I am?”
“London is a great city, but if you stay with me you’d better be ready for some action. I just can’t seem to keep away from trouble.”
“And you, Max? What will you do after Dubai?”
“It’s too early to go back to the UK. Bricko is still too fresh in the collective press memory. I’ll grow my hair, get a tan and go to Oz to see how the Polletti thing unfolds. There could be a book in this, or another series for a broadsheet, who knows?”
“Just make sure you’re back in London for the summer,” Jamie said. “I’ll come over for the Olympics, and we can spend some time together and spend some of the Sheikh’s money.”
“What, you think we’re getting paid for this?” Max asked. He was more than a little surprised by her answer.
“Oh yes, Max. We’re being very well paid. When I was in hospital he and the Crown Prince asked me what I thought would be a reasonable remuneration for our services. I was going to ask for twenty five thousand dollars, but they were discussing much higher figures between themselves for two minutes before they offered one million dirhams. Each.”
“Jamie, that’s about two hundred thousand pounds each!” Max stated, his eyes widening as he worked the sums out in his head. Jamie smiled. She stood and squeezed Max’s hand gently as she kissed his forehead.
“Remember, Max. Separate bedrooms.” She winked and returned to her recliner.
Chapter 53
Khaweini Residence, Nr. Mall of The Emirates, Dubai:
6th March 2012; 12 noon.
Khaweini had been listening to the news programmes all morning, but nothing had been announced about the discovery of a terrorist plot. He felt secure in the knowledge that, before noon, Dubai would power down and sink into oblivion as people deserted the sinking Emirate in their tens of thousands. Once the panic set in people would follow like lemmings, and soon the Emirate would cease to function as a tourist destination, a financial centre and as a developing nation. Khaweini could hardly wait. The anticipation was killing him.
There was, however, a concern in his mind. If the bombs had detonated on time, the power should have been down by now. He had been warned that the emergency power systems would be automatically called into action, but they could sustain full power for no longer than two hours.
He checked the TV again. There was no report of an explosion. Surely the press would be alerted to at least a couple of the bombs? Small though they were, each would still make a lot of noise. They would not go unnoticed, especially as two of the targeted power stations were sited in heavily populated areas.
Khaweini put the battery back into one of his cell phones and powered it up. He pressed the speed dial for one of his most reliable bombers. There was no reply, except for a message saying that the phone was switched off. He tried several other contacts before giving up. He then made one final call to a landline in Deira. A man picked up the phone.
“Hello?” the voice on the other end of the phone said, clearly not expecting a call.
“Rajid, is that you?” Khaweini asked.
“No, this is his landlord. Rajid and his family have gone. Overnight. They have gone, without a word to me. Do you know what is happening? They owe me rent.”
Khaweini scowled as he pressed the red button on the phone to end the call. He might have to lie low for a while and wait to see what happened, but it sounded as though at least one of his bombers had been apprehended. Questions began to form in his mind. If one had failed, what about the others? Had they been discovered? Had they abandoned the carefully designed plan, and run away?
He could not bring himself to accept that he might have failed, or to consider the price of failure. Not only would the authorities be looking for him, but his critics inside Al Qaeda would use this failure to abandon him, or worse.
Khaweini would have to become Trevor George Baker again, permanently, and make his way back to the UK with whatever limited funds had not been sequestered by the authorities. He would survive; he had to survive.
He crossed over to an Arabic-designed side table which had two small drawers built under the table top. He slid open one drawer and took out his emergency evacuation pack. In a few days, when the alerts had disappeared off the police computers, he would leave Dubai and the Middle East forever.
Chapter 54
Suvarnabhumi Airport, Bangkok:
6th March 2012; Evening.
Chamlong Rattakul sat at his desk in the airport security
offices and shared the information he had received from Dubai with his two sergeants. Commissioner Rattakul was the serving head of Airport Security and Border Control for Bangkok. His main office was in the city, but he spent most of his time in his satellite office at the airport because this was where most of the traffic coming into Thailand entered the country.
The two sergeants listened as he explained what had been sent to him by secure email.
“The Chief of Police for Dubai has asked us to apprehend two fugitives from Dubai. One is Peter Adams, an Australian, and the other is Aara Khalaf Ghuraib, a Saudi national. They are wanted in connection with people trafficking and an attempted murder. Let me read to you from the warrant.
Peter Adams and Aara Khalaf Ghuraib absconded from Dubai without passing through customs or passport control, probably by private yacht, The Possum, owned by an Australian called Vincente Polletti who is under house arrest in Australia facing serious charges of racketeering, drug trafficking, people trafficking and attempted murder.
The two suspects were recorded entering Pakistan illegally (see attachments A & B)….” Chamlong broke off from his reading to show the two men a video and some still pictures. Then he recommenced reading from the papers.
Before they could be apprehended they boarded a flight to Bangkok, we believe to be a Thai Airways flight TG 508. Please apprehend and hold under International Warrant INT/11-377-2012/UAE attached.”
He looked at his colleagues. “Gentlemen, that is a five hour flight and it is due at the gate in less than one hour. Please have someone standing by to apprehend the two suspects at the gate and ensure that their luggage is not sent on to the next flight.”
The two men rose, bent and nodded and left the room without uttering a word. Commissioner Chamlong looked around the room at the foreboding posters which proclaimed that the death penalty was used extensively in Thailand, and that foreign visitors should be careful not to carry contraband. They were chilling and graphic, but they didn’t seem to deter people from trying to smuggle illicit items into his country. Most smugglers did not expect to be caught, but of course many were. He wondered what Mr Peter and Miss Aara were up to. He would find out very soon, he had no doubt; his interrogation suite was well suited for its purpose.
***
The Learjet touched down at the executive airport attached to the main airport in Bangkok. An airport police car pulled up beside the steps and a man in a colourful uniform stood to attention, waiting for the passengers to disembark. Two more men in less impressive uniforms stood behind their greeter.
Jamie was first down the steps. “Jamie Johnson, special adviser to the Dubai police,” she announced as she extended her hand. She was a full head taller than the uniformed man.
“Welcome. I am Commissioner Chamlong Rattakul. I will be your host for your short stay in Bangkok.” After two more polite introductions the Commissioner invited his three guests into his car, where Todd and Max sat facing Jamie and the Commissioner for the short ride across the tarmac to the modern aluminium-clad air terminal.
***
Within minutes of the Learjet touching down, flight 508 landed on the main runway. Both Aara and Pete had carried their luggage with them, as they were travelling business class, and now they queued to exit the aircraft. A smiling stewardess ushered them off the aircraft as she held back the economy class passengers.
They wheeled their cases along the glass-walled skyway, which was very hot and humid. They were looking forward to reaching the modern terminal and its air conditioning.
As they exited the skyway and looked around for signs showing where transfer passengers should go, a man approached them.
“Mr Peter Adams and Miss Aara Khulaf Ghuraib? Could you please follow me?” he requested, smiling.
Pete started to complain, but Aara silenced him with a look which said that, in her experience, it was unwise to disobey instructions from men in police uniforms.
After a long walk through the terminal building, they approached a glass door marked ‘Security’ and they passed through into what looked like a police station. Pete’s brow furrowed.
“What’s going on here, mate? I’m an Australian citizen. I have rights,” he said impatiently.
“I am most sorry to inconvenience you sir, but you have been invited to speak to the head of security.” The man pushed open a door and ushered the two in, although once they were inside he closed the door and stood guard outside.
A smiling Commissioner Chamlong Rattakul extended his hand. “I am sorry to have detained you, but I can assure you that if our investigations are unnecessary you will make your flight to Australia easily.” He looked down and saw their cases. “I see that you had the foresight to bring your luggage. Excellent. That will speed things up. Please sit.”
They sat. There was a pause whilst the Commissioner picked up a folder and perused its contents.
“May I see your passports, please?” Aara and Pete Adams handed over their passports, exchanging worried and puzzled glances. The Commissioner took his time looking through the passports. When he had looked at every page, he frowned. He looked up and studied their faces searchingly.
“This is most puzzling,” he said, arching his eyebrows. “You have no exit stamps from Dubai and no entry stamps for Pakistan. Did you have a reason for avoiding passport control and customs?”
“Must be an oversight,” Pete Adams said, smiling, with a confidence he didn’t feel. “We travelled on a private yacht out of Dubai. The captain was supposed to deal with the formalities. He didn’t give us our passports back until we were in the Raffles Club in Karachi. We just assumed all was in order. Didn’t we, honey?”
Aara nodded, appreciating that it was best to tell at least part of the truth rather than an outright lie. Their host nodded.
“Good. That will save us time. I will not need these pictures.” He placed in front of them some grainy but otherwise clear pictures of his two suspects arriving at the jetty in Pakistan. It was all Pete could do not to swear.
“Look, Commissioner, I’m glad we sorted this out. I can assure you that the captain of the yacht will be spoken to in the strongest terms, and that we’ll happily pay any necessary fine. After all, it was really our duty to comply with immigration rules. We shouldn’t have left it to him.”
The Commissioner smiled, but not in a pleasant way. “I do not wish to insult either of you, but it has been my experience that people who evade immigration procedures do so for a reason. May we please look inside your suitcases?”
Pete and Aara relaxed. Nothing incriminating would be found in either of their suitcases. They could still make the Qantas flight. Pete lifted both cases onto the table and he and Aara unlocked their respective bags.
“Did you pack these cases yourselves, as you attested when you checked in at Karachi?” the Commissioner asked them, as a man and a woman wearing latex gloves opened the cases to reveal clothing. Both Aara and Pete acknowledged that they had packed their own suitcases.
The young man picked out a zipped black case carrying the Bose logo and held it up to Pete, his face showing curiosity.
“It’s a sound dock for my iPod,” Pete explained calmly. The man opened it and took out a transparent plastic bag which was filled with white powder. Pete’s eyes went wide, and Aara stared at him in horror.
“Are you insane, Pete?” Aara demanded, shrieking. “Bringing drugs into Bangkok! I had nothing to do with that!” she pleaded to the commissioner.
Pete was speechless. He had watched carefully as the man had opened the case to ensure there was no possibility of skulduggery, but there, inexplicably, hidden inside his own suitcase, was what appeared to be close to a kilo of cocaine.
“Do we need to test these, Mr Adams, or are you ready to make a confession?”
Pete could barely stammer out his protestations of his own innocence.
“I have no idea where those drugs, if they are drugs, came from! I can assure you I didn’t put them there!”
His mind was scanning the possible explanations for how this could have happened, but he came up blank.
“Mr Adams, this is what we are told every hour of every day by everyone we catch. Take a look around you, Mr Adams. Has the Kingdom of Thailand not made its intentions clear enough?”
Pete looked at the posters announcing the death penalty for drug trafficking, and felt an icy chill down his spine.
“Sir.” The lady police officer drew the Commissioner’s attention to an unexpected bulge in the lining of the other suitcase. Everyone watched as she unzipped the lining and found a black package taped to the inside of the case. The lady officer removed the package carefully, then opened it up and sniffed. “Cannabis resin, I believe,” she announced.
Aara did not bother with denials. She simply said, “I am a member of the Saudi Royal Family, and they will want me to serve any sentence back in the Kingdom.” The Commissioner nodded.
Aara and Peter Adams were handcuffed and taken to separate cells. As they were led out through the police station, the Commissioner held up the drugs and the whole police station cheered and clapped. To the one Westerner present this seemed outrageous, but then, that was their job - to stop drugs ruining their children’s lives - and they celebrated every victory.
***
Pete Adams knew his was a lost cause. He worked for a well-known trafficker, had been caught sneaking out of Dubai and into Pakistan and now there were drugs in his case. He could deny all knowledge of that until the cows came home, but he knew it would be a waste of time. In their shoes, he knew he would think exactly the same thing the judge would think. Pete knew all about Thai prisons, and hoped that he would get the death sentence.
The door to his cell opened, after he had spent almost an hour alone. The Commissioner entered the cell and sat down on a hard wooden chair across from Pete, who was chained to the back wall by a waist harness to which his hands were manacled.
Shadow of the Burj Page 29