Shadow of the Burj

by J Jackson Bentley

  “It was heroin in the bag, but I suspect you knew that very well.” Pete shook his head mutely. He looked defeated. “We have already contacted the Australian Embassy, and they have said that we can expect a plea for clemency from your Prime Minister. This is the usual routine. Fearful of bad publicity in your country, the judge will probably show clemency and commute your death sentence, sentencing you to life imprisonment. For most Westerners our twenty five year life sentences are ten years too long. Most die in prison. Have you anything to say in your defence?”

  Pete looked up at him. He summoned up a smile, before issuing a foul tirade of expletives and insults to the Commissioner personally, his parents and his entire race. The Commissioner grinned. “You do have spirit, after all. Please wait a moment. You have a visitor.”

  ***

  Jamie read out the communique from the Thai police to the Dubai police:

  “Given the serious nature of their crimes, we will not be seeking to extradite the criminals known as Peter Adams and Aara Khulaf Ghuraib. They face more serious charges in this jurisdiction, and under the agreements between our countries and the relevant UN regulations they will serve their sentences here before being returned to Dubai.”

  The three tried to look suitably disappointed for the benefit of the Sergeant, who had solemnly delivered the bad news. “You will be able to interview them,” he added more cheerfully.

  ***

  “I am of the opinion that Mr Adams placed those drugs in my case without my knowledge. I am an innocent woman who simply trusted the wrong man,” Aara said, almost before the Commissioner sat down.

  The man smiled and spoke softly. “We have spoken to a representative of the Royal Family.” Aara brightened immediately. Life as a virtual prisoner in her home was better than real prison here in Thailand. “He made a strong plea on your behalf, based on the strong relationship between our two kingdoms.” The commissioner paused. “I am afraid that, whilst he succeeded in persuading the authorities not to seek the death penalty, he eventually accepted that the KSA would accept a long prison sentence in Bangkok if you are found guilty.”

  Aara knew that if she was imprisoned she would take the cowardly way out, rather than face the humiliation and degradation of being a prisoner of the Thai authorities.

  ***

  In any other circumstances Pete Adams’ jaw would have dropped open when Todd walked into his cell and pulled up a chair. Instead, he simply stared at his former friend with lifeless eyes.

  “You tried to kill me, Pete.”

  “Just business, mate,” Adams responded blandly.

  “If they would let you go, we’d be prosecuting you in Dubai.”

  “If they would let me go I’d plead guilty in Dubai, mate. But it ain’t happening, is it?” He paused, and looked Todd in the eye. “Give my regards to the boss. I guess that’s where you’re going next.”

  “I will, Pete, just before I kill him,” Todd replied, meaning it.

  “Why?” Pete asked. Todd wasn’t sure whether he meant dobbing Polletti’s crew in to the feds or why he’d set him up with the drugs, and so he gave a universal answer.

  “Just business, mate.”

  ***

  When Aara had been told that the authorities from Dubai wanted to speak to her, she imagined it would be a policeman, not one of her former colleagues in the special force set up by Sheikh Mahmoud. When Jamie and Max entered the room she was taken aback. At first she was pleased to see familiar faces, but soon she realised that they would both despise her for plotting Todd’s demise.

  “This cell is pretty terrible,” Jamie commented, looking around at the bare walls.

  “It’s a luxurious palace compared to the Bangkok Hilton,” Max replied.

  Max was referring to the Bang Kwang Central prison. The place was notorious.

  “I researched it for an article a couple of years ago. It must be one of the harshest prisons around, mainly because it handles death row and long-sentence prisoners. When I was speaking to the authorities, they said that all prisoners are required to wear leg irons for the first three months of their sentences but that death row inmates have their leg irons permanently welded on. Prisoners receive one bowl of rice in vegetable soup each day. Their other food must be purchased from the prison canteen, and prisoners can do chores for wealthier prisoners and prison guards to earn money for food. I was writing about a British man serving a thirty year sentence for smuggling just 3,400 ecstasy tablets, and while I was writing about him I came across another Brit serving a fifty year sentence for smuggling heroin. His main complaint was the beds, or lack of beds. It seems that bedding consists of thin mats laid on the concrete floors, and there are no pillows.”

  Max and Jamie knew that, until Aara had heard what Max had to say, she’d had no idea what she was facing. Tears rolled down her face when she realised that the jail terms handed to existing prisoners meant that she and Pete may never see the outside of prison again.

  “There is at least one thing you don’t have to worry about.” Jamie added. “Guard, he can come in now,” she shouted at the closed door.

  Aara was clearly stunned by the appearance of Todd in the doorway, but surprisingly she gathered herself quickly and even managed a weak smile. “They wanted me to kill you in the hostel; a gun from close up, no mistakes. But I couldn’t, and so they arranged something else.” She paused. “Deep inside,” she held her fist to her heart, “I knew that if I did not do it, they would not succeed. You have the lives of a cat.”

  Todd was not smiling. He didn’t know what had turned this beautiful woman into a sociopath but he could see no way back for her now. Prison would kill her, he had no doubt. The three of them had been told by the Commissioner that the Saudis would allow her to start the life sentence, but after the publicity had died down they would canvass for her release, purchasing her freedom if they had to. The Commissioner guessed that she would be back in Saudi within three years. Todd doubted that she would survive three years in the Bang Kwang prison women’s wing.

  As the three agents had suspected, Aara openly spoke of her role in the trafficking of women she was supposed to be protecting. She described her relationship with the Polletti cartel and her disdain for the bankrupt governments who sent their women abroad to be abused and to be kept as little more than slaves by rich employers.

  When Max’s dictation machine was full, the three stood and wished Aara luck. Despite what she had done, her punishment would undoubtedly be described as cruel and unusual in the west.

  ***

  Max and Todd hugged Jamie at the executive terminal and waved her off as she climbed aboard the Learjet for her return to Dubai to assist the Brigadier and Sheikh Mahmoud with the search for Khaweini. The authorities had sealed the borders as tightly as they could before the time for detonation of the bombs expired. By doing so, they could be sure that Khaweini would be hunkered down in Dubai; their city, their rules. Max and Todd watched the small plane as it rose into the sky, then made their way to the gate for their own flight to Melbourne, the same flight that Pete and Aara would have taken.

  Chapter 55

  The Palazzo, The Boulevard, Doncaster, Melbourne. Australia

  7th March 2012; 3am.

  Polletti’s villa was bouncing. Loud music filled the house and flashing strobes in every colour lit up the gardens with almost subliminal flashes of light which would have sent any epileptic in the area into a seizure. Those who could not hear the DJ or his music clearly could certainly feel the resonant beat of the bass speakers pulsating through the ground and seeming to pulse right through their bodies.

  Amongst the crowd were all of the recent arrivals; eight beautiful women, dancing with any number of old but important men. Despite Polletti’s criminal charges, the villa was still filled with people from law enforcement and representatives of local and federal government, along with the national politicians who fed at the Polletti trough. Local Law enforcement officers were stationed inside and outsi
de the grounds, but more in an effort to control traffic than to enforce Polletti’s house arrest.

  The local Area Commander of the police force had reduced the police presence on the Polletti case to just one area car per shift, and he had canvassed the federal agencies to remove that obligation entirely now that the principal witness against Polletti had been killed in Dubai. The federal agents handling the case knew the truth and were reluctant to allow any further reduction in cover until Michaelson was safely back in federal protection, which they knew should be happening very soon.

  As the party broke up and the hired valets ushered people back to the last of the cars, Polletti sat slumped in a large leather chair with a partially clothed girl asleep on his lap. He roused her. She would be going with him to his bed, even though he was too tired and too drunk to use her. As she slinked off to his bedroom Polletti took a small pastry filled with tuna and popped it into his mouth whole. Once he had chewed it and swallowed, he drank almost a full bottle of still water and sucked on a mint. He didn’t want to wake up with a mouth that tasted like a drain. He was following the girl to his bedroom when Conrad Adams stepped into the room, his face white as a sheet.

  ***

  The news that Pete Adams and Aara had been arrested in Bangkok had stunned both Polletti and his nephew, Conrad. As a result the sun came up before either Vincente Polletti or Conrad Adams had made it to bed. Despite debating the matter over and over all through the night, neither could understand why Pete or Aara would try to smuggle drugs through the harshest anti-drug regime in the world when the cartel had unlimited supplies brought in safely by their mules. Whatever the explanation, Pete and Aara were facing the death penalty in Thailand and Polletti knew that providing expensive Australian lawyers for their defence would do no good at all; nonetheless, he tried to sound upbeat for the benefit of Conrad, who was sitting in silent devastation.

  “We’ll wait until they are arraigned, and once they have pleaded we will get them the best counsel available, I promise you that, Conrad. You are both like sons to me.” Conrad was still shaking and rocking back and forth in his chair. The brother he worshipped was spending his first night in the world’s worst prison and there was nothing he could do about it.

  “Thanks, boss,” Conrad answered gratefully, his voice quivering with emotion. “We need to move heaven and earth to get him out of there but, no matter what happens, he’ll never dob us in.”

  Polletti looked out over the park. The sun was low in the sky and there was a fine mist hanging over the landscape, giving it an unsettlingly eerie appearance.

  “Pete won’t talk, but Aara will sing like a bird if the Australian feds get to her. We need to get to her first, Conrad. See who we know in Bangkok. If I understand how these feds work, they will try anything to get me now that Michaelson is out of the picture.” He looked at his watch. It was still early but he made the call anyway.

  The Area Commander had not been at the party, not because he didn’t want to be there - after all, there were fresh girls on the menu - but it was simply too risky. As a result he was lying next to his wife, fast asleep and snoring loudly, when his mobile phone rang. His wife nudged him and when he didn’t respond she poked him hard with her elbow. As he came awake he recognised his ring tone. Glancing at the time, he swore under his breath as he picked up the phone and hit the answer button. “Hello.” His voice betrayed his annoyance.

  “Clive, I always thought you were one of these health nuts who rose early and ran five miles before breakfast.” The unwelcome humour did not improve the Commander’s mood. He was well aware that he was carrying a few extra pounds, and thought it was a good job that his dress uniform had such a strong belt. He mumbled something in reply that might have been either “good morning” or “get stuffed” but Vincente could not tell which it was.

  “Clive, it would be enormously helpful if you could ensure that I have only one car observing me today. They can park right outside the gate, if they like, but just the one car, OK?”

  “There has been only one car on your doorstep for three days, Vince, you know that. And I am hopeful you will lose that car tomorrow. We may even send someone around to remove the monitor.” Vince automatically looked down at the bulge around his right ankle. He would love to be rid of the damned monitor, and felt confident that he soon would be.

  “Thanks, Clive. Say hello to that lovely wife of yours. Oh, and give her one from me,” he added nastily. The Commander merely grunted and hung up.

  “Conrad, get the Mercedes bus around the back and into the garage, then wake our little ladies. We are going for a ride.”

  “What about the ankle tag, Boss?” Conrad asked.

  “Get Jake over here. Tell him to come in the back way. If he can crack a safe he should be able to crack this.” Polletti lifted his trouser leg to reveal the anklet.

  Chapter 56

  Park Royal Hotel, Melbourne Airport, Tullamarine, Australia:

  7th March 2012; 11am.

  Max and Todd had shared a room in the heavily subscribed hotel. The twin beds were comfortable, but their time in them was all too short. They had been hurried through immigration and customs by the federal police and given the room key without having to stop at reception.

  “Meeting in the Bellarine Executive Boardroom at 11am,” their minder had said, before closing the bedroom door and leaving them in the spacious and well laid out bedroom.

  Now, at shortly after 11am, they sat around the large highly polished table sporting twelve equally spaced bottles of spring water, all carefully placed on coasters and all thick with condensation following their recent removal from the chilled cabinet. Todd and Max chose two high back executive leather chairs from the twelve on offer, and sat half way down the long oval table.

  If the seven men who trooped in a moment later had been in uniform they couldn’t have been more uniform. Their shoes were all black Oxford brogues with double stitching; the suits were charcoal to black and all styled identically; white shirts were the order of the day and the ties were red, blue or purple. At least, one was purple and as its owner sat and observed his colleagues, he seemed discomfited that he may have erred by standing out from the others. He was probably inwardly berating himself for giving in to his wild side.

  The men all sat without a word. The only sound was the uniform drumming of cufflinks hitting the table. Max wanted to laugh, and Todd did, but imperceptibly.

  The most senior federal agent spoke. “Michaelson, we’re pleased to have you back safe and well. With one of the Adams brothers out of the equation, we’ve decided to move things forward rather more quickly. We’ll be taking Vincente Polletti back into custody today and adding two more charges to his indictment; international people trafficking contrary to the UN mandate, and conspiracy to commit murder. In the longer term the charges probably won’t stick, but they will be enough to keep him locked up in a top security prison for the last four weeks before the trial.” The man paused and looked into Todd’s eyes. “Then, with your testimony and the testimony of a number of his girls, we can ensure that he never sees the outside of a prison again. He’s already fifty two and he’s looking at twenty five to thirty for the charges he is facing now.”

  Todd nodded. That would do for him. Having Vincente Polletti off the streets would make Melbourne a safer place. Sure, other operators would try to move in on Vince’s territory, but the police were ready for them. It would be a lot easier preventing a criminal enterprise from getting a foothold than removing a crime family whose roots went back generations, and whose cronies reached the highest levels of government.

  Max was making notes and when he looked up he saw several pairs of eyes watching him. He decided to take the initiative. “What about the girls who have just flown in?”

  The agent in the purple tie answered.

  “We move on the Polletti villa at 2pm, and the girls will be taken and placed in a properly registered hostel while the authorities decide what to do with them. In the
short term they’ll be witnesses, of course.”

  Max wondered whether these agents knew the whole story, but he decided that it was not his place to enlighten them if they didn’t. The agents stood as if synchronised and shook hands with their two visitors as they filed out. The senior agent spoke directly to Todd, making it clear that his invitation was not intended to include Max. “We can send a car for you at 1pm if you want to tag along as an observer.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be ready,” Todd said graciously.

  ***

  It was 3am in Dubai and Khaweini had just replaced the receiver after a devastating phone call from Pakistan. The call originated in a compound in the mountainous countryside close to the border with Afghanistan. Khaweini had been told that his failures had been discussed at the very top of Al Qaeda, the operations council, which had been chaired by Osama Bin Laden himself, before his death at the hands of the Americans. The council had recalled Khaweini to the compound, where he would be expected to account for the loss of several millions of dollars that had been paid for unsuccessful attacks on Dubai, and to explain how millions more had been sequestered by the Western banks from Al Qaeda accounts. Khaweini knew that to return to Pakistan was to die in Pakistan. They would not condemn him to death; they would have a council member speak on behalf of the leader and he would set out the facts. The council would then invite him to choose his own punishment, and they would reluctantly carry out his wishes. If Khaweini chose any punishment short of the sacrifice of his life he knew that they would have him killed anyway. Trevor George Baker’s alter ego, Mullah Khaweini, had run its course. The Englishman had no intention of returning to Pakistan, despite his promises on the phone. Instead, Baker would work his way towards the UK and lose himself. He still had perhaps two hundred thousand pounds invested in secret accounts in the Isle of Man, assets invested during his long criminal career.