by Tim Jopling
Chapter 8
Sunday, March 4th 07:00,
Muscat (Capital City), Oman, Middle East.
Olsen ran a hand through his short dark brown hair and continued to walk through a hectic Seeb International airport. Despite wearing sand coloured trousers, a sky blue shirt and a light brown jacket, Olsen still felt hot. With every step, his stomach churned and his body felt increasingly uncomfortable. Never had he imagined himself stepping foot in Oman. His mind was a frenzy of memories concerning his father. The heat took his mind off the ordeal for a moment, it had hit home the moment he had disembarked from the comfortable air conditioning of the plane.
Using a magazine as a fan, Olsen looked around for a taxi. At the exit, several cars passed him but none of the orange and white colour of a taxi. Moments later, one appeared. Although English was spoken in Muscat, Olsen had already decided to use his Arabic to the full throughout the operation.
As the car came closer, he looked out for the orange medallion painted on the bonnet and doors of the vehicle. It would provide information as to its destination and home region.
Olsen called out to raise the taxi. ‘Ajara!’ As the car pulled over, he got into the back and informed the driver he would be paying for all four seats, making it a private taxi. He didn’t want any unwelcome company.
Throughout the country of Oman, no rail network had ever existed. Instead, a complex structure of long distance taxis and Microbuses were in operation, taking customers to their destinations, often together rather than alone.
Olsen leaned forward and told the driver he wanted to go to the UK Embassy. The driver seemed confused as to where it was, so he responded with the street name. ‘Al Khuwair na’am?’ Olsen fluffed his shirt and pulled down the window, to allow some much needed air into the cab. He studied his surroundings and wondered whether Geoff Olsen had ever taken a taxi along the same road.
Oman had once been known as the hermit of the Middle-Eastern region. In recent times, large efforts had been made to build up a tourist infrastructure to show off its narrow coastal plain, together with its beautiful ranges of mountains and hills. Sultan Qaboos bin Said, who deposed his father in 1970, had made great strides to allow Western influences to penetrate his country since being appointed by the governing cabinet. With a population of over two million people, Oman was now a member of the UN, with Matrah becoming one of the leading ports in the Middle Eastern state.
Olsen picked up a stray newspaper from the back seat and began to read the Arabic printed from right to left, on the front page. The news that temperatures had broken over thirty degrees Celsius didn’t please him. In his eight years of service as a Government agent, working in the heat had always been difficult, and only added to the woes and stresses of whatever assignment he was working on.
The taxi slowed down to a halt as streams of traffic flowed out of a road ahead despite it being a Saturday, the weekend in Oman had always fallen on Thursday and Friday. Other days were opportunities for taxi drivers especially, to boost their income.
The car moved onto one of the main, tarmac roads and followed the stream of traffic into the Muscat capital. Several small, rocky mountains passed by in the distance, as the cloud free blue sky continued to look down from every vantage point.
Olsen caught sight of some of the coastline. A small stretch of a beautiful white, sandy beach was in the distance, looking untouched in the early morning sunshine. As the taxi came into Muscat, it slowed to walking pace as it progressed through the tight and winding streets. Taking in a deep breath, he made a decision and told the driver to let him out here. ‘Ogaf hina, law samaHt!’ Olsen fumbled for some notes in his pocket and paid the driver with close to six thousand baiza. The taxi driver smiled a toothy grin, kissed the money and stuffed it into his jacket.
Outside the cab, Olsen looked at his surroundings and focused on the faces of the people, half expecting his father to be among them. He shook his head to try and focus and carried on walking through the busy street, passing several shops and stalls. The market place was electrifying in its atmosphere, even at such an early time. Large stalls selling fish, fresh fruit and vegetables caught his eye, with vibrant colours standing out wherever he looked. Near the end of the market, several shops were selling stacks of gold jewellery, from bangles to dazzling gold daggers.
One elderly man eyed him up and down closely. He was sitting next to his stall, which was stacked high with carefully crafted copper pots and smaller sized pottery. Wearing a dishdasha, a traditional men’s shirtdress, his eyes stayed on Olsen, who looked away and walked down a path which would lead to Al Khuwair Street.
At the bottom of the side road, Olsen took a long look at the surrounding area. Not far in the distance, he saw the UK Embassy, with its Union Jack flag flying proudly on the roof of the building. The US Embassy, Oman museum and a hotel was also in the same street. Olsen looked to his left and eyed up several cramped looking flats built closely together. A glimmer of sunlight caught his attention from the roof of the third flat in the block. With a deep breath, he approached it and pushed open the front door that was unlocked. At the top of the stairwell, he climbed a ladder and stepped onto the roof. Olsen felt his hands shaking, and his heart was beating rapidly as he saw who was ahead of him.
Near the roof’s edge, forty-two-year-old Thomas Deane was on his knees scanning the area near the UK Embassy. Deane was tanned, and slightly taller than Olsen with a far more muscular build. His black hair, with a tinge of grey at the temples, rustled in the gentle wind. His cream coloured shirt showing no signs of perspiration. He continued to look through the binoculars and didn’t acknowledge the arrival of his partner. ‘I was wondering when you’d get here.’
Olsen wiped the sweat from his brow and sighed as quietly as he could. ‘Is that all you have to say to me?’
Deane adjusted the binoculars but didn’t respond.
Olsen knew his mentor so well. It was obvious he didn’t want to talk, but then Deane never wanted to talk about anything other than work. He was a driven man, almost obsessed. ‘I read everything there is to know about Operation ESPY. I know the truth.’
Deane finally lowered the binoculars and turned around. His dark blue eyes inspected his partner of eight years carefully. ‘It must be obvious then, as to why we never told you.’
Olsen had expected his temper to be close to breaking point but instead he just felt vulnerable and let down. ‘Who’s we?’
‘Your mother and I discussed it and, with you showing an interest in joining MI6, we felt it best to tell you our version of the truth.’ Deane stepped closer and put more emphasis on his words. ‘I wanted you to work with me in the future and if you had known I’d been with your father when he died, you would never have let that happen. You shouldn’t blame your mother over this, it was my suggestion.’
Olsen stepped back and raised his hands, feeling the full brunt of his emotions for the first time. ‘Do you have any idea what it felt like to read that operation file? To find out the truth that way? You should have trusted me!’
Deane lowered his gaze but only a moment and then made eye contact again. ‘I won’t disagree. I should have told you, but the longer we worked together, the harder it became. I never wanted you to find out like that. Never. Our relationship has never been like others, we don’t always need words.’
Olsen raised his eyes to the sky as he snapped back. ‘Your excuse, not mine.’
An awkward silence lingered between them for several seconds until Deane spoke again. ‘This is hard for both of us but we still have a job to do. The British Royal party will be leaving the Sultan’s palace soon. Get yourself ready. The visit to the harbour in Matrah will be within the hour. We’ll both be accompanying them. There’s also been another development but we can talk about that on the way.’ He gave the binoculars to his partner and climbed down the ladder to the flat below.
Olsen shook his head and realised for the first time how hopeless his mentor was when it came to anything
personal. As he watched his partner climb down the ladder behind him, Olsen studied the UK Embassy, the nearby market, and the beautiful sky above. He was just about to look away when he caught sight of a road name in the distance. Olsen’s heart sank when he saw which one it was. As much as he wanted to look away and focus on the job in hand, he was unable to do so. Through the binoculars, the shiny road sign read ‘Al-Mina Street’, the location his father had died. A shiver ran through his body and sweat trickled down his face. I have to go there, I have to.
In the house below, Deane sat at a desk in his small and humid office, with a nearby fan working overtime to cope with the heat. His eyes scanned several reports and weeded out any useful information. He folded some papers from his desk and placed them in his pocket as he watched his partner climb down from the roof. ‘I hope you scanned the Embassy and noted the security procedures.’
Olsen heard the question but had only one thing in his mind, going to the street where his father had died all those years ago.
Deane read the report he was holding again and waited for an answer. To his surprise, there wasn’t one and then he heard the front door slam shut. He got out of his chair and watched Olsen get into a taxi which then drove away at speed. Deane closed his eyes and dropped the document. He knew exactly where his young charge was heading.
Olsen sat back in the taxi and tried to make sense of his thoughts. Images from the nightmare that had occurred before he left London wouldn’t go away. His heart was calling for Rachel but she was miles away and he was on his own.
The taxi driver stopped the car on the steep hill of Al-Mina Street. Olsen tossed a couple of thousand baiza in the driver’s direction and got out of the car. He had expected the street to give off a scent of danger, possibly even look threatening in some way. Instead, the road was quiet, peaceful and positively gleaming under the intense sunlight and clear blue sky. Olsen was shaking all over but he walked down the hill and came to the alleyway where his father had died. Gradually, he entered the narrow walkway and studied every part of the alley, in an attempt to picture the scene that had changed his life. A flurry of emotions overcame him and Olsen could almost feel his father call out to him in some way. There was a sound of footsteps from behind him and he turned around.
Deane lingered at the entrance to the alleyway and felt guilty and uncomfortable all at once. He had no idea of what to say or how to say it.
Olsen saw the vulnerable expression on his partners face and for a moment felt like he had intruded on his private moment. He looked away and continued to study his surroundings.
Deane thought about leaving and felt concern for Operation Safeguard and the timetable of events. In his mind, talking about the current operation would push away his own dark feelings of the past. Despite being posted in Oman more than once since Geoff Olsen’s death he had never returned to the alleyway since that fateful day. ‘The operation we’re on right now is the key here. We should go.’
Olsen ignored him.
Deane continued. ‘Prince David will need our help. We cannot afford to miss it. Too much is at stake.’ A frown spread across his features as he realised he wasn’t getting through. Deane reluctantly turned to leave without his partner.
Olsen looked back and tried to control the emotion in his voice. ‘Where?’ He gestured with his hands, desperate to know exactly where his father had died.
Deane knew what his partner meant but didn’t want to touch on the subject. ‘Are you coming?’
‘Where did it happen, Tom…the exact spot, just tell me.’ Olsen’s eyes locked onto his partner’s. ‘I need to know. I have to know.’
One…two…three…Damn it! Ahead of him, Deane could see his younger self desperately giving CPR to Geoff Olsen and meticulously counting the compressions. He closed his eyes and held back the tears. So many mistakes… ‘There.’ Deane pointed to an area that was now stacked high with boxes.
Olsen nodded solemnly. ‘I guess I should take heart from the fact that Oscar Moas won’t be a threat to anyone else.’
Deane’s mouth went dry when he heard the name of Geoff Olsen’s killer. Oscar Moas had been dead for many years, killed by a C.I.A. operative in Iran just months after Operation ESPY. The very thought of Moas made Deane feel unsettled, it brought a pain to his heart and a sick feeling to his stomach.
Olsen continued to stare at the spot his partner had indicated.
The memories were traumatic and hurtful to Deane, who was a man that never allowed himself to be vulnerable to emotional pain. Tears welled up in his eyes. ‘I did everything I…’ Without finishing, he turned around and headed back to the Land Rover parked just metres away.
Olsen watched his partner go. You came so close to opening up, Tom, why won’t you let me in? He turned his attention to the area where his father had died, got down on his knees and said a silent prayer.
Deane sat in the Land Rover and stared blankly at the dashboard. He felt a failure in every sense of the word. Before he could sink any further, he started the engine and thought of the operation. To his surprise, the passenger door opened and Olsen got in the car.
Olsen said nothing at first, wound down the window and then looked at his partner. ‘On that day…’ He paused for a moment before continuing. ‘I’m sure you did all you could, but I need to hear your account of what happened.’ He looked across at his partner.
For several moments, Deane was silent and continued to stare ahead at nothing. Then he spoke, in a subdued tone. ‘For years I’ve blamed myself for what happened.’ He reluctantly searched through buried feelings that felt like they were from another lifetime. Early morning sunlight spread across his face, which highlighted several lines on his forehead. Each one could have represented the lives he had failed to protect in years gone by. ‘But I did do all that I could for your father. He was my partner. I respected him and trusted him more than any other man.’ His voice almost broke under the emotional strain as he continued. ‘I can’t change what happened, no matter how much I want to. I reasoned with him that we should have stayed together.’ He looked at his young partner with genuine sorrow in his eyes. ‘We were both to blame. Oscar Moas was already well aware of our presence.’
Olsen listened intently as the words began to sink in. It was the first time the subject had ever really been discussed. The truth was slowly coming out. He could feel the lump in his throat and the pain in his heart as he wished his father could still be with him. Nevertheless, he needed to hear more. ‘Tom…I know how hard this is. Jesus, this is impossible for both of us but what I need is for you to take me through that day, step by step. I need it Tom. I have to know and you’re the only man who can do that.’
Deane was a stubborn man. In his heart and mind, he knew Olsen was right, and it took a lot for him to admit that to himself, let alone another human being. Nevertheless, there was an operation in progress, lives and world events were under threat at that very moment. His professional pride surged to the surface and resumed control. ‘You’re right. I should take you through that day.’ He faced his partner and focussed his dark blue eyes with affection on the younger man. ‘We should have done this years ago and for that I’m truly sorry. I give you my word, I will tell you everything about that day.’ He placed a hand on Olsen’s shoulder. ‘When this operation is over. You have to trust me.’
Olsen could hear the meaning and emotion in Deane’s voice. ‘Ok then.’ His focus turned back towards the operation at hand and managed a smile of sorts. ‘We’re heading to the harbour first?’
‘Harbour first.’ Deane started the engine. He wanted to think about how he would go through that fateful day with Olsen but had no idea of how to start. The lives of the British Royal Party were the priority. He pulled the Land Rover out onto the main street and pushed the fear and guilt away. I don’t care what the circumstances are, it feels good to have Sam by my side again.