Exit wound ns-12
Page 6
Once the four buggies were parked up around the ball, Spag was back on the case. ‘Remember, the pilot will keep it on the ground for no more than thirty minutes. If you ain’t there, the deal’s off.’
‘Load of shite. You’ll stay there. Anyway, we’ve never missed an RV.’
My arse was getting sweaty on the PVC. ‘We carrying weapons?’
Spag almost jumped out of his skin. ‘What the fuck? No weapons!’
Dex pulled out a club for him, wanting to get on with the game. ‘He’s right, Nick. If we need them, we won’t be doing the job correctly.’
Red Ken agreed.
Dex handed Spag a club. ‘Here you go, Tiger. Let’s move on. Got another seventeen holes after this one.’
Spag’s shot flew straight and true towards the flag, just as a couple of grass-cutters, Indian lads with bits of cloth wound round their heads and necks against the sun, moved into view. ‘Hey, fore! Get out the fucking way! Jee-sus, these assholes!’
Red Ken shot out an arm and gripped him. ‘Wind your fucking neck in! These people sweat their guts out sixteen hours a day, six days a week – all for eight dollars a day. Dubai is being built by these slaves while all the fucking overweight local babies just whinge and whine.’
Spag pushed past to get to his buggy. ‘Don’t give me that bullshit. You don’t think the Mexicans are treated badly in New York City? And you Brits had slaves living in basements for hundreds of years.’ His tic had kicked off and the moustache started to twitch. ‘Fuck, Red, you people built entire cities on the proceeds of the slave trade, so don’t lecture me. Look at the positives. You have any idea what this country does for its own people?’
He started ticking off the benefits on his fingers. ‘Free education up to PhD level. Free houses when they get married. Free health care. Even their phone calls are free. Everybody has a maid, a nanny, a driver – you name it, they’ve got it. They don’t even pay taxes. Shit, of course this is a fucking great place for Emiratis. Thirty years ago these people were living in tents, scratching around for water – and now look at the place.’
Red Ken’s face was purple. He took a pace and moved it right into the American’s. ‘It’s Disneyland.’ He pointed at the workers sheltering under some trees. ‘These fuckers’ passports are taken away when they arrive, and some of them don’t get paid for months. They’ve got families back in India, Bangladesh, Pakistan, wherever the fuck they come from, starving while they wait for money that was promised but never arrives.
‘And do their embassies help them? They get jack shit from anyone. They can’t even go home because they’re in debt – they had to pay some greedy twat to get the job in the first place. And nobody wants to do anything about it because everybody’s making money. This place is shite, end of story.’
Spag shook his head so hard that sweat flew off it. ‘You self-righteous asshole. You just don’t get what this place is about, do you? Every Arab, Egyptian, Libyan, Iranian, whatever, they all grow up saying, “I want to go to Dubai.” This place is showing the rest of the Arabs how a modern Muslim country works.
‘They’ve got no fundamentalism here. On that basis alone, outsiders like you should shut the fuck up. You should be very worried if this model fails. It’ll end up being run by the fucking Taliban. That’s why the West turns a blind eye to how they treat their workers and all the other shit that happens here. So why don’t you just get on with your job then go back to wherever makes you happy? Or will you be down at the workers’ camps, handing out your share of the profits? I don’t think so.’
Dex had taken his shot and was leaning on his club. ‘Either calm down or go and get a room.’
Red Ken lit a Benson amp; Hedges and turned away.
Spag eased himself into his buggy and pointed the wheels back towards the Bedouin tent. ‘Fuck you.’ The electric motor kicked in and he drove off. ‘Just make sure you’re on time.’
Dex patted Red Ken on the shoulder with his club handle. ‘So when are you up for director of Liberty? That Shami Chakrabarti girl needs to watch out, eh? Can’t wait to see you on Question Time.’
Red Ken wasn’t seeing the funny side. He walked towards me. ‘Doesn’t it piss you off?’
‘Don’t know enough about it, mate. I’m used to being treated like shit, but I can see these lads get it a whole lot worse.’
Dex came to join us. ‘Well done, Red, you got rid of him a lot quicker this time.’
Red Ken wasn’t in the mood for praise. ‘That’s him fucked off until the airstrip RV. Let’s get on with it. Listen in, we got six crates to lift, right?’
We both nodded and I guessed what was coming.
‘Well, we’re going to have one for ourselves. I don’t trust the twat – and, besides, we’re here for us. You both OK with that?’
Dex was more than happy, but it wasn’t that simple.
‘How do we lift it? How do we hide it? I presume we come back later for it?’
‘Correct. I got a wagon parked up at the airport among those three thousand vehicles. Me and Chrissie just binned it when we left. We load it up, re-park it, and come back later. Then we melt it down and sell it.’
They’d only agreed with Spag about not having weapons, Red Ken said, because they already had some. ‘If it all goes tits up, we ain’t rotting in some fucking Arab jail. We’re going to get out of this shit, spend the cash – or die trying.’ He shared eye to eye with Dex. ‘It’s do or die, isn’t it, mate?’
Dex looked at me and for the first time there wasn’t a smile. ‘It’s our time. Our one chance to change our lives for ever. Make or break. If it doesn’t work, we’re dead anyway. You OK with that? If not, maybe it’s time to rethink, Nick.’
I didn’t need time to re-anything. ‘No, I’m not OK. This is getting worse by the minute. Have you two really thought about what we’re involved with here? Have you approached this job like you would have done anything else we’ve been involved with?
‘Think about what that fat fuck might have up his sleeve. Think about all the details we don’t know. I’m here because I’m here, and I’ll stay with you two whatever. We’re mates, and mates stick together. But think about the risks. We can walk away any time we want to, lads.’
Red Ken climbed into his buggy. ‘I’m not walking away from anything, son. I can’t. There’s too much at stake for me.’
Dex followed. ‘Come on, Nick. Let’s finish playing golfers, and then we can get to work. You have a lot of recces to do.’
18
Mall of the Emirates
1450 hrs
The mall felt like Monaco with a roof on, only bigger. All the usual international suspects were there, from a Carrefour hypermarket that took up half the ground floor to Asprey, Rolex and hundreds of others in between. To make Brit tourists feel at home, it even had an indoor funfair a few escalators up, complete with bumper cars and fluffy toys.
Most bizarre of all was the world’s biggest indoor ski slope. A huge steel cocoon towered over the car park and taxi drop-off point on the roof. Inside, I imagined, Arabs were skiing in dishdashes under Versace Puffa jackets, but I hadn’t got to see it yet. After the golf game we’d gone to the hotel for a quick shower, then straight out again. Ken and I were now busy keeping up with Dex as he bounced from one perfume shop to another.
We’d had a white Toyota behind us all the way from the hotel to the mall, a good twenty-minute drive. Not unusual on its own, as the mall was one of the city’s major venues. But it was three up, all Arab males in Western dress, and they’d stuck to us like glue. We’d soon see if we’d been pinged, and maybe by whom. It could be UAE internal security – or Spag’s people keeping tabs on us. Right now, it didn’t matter who. What did was confirming that we were targets and then deciding what to do about it.
‘Doesn’t anyone here sell Amouage Homage?’
‘They must do – it’s the most expensive perfume on the planet. Nick and me’ll go and ask at McDonald’s.’
I follow
ed Red Ken as Dex disappeared into yet another shop. He shook his head. ‘A whole field of rose petals to produce a teardrop of the stuff. They make it in Oman. I bought Chrissie some and she went crazy about it. I think that’s where Dickhead got the idea. He’s trying to get Cinza back.’ Red Ken smiled at me. ‘Can you see the one with the checked shirt? He still about?’
We headed for the food court.
‘Nope. He could have gone with Dex.’
There had been a young guy, maybe mid-twenties, who hadn’t got past Surveillance 101. He was always getting in our eye-line. Either he was bad, or we just happened to share exactly the same shopping preferences.
‘We’ll soon find out, Nick. Not that it’s going to make a difference to me. Fuck ’em, whoever they are.’ Red Ken led me past the falafel and vegetarian joints. ‘He really is soft in the head, that lad. You can’t just bribe women back – and don’t I know it.’
We reached the counter and ordered Big Macs. We didn’t check for anyone or anything yet. There was no need – we’d soon see if someone had a trigger on us once we sat down. Besides, we didn’t even know for sure we were being followed. And if we were, we didn’t want to look aware.
‘Dex want anything?’
‘He won’t touch any of this shite. I’ll get him an orange juice.’
We carried our trays to the seating area and sat each side of the table to maximize our view of the hall. Three women on the next table were burqa’d up in black gear. Each time one of them brought food to her mouth she had to lift the beak and try to post it through without leaving a blob of mayonnaise on the flap of the letterbox.
Beyond them, a table-load of local kids were busier texting than eating. On our other side, two overweight American lads with goatee beards, ball caps and overalls emblazoned with an energy company logo and the Stars and Stripes were making up for them, in supersize.
Women of all races paraded around us in short, strapless dresses. A couple of hours down the road in Saudi it would have been a capital offence. There were a lot of girls down that way with mayo stains round their letterboxes.
I reached for my Pepsi. No Coke here: most of the Middle East seemed to think Coca-Cola was a Jewish company.
As on the aircraft, there was no talking shop while we were around others. ‘What made you get out of here so quick, mate?’ I was thinking about the abandoned vehicle. ‘Just that Chrissie didn’t like it?’
He took the top off his drink and rejected the straw I offered. ‘The whole expat lifestyle. The way they treat these lads-’ He nodded in the direction of the Filipinos sweating at a stir-fry counter. ‘Me and Chrissie, we’re from shite. Our dads were both down the pit. They had principles. Socialism rubs off, you know. Seeing these people treated so badly pissed us both off. She couldn’t handle it.’
He took a bite out of his burger. ‘I said we’d bin it – but maybe just another month or two to get some money together.’ He over-concentrated on the tabletop all of a sudden. ‘She had a breakdown. It wasn’t just the being here… it was a culmination of years of me fucking off working. I was just too engrossed in what I was doing to see it coming.’
He raised his paper napkin to his eye, trying to persuade me that he had a bit of grit in it. ‘We left, but it was too late. She binned me. I should have listened to her. I fucked up, mate – forgot there was another life, something more important.’
He looked at his Big Mac and put it down. He’d lost the taste for it. He sat back with his arms on the table, his hands squeezed together. ‘I kidded myself I was doing all my soldiering for them. Creating a family, putting together a nest egg. But guess what? It was all for me, because I loved it. Now it’s make or break. My last job – and this time it’s for Chrissie. No more bullshit. I’m going to get some of the good stuff and give it the big fuck-off to everyone else – including you and Dex. It’s end-ex for me.’
Red Ken couldn’t pull off the grit act any more. Tears welled in both eyes. ‘From now on, it’s going to be about her. I’ll go down on my hands and knees at the christening if I have to, if it means she’ll have me back.’
I watched a tear dribble down the crags in his cheek. ‘Is that why you left everything to the Fat Controller?’
He sort of nodded, and at the same time waved his finger in front of his face. He was right: no work talk. ‘Believe me, son, I’m desperate. Without Chrissie, I’ve got nothing. I want her back. I want my kids and grandkids to have a good life. Not a shite one like I’ve given to Chrissie. If this doesn’t work…’
I cut away from it a moment to scan for Checked Shirt. ‘What about Dex? Why’s he taking the risk?’
‘Because he’s soft in the head, that’s why. You know him. One minute he’s here for the fucking juice, and the next – who knows? He’s been talking about moving to Scotland and buying a castle, but that was last week.’
Red Ken looked over my shoulder and nodded. I turned to see Dex empty-handed.
‘For all that, I’m glad he’s here. You too, Nick. I just wish Tenny was too, you know?’
Dex bounced in and sat next to me. He studied Red Ken’s face. ‘You OK, chap? Nick here been stealing your chips?’
Red Ken wiped his eyes. ‘No, you soft twat – just the normal thing.’
‘Ah.’ Dex pointed at the carton full of juice. ‘That mine?’
He gulped it back with relish, then leant forward with that ever-bright smile. ‘Guess what? We’re being followed. The checked shirt stayed with me. So, what now?’
Red Ken took a swig of his drink. ‘Fuck ’em. We’re just shopping, aren’t we? So we carry on doing what we’re here to do – show Nick what he needs to see, and carry on as planned. We finish our drinks, get on with our job, and keep our eyes skinned.’
19
Dex had some bits of orange caught in his straw and was trying to blow them out instead of just taking the top off and drinking normally.
Red Ken thumped his watch. ‘We need to go up to the car park.’
Dex gave it some thought. ‘I’ll bring it with – and I see Checked Shirt. He’s sitting to my half-right, outside Starbucks. He’s talking with a white shirt, long-sleeved, buttoned-up, jeans. It’s a trigger.’
We got up and started walking, ignoring the two of them. We passed through the funfair, where Indian and Filipina girls stared out from behind the stalls. They looked as though they were in prison.
It’s best not to look for followers while on the move. It’s too obvious and not necessary. The best way is to check things out once you go static. Who was there the last time you stopped? Who just fucked up by jumping into a shop doorway?
We came to a massive floor-to-ceiling glass screen, the other side of which was Switzerland. Acres of blindingly white snow glittered under a brilliant blue sky. Chairlifts carried skiers over snowmen and tall fir trees. You could almost smell the gluhwein. We stopped and had a quick look at all the Arab lads wrapped up in their hired cold-weather gear. As usual, the women in burqas had drawn the short straw. They couldn’t get the skiwear on over their other clobber. Their breath hung around them in clouds as they waited at the bottom of the toboggan run for their kids to appear at warp speed. They must have been freezing.
Dex took another suck from his juice container. ‘They’re still with us, chaps. They really need to sharpen their skills.’
We turned to walk away from the skiers. He was right. The two of them were directly in our eye-line, trying to look normal as they window-shopped for women’s clothes.
We took the escalator to the roof and walked out into forty degrees of overwhelming heat. Like any other mall on the planet, a queue of people with shopping bags stretched back from the taxi rank. There must have been space in the car park for at least a thousand cars, but only a third of it was occupied.
‘Recession.’ Dex shook his head as well as his drink. ‘It’s everywhere.’
The sun was low in the sky. Red Ken checked his watch. ‘Ten past six. Last light in about fifty.’
Neither of the shirts made an appearance. Red Ken pulled out his cigarettes and I admired the scenery. ‘They can’t be that shite. We’re up here for one of two reasons. To get a taxi, or meet someone with a vehicle. Bet they’ve gone back to the Toyota. They’ll be staking out the exit.’ I turned to the click of a disposable lighter and was met with a cloud of smoke.
‘Good. Fuck ’em. Let them wait. Dex, you keep an eye out for them. Nick, look out there.’
From our vantage-point, the area round the mall was littered with patches of barren ground and half-finished buildings draped in scaffolding. Over the constant background rumble of traffic came the rhythmic thud of pile drivers. Little ant-like bodies scurried about in yellow or blue hard hats. It must have been a fucker labouring in Gas Mark Ten.
The whole city was criss-crossed with highways that looked like giant concrete flumes. A monorail was also under construction. We had seen the elevated strip of concrete heading towards the city centre from the airport. The partly built stations looked like golden cocoons wrapped around the track. Red Ken, of course, thought they were shite. I quite liked them.
We could see all the way to the sea. The Burj Al-Arab hotel looked like a giant sail a couple of K away on the coast. The needle-like Burj Dubai was well on its way to being the world’s tallest building. In all directions, the rows of dominoes gleamed in the sun. But we weren’t there for the view.
He leant against one of the concrete supports for the ski slope and sucked hard on his B amp;H. ‘Dunes. You got it?’
The hotel, like a black glass pyramid, would have looked at home in Las Vegas.
‘Got that.’
‘OK, that’s your axis. Go half right. Five hundred.’ He was using a fire-control order format to get me onto the target. I looked half right, scanning the five-hundred area.