The Spanish Hotel

by Gary Philpott

  “Shut up woman. Let me think.” He opened his mouth slightly and put his thumbnail into the gap between his front, bottom teeth. “Chas, get me a map of the Middle-East.”

  “I get those two confused as well sir,” Cusack attempted to support Muirhead.

  “I know, I’m sorry Heather. I shouldn’t have shouted at you.”

  “No problem sir. It’s been a long day and I think we’re all tired.”

  “Yes. It has been a long day.”

  Harrington flicked through the pages of a large world atlas as he approached. “Here you are sir.” He laid the atlas down on the table and put his finger on Dubai. “There’s Dubai, and just down here is Abu Dhabi.”

  “There both in the United Arab Emirates then?”

  “Yep. That’s Saudi, and that’s Oman.”

  “How far do you reckon that is?” Collins ran his finger along the coastal road linking Abu Dhabi to Dubai.

  Harrington put his hooked thumb on the scale at the bottom of the page and then paced out the distance between the two cities. “Something like one hundred and fifty kilometres.”

  “What’s that in real money?”

  “About one hundred miles.”

  “Does this map show railway lines? Doesn’t seem to does it?”

  “Maybe there aren’t any.”

  “Got to be. From what I’ve seen of them on television, these places are modern cities. Dubai’s got a ski slope for God’s sake, it must have a railway.”

  “It doesn’t look like it sir. Flighty would know.”

  “Flighty, who’s Flighty?”

  “You remember sir, the air hostess who helped us on the Drummond case. I kept in contact with her.”

  “Did you now?”

  “Her real name’s Vivienne, but she likes to be called Flighty.” Harrington was already reaching for his mobile. “Shall I call her?”

  “Wasn’t she the one in that chat room?”

  “Yes.” Harrington’s cheeks reddened. He had her at the top of his list under AAFlighty. He pressed the green button.

  “Hello Chas. Good to hear from you.”

  “Hi Flighty. Can you talk?”

  “Well, I’m in company, so keep it clean.”

  Harrington chuckled. “No, this is business, not pleasure. You sometimes go to Dubai, don’t you?”

  “Not often, but now and again. We often refuel there though.”

  “How about Abu Dhabi?”

  “The Muscat flight drops down there, why?”

  “Do you know if there is a railway line from Abu Dhabi to Dubai?”

  “No there isn’t. I think they are planning on building one, but that’s in the future. There is a motorway link though. A couple of times I have been subject to delays and the like, I’ve transferred by minibus between the two.”

  “So if I were to land at Abu Dhabi, how would I get to Dubai?”

  “Bus or taxi. The better airlines lay on transfer buses. Other than that it’s a local bus or taxi. They’re cheap mind. A local bus can be less than two quid evidently.”

  “But it is a hundred miles isn’t it?”

  Flighty laughed. “Cheap petrol and a lot of poor blokes from India, Pakistan and the like. It’s not all five star hotels and shopping malls you know.”

  “Thank you. I might want to phone you back. Is that okay?”

  “Sure. I’ve not long landed, so I’ll be hyper for a while.”

  “Thanks. Bye.”

  “Oh Chas, before you hang up, I’ve got a couple of friends who wouldn’t mind joining us on a cruise up the Thames. Would that be okay with you?”

  “Sex?”

  Collins glared at him.

  “Hetero couple who like a bit of fun.”

  “Sounds good to me.” His cheeks went red again.

  “Call me.”

  “Will do. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  “There you go sir. No trains, but it is cheap and easy to get a bus or taxi.”

  “Heather. Could you contact Amanda and get her to book Chas and me on the next flight to Dubai. I want you and Perry on the next flight to Abu Dhabi. Business class, we need to catch up on some sleep. Dave, I want you to hold up this end of things, prepare to arrest Al Nuaimi the moment she lands back in the country. Find out what Phillips is up to in Dubai and where he is staying.”

  “Trade conference at Dubai Festival City,” chipped in Muirhead.

  “Do you know where he is staying?”

  “No, but I checked it out, there are two posh hotels there.”

  “Pursue that Dave. Right, everyone else get home and pack a small bag. Get some rest but keep your phones by your bedside. I don’t think you will have much sleeping time. Oh Dave, get Superintendent Elliot up to speed, but only after we are well on our way.”

  “Can I not go to Dubai?” asked Broxson. “That’s where the action is going to be.”

  “You may well be right. And if the action involves matters of state security, the Prime Minister may not thank me for taking an American along for the ride.”

  Broxson grinned. “Jeez, and I thought our two countries had a special relationship,”

  “Special, but not that special.”

  Chapter 14

  It was late in the evening by the time Aisha’s taxi turned off Sheikh Zayed road in Dubai. Four minutes later it was pulling up outside the hotel. She looked at her watch and decided there was just enough time to get changed and give the club a quick reconnaissance visit. It did not close until three in the morning, therefore most of the action would probably take place after midnight.

  The hotel lobby was spacious but not luxurious; it had seen better days. This reflected the fact that it was a hotel for business men, not for rich tourists with cash to splash.

  “Good evening ma’am.” The hotel receptionist was a little taller than most Philippino women.

  “Hello, I have a reservation but I have a bit of a problem.”

  “How can I help?”

  “My friend booked the room. Here, I have the sheet she printed out.” Aisha passed over the Internet booking confirmation. “Alice needs to stay in Abu Dhabi for a few days. She’ll be joining me just as soon as she can.”

  The receptionist tapped in the reference number. “Here it is. Yes. A twin, two people.”

  “Can I see your passport?”

  Aisha passed it over. “Natalie. Natalie Bacari.”

  “One moment.” The receptionist opened the passport. Her head moved up and down as she switched between looking at the passport and looking at Aisha. “I am sorry ma’am, you seem to have given me the wrong passport.” She shut it and laid it on the counter.

  “What do you mean?” Aisha picked it up and opened it. She deliberately paused and tried to look confused. “Oh dear, this is Alice’s passport. I must have taken the wrong passport from the room safe this morning.”

  “I am sorry ma’am, I cannot check you in without your passport.”

  “What can I do at this time of night?”

  “I will talk to my supervisor.” The girl walked along the long reception desk to the cashier’s section and spoke to a middle-aged man in a dark grey suit.

  Aisha waited nervously for her return.

  The receptionist smiled as she walked back towards Aisha.

  “One night. We cannot allow you to stay a second night without your passport. Do you have any other ID?”

  “No I don’t.”

  “A driving license maybe.”

  “I don’t drive.”

  “I will need a deposit.” The receptionist was already tapping away at the keyboard. “Two thousand Dirhams.”

  “I thought Alice had paid already.”

  “No. This only guarantees the reservation.” She held up the confirmation sheet.

  “That seems a lot.” Aisha welcomed the opportunity to be on safer ground.

  “It is for security against expenditure within the hotel.”

  Aisha forced a smile and opened her purse
. “Okay, here you are.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Is there a cash machine in the hotel?”

  “An ATM ma’am? Yes. Past the Oasis coffee lounge on the left.”

  “I need some more cash,” she lied.

  “I have put you in room three forty-eight. Take the lift behind you to the third floor.”

  “Thank you.” She took the small cardboard wallet containing her key-card and turned to be confronted by a porter who already had her bags in his hands.

  “Allow me. Room three forty-eight?”

  “Yes.”

  After he laid her bags down on a low table and showed her how to use the television, Aisha tipped the porter and followed him towards the door.

  Before he shut it behind him he said: “Have a good stay.”

  “Thank you. I will.”

  Aisha wasted no time in stripping and jumping into the shower.

  Afterwards she dried herself with a towel but did not dress straight away. It was unlikely that she would need them tonight but as a precaution she transferred five fine silk pashminas and a cutthroat razor from her case to a large fake Gucci handbag.

  Next she sprayed copious amounts of Chanel perfume over her body. It was then time to dress to impress. The red dress bought specially for the occasion was reserved for the following night. Tonight it was going to be a short white satin number, with a slashed neckline that plunged down well below her breasts.

  Once she was ready to face whatever the evening was about to throw her way, Aisha swung a large white shawl over her shoulders and pulled it round over her chest. It gave her options. She could expose as much or as little flesh as circumstances dictated.

  Before leaving the room, Aisha checked herself in the mirror. Swinging her upper body from side to side, she checked her boobs did not pop out from beneath the pleated strips of fabric running over them. She then turned and inspected her backside. The light in the room was not really good enough, but there did seem to be a hint of white thong running up her arse.

  “Okay Douglas boy. Let’s see if you are true to form.”

  The route to the Salamander Club took Aisha out into a large open area at the back of the hotel. As she walked past the terrace of a mock English pub called the Black Horse, heads turned.

  As she waited to pay her entrance fee on the steps outside the club, a small fracas broke out as a male in his early thirties accused a bouncer of trying to trip him up. Some of his friends managed to calm him down. The bouncer cracked his knuckles and then let the matter die.

  Upon entering the club, Aisha faced a bar that ran away to the right and curved round to the left. The bar area was separated from the dance floor by a wooden partition, designed for men to lean on while they watched the action with their beer standing on a narrow shelf. Only there was no one on the dance floor. The Columbian band was playing music to dance to, but no one was dancing. Men and women did not go there to dance, well, not in public.

  The competition was fierce, far fiercer than Aisha had expected. It was wall to wall with fit-looking women. A sprinkling of them were from the Far East, but most looked like they were from Russia or thereabouts. Perhaps Aisha’s dress might be an advantage; the standard dress code seemed more smart casual than high class hooker. Even the girls with a plentiful supply of cleavage to put in the shop window made sure their tops only allowed a tiny glimpse of the goods.

  Aisha stepped over to the bar and handed over the drinks voucher she received after paying her entrance fee. The barman served her before the men who were leaning over the bar waving vouchers or notes in a bid to get a drink. He popped the top on a bottle of Corona, placed a straw in it, and passed it over.

  Aisha needed a little time to acclimatise. She retreated to a slightly elevated part of the bar area and leaning against a pillar, she observed the action.

  The first thing she noticed was that handbags were left unattended all over the place. The girls clutched their mobile phones but did not seem worried about their handbags.

  After five minutes, the penny dropped. The straw in your drink was the signal that you were approachable. This was a Muslim country with severe penalties for sexual misconduct. A woman would be risking a lot if she went up to a strange man and asked him if he wanted to go to bed with her. This was far more subtle. The women were standing around on their own or in pairs, waiting to be approached. A totally naïve observer could believe that what was going on were normal western pickup routines. Pickup routines that must be tolerated in non-public places.

  The men were going over to the girls and chatting to them. Some physical contact was taking place, but nothing too risqué. Some men drifted from one woman to another, presumably checking out prices. The dead giveaway though was the difference in ages and looks. The women were on the whole young and stunning. Most of the men were over forty and not much to look at.

  Aisha watched a deal go down. A shorter girl with her back to the bar made eye contact with her target. The man drifted over and spoke to her. She moved to make space at the bar for him. After a few minutes he managed to get her a bottle of Heineken and a chilled glass. A short conversation ensued, he returned the glass to the bar and plucked a straw from a dispenser close by.

  The couple became more intimate. Their faces got closer, his hand went onto her shoulder, and they talked more freely.

  The girl was half-way through her beer when the guy pulled back momentarily. He said something. The girl nodded. She put her bottle on the bar, and the two left together.

  “Okay girl, standard pick up but we have to agree a price.” Aisha spoke without letting the words leave her mouth.

  It was time to search deeper into the club.

  As soon as she walked round the corner of the bar, she saw him. He was not wearing a dapper suit as expected. He had dressed down for the occasion. To blend in he had worn tight fitting Pierre Cardin jeans, loafers and an open-necked light blue shirt. He did not look like a politician; that was for sure. He had his hand in the small of a blonde girl’s back. She was tall, also wearing tight-fitting denim over her pert arse. Her breasts were not large but they were well presented in a by a figure hugging white top. Her well-padded bra was visible through the thin material.

  Aisha raised her bottle and put the straw in her mouth. Leaning her head forward, she stared at him with gooey eyes. Their eyes met. His ran her body up and down. She pouted her lips on the tip of her straw.

  He turned back to his blonde Russian.

  Aisha breathed deeply and made her way towards him. You may not catch him tonight but throw some bait his way, she said to herself.

  The opportunity was there. Another woman had her back to him, but there was a slight gap between them.

  “Excuse me.” Aisha put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed in behind him, making sure her breasts pressed firmly into his back. The girl behind yielded, but he did not. He was enjoying it.

  Aisha stopped and spoke softly into his left ear. “If you like a bit of light bondage, I’m your girl.”

  He grinned but he did not reply.

  Aisha carried on by and took up a new reconnaissance position close to the ladies toilet.

  She only waited five minutes. Douglas Phillips did the deal with his blonde whore and they left.

  As she stood finishing her drink, a tall older man with long grey hair approached her.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.

  “No thanks, I’m good.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “As I say; I’m good.”

  “I must say ma’am, not only are you good, but your English is excellent.”

  “That’s because I am English. Probably more English than you.”

  “I meant no offence, I just didn’t realise. And you are right, I’m from Connecticut. It may be part of New England, but England it is not.”

  “Why did you assume I wasn’t English?” Aisha deliberately tried to make him squirm.

  “Ah, I don’t know. I doubt y
ou’ll find another English woman in this joint.” He turned his shoulders to quickly scan the club, as if he was checking on the validity of his own statement. He turned back and looked Aisha up and down. “And most English girls I’ve met don’t have a nice permanent suntan like you do. You look good. Now come on, let me get you another drink. You obviously think I’ve insulted you. Let me buy you a drink to say sorry.”

  “I’m not a hooker.”

  “Well ma’am, you sure get to the point. I must tell you though, I may be a dumb arsed American, but I did realise my mistake a minute or two ago. Am I forgiven?”

  “What do you do for a living?”

  “Construction, I am a civil engineer.”

  “You seem to be the kind of civil engineer who likes to buy hookers a drink?”

  “Hooker or virgin ma’am, it makes no difference to me. Now, what can I get you?”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. I am going to finish this one, and then I’m going up to my room.”

  “I would lose the straw if I were you.”

  “Thanks for the advice. Tell me; why do you pay for it?”

  “Because I’m ugly,” he laughed. “And after a while a man’s right hand loses its attraction.”

  “Are you not married then?”

  “Sweet. You certainly are a girl who goes for the homerun. Let’s just say, I don’t have a woman here in Dubai. This club, and others like it, exist because there are plenty of guys earning good money, but only a cramped, lonely apartment to go back to at the end of the day.”

  “How much would you have been willing to pay me?”

  “I could say a hundred thousand, but I guess even that would be an insult. And it is not my intention to insult a good looking woman like you.”

  “Seriously, I would like to know. How much do the women here charge?”

  “Times are hard for everyone here at the moment. It’s a bit of a bear pit.”

  Aisha realised he was not going to give her the information she was keen to have. “Nice meeting you. The girl over there in the tight white jeans has been studying your form. Why don’t you go and see what discount she is offering tonight?”

  “No ma’am, I’ll keep my eyes open for something special. If nothing turns up I’ll save my money for another night.”