He had no choice, so he found his way to the Saudi Defence Attaché’s Office in Queen's Gate, South Kensington. Lesta had provided him with a contact name and after many phone calls, he had his appointment.
“How may we help?” said the attaché.
Now the Driver faced the dilemma on how to proceed. Walking in off the street and asking for fake documentation to deliver arms to an Al-Qaeda group in Syria was unlikely to be viewed with anything less than total suspicion and ignored.
“The matter is delicate and complicated,” he began. “Some friends, who are engaged in bringing freedom abroad, have asked me to help them in their endeavours”
There was silence. The attaché merely sat and waited for him to continue. He had no choice but to go on. “The have requested that I organise the shipment of some essential equipment to further their ambitions.”
The Attaché smiled and tilted his head to one side. “Where would these friends be?”
The Driver felt less than confident in his next statement, “Syria.”
“I am not sure that is anything to do with us. I think you’ll find that this is the Saudi Defence Office and the clue is in the sign over the door as you enter, Defence.”
The Driver sat and squirmed. He had no idea how to proceed in the matter.” I think I may be wasting your time. My close friends Nizar and Adnan gave me the impression that your government might be sympathetic to their plight?”
“Please wait.” He stood up and left the room. The Driver was left sitting uncomfortably looking at the walls for nearly an hour, before the door re-opened and the attaché entered and resumed his seat. “Sorry for the delay. You were saying?”
The Driver was not at all sure what he was saying and did consider leaving before he dug himself in too deep. He half feared that the time he had been left twiddling his thumbs had been used to contact MI5 to organise his arrest and interrogation when he set foot on the pavement outside.
“I was saying that I have some friends in Syria who are struggling for supplies and need a little help to withstand the Russian air threat to their homes and people.”
“These supplies wouldn’t be by any chance Buk-M2E systems, would they?”
The Driver’s mouth dropped open in surprise.
“We are not fools. We do have our own intelligence network around the World. We like to know what is going on with our friends as well as our enemies.”
“Sorry, I am out of my area of expertise and out of my usual sphere of business,” said the Driver.
“Clearly,” he said. “But, as you may have gathered, we are not unsympathetic to the plight of our brothers in foreign lands. The problem we have is that we are under intense international pressure over our involvement in the Yemen. There is a report due here in the UK detailing doubts, regarding the weapons the British had have been selling us and where they end up. They fear what we buy today may well be used against them tomorrow. We have to tread carefully. You understand?”
The Driver nodded. He sat in silence. It was clear that the interconnectivity of the various terrorist groups was far deeper than he had realised. The links to each other and governments were a complex web that spanned the Middle East. The Saudis knew about his deal, but the question was would they provide him with the official order signed by them to allow him to move his product from Russia to Turkey?
“I am not trying to create tension here. There is a genuine decision to be made as the stakes are high, not only for your friends but also for us. You want an order from us to allow you to move these rockets from Russian Federal territory. We on the other hand want to maintain good relations with the UK. In that it is highly likely down the road, our mutual friends will be bringing down, not only Russian planes with these missiles, but also British and American ones as well. You understand that such an important decision needs consideration?”
The door opened and the Driver looked up in anticipation, only to be confronted with a man brining in coffee and biscuits.
The wait seemed interminable as he was left alone, yet again. Lunchtime came along with more coffee and sandwiches. He could do nothing however but wait. He read all the newspapers and resorted to looking for games to play on his mobile phone as he sat alone in the office. He found that he was far too distracted and agitated to concentrate on Angry Birds and gave up the effort.
Finally, after nearly six hours, with the time approaching half past seven in the evening, the door opened and the Attaché came in dressed in a dinner jacket. “Embassy reception, doing my James Bond impression,” he said by way of explanation.
The Driver smiled politely. “You look very smart.”
“Thank you, flattery will get you everywhere.” He placed a white envelope on the table. “You have your order, good luck.”
Chapter 14
While the Driver was making progress obtaining the necessary documents, loans and organising the transport for the missile launchers and missiles racks from the Crimea to Turkey, Adnan and Nizar found it was a case of one step forward and two steps back.
“Are you telling me that we have just paid the bastard Mehmet and the fucker has gone and got himself killed? How the fuck did he manage that, he is surrounded by his two goons even when he takes a shit?” said Adnan.
Nizar looked out of what was once the window of the partly demolished house, onto the completely demolished surrounding buildings. The atmosphere was laden with dust being whipped up by the early morning breeze. He watched as a mini tornado was created as it eddied between the piles of rubble. On days like this, he did wonder why he had come to this shit hole. He had a good middle class upbringing in the UK and had done well enough at school to get him into Leicester University. He had always been interested in the wild life and loved his trips to the zoo, where his parents had taken him on as a child. Getting into Leicester had seemed to fulfil his dream. After all, it even had a building named after the supremo of wild life filming, David Attenborough.
He had not even been a particularly devout Muslim and had partied away his first year fully immersing himself in student life. Then he had felt guilty after a particularly heavy week of hedonism and felt the urge to attend the Mosque. It had grown from there. The Imam and the new group of friends showed him the way. The West was conspiring against Islam and the murder of his Muslim brothers in the Middle East and they started to change his perceptions. It was as if a great truth had been revealed to him and eventually he just left the University to begin his training in Afghanistan. Now nine years later he was in Syria leading the fighters of ISIS.
“He was killed in a bath house along with the masseur, he was fucking,” said Nizar.
“You are fucking kidding me? I was there with him when we met. He wanted a threesome, with him and his little friend. I saw that masseur kissing his boyfriend outside the Hamam before I went in to meet Mehmet. Was it the boyfriend, jealousy?”
“That is how it looks on the face of it but it seems we had him executed.” said Nizar.
“We had him executed? Why did we do that?”
“Not we, specifically, me. I put a hit on him when I was in Iraq. The bloke you saw kissing the masseur was a hit man just known as Annubis. Mehmet had been in London shooting Jihadis a week or so before and killed my brother. I was so pissed off at Mehmet that I put a contract out on him.”
“Fucking great, we are bribing him to let our weapons into Syria and you are paying some fucker to have him killed. That has got to be the most expensive, stupid thing we have done in a while. I am pissed off. I am really fucking pissed off.”
“I would never have guessed if you hadn’t told me,” said Nizar. “I was in Iraq. I had no idea what you were up to here. I would still have had the scumbag killed though.”
“Well what to do we do now? We have half a billion dollars worth of launchers and missiles turning up in Istanbul and no guarantee what will happen when they unload.”
Nizar had to admit it was a mess and had not a clue as to what to do now. Mehme
t had been their only reliable contact. The flip flop policy of the Turkish Government towards ISIS and Al- Qaeda just made the task of dealing with Turkish officials unpredictable.
“Can we approach his boss or his replacement?”
“His boss is not a goer, he has had family killed in Turkey by a bombing we instigated and hates our cause. Do you know Mehmet’s replacement?”
Nizar knew that they had no idea or relationship with the new security chief, “No not really.”
“We are fucked aren’t we? What do I tell the Driver? “Sorry about this. But could you, shove a pile of rockets up your arse and smuggle them, across Turkey to Syria, without anybody noticing?”
Nizar laughed despite himself.
“It’s not funny,” said Adnan
“I know, but what can we do? Realistically, there is nothing we can do.”
“We need those missiles. There is no doubt that once the Russians have solidified Assad’s position they will turn on us. We are getting off lightly as the Americans and the Russians are not cooperating, but when it suits the Russians they will work with the rest of the coalition forces to blow the shit out of us. Then Assad will be left with a vice like grip on the Country and go to the negotiating table in an overwhelmingly strong position.”
“Look the deal with the Driver is cash on delivery, so if he can’t get them across the border into Syria we don’t lose any money.”
“No but we lose the fucking war,” said Adnan.
Chapter 16
While things were moving slowly for the Driver, as he brought the threads of the biggest arms deal he had ever done together in London, Tim Burr was feeling very happy today as he walked through the lobby into Thames House, the home of MI5. The work was interesting and the people pleasant, which was a change from his previous post at the Paris Embassy. The icing on the cake was his relationship with Jackie and her young son Daniel. They had just meshed from the beginning and when he moved in with her it all came together. He felt like he was part of something, a proper family.
Full of the joys of spring he bounded up the stairs to his office. He passed Jeff Stiles on the stairs. “Are you still on for a drink after work tonight?”
“If you are buying then I am on.”
“Would you double check with Elaine to see if she is still coming?”
“I am just on my way to see her now. I shall remind her.”
Tim settled into his morning’s work but was too excited to fully concentrate. Stiles, true to his word, was sitting in Elaine Wilkins’ office drinking coffee. It was a Friday and they liked to have their weekly meeting and review their progress. Elaine would update the Home Secretary later that day. The current Home Secretary was keen on face to face. His predecessor liked everything in his in box, so he could read it, at his leisure.
“Don’t forget Tim’s drinks party in the American bar tonight. He is threatening Champagne all round and he is bringing his girlfriend.”
“Have you met her before?”
“Oh yes, several times. She is very attractive and has a personality unusual for an accountant.”
“Accountant, I didn’t know that. Not a profession you associate with interesting. “
“No, she is really pleasant and doing well. She has just made partner and Tim tells me that she has picked up a massive audit of a Bank. To be precise the Baltic Bank, I did allude to them over that surprise lunch you bought me at the Savoy. I don’t suppose you have any more cancelled lunch appointments I could help you out with again?”
“That was a one off, we can’t keep blowing the tax payers money on wining and dining, we are not MPs you know. I don’t remember you mentioning the Baltic Bank though?”
“Perhaps I didn’t. It was sort of peripheral to a bit of dodgy arms supplying to ISIS and the possibility of weapons being used here following the Paris attacks.”
“I am not clear. What has a bank got to do with arms?”
“I am not sure but the Bank seems to be under the control of a few Russians that the Americans are interested in, money laundering and a bit of state plundering of their Countries assets. They want to have a crack at seizing their ill-gotton gains and ramp up the pressure on Russia. Hitting people in the pocket usually gets their attention.”
“I am pretty sure that I told you to drop it now I recall.”
“You did, but I like to keep a watching brief. If they help ISIS move money about in the West then sooner or later that will translate into bombs and guns on the streets in the UK. I am just keeping an eye on them that is all.”
Elaine looked down at her shoes and wondered if they really did match her suit. She came to the conclusion that they didn’t, which was a shame as they were actually comfortable. Notwithstanding that, she knew that as soon as Stiles left she would have to change them. She had about twenty possible alternatives in the cupboard in her office. “Look I know you can’t leave a thing alone once you start and I appreciate this obsessiveness is the very thing that makes you so effective, but I do need you to take my instructions occasionally.”
Stiles looked out the window avoiding her gaze, he knew that she was unhappy about his decision to keep looking at the Baltic Banks activities, but his gut instinct meant that he felt compelled to keep a watching brief on events. While he couldn’t prove it, he knew that the Bank was up to no good and that made him concerned for Tim and in particular Jackie. The gaining of the Bank’s audit had been the final push she needed to make partner. Tim had told him about the struggle she had had to qualify as an Accountant. Her first husband had been one of the controlling, wife bashing varieties. With no support and with a young child, she had made her advancement in the profession entirely on her own.
Whilst she was doing well, there is nothing like bringing in new business and fee income to boost partnership prospects. Tim had told him how she had had a real stroke of luck when a close friend, who had qualified with her, had landed the Finance Director’s role at the Bank in Iceland. He had not forgotten his friend and steered the audit her way, despite stiff competition from the big boys in the accountancy profession to get their hands on it. It was almost unheard of for a banking audit not to go to the Big Four, as they were known. The gaining of the audit sealed her promotion.
Stile’s interest in the Baltic bank, therefore, had a very personal element to it, he had no intention of taking his eye off it. He, his wife and daughter, who was roughly the same age and Daniel, Jackie’s son, had become very firm friends over the last few months. They had shared dinners, theatre trips and theme park days out together.
“Of course, I always listen in the end,” he said to placate Elaine.
The subject changed, she was finally up to speed and ready for her meeting with the Minister. “What time are we expected tonight?”
“Seven thirty-ish”
The American Bar at the Savoy had served drinks to patrons that ranged from royalty to film stars. Tonight it was serving drinks to a bunch of accountants and MI5 staff. Tim pulled Jackie towards him and gave her a big hug as their guest arrived.
They made do with house champagne and the nibbles that were handed out as a matter of course by the bar staff. The bar was relatively empty. The pianist was just starting his first set, playing a “Nightingale Sang in Barclay Square. “
Time made sure that everyone was present and had their glass full before calling for attention.
“Welcome friends new and old, I know most of you will have guessed why you are her?”
“You’ve won the lottery and are going to give us a million quid a piece,” called out a voice.
“More like he’s going to run the London Marathon and wants us to sponsor him for a hundred apiece.”
“None of those,” said Tim waving his arms to settle the hubbub. “Jackie and I are getting married and you are all invited.”
“I knew it would cost us money somewhere along the line,” called a voice. Amid the laughter the couple were toasted and congratulated. The pianist played
the wedding march followed by the funeral march as a joke.
“Jeff, I would really appreciate if you would be my best man?” said Tim.
“I would love to. Are you sure, we have only been friends for a short time?” said Stiles.
“Of course I am. After all you are the man that saved my life from the homicidal Turk, Mehmet, in Wood Green.”
“We all make mistakes,” said Stiles.
“And,” said Tim, “you don’t know enough to embarrass me with the Best Man’s Speech”
Chapter 17
The Driver sat looking out across the bay at Sevastopol and let out a long deep breath. It had been a long few days trying to deal with the paperwork involved in exporting his cargo to Turkey. The weather was unseasonably warm. The sweeping bay was as calm as a pond and the water a deep blue. The pigeons lined up along the wall and waited for the tourists to feed them. It was hard not to notice the large Russian naval presence with the war ships dominating the harbour and the coming and goings of the tenders. He had no idea why the fleet was in, or if it was a constant feature.
The enormity and vulnerability of his financial position was beginning to sink in, as he watched a young couple taking photos of each other, with the bay as a backdrop. There were so many ifs that he had chosen to ignore. The overriding concern was, obviously, the massive debt he would owe if any part of the operation went wrong. Owing one hundred and seventy million dollars to a group of Russian oligarchs, even if the loan was ostensibly through a bank, was something most rational people would endeavour to avoid. The Baltic Bank was and he knew it, no more than a front to launder money for the mobsters of Russia. This bank would not be going through the Courts for a repossession order in the case of a default, it would be making funeral arrangements for the errant debtor.
Dealer (A Tim Burr Thriller Book 3) Page 6