by Powell, Mark
Haden wasted no time. He buzzed his assistant: ‘Get me Elias Chamat on the phone, can you? Thanks.’ After a few minutes, Chamat came on the line.
‘My dear friend, how are you?’ Chamat sounded his normal happy self.
‘I’m fi ne, thank you. And how is your lovely wife?’ Haden asked.
‘She is well. Off on some trip or other. You know how it is.’
‘I see. Well, ask her to please take care. We must only shop within the limits of our means.’ Haden hoped that Chamat would catch his drift.
‘My friend, is there an issue? I know she can be, shall we say, in on a few borderline things, but this is how she gets her contacts, no? You value her help, I am sure. I will try and call her, calm her down, yes?’
‘That would be most welcome. Thank you, see you soon.’ With that, Haden hung up.
When the lady, now comfortably seated in a green Rolls Royce, picked up her phone, she was not expecting her husband to be on the other end.
‘Yes, my darling, what is it?’
‘Where are you, my dear? I need you to come home, yes?’
‘I’m in Dubai. I’ll be back in a few weeks, my dear, okay? Soon.’
‘Okay. Our special friends here are asking after you. Please take care.
See you soon.’ Chamat then hung up.
Hearing this warning, Madam Chamat’s face changed. She had to move fast now. She could sense that the net around her seemed to be closing fast. Time had become the key factor. She then instructed her driver to make more haste towards the airport.
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Christopher Fleming had now instructed the rights issue for £1 billion to take place. The lawyers were rubbing their hands, pleased since this meant money for them, given the amount of paperwork that would be needed.
The bank’s external board members were still not aware of the pending threat, and what appeared to be happening at the hands of Aziz.
Stowe had issued a formal report, which had, via Trent, made its way to Fleming. Trent and Fleming were very good friends, having studied at Oxford together. But somehow the report had not yet been issued to the board. Fleming did not want what could be nothing more than a hoax to distract his rights issuance, until solid proof was on the table.
Only the group head of audit was informed, but he had conveniently forgotten what he was supposed to look into, taking the view that some chap called McCabe would sort it out with MI5, given it all sounded way too hard. In truth, pictures of Jones and an underaged boy engaged in a lewd act had turned up mysteriously at his London home.
The warning was clear. Jones was to lose the report on Aziz or the Financial Times would get the pictures.
As such, the bank’s shareholders were not aware of the hit that was about to be made on their stock by the organisation Aziz was working for.
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TWENTY
The taxi pulled up in front of the Taj Hotel, standing majestic and prominent in front of them, with white fl oodlights emphasising the old-world charm now etched into every brick. It would be hard for any guest upon arrival not to be impressed by this 105-year-old temple to opulence, character and power. Many of the world’s rich and famous had also arrived as McCabe, Stowe and Ying were now doing, to lodge in its charmed rooms.
As the three of them got out of the car—a silver Mercedes that had been sent to collect them from the airport, courtesy of the British High Commission—they each stood for a few seconds, simply taking in the surroundings. Stowe noticed the warm breeze that was now blowing in off the water, passing through the Gateway to India, a renowned monument to India’s history.
Colonial born and shaped Bombay, now more aptly named after the goddess Mumba Devi, sits just off the coastal mainland of India.
The life force that pumps the heart of the city is fed by its primary money-making veins, in the form of industries that span oil, gas, textiles, technology and frenetic docks. Perhaps this is why the city boasts the world’s largest stock exchange. The fi fth most populated city on earth, its wealthy half of population enjoyed a vibrant cosmopolitan lifestyle—top class hotels and restaurants, boutique shops, and affl uent apartments, and its very own tinsel town of Bollywood. The other half lived in squalid slums, tainted beggars of the street. The choking density quantum breach 290709.indd 167
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of people and traffi c 24/7 presented a daunting environment to fi nd one specifi c person.
McCabe and Stowe had slept throughout the entire fl ight, much to Ying’s annoyance. No sooner had they sat down, both of them nodded off. Ying got thoroughly bored; her only relief was to watch a movie.
Not that she really recalled what it was about, something relating vaguely to a runaway bride. Given it did not hold her attention, she studied the old man sitting in the aisle seat to her immediate right. He spent almost the entire fl ight rocking very slightly forwards and back, a slight hum coming from his lips. Clearly not in a perfect mental state, she thought. The poor man was just using his time to meditate, clearly not in a style that even Ying, who was Asian, could detect.
As they headed into the hotel lobby, McCabe turned to Ying, who was behind them, struggling with her suitcase. Despite her busy time in Dubai, she had somehow managed to buy loads of new shoes and clothes, which had now been stuffed into what seemed to be a very heavy suitcase. The airline had even tagged the bag with an orange label advertising the fact. The hotel porter, Raghu, a 19-year-old native of Mumbai who had just landed the job at the hotel and was mustard keen to earn some tips, descended upon her eagerly to take the load off her hands. His arrival came as some relief to not only Ying, but also to Stowe, McCabe and the High Commission driver. None of them wanted to be seen entering the Taj Hotel with a large pink, hard-shelled suitcase on wheels.
‘You know where we are heading tomorrow, Ying, right? The offi ce is only about ten minutes away, number 90 MG Road, just behind the Mumbai High Court,’ McCabe informed her. He had obviously benefi ted from studying the street maps of Mumbai whilst Ying and Stowe had been studying each other back in Dubai.
‘Okay, shall we meet for breakfast?’ Ying asked.
‘Sure, unless you have anything to discuss, Stowe, 7:00 a.m.?’
McCabe responded.
‘No. I have a few calls to make, but nothing I can’t handle. See you quantum breach 290709.indd 168
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both tomorrow.’ Stowe then gestured with a wink to Ying. McCabe, having caught this poorly concealed signal, decided to ignore it for now.
After checking in, Ying and McCabe were given rooms on the third fl oor, Numbers 309 and 315. Stowe had been given a room on the 5th fl oor, Number 503. McCabe spent only a few minutes unpacking. He then changed into a fresh pair of jeans and a plain grey T-shirt. Before heading out the door, he did not forget to carefully place his Sig 9mm pistol, with suppressor and fully loaded clip, into the waistband of his jeans. Stowe had thankfully managed to get the weapons fl own over in the diplomatic pouch from the UK. The High Commission driver duly handed over these most effective of weapons to the experienced hands of Stowe and McCabe when he met them at the airport.
Since McCabe was technically on an intelligence operation, he didn’t want to take any chances and get caught without a weapon. After all, these are not schoolboys we’re dealing with, he thought.
As he stepped out of the hotel, the noise, heat and smell of the night air hit him. He had forgotten how bad the pollution could be in Mumbai, where fresh air seemed to be an absolute luxury. Not that any other major city these days was that much better, but still, he wanted to get a feel for the streets around him, so he had to put up with the noxious air. The traffi c buzzed around him like frantic bees.<
br />
Beggars were already tugging at him for money. McCabe knew how to brush them off fi rmly, but always with dignity. As he strolled along the pavement, he was glad Stowe wasn’t with him: he would probably be slapping the beggars around the head or worse, he thought.
He remembered the time when both he and Stowe were in Africa on a mercy mission. A few kids had come running up and started begging for food. Stowe just backhanded one of the poor kids around the head; the other kids quickly ran off. When McCabe tried to educate him in the ways of sound child care, Stowe just looked away and shrugged, as if he had no other choice really, then trudged off. McCabe attributed this hard-heartedness to Stowe’s having had a real bad childhood; his own quantum breach 290709.indd 169
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father administered frequent beatings when he was young.
As he paced along, McCabe started to observe the number of small side streets, alleyways and main roads, each one dark and intertwined with the next, full of people, cars, trucks, tuk tuks, all racing haphazardly around these packed byways. Movement was constant, the city never still. Whilst vibrant, these could also be dangerous streets. McCabe knew that any assassin or mugger could easily vanish down any one of these perfect escape routes in a fl ash and be gone in seconds.
Whilst McCabe was busy pounding the streets and getting familiar with the territory, not to mention getting grimy and sweaty in the oppressive heat, Stowe was hard at it in bed with Ying. They found each other sexually irresistible, more an animalistic appeal. At least that is how Stowe saw it, lust pure and simple. Ying was nothing more than a new fl avour of woman and he wanted to fuck. The passion between them was mutual, however: fi erce and intense. Stowe, much to Ying’s surprise, was in fact a great lover: strong and very dominant, which she liked, while his stamina was, in her mind, outstanding. She could feel every thrust Stowe made into her, it penetrated deep and hard, almost making her feel she would tear open, she was not used to Western men, but she loved it, stroke after stroke simply drove her insane. When Stowe fi nally came inside her, she was exhausted. She could feel her legs shaking as her muscles tried to recover from the violent yet pleasurable sex.
In the more rational part of his brain, Stowe knew that this was a no-go zone: to take his mind off the operation even for a second was not good practice, not to mention Ying was half his age. Trent would have a blue fi t if he ever found out. But Ying had simply been too powerful a temptation to resist.
Once Stowe had fi nished making love to Ying, he rolled off and lay beside her on the bed, her long slim body now stretched out beside him, her eyes dark and content. Her body was covered in sweat. Stowe lit a cigarette and lay on his back looking up at the ceiling, his mind running through a few questions he had in his mind about the operation. Not as quantum breach 290709.indd 170
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Ying may have wished, with his mind preferably thinking about her.
After a few minutes of silence, Stowe realised he should comment.
‘That was awesome, babe,’ he commented, followed by taking a long drag on his cigarette.
‘Brian, when this is all over, I hope you and I can still see each other.’
Stowe turned his head and smiled. ‘Sure, I would like that.’ He was not convinced that in reality it would happen.
‘Brian, tell me about yourself. I would like to know more.’ Ying turned her body tight into Stowe, her right leg now placed over his, so as to maintain the sensual physical contact.
‘Well, I’ve been a soldier all my life. It’s all I know really. Along the way, I’ve done some bad things I guess.’
Ying listened intently. ‘Do you ever have remorse about the people you have killed?’
Stowe looked at Ying somewhat surprised at her question; he was not expecting that one. Having paused, taking slow drags of his cigarette, he started to run his hand over Ying’s body. It felt so good, soft and warm.
‘To tell you the truth, nope. Taking a life no longer bothers me.
I’m neutral to the effects. Not a good thing, I know, but that’s the way it is.’ He looked directly at Ying when he replied, her eyes just burning into his.
‘Can you love, Brian, are you capable of love?’
Stowe found this question very disturbing—not because it offended him, but because he simply didn’t know.
McCabe had spent the best part of two hours walking around the streets of Mumbai. The only rest he took was to briefl y talk to a small beggar girl who had stepped out in front of him. Not wanting to be rude, McCabe got down on one knee and just smiled at her, before continuing on. The interruption was also an ideal opportunity for McCabe to verify something.
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He was happy that he now had a reasonable idea of the immediate area around the offi ce and the hotel. It was his hope they would not have to stray too much further afi eld. He felt grimy and hot; a good hot shower would be on the cards now, then a cold beer to prepare him for a good night’s sleep.
As he started to head back, his pace speeded up. The man he had noticed a few yards behind him seemed suspicious, underscored by the fact he paused as McCabe did to look around. McCabe had spotted him about ten minutes earlier when he had stopped to talk to the little beggar girl.
Mirror images are not commonplace on the street. The fi rst rule of tailing anyone is not to stand out, not to mirror their actions; clearly this man was either an innocent, or he had not taken the right spy course. McCabe, when the street facilitated his move, took a sudden left turn on the corner and then another sharp left up a narrow alley.
He stopped after one pace and stood fast against the wall, the shadows now hiding him from view. As expected, the man who had appeared to be following him walked past. He was Asian, most likely Thai or Burmese by the looks of him, wearing faded blue jeans with a black leather jacket. Despite the obvious tailing, his appearance alone told McCabe he was not native to Mumbai.
Once the man had passed, seemingly now in a hurry to fi nd his quarry, McCabe darted out behind him and the mouse now became the cat. After a few seconds, the man turned, clearly shocked to see McCabe behind him; he turned back and started to run. Seeing this, McCabe broke into an immediate sprint.
The man was darting around people in the street as McCabe ran after him. After crossing a busy road, the traffi c seemingly unfazed by the fact that two men had just bolted across its busy fl ow, he turned sharply up an alleyway, followed closely by McCabe. Dirty stinking water ran down the narrow gully in the centre, splashing up as the two men ran down the middle. Noticing that there was no one else in sight, McCabe stopped dead, drew his Sig from out of his jeans, aimed at quantum breach 290709.indd 172
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the man’s left leg and fi red. It took less than six seconds for McCabe to draw, aim, fi re and the man to drop.
As McCabe stood over him, he could hear the man moaning and mumbling in what sounded like Thai as he grasped his leg. Turning him over onto his side, making sure the man had not drawn his own weapon, McCabe kept his Sig aimed at the man’s head.
‘You know the drill: who are you?’ McCabe placed a kick to the man’s injured leg, causing him to scream out. He also assumed his quarry would understand his English.
Getting no reply, McCabe then placed another hard kick to his ribs. This caused the man to scream and roll about. Another kick followed hard down into the man’s side. He was now writhing in pain on the ground.
‘Last chance: whom are you working for?’ McCabe noticed a few faces starting to appear at the far end of the long alleyway, locals being nosy, investigating the noise. McCabe knew he had to make a call before they started to get closer.
‘Fuck you,’ the man replied, he then
spat at McCabe.
McCabe knew then that there was no point in hanging around.
Nothing more would be given up from this guy, at least not without major interrogation, and that would not be possible in an alley full of people. There was no way this man was going to talk. His guess was he was a hardened thug, sent to follow him or worse: try and kill him. McCabe then started to ponder the fact he was Asian; a strange coincidence. So maybe the Asian drug cartels were involved after all.
There was no choice now, more people were beginning to walk up the alley to see what was going on. McCabe took a step back and slotted one directly in between the man’s eyes. His body went limp. Stooping down, McCabe patted him down, fi nding his wallet and what looked like an old Smith and Weston 9mm pistol. Placing the wallet in his pocket, he got back up and walked slowly away.
Stowe would have done exactly the same, he thought, not proud at all of having just taken a man’s life, but given the mounting attempts quantum breach 290709.indd 173
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on both him and Stowe, he had to take a tough approach. They had reached a point where no chances could be taken. After a few streets, McCabe tossed the Smith and Weston into an open drain, and carried on towards his hotel.
As he stood under the hot shower, he closed his eyes. It felt good to have the steam penetrate his pores, washing away the dust and dirt from his mini-expedition. As he relaxed, the face of the little girl he had met only an hour or so earlier popped into his head. She was perhaps no more than fi ve or six, though it was hard to tell as she must have been stunted in her growth.
She had spotted McCabe on the other side of the busy road. Her dirty face beamed a big smile at him, her mother carefully watching her from the other side of the road. The confi dence the girl had shown as she navigated the busy street and fast-moving traffi c struck him. She had walked right up to him, tugged on his shirt and asked for money, as bold as brass. McCabe looked down at her and smiled back. He knew that giving her money would only draw an avalanche of other street beggars descending upon him; the last thing he needed was a bunch of kids pulling at him, possibly yanking out his Sig pistol. He patted her on the head and strode off. If he hadn’t, a thousand other faces just like hers would have been all around him.