Chapter 5

 

Media City, Dubai:

12^th February; 12 noon.

 

As she left the government allocated apartment, Jamie closed the door securely behind her, although there was little chance that anyone would try to burgle it. As far as she could see, the secure apartment block was largely uninhabited.

According to the plaque at the entrance, the apartment building was classified with five stars and Jamie had to concede that her assigned unit was a smart as any she had seen in the US. The view from the top floor took in what appeared to be a man-made river, hundreds of skyscrapers and a sparkling sliver of the Persian Gulf that was visible between two matching towers.

As she moved toward the lift another door opened and a tall, well built man stepped into the corridor. He looked at her approvingly and smiled. Jamie summoned the lift. When it arrived, Jamie and her new companion stepped inside. Glancing at her watch, she saw that she would be a minute or two late for her meeting with her new temporary boss on the sixth floor.

“Which floor would you like?” she asked, as pilot of the elevator.

“Sixth floor is fine for me, too,” the stranger replied, with an accent that sounded vaguely British but wasn’t quite.

The next few seconds passed in silence as the express lift descended forty floors effortlessly and smoothly. The man stepped aside as the doors opened and ushered Jamie out. She was tempted to turn around to see if he was checking out her butt, she didn’t.

The sixth floor was deserted. It was obviously destined to become some kind of communal area, perhaps a club lounge, because it was lavishly appointed and beautifully carpeted, but at the moment it was almost empty. The only furnishings in sight were a conference table and ten chairs. The views across the city were magnificent, and the Burj Khalifa rose majestically in the distance like a needle, as if proudly proclaiming itself the tallest building in the world.

Jamie moved towards the conference table, where a slim Caucasian male in his early thirties lounged on one of the chairs, admiring the view. His linen suit looked new. As she approached, the man stood to greet her.

“Hello. I’m Max Richmond.” He extended his hand. She shook it, replying to the obviously British accent with “Jamie Johnson, good to meet you.” Max looked enquiringly over her shoulder.

“Hi. Todd Michaelson.” The accent was recognisable now as Australian. The two men shook hands, and Todd looked directly into Jamie’s eyes. “Hi, Jamie. I’m pleased to meet you.” Jamie smiled in reply.

The Australian, American and Englishman each took a chair, with Max waiting until Jamie was seated before taking his own seat.

“Do I take it we all have a noon meeting with Sheikh Mahmoud?” Todd asked. Before anyone could answer, the lift bell chimed and the doors opened to reveal the Sheikh striding towards them.

“Miss Johnson, Mr Michaelson, Mr Richmond.” The Sheikh bowed slightly. “I am honoured that you could meet with me. He reached out for a chair. “May I sit here?”

“Of course,” Max replied, standing to welcome their guest.

“The short version of my name is Sheikh Mahmoud bin Omar Al Ahmed, but Sheikh Mahmoud will suffice. Welcome to Fasil Tower. You will see that it is unfinished. The building was completed last year, but the Italian-Arab joint venture became bankrupt. A holding company based in the Cayman Islands now owns the building. The four show apartments on the eleventh floor were furnished for sales purposes. You are occupying three of those apartments. The fourth apartment has been converted into three open plan offices with a kitchen and bathroom. Those offices are for your joint use.

The building is empty, except for the three of you and my two personal security men, Ashouk and Nasr. One of them will be on duty on the ground floor at all times. The gymnasium was fitted out to attract buyers, and that is located on the first floor beside the outdoor swimming pool. The pool will be filled very soon, because it seems that empty pools deteriorate more quickly and so the owners thought it a worthwhile investment to have the pool in use. The only access to the building is from the secure basement car park, which has one hundred parking spaces and whose entrance gate can only be opened with a smart card.

The same smart card operates the lift from the garage, which travels only as far as the ground floor. When you arrive or depart you will always have to pass the security guard in the lobby. Only one lift is connected, and the software has been programmed to permit it to stop only at the ground floor, first floor, the sixth floor and the top floor.

The building is registered as being empty and being prepared for sale. No-one knows, or is to know, that you are living or operating from here, for reasons I will explain later. Finally, there are five vehicles in the garage for your exclusive use. The first is a Range Rover with darkened sunscreen windows. There are two Toyota Camrys - one grey, one white. You also have the use of a Porsche 911 Turbo and a Mercedes E Class saloon.

The Camrys will be very anonymous here in Dubai. The Range Rover is very private and can, of course, be used on rough terrain, and the Porsche and Mercedes will be useful for accessing clubs, hotels and other smart establishments where the Toyotas would be frowned upon.

You will see that I have gone to great lengths to keep our small team off the grid; only one other person knows of our premises and objectives, and he will be here shortly. In the meantime let me introduce each of you in turn.

Miss Jamie is a Special Agent with US Homeland Security. Miss Johnson has been seconded to the Dubai Piracy Taskforce, which is dealing with the Joint Middle East, European and US Somali piracy initiative. She will not be joining them just yet.

Mr Todd Michaelson is a former Special Forces operative who worked for the AFP undercover in Australia to bring down a drugs cartel, and he has graciously offered to assist me whilst he awaits the call to return to Australia.

Mr Max Richmond is a talented investigative journalist, whose undercover work has led to many exclusive newspaper stories around the globe and the exposure of many criminal conspiracies.”

The lift bell rang again and the doors opened to reveal a young man in full Arab attire. As he walked towards the gathered group he nodded to each of those present.

Todd recognised the handsome young man whose portrait adorned many public buildings and highways in the Emirate. The new arrival was Crown Prince Arbaaz bin Al Salfah, who was widely regarded as an up and coming young racing driver destined for Formula 1, after two dramatic victories in races at the Yas Island Circuit an hour away in Abu Dhabi.

“Mooshi!” the Sheikh cried as he stood to greet the young crown prince. The young man responded, “My favourite uncle.” They embraced, each offering the other their cheeks. “I was your only uncle the last time I heard from your mother.”

“That is so, Uncle, but the man who has one camel is just as entitled to have a favourite as the man who has a thousand.” The younger man bowed in a mock salute to age, and they both laughed.

“This slippery tongued young man is my nephew, His Highness Crown Prince Arbaaz bin Al Salfah. His mother is my sister, and his father is like a brother to me.”

The Crown Prince and the Sheikh sat down. The Sheikh introduced everyone and then spoke directly to the three foreigners.

“You may or may not know that in our Government I have direct responsibility for the police, all branches including our security forces. But we all answer to someone as well as Allah, and I answer to the Crown Prince and his father. I will let him explain why we have gathered this select and uniquely talented group together.”

The Prince nodded in acknowledgment.

“Thank you, Uncle. He may report to me but I defer to him. Long before I was born, before we even became a Nation under the revered Sheikh Zayed, the British governed the region with the Trucial Oman Scouts, a paramilitary police force. In 1971 these forces were turned over to the Emirates Government as our police force. We now have our own Emirate police academies for men and women, but many of our older officers were trained at the Royal Military Academy at Sandhurst, England and at West Point in the USA. My Uncle was the first leader of the police force to have graduated from Sandhurst and to have attended Hendon Police College near London.

We are proud of our police force and we have the greatest trust in them, but they have recently been accused internally and externally of being corrupt. This is not true; at least, it is not true of the institution. We all understand that an individual may deviate from his duty to the Emir, his country and his God, but we believe that is a rarity.

In the last twenty four hours we had cause to check our email and telephone logs to see if any of our personnel had passed on confidential information about an individual under our protection.”

 

The Prince looked directly at Todd Michaelson and the two other guests turned to see their Australian counterpart shrugging his shoulders.

“We have identified that one of our operatives, not an Emirati, had betrayed us. He is now in custody and he will tell us everything we need to know, of that I most certain. However, our purpose here,” the Prince gestured to include his uncle, “is to address a much greater threat. A threat that has the potential to unsettle the Middle East, and to flood the West with suicide bombers; failure is not an option.”

The three Westerners in the room began to listen more closely as the Crown Prince outlined the problem.