Chapter 14
Fasil Tower, Media City, Dubai:
21st February; 8pm.
Jamie was massaging Max’s shoulders and neck when Todd came into the apartment that served as their office.
“Me next,” Todd said, claiming his free massage.
The two men had spent an uncomfortable four hours travelling back from Djibouti on Fly Dubai. They were suffering from muscle pain in parts of their bodies they hadn’t realised had muscles. Nonetheless, both men felt lucky to be alive.
Once the ground transportation had arrived, the legionnaires had clinically set about their business of using metal detectors and a high powered electro magnet to sanitise the site. They were keen to recover all of the shell remnants, if they could. Two legionnaires carried the large magnet between them, seemingly unconcerned about the human matter under their boots.
Once the bulk of the shells had been retrieved, the powerful water cannon on the back of the transporter sprayed the area and washed all of the debris into the ditch at the side of the road. When that was done more shells became apparent and they, too, were retrieved.
The transporter hooked up what was left of the Toyota and dragged it off the road and onto a barren stretch of sand. Once the legionnaires were clear, their commander threw a phosphorous grenade into the wreck. Everything flammable ignited with a loud hiss, and the vehicle burned with such intensity that an impossibly bright white halo encompassed the vehicle’s carcass. When the flames died down there wasn’t so much as a scrap of paint left on the unrecognisable mass of bent and torn metal.
“We will leave the Somali investigators to make of this what they will,” the commander of the legionnaires had said, “but they will assume that it was a territorial dispute amongst pirates, if they bother turning up at all.”
That was just eighteen hours ago, but it seemed a lifetime away now, as Todd and Max sat in the safety and comfort of their Dubai tower block. Jamie finished Max off with an Indian head massage, which Max obviously enjoyed sufficiently to respond with purring noises.
Todd took his place on the seat Max had reluctantly vacated, and Jamie worked her fingers deep into the tissues around his neck. He relaxed immediately.
“I was just telling Max that after your independent war on terrorism yesterday the Sheikh has been taking a good deal of political flak.”
Todd barely grunted in reply, and so Jamie continued. “The Somalis contacted the Djibouti President to ask if he knew anything about a gunfight near the border. The President said he was aware that there had been some shooting, but as it was not on their side of the border they ignored it.”
“Yeah, that and the fact that neither the Somali nor the Djibouti border control post were manned,” Todd interjected.
“The President said the Somali official suspected foreign intervention, possibly from the international anti-piracy force, but that he had been assured that they had no presence in the area and they were too busy at sea. Luckily, with such a big investment in Djibouti, the Dubai authorities are close to the Djibouti government and so the President was not concerned. Anyway, the authorities in Djibouti and here in Dubai are planning a coordinated raid on the Al Muran business premises at 9am UAE time, and expect to arrest a number of people. They have already intercepted the low loader that you saw in Somalia on its return to Djibouti. It seems that within twelve hours Al Muran will be out of the car smuggling business.”
“That’s going to hurt Mullah Khaweini,” Todd offered.
“And, with any luck, Al Qaeda and their cohorts,” Max added.
***
Max, Jamie and Todd were enjoying a pizza delivered by the Red Tomato Pizza Company when the door to the office opened and Sheikh Mahmoud entered the room, waving for them to remain in their seats.
“Continue eating, please do not mind me. We can work whist you fill your bellies.”
He sat down, and looked at each of them in turn. “Your presence in the UAE is not as much of a secret as it was, after yesterday’s gun battle.”
Todd wanted to say that it hadn’t actually been much of a gun battle, as they had, in fact, been unarmed, but he thought it better to stay silent to hear what the Sheikh had to say.
“Jamil Al Futtaim was apprehended at the airport when he landed at three o’ clock today, on suspicion of carrying drugs into the country, a charge he so rigorously denied that he was released without charge two hours ago. Of course, whilst he was concentrating on helping the customs people by emptying his hand luggage and switching on his laptop to show that it worked, he was filmed typing in his password. Then when his bag was taken away to be X-rayed, we cloned the hard drive. Hopefully he has gone home cursing the authorities without suspecting the real purpose of his delay. From a cursory look into his email account, they have been using the Draft Message system.”
All three operatives understood that he meant a system of sending email that could not be traced by the authorities. Essentially, you type an email and save it as a draft, without sending it. As it is not sent, it cannot be traced or read. Then someone across the globe accesses the same email account with the shared password, and opens the draft copy.
“From now on, we will be monitoring the draft emails in that mailbox. What we did find was a concealed ‘packet of data’ that had been secreted away in the system files, which appears to be typical programming language gibberish, but which is actually encrypted codes, probably numbers, almost certainly bank account numbers.”
“Will the Bank of Burundi freeze the assets, or will they play the Swiss card and plead privacy?” Todd asked reasonably.
“I think I can answer that,” Max cut in. “The CEO of the First National Bank of Burundi is Fergus McLeash, a good Burundian name.” He smiled. “Fergus was headhunted by the Bank when it went international in 2009; not a hard decision for him, because his Icelandic Internet Bank had just gone to the wall, and the Bank’s real corporate HQ is in London. They have a showcase office in Bujumbura, housed in an old French colonial building, but no-one from outside will work there.
I guess that Fergus will freeze whatever he is told to freeze in return for immunity from prosecution for his part in the sub-prime banking collapse of 2008. He still faces charges after four years.”
“You are well informed, Maxwell,” The Sheikh said, smiling. The pride in his choice of operatives was apparent. “With Miss Jamie’s documents from the Al Muran’s offices in the Freezone, and the account numbers from the Al Futtaim laptop, we should be able to recover the largest part of the monies purloined by Mullah Khaweini from the car thefts and the property frauds.”
There were more smiles now as the three new friends realised that their little taskforce had almost finished its work. Their keen anticipation was short lived, however.
“That just leaves us with one more task to complete before you can all go on your way, but please regard my words well. This outstanding task is much more onerous than the two you have successfully undertaken to date.”
The Sheikh opened a sealed white envelope and handed out copies of an internet page. The writing was in Arabic, and a typewritten translation was attached.
‘The Playboy Sheikhs of the United Arab Emirates are the running dogs of the Americans and the Zionists. They betray their Muslim roots. Their towering edifices try to challenge the supremacy of Allah but they will suffer and Djinn will visit them with death and destruction. Their flaming towers will fall!”
“Strong stuff, but isn’t it just a lot of nutters trying to stir things up as usual?” Todd asked bluntly.
“We would have assumed so, normally,” the Sheikh agreed, “but our customs investigators stumbled across a container full of explosives which had been destined for delivery to an unused factory in Sharjah. There was enough RDX in that container to flatten Internet City.” There was a collective intake of breath. “What is worse is that the paperwork showed that the container was part of a four container consignment, and we have no idea where the remaining three containers are now!”
“And you are tying this into the website, why, exactly?” Max enquired.
“Because Djinn is the Muslim equivalent of your Christian Satan, the devil, who will destroy with fire.” He paused and his face was rigid with tension. “And, because the consignment was addressed to Djinn Industries.”