Chapter 56

 

Park Royal Hotel, Melbourne Airport, Tullamarine, Australia:

7^th March 2012; 11am.

 

Max and Todd had shared a room in the heavily subscribed hotel. The twin beds were comfortable, but their time in them was all too short. They had been hurried through immigration and customs by the federal police and given the room key without having to stop at reception.

“Meeting in the Bellarine Executive Boardroom at 11am,” their minder had said, before closing the bedroom door and leaving them in the spacious and well laid out bedroom.

Now, at shortly after 11am, they sat around the large highly polished table sporting twelve equally spaced bottles of spring water, all carefully placed on coasters and all thick with condensation following their recent removal from the chilled cabinet. Todd and Max chose two high back executive leather chairs from the twelve on offer, and sat half way down the long oval table.

If the seven men who trooped in a moment later had been in uniform they couldn’t have been more uniform. Their shoes were all black Oxford brogues with double stitching; the suits were charcoal to black and all styled identically; white shirts were the order of the day and the ties were red, blue or purple. At least, one was purple and as its owner sat and observed his colleagues, he seemed discomfited that he may have erred by standing out from the others. He was probably inwardly berating himself for giving in to his wild side.

The men all sat without a word. The only sound was the uniform drumming of cufflinks hitting the table. Max wanted to laugh, and Todd did, but imperceptibly.

The most senior federal agent spoke. “Michaelson, we’re pleased to have you back safe and well. With one of the Adams brothers out of the equation, we’ve decided to move things forward rather more quickly. We’ll be taking Vincente Polletti back into custody today and adding two more charges to his indictment; international people trafficking contrary to the UN mandate, and conspiracy to commit murder. In the longer term the charges probably won’t stick, but they will be enough to keep him locked up in a top security prison for the last four weeks before the trial.” The man paused and looked into Todd’s eyes. “Then, with your testimony and the testimony of a number of his girls, we can ensure that he never sees the outside of a prison again. He’s already fifty two and he’s looking at twenty five to thirty for the charges he is facing now.”

Todd nodded. That would do for him. Having Vincente Polletti off the streets would make Melbourne a safer place. Sure, other operators would try to move in on Vince’s territory, but the police were ready for them. It would be a lot easier preventing a criminal enterprise from getting a foothold than removing a crime family whose roots went back generations, and whose cronies reached the highest levels of government.

Max was making notes and when he looked up he saw several pairs of eyes watching him. He decided to take the initiative. “What about the girls who have just flown in?”

The agent in the purple tie answered.

“We move on the Polletti villa at 2pm, and the girls will be taken and placed in a properly registered hostel while the authorities decide what to do with them. In the short term they’ll be witnesses, of course.”

Max wondered whether these agents knew the whole story, but he decided that it was not his place to enlighten them if they didn’t. The agents stood as if synchronised and shook hands with their two visitors as they filed out. The senior agent spoke directly to Todd, making it clear that his invitation was not intended to include Max. “We can send a car for you at 1pm if you want to tag along as an observer.”

“Thanks. I’ll be ready,” Todd said graciously.

***

It was 3am in Dubai and Khaweini had just replaced the receiver after a devastating phone call from Pakistan. The call originated in a compound in the mountainous countryside close to the border with Afghanistan. Khaweini had been told that his failures had been discussed at the very top of Al Qaeda, the operations council, which had been chaired by Osama Bin Laden himself, before his death at the hands of the Americans. The council had recalled Khaweini to the compound, where he would be expected to account for the loss of several millions of dollars that had been paid for unsuccessful attacks on Dubai, and to explain how millions more had been sequestered by the Western banks from Al Qaeda accounts. Khaweini knew that to return to Pakistan was to die in Pakistan. They would not condemn him to death; they would have a council member speak on behalf of the leader and he would set out the facts. The council would then invite him to choose his own punishment, and they would reluctantly carry out his wishes. If Khaweini chose any punishment short of the sacrifice of his life he knew that they would have him killed anyway. Trevor George Baker’s alter ego, Mullah Khaweini, had run its course. The Englishman had no intention of returning to Pakistan, despite his promises on the phone. Instead, Baker would work his way towards the UK and lose himself. He still had perhaps two hundred thousand pounds invested in secret accounts in the Isle of Man, assets invested during his long criminal career.

Baker returned to the online booking form and clicked ‘Book now’. He was taking a trip and he wouldn’t be coming back.

***

Jamie couldn’t sleep. The big villa seemed so empty without the guys, and so she Skyped her American friends, for whom it was still 7pm on Tuesday 6^th March. She had already chatted to her co-workers and was now speaking to her immediate superior in Homeland Security.

“Brett, I’m almost fully recovered. I’m sure I could return to work as soon as I return home.” Brett paused, expressing doubts that she could recover so quickly, but she was insistent. “I promise you, Brett, I’m almost back to full fitness.”

“Jamie, when you get back here you will take a physical and a psych profile. In the last few months you’ve lost your father, and you’ve been shot and were almost blown up. I can’t let you go right back to work, not in your usual role, anyway. Light duties for at least the first month, I’m afraid.”

Jamie sighed. “OK. I’ll wrap up my business here and book a flight back. Do you want me in DC or New York?”

“Jamie, I want you working from home with periodic visits into the local office, so you decide. If you are staying in your micro apartment in DC, then fine, but why not stay at your Dad’s old place? It’s still on the market.” Jamie considered the options and tried one last time.

“I could join the piracy team and head back Stateside after my rotation with them.”

“Back here, Jamie, by the end of the month, latest. Take a few days. See the sights. Go to Oman. Go snorkelling, or diving. Just do something other than work. You haven’t used your 2011 vacation allocation yet and we’re a third of the way into 2012.”

After promising to take some rest Jamie headed off to bed, but before she could reach the bedroom her BlackBerry beeped with a text message from Simon at Vastrick’s London Office in the UK, where it was midnight.

“Trevor George Baker just booked a cruise under one of his known aliases. It seems that he has Algerian citizenship and an Algerian passport in the name of Georges Cohsee. Cohsee was his mother’s maiden name. Full data will be sent encrypted to you and Dominic when retrieved from the cruise booking engine.”

“Oh my gosh,” Jamie said aloud. “It looks as though I’m taking that well deserved break, after all. I sure could do with a cruise.”