Chapter 60

 

Melbourne, Australia:

July 2012; 6pm

 

Sheikh Mahmoud sat opposite Todd Michaelson in an Arabic themed coffee shop in the centre of the city’s shopping district. The Sheikh was wearing a navy blue blazer over a white Ralph Lauren polo shirt and lighter blue trousers. He sipped his Café American and nibbled on a biscuit.

The Sheikh had explained that, despite Todd’s ultimatum in Dubai, both he and the Crown Prince had great admiration for the Australian, and that enough time had passed for wounds to heal, and so Todd would now be welcome in the UAE, should he wish to return. Todd had thanked him for the message and for the support during the Polletti trial, where the Sheikh attended every day of the hearing.

Polletti’s lawyers had alleged that he should be freed because of the catastrophic injuries he had suffered, and the fact that they had left him virtually catatonic and unable to plead. The judge listened patiently to the arguments and then dismissed them. Polletti glared at Todd as he gave evidence, and Todd almost felt sorry for the man who had lost the lower half of his face in an abortive suicide attempt. The prison authorities had been unwilling to cover the cost of the extensive reconstructive surgery that Polletti’s private doctors had insisted he needed, and the doctors themselves had reconsidered their position when it was pointed out to them that he had no money to pay them. So it was that Polletti had been wheeled into court breathing through a tube in his throat, with scarred skin grafted over what was probably a titanium replacement lower jaw. His arm hung limply by his side where his elbow joint had failed to repair correctly, and his ankle was still encased in plaster. With a disfigured upper lip and a piece of his nostril missing, the man had almost inaudibly pleaded not guilty to all charges before sitting through the trial and whistling through his destroyed nose every time he breathed.

The verdict had been delivered just an hour ago; guilty of racketeering, people trafficking, kidnapping and attempted murder. The State had failed to convince the jury on the murder charges, but it mattered little as Polletti was sentenced to forty-one years in prison, with a life expectancy of less than ten years, given his injuries.

“I heard that Kwong Chong Lee was extradited to the USA,” Todd said, breaking the amenable silence.

“It is true. That man is resilient. The paramedics did not think he would make it to hospital but he did and, Allah be praised, the miracle happened. I do not know why Allah saved this man, but his will and purposes are known to no man.”

Todd had read online that the Shadow had been charged with a host of crimes, but he was more a prisoner of his body than of any institution. Losing his legs to Khaweini’s bomb seemed to have angered the little man to the extent that he refused to die.

“Aara is back in Saudi already,” Todd noted.

“Yes. On compassionate grounds, I believe. There were suicide attempts after alleged sexual attacks from other women. Her mind is broken, I think, and I do not think that her Saudi hosts will try to mend it. They will just hide her away.”

“It’s a pity,” Todd said quite solemnly. “I was also told that the Australian government have persuaded the Thai authorities to commute Pete Adams’ death sentence. It seems that his lawyers have conceded that he’ll have to do twenty five years instead.”

“No one survives twenty five years in that prison, Todd,” The Sheikh said mournfully, aware that Adams was in prison for one of the few crimes he did not actually commit. After a short pause, the Sheikh changed the subject.

“Did you speak to Jamie and Max yesterday?”

“Yep. They’re back in London and they will be attending the Olympic Games Opening Ceremony later today, in the press gallery. It’ll be on TV here at some god-forsaken hour of the day, I guess, but I’ll wait for the re-run.”

“Do you plan on reuniting with them?”

“I’m hoping to be best man at their wedding!” Todd laughed.

“They are being married?” the Sheikh asked, surprise evident in his voice and his raised eyebrows. Todd grinned, nodding.

“Oh, yes. They just don’t know it yet.”

***

In London, Max was just waking up to find a wet towel on the bed and female underwear draped almost artistically over the headboard.

“I went to all the trouble of getting separate bedrooms, as you requested, and then you bivouac in my bedroom and clutter up my en-suite. You are one untidy lady!’

A second wet towel landed in his face as Jamie walked, naked, in the general direction of her underwear. She pretended to be stern.

“Maxwell Richmond. As I recall, I didn’t take my underwear off last night, someone else did.”

Max smiled at the recollection and threw back the covers.

“Come on, get back in.”

“But I have wet hair,” she protested, but not too strenuously.

“Well, that’s a good start,” Max joked wickedly, and Jamie leapt on him, causing him to gasp.

Twenty minutes later, as Jamie blow-dried her hair, Max wondered how he would manage without this whirlwind of a woman if, in two weeks’ time, she returned to active duty in New York without him. Jamie’s proposed return to the NYPD was as much a tribute to her dad as it was a comment on her dissatisfaction with her deskbound assignment in Homeland Security.

“Are you taking that job with the Guardian?” Jamie asked loudly, to make herself heard above the sound of Max’s primitive hair dryer.

“No. I’ve had another much worse offer, but I’m considering it.” Jamie switched off the hairdryer and looked at Max enquiringly, her interest piqued. “It seems that the London Times are looking for a New York correspondent to cover the UN and to sub edit the Metro area crime column.”

For the second time that morning Jamie leaped on Max, forcing the breath out of his lungs before they both laughed and tears filled Jamie’s eyes.