Chapter 11

 

For the first time since arriving in Dubai, the bellow of the early morning call to prayer failed to awaken Milton from his pit.

However, something even more alarming caused him to prise his heavy eyelids apart.

“Room service,” came the shout from behind the front door.

He couldn’t even remember ordering room service but at that moment he wasn’t even sure what universe he was in, let alone what time it was.

He struggled out of bed wearing nothing but boxer shorts and rubbed his throbbing head as he walked towards the door.

Without even looking through the peephole, he opened the door only to be jumped upon by two men. They lifted him off his feet before he could offer any resistance and barged him through the bathroom door, throwing him into the empty bath.

“Wakey, wakey, Milton, this is your morning call.” Looking up through blurry eyes, he could make out Stardust and Chalky laughing hysterically as they switched on the shower, spraying water over Milton.

“How’s the head, Milton?” asked Stardust.

“Damn sore,” he replied, gingerly climbing to his feet.

“Sorry to surprise you, mate, but we find it’s the best way to get someone up and out of bed. We’ll let you get cleaned up. C’mon Chalky, you don’t want to look at his bits do you?”

“Yeah right, Stardust, you’re the gay boy around here,” replied Chalky as he flicked Stardust’s legs with a towel he had been spiralling into a lethal baton.

The pair went back into the bedroom, leaving Milton to try to get some life into his lifeless body.

He turned the shower onto the coldest setting, which still spurted out luke warm water. He had a hangover all right. One like he had not suffered for a good few years.

He slipped on a robe and walked back into the bedroom. Stardust and Chalky were sitting on the bed watching the news.

“What time is it guys?” asked Milton.

“Just gone 9.00 a.m., cocker, and you’ve got five minutes to get your arse into gear and down to the lobby,” said Stardust.

“You’ve got a long day ahead of you, mate,” added Chalky.

Milton saw the pair were wearing shorts and trainers, so he delved into his suitcase to do likewise.

He couldn’t even remember telling them he was staying at the Pheasant Hotel, but decided that he must have let it slip to Jacks during their get-to-know-each-other conversation earlier in the previous evening. He hoped that nothing else had slipped from his inebriated lips.

The pair was waiting in the lobby as Milton walked out of the lift, clutching a bottle of water in one hand and dabbing his leaking forehead with the other.

“Heavy night, Mr Milton?” Chalky asked in a voice imitating an Indian, accompanied by the wobbling head.

“Where are we going?” Milton enquired.

“You’ll see,” replied Stardust as the automatic exit doors opened and they entered the blinding sunshine outside.

It was almost too much for Milton, who covered his eyes. Chalky handed him a pair of Ray Bans.

“Cheers, mate,” croaked Milton as he rushed them onto his nose.

In front of him were three four-wheel drives with their engines running and he could see Jacks was at the wheel of one, JT in another and the third was empty.

“Come this way. Your chariot awaits,” said Stardust as they walked to the Range Rover that had been stuck in the sand two days earlier.

“Let’s hope we don’t get stuck anywhere today, hey Milton?” joked Chalky.

“Almost funny,” Stardust replied abruptly.

Once they were in, they drove off in convoy through the city with Jacks leading at the front accompanied by Pups. JT was in the middle vehicle with Lenny and Kirk. Stardust was at the rear.

They inched their way through the busy Dubai streets before finding a stretch of highway that took them away from the city and towards the empty expanse of yellow sands stretching for miles towards the horizon.

Milton was starting to feel a little uneasy as he assessed his situation.

What if he had been rumbled? Gopal had told him of ghastly stories of people simply disappearing. He believed many people were murdered and dumped in the desert never to be found.

As the city Skyline faded away behind him, he became worried.

Maybe they were going to just put a bullet through his head. They were, after all, if the jobs advert was to be believed, former soldiers, and soldiers were trained to kill.

The butterflies in his stomach had now become the size of Tiger Moths. The desert road they were driving on was empty and he knew that if they wanted to kill him, they could do so at any time now and no one would ever find out.

His family would simply be told he had gone missing during an assignment and that would be it.

Not wanting to sound agitated, he leaned forward between the two front seats and asked, “Could you kindly tell me what we’re doing?”

“Have you ever heard of dune driving or wadi bashing?” replied Chalky while looking at Stardust in the driving seat.

“Nope, but it sounds interesting.”

Milton found some relief in the answer. He leaned back and started to enjoy the scenery, realising that his earlier fears were probably unfounded.

“You’d better buckle up tight, Milton. You’ll be in for the experience of a lifetime in just a few minutes,” said Stardust.

Milton hastily slid himself over to the corner of the back seat and attached the belt.

He looked ahead and saw Jacks, followed by JT, shoot off the road and onto the sands without slowing down. In fact, judging by the way the car left the first bump it looked as if they had accelerated.

Following the leader, Stardust increased his speed and set a course off the highway for the same dune that the previous two motors had disappeared over.

They approached it at over 40mph and Milton shouted in terror. “What the fuuuuuuuuu …”

The vehicle landed with an almighty crash about 15 feet on the down slope of a huge dune and continued to plummet downwards seemingly out of control.

Milton regained his senses and could see that Stardust was still steering the jeep and was accelerating down the hill even faster. They reached the base with a thud and again Milton was thrown about in the back seat. Without pausing, Stardust continued to drive in a straight direction up another sand mountain at about a 45-degree angle. Milton held on for dear life. The only things he was able to move were his eyeballs.

The Range Rover chewed up the sand and it still seemed to be accelerating as it hurtled off the top of the dune and landed on its front wheels on the other side. It bounced between its rear and front suspension before middling out on a flat piece of sand.

Milton was terrified and his hangover was soon forgotten.

The pair was screaming yahoos like American college kids and Milton was convinced his life was in the hands of two absolute maniacs.

The flat piece of land gave Milton time to regain his breath and ensure all his bodily parts were still in the right place. But it also allowed the vehicle to gain momentum again as it sped towards another blind ridge.

Milton held on tight as it hit the ridge at an angle and slid side-on all the way down the verge. Milton was sure the Range Rover was about to topple over, but Stardust wrestled with the steering wheel to ensure it remained steady.

They got to the bottom and Stardust performed a spectacular u-turn to finish with the rear of the Range Rover pointing towards another dune, which probably had yet another huge drop on the other side.

The three were breathing heavily and after a moment’s pause Chalky looked at Stardust who said, “Let’s do it!”

Stardust slipped the Range Rover into reverse and the jeep accelerated backwards.

“You have got to be kidding me!” was all Milton could muster before the Range Rover went flying over the dune and out of control through the air before crashing onto the downward slope.

As soon as it hit the base, Stardust thrashed on the handbrake and the Range Rover span round to face the front.

“Stop. Stop right now!” shouted Milton, struggling to regain his breath.

Stardust put his foot on the brake and Milton jumped out.

“You idiot, you could have killed us all,” he shouted, as the two other jeeps pulled up.

His anger was met by laughter as the others found his reaction hilarious.

“Congratulations,” said Jacks as he climbed from his motor. “You have now got a job at Expatriatedotcom.”

Milton was now completely baffled.

“We need to know whether you’ve got balls and, to be honest, you stayed with Stardust and Chalky a lot longer than most of us would ever do. Welcome aboard.”

Jacks reached out his hand and Milton, completely drained both mentally and physically, sniggered as he shook it steadily and then started to laugh out loud himself.

“Fuck you all,” he said with a smile and the other men burst out laughing and joined the pair on the hot sands.

The rest of the morning was spent enjoying more sensible dune bashing before Jacks announced they should set up for lunch.

They arrived at a beautiful green oasis, which appeared out of the middle of the desert like a mirage. Even Beau Geste could not have hallucinated a more idyllic setting.

It was now midday and very hot, so they headed to a tented area that looked to be specially set up for tourists. A Bedouin welcomed them in and knew most of them by name. They walked into a carpeted tent that was lined with cushions and the men took off their shoes and stretched out.

“There’s nothing like Bedouin hospitality,” said Jacks. “They are the nicest people in the world. They have retained their heritage, and not moved into the city to live on big government handouts.

“Mohammed here has created a living out of entertaining tourists and he is doing well for himself.”

Mohammed entered with a huge tray of food that the weary troops dived into. It was a mixed grill of meat accompanied by all the trimmings and it was some of the nicest grub Milton had tasted in a long time.

After eating, it was time for Milton to ask questions. He felt he had earned his right to do so.

“So when do I report for duty, sir?” he said, breaking the ice with a smile and a salute to his new officer in charge.

“Tomorrow is Thursday and the last day of our working week so why not start then. Give you a nice day to find your feet,” said Jacks.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but what exactly will I be doing and how much will I get?” Milton continued.

Jacks was unsure what role he wanted Milton to undertake just yet but he told him not to worry. His annual salary was 20,000 pounds tax-free, which would increase if he were promoted to special duties.

This interested Milton and he already reckoned he knew what these special duties were so he decided not to ask. He knew he would need to get through the promotional ladder fast. The England game in France was a month away and he was getting more confident that these men would be in the thick of it somewhere.

There were two things that didn’t add up though.

Firstly, why would a cracking bunch of lads like this, obviously not short of money, become involved in football hooliganism?

Secondly, there had been no mention of football by any of them either last night or during the day.

Could he be barking up the wrong tree? Despite the pressure to produce results, Milton kind of hoped this was the case because he was beginning to like his new friends.

 

It was early afternoon by the time Milton arrived back at the hotel.

He was drained.

The past 24 hours had gone by like a blur.

It was now 2.00 p.m. and at this time yesterday he was wondering if he was ever going to get close to Carson Jacks. Now he had secured a job within the man’s company and had in some strange way become his friend. He had enjoyed a damn good night out with him the previous night and a day in the desert that would have been many a tourist’s dream.

He was either doing his job extremely well or was being set up. Milton would rather think the former. After all, he was now an experienced undercover operative and believed he had convinced his targets that he was a divorced ex-member of the Grenadier Guards that had become disillusioned with life in the UK and was looking for a lucky break in Dubai. It seemed to fit in with his new company’s ethos.

There was no reason why anyone should doubt him and he felt the only way his cover could be blown was if one of the employees at Expatriatedotcom was an ex-Grenadier Guard and could find holes in his story. Even so, the dates he gave as his tours of duty equated with those obtained from the Regiment by Waite in the UK so he was confident.

He was exhausted but nevertheless he continued to read up on the city and went over his fantasy life story time and time again. The slightest crack and the operation, and his life, would be in jeopardy.