Payback (38 page)

‘No problem, Inspector,’ Dawson assured him. ‘As you said on Saturday, the pressure’s off us now.’

Crowne Plaza Hotel, Dubai

Ten minutes later, both cars stopped outside the Crowne Plaza. Hussein went inside and headed for the reception desk to ask for Paul Richter.

The receptionist nodded. ‘Who shall I say is calling?’

Hussein produced his identification. ‘Ask Mr Richter to come down. I need to speak to him.’

After a couple of minutes, the doors of one of the lifts opened and Richter emerged, with Carole-Anne Jackson beside him. They strode across and shook Hussein’s hand.

‘What can we do for you, Inspector?’ Richter asked.

Hussein smiled. ‘It’s more what I can do for you, Mr Richter. I’m pleased to say that no action will be taken over what happened at Nad Al-Sheba, so you’re free to leave
whenever you want, with the grateful thanks of our government.’

‘Thank you,’ Richter said as he escorted Hussein back towards the main doors. ‘And thanks for coming here to tell us. I’m going to be staying for a few days longer.
We’re planning on doing some sightseeing, and perhaps a little shopping.’

‘Unfortunately you’ve missed the annual Shopping Festival, but I’m sure you can still find some bargains.’

‘I’m sure
I
can,’ Jackson said with a smile.

As they watched the Arab police officer walk over to his car, a man’s face peered out at them from the rear seat. Richter recognized Grant Hutchings, and there was another shadowy figure
behind him. Hutchings nodded briefly in his direction.

Jackson opened her mouth to say something, but at that moment Richter’s mobile rang.

‘You’re off the hook, Richter. Any time now someone will tell you you’re free to go.’

‘He’s just left,’ Richter said instantly, recognizing Simpson’s waspish tones.

‘Good. What time’s the next flight to Heathrow?’

‘As far as I’m concerned, some time on Saturday afternoon.’

There was a short pause as Simpson digested this. ‘Are you asking for a holiday?’

‘Yes,’ Richter said. ‘In fact, I’m telling you now that I’m taking the rest of the week off.’

‘Right, I’ll tell admin to knock it off your annual leave entitlement. No, hang on a minute. You did a pretty good job out there. I’ll put you down for liaison and debriefing
for the rest of the week.’

‘Thanks a lot.’

‘We’ll pick up the tab for the hotel and any meals until Saturday, but the drinks will be down to you. Fair enough?’

Simpson’s sudden generosity was somewhat unexpected, but Richter was grateful. ‘Yes, thanks.’

Jumeirah Beach Hotel, Dubai

Like the iconic Burj Al-Arab, the Jumeirah Beach Hotel has become something of a symbol of Dubai. Designed to mirror the shape of a breaking wave, it’s built on the
coast next to the Wild Wadi Water Park, some thirty kilometres outside the city.

When the vehicles stopped, Dawson saw two other police cars already there. Hussein noticed his glance. ‘I selected eight experienced English-speaking officers to train with this
equipment.’

In the hotel itself, Richard Wilson – in the persona of CIA Agent Andy Franks – began his briefing to the assembled men. He opened one of the custom-designed carrying cases and
extracted the unit. The officers stared at it with interest as Wilson described its operation.

‘Because of the environment in here’ – he gestured at the spacious foyer – ‘and in most very modern buildings, you’ll normally do atmospheric
sampling.’

He reached into his pocket, extracted a small plastic bottle containing a grey lump and passed it to Dawson, then stepped back a few feet.

‘That’s a very small piece of Semtex,’ Wilson explained. ‘If you could open the bottle for a few seconds, then close it again, I can demonstrate just how sensitive this
unit is.’

‘How long does it take to register?’ Hussein asked.

‘About thirty seconds after activation,’ Wilson replied. ‘You saw my colleague open the bottle. That will have released a few microscopic particles of explosive and some vapour
into the air, which is in constant motion because of the air-conditioning system. Most detectors aren’t sensitive enough to work in those circumstances, but this unit definitely is.’ He
held up the E-3500; its digital display showed a positive result.

Wilson then fielded some questions about technique before Hussein glanced at his watch. ‘We should move on to the Burj,’ he said. ‘The manager’s expecting us.’

Five minutes later the police cars stopped outside easily the most recognizable hotel in the world.

Crowne Plaza Hotel, Dubai

Richter was sitting in the lobby studying a tourist map of Dubai. Carole-Anne Jackson was pointing out areas worthy of a visit, when she suddenly broke off.

‘I know what I meant to ask you, Paul. When Hussein dropped by, there were two men in the back of his police car, and one of them seemed to know you. Who was he?’

‘Oh, him,’ Richter snorted. ‘I met him just once, when we went to interview Holden. He pitched up with Hussein after we reported the murder. He’s from your
Company.’

‘He’s an Agency man?’

‘Yes. His name’s Grant Hutchings, and the other man was Roger Middleton. Hutchings and I had a bit of an exchange. I didn’t like his attitude, and he didn’t seem too keen
on me either.’

‘No,’ Jackson said emphatically.

‘What do you mean, “no”?’ Richter demanded.

‘I mean that wasn’t Grant Hutchings.’

‘What?’

‘Which bit of that sentence didn’t you understand, Paul? I said the man in that car wasn’t Grant Hutchings.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure. I slept with him, for God’s sake . . . though it was a long time ago,’ she added defensively.

‘The CIA’s a big organization. Maybe you have two agents with the same name?’

‘I seriously doubt it. If he’s out here, that means he’s in the Operations Directorate, like me, which cuts down on the numbers.’

Richter was suddenly aware of an overwhelming feeling of unease. ‘Why would somebody want to impersonate a CIA officer in Dubai?’

‘I have no clue,’ Jackson said, ‘but I think we need to look into this. Do you have Hussein’s telephone number?’

Richter shook his head. ‘No, but Watkinson does. I’ll give him a call.’ He rang the British Embassy.

‘Ask him to find out what the CIA agents are doing,’ Jackson hissed, as he waited to be connected. ‘Don’t tell him I think Hutchings is an impostor, just in case I
am
wrong. I don’t want to look like a total klutz.’

‘Right,’ Richter said. ‘Morning, Michael. Paul Richter. I’m just calling to let you know we’ve been given permission to leave Dubai . . . I’ve also got a
question for you. When we went over to Holden’s apartment, we met a couple of Agency guys with Hussein. Have you any idea what they’re doing over here?’

‘Why?’

‘Just idle curiosity. They’re a long way from home.’

‘They were sent out in response to Holden’s claim about a bomb being placed in a waterfront hotel. According to Hussein, they’ve brought out explosive detectors to help the
Dubai authorities. But now we know that threat was just a diversion, I presume they’ll be heading home.’

‘Could you call Hussein and ask him something? I kind of got off on the wrong foot with Hutchings, so if these guys are still around I’d like to meet somewhere and make
amends.’

‘I’ll call him right now.’

Richter turned to Carole-Anne Jackson. ‘Apparently they came out here to help locate the hotel bomb Holden predicted, and he thinks they’ll soon be heading back to the
States.’

Jackson shrugged, looking uncertain. ‘Maybe I
was
mistaken,’ she said thoughtfully. Then, more confidently, ‘No, I wasn’t. That man definitely wasn’t the
Grant Hutchings I once knew.’

‘Give me a moment. I’ll call John Westwood.’

‘You know him?’

‘Yes,’ Richter said. ‘You haven’t slept with him as well?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘I haven’t slept with everyone in the CIA, and as far as I know John Westwood is a happily married man. I’ve worked for him in the past, is all. And,’ she added,
‘you do know it’s the middle of the night over there?’

‘Yes, but I know John well. If it’s important, he won’t mind being woken up.’

‘OK, but keep my name out of it,’ Jackson said. ‘I’ll probably have to go before a board of inquiry over that Nad Al-Sheba business when I get back to Langley, so the
last thing I want is to piss off the guy who might be heading it.’

Burj Al-Arab Hotel, Dubai

‘It’s a big bastard, isn’t it?’ Dawson muttered, shading his eyes as he looked up at the huge white belly of the hotel building. The vast expanse
of fabric vanished above them, curving into invisibility as it approached the very top of the structure.

Rising over three hundred metres above the Arabian Gulf, it’s the tallest, and certainly the most architecturally adventurous, hotel in the world. The man-made island on which the Burj
Al-Arab stands is three hundred metres offshore, and is linked to Jumeirah Beach by a causeway. But it isn’t the island, or the causeway, or even the sheer height of the hotel that stuns the
visitor: it’s the shape.

The Burj Al-Arab looks like a huge billowing sail attached to a single mast, the apparent ‘wind’ inflating the sail from somewhere offshore. The effect is dramatic enough in
daylight, but at night, when the front of the hotel is bathed in ever-changing colours by banks of massive theatre projectors, it’s simply stunning.

O’Hagan followed Dawson’s gaze. ‘Yup, it’s big. Let’s get to it.’

Inspector Hussein’s mobile rang as he led them towards the hotel entrance, and he stopped to answer it, moving slightly aside. Less than a minute later he closed the phone and, with a
smile of apology, continued inside.

The Americans looked around as they emerged through the revolving doors. The interior was like nothing they’d ever seen before. In front of them a massive triangular water feature –
a virtual pyramid of illuminated and precisely directed dancing water jets – extended up to the next level, escalators flanking it on either side. The decoration and colours were simply
amazing, the atrium a riot of blue and white and gold, curving balconies ascending towards the roof. The aura of luxury was almost palpable.

The manager, who introduced himself as Salim Barzani, looked distinctly unhappy with the group assembled in the foyer – if one could use such a mundane word to describe the enormously
opulent atrium, nearly two hundred metres high, in which they were standing. Hussein quickly explained that they were on a training exercise, and that there was no danger of any sort to the
establishment.

‘Very well. If you need anything, ask a member of my staff to come and find me.’ With a final dismissive wave, Barzani stalked away.

Hussein turned to the Americans. ‘Where do you wish to start, Agent Franks?’

‘First, we need to look at the characteristics of a building with an atrium.’ For several minutes he discussed air flow, air changes, temperature and humidity, then explained that,
in order to undertake a proper check, samples would need to be taken at several different levels – at the top and bottom of the atrium, but also on one or two intermediate floors.
‘I’d like to suggest, Inspector, that your officers should operate the detectors themselves.’

‘I agree,’ Hussein said, and instructed his men to open the cases.

Wilson approached each officer in turn, checking that they knew how the units worked. None of the policemen noticed the large and rather vulgar ring he wore on his left hand.

Thirty-eight seconds later, one of the officers reported a hit, and within a minute all the E-3500 units were similarly registering positive for the presence of explosives.

Crowne Plaza Hotel, Dubai

Richter ended his call to Westwood’s home in Haywood, Virginia.

‘John actually knows about the mission,’ he confirmed, ‘because he attended one of the briefings at Langley. It’s a four-man team. Grant Hutchings is the senior agent.
The others agents are Baxter, Franks and Middleton.’

Jackson shook her head. ‘I don’t recognize any of the other names.’

‘He told me that Hutchings has worked out of Langley for most of his career, but he’s also done tours in Vietnam, France and Germany.’

‘When I knew him, he’d just finished an overseas tour, but I can’t remember exactly where.’

Richter’s mobile rang.

‘It’s Watkinson. I’ve just talked to Inspector Hussein and he confirms that the CIA officers will be here for a couple of days. At the moment they’re with the inspector,
instructing his officers in the use of explosive detectors. If you want to meet them, they’re staying at the Al-Khaleej.’

‘Got that, Michael. Sorry to have bothered you.’

‘Everything seems to check out,’ Richter said. ‘According to Watkinson, they’re training the local cops in the use of explosive detectors.’

‘In other words, doing exactly what they’re supposed to. So I must be wrong – is that what you’re saying?’

Richter shook his head. ‘Absolutely not. If you
are
right and Hutchings
is
an impostor, that means the others must be as well. If we take that as a fact, you’d expect
them to act just like the real CIA agents right up to the moment when they take whatever action they’ve got planned.’

‘Which is what?’

‘I have absolutely no idea,’ Richter admitted. ‘But right now they’re surrounded by armed police officers who’ll be watching their every move, so I don’t
really see
what
they could do that those cops wouldn’t be able to stop immediately.’

Burj Al-Arab Hotel, Dubai

Inspector Hussein had turned pale. All six detectors were now showing positive readings, and he knew that for sure because he’d checked each one twice.

‘Could this be a mistake?’ he asked. ‘They aren’t still detecting particles from the Semtex you used in the Jumeirah Beach?’

Wilson shook his head. ‘No. Very few particles were released. If only one detector had registered a hit, I’d say it meant traces on our clothing, perhaps. But for all six to show
positive? That’s something totally different.’