Payback (39 page)

‘I must speak to the manager immediately,’ Hussein decided.

Two minutes later he was back, with Salim Barzani a couple of paces behind him. ‘You told me there was no threat to my hotel,’ the manager said angrily.

Hussein was defensive. ‘That was what we believed. We should now—’

‘Inspector,’ Wilson interrupted firmly, ‘the analysis comes later. Our first priority must be to locate these explosives.’ He turned to Barzani. ‘What’s
security like here?’

‘Very stringent, which is why I question the results you claim to have found. We already have explosive detectors installed in all external doors. So how could some terrorist have managed
to get explosives inside?’

‘You don’t search the guests’ luggage or anything like that?’

‘Certainly not.’ Barzani looked shocked. ‘This is the best hotel in the world. The kind of people who stay here would never tolerate that kind of treatment, no matter what the
circumstances.’

‘Right,’ Wilson said. ‘The thing about explosives is that they all emit particles and vapours, but there are ways you can beat any detector. If I was trying to smuggle in some
C4, I’d pack it in plastic sheeting and then tape the open ends shut. Then I’d wash the outside thoroughly, dry it and wrap it in more plastic, and wash that. I’d do that four or
five times over, and at the end of it I’d be pretty sure there’d be no detectable emissions. Just to be certain, I’d pack it in three or four airtight storage bags, washing each
one after I’d sealed it. Then I’d put the entire package in a big suitcase with soft clothes all around it to help absorb anything that managed to slip through. Wool and cotton are
best. Once I’d done all that, I’d almost guarantee being able to take that case through any explosive detector yet made.’

‘If what you say is true,’ Barzani asked, ‘then how did your hand-held units detect something here?’

‘Simple,’ Wilson said. ‘When the case came through your portal detectors, the explosive was probably wrapped up the way I described it. Since then, whoever was carrying it has
opened the package. That means somewhere up there’ – he gestured – ‘is a room with a bomb in it.’

‘Suite,’ the manager corrected him. ‘We only have suites here.’

‘Whatever. What we have to do now is find it.’ He paused for a few seconds, looking up into the atrium, big enough to hold the Statue of Liberty. ‘We’ll start at the top
and work our way down. Inspector, can you get your men to bring in the rest of our equipment?’

As Hussein turned away and started issuing orders, Wilson led the three Americans over to the bank of elevators.

The final phase of their long-planned operation was just about to begin.

Crowne Plaza Hotel, Dubai

Richter and Carole-Anne Jackson were waiting for a taxi to take them on their sightseeing trip when his Enigma mobile rang.

‘Get to a secure location,’ Simpson snapped.

Richter gestured to Jackson and then walked outside. ‘Right, I’m outside the building. What’s the problem?’

‘There’s been a hike in the overall alert state. We’ve just gone from Bikini Black to Black Special.’

‘I’m in Dubai, Simpson. Couldn’t you have told me that when I got back? It doesn’t really affect me over here, does it?’

‘It might not, but the instructions from Vauxhall Cross were most specific.
All
British security personnel are to be informed. That obviously includes GCHQ, The Box, JIC staff, the
intelligence sections of the armed forces, the CTC, and absolutely everyone else wearing any kind of an intelligence or counter-intelligence hat. It also includes you. Now, do you want to know the
reason for this blanket coverage?’

‘The question had crossed my mind.’

‘You’re going to like this, just not very much. This morning the people at Six took a call, strictly off the record, from your old sparring-partner Viktor Bykov.’

‘Bykov? What the hell did he want?’

‘He wanted, as quietly as possible, to alert us that the Russian military machine is down one nuke. Specifically, a few days ago two men, possibly Americans, persuaded somebody at a
Russian ZATO to deliver them a suitcase nuclear weapon.’

‘Oh, shit.’

‘That sums it up nicely.’

‘Why do the Russians think they were American?’

‘They had US passports in the names of “Edwin Johnson” and “Richard Hughes”. The FSB got photocopies from a hotel they were staying in.’

‘What size weapon are we talking about?’ Richter asked. ‘And how the hell did they get it out of Russia?’

‘It’s a biggie, with a predicted yield of one kiloton, which is why we’re all hopping about like freshly fucked ferrets. They apparently carried it overland by lorry and train
down to Sochi, loaded it into an air ambulance and flew out of Russia and south over Turkey. The aircraft landed at Cairo, and there the weapon and the two men vanished. Present whereabouts
unknown, but Egypt’s not a million miles from where you are, so keep your eyes open.’

Richter was already making mental connections and constructing a hypothesis – a hypothesis that answered some of the questions that had been nagging at him. The possibility that the CIA
agents were impostors, James Holden’s ‘premonitions’ and his subsequent murder, the Damascus and Manama bombings and the present activity of the ‘CIA team’. If you
mixed them together in the right way, you got a very definite wrong answer.

If he was right, there was absolutely no time to waste. ‘I’ll ring you back,’ he said. He immediately phoned the British Embassy. ‘This is a Military Flash call,’
he snapped as soon as the receptionist answered. ‘Get me Michael Watkinson.’

In seconds the Englishman was on the line. ‘Watkinson. Who is this?’

‘Richter. Look, I don’t have time to explain all this right now, but call Inspector Hussein immediately. Tell him not to let those CIA agents take anything inside any buildings.
There’s a real possibility they’re impostors and they’re trying to plant a bomb.’

‘Paul, I can’t just . . . That’s ridiculous. They’re CIA agents, for God’s sake.’

‘How do you know? Have you checked their identification?’

‘No, but I’m sure Hussein has.’

‘I’ve no doubt they showed him something, but whether he did a proper check is quite another matter. He was expecting a team of CIA agents, and four men turned up just when and where
they were supposed to. My guess is that any checks he did would have been cursory at best. Anyway, just tell him what I said.’

‘What’s your source for this?’

‘You’ll hear some time today, but do it, and do it now. If I’m wrong, you can shoot me later. And find out where the CIA men are. I’ve got to call London.’

‘OK, I’ll blame you if it all goes wrong. Just get back to me as soon as you can.’

Richter rang Hammersmith. Simpson was back on the line within seconds. ‘Somewhat abrupt there, Richter. What’s going on?’

‘Right now, I don’t know, but one or two peculiar things have happened out here.’ He quickly explained some of the apparent anomalies.

‘That’s very thin, Richter,’ Simpson replied. ‘You’re going to look a complete idiot if that CIA guy’s identification is confirmed.’

‘I’ll risk it, and I’ve looked like a complete idiot plenty of times before. But there are a couple of things you can check for me.’ Richter explained what he wanted,
then rang off.

As he turned back to the hotel, Carole-Anne Jackson walked over, mobile in hand. ‘You’ve heard about the missing Russian nuke?’ she asked.

Richter nodded. ‘It puts a different slant on Grant Hutchings and his merry men, doesn’t it?’

‘You think the two Americans who stole the weapon could be part of the CIA team?’

‘It’s possible. I’ve got my section checking a couple of things that could confirm it. It shouldn’t take them long to find the answers.’

Burj Al-Arab Hotel, Dubai

Richard Wilson stood on the twenty-fifth floor and looked around. To say the building was luxurious was a bit of an understatement. It had cost an absolute fortune to
build and furnish, and you needed exceedingly deep pockets to stay there. The smallest suite occupied nearly one hundred and seventy square metres, while the massive Royal Suites, outside one of
which Wilson was standing at that moment, covered almost eight hundred and were provided with their own private lifts and cinemas. The last house Wilson had owned back in the States would have
fitted three times over inside just one of them.

Behind him, Hussein watched as four of his men stacked the Americans’ cases in the corridor. Hovering beside the inspector, Salim Barzani looked decidedly worried. Wilson thought he
probably spent a lot of his time looking worried, but at this moment he definitely had something to be concerned about. Behind the manager, three hotel staff stood waiting beside the concierge desk
– at the Burj Al-Arab, the guests check in inside their suites, so each floor has its own permanently manned concierge desk, designed in the shape of a golden shell, as an extension of the
aquatic theme predominating throughout the hotel.

‘Grant, you take one detector and start at the other end,’ Wilson instructed.

Hussein motioned to his officers to keep out of the way, as the Americans took the units out of their cases and moved apart. They turned on the detectors and headed slowly towards the door of
the suite. There they stopped and, after a murmured conversation, turned off the units.

‘We weren’t expecting this,’ Wilson announced. ‘We guessed that the bomb would be in a suite lower down. I was going to eliminate the upper floors first, but both the
detectors are showing similar readings. There are faint traces of explosive here in the corridor, which might simply be due to the hotel’s air conditioning, but we’ve definitely got
strong hits right beside this door.’

‘So you think the bomb is somewhere inside this suite?’ Hussein asked.

‘Possibly, though the readings aren’t definite. Who’s in there now?’

Hussein turned to Barzani, who shook his head. ‘Nobody.’

‘Who was the last occupant?’

‘I won’t disclose his name until you’re certain there really is a bomb in there, but I can tell you that this suite was occupied by an important Arab businessman until
yesterday evening.’

‘Has the suite been cleaned since he left?’

Barzani shook his head. ‘We’ve no bookings for another few days, so it’s just been inspected but not yet properly cleaned.’

‘Do you have a pass-key?’

Barzani nodded and stepped forward.

‘Allow me,’ O’Hagan said, and took it from him. ‘We’re the experts at this, so we’d better go in first. Stay out here until we’ve either found something
or confirmed there isn’t anything to worry about.’

As O’Hagan unlocked the door, Dawson and Petrucci picked up the biggest of the cases and two of the smaller ones and carried them to the door.

‘What’s in those?’ Hussein asked.

‘The big case holds a portable x-ray device,’ Wilson said. ‘If there is a bomb in this suite, we’ll need to scan it before we can disarm it.’

‘Of course,’ Hussein murmured, then jumped slightly as his mobile phone rang.

‘Ready?’ Wilson asked. He and O’Hagan entered first, holding the E-3500 detectors out in front of them.

Behind them, Hussein’s eyes widened as he listened to what the caller was saying.

At the door, Petrucci glanced back at the inspector. Their eyes met and in that instant the American realized that someone, somewhere, had at last made the right connection.

Hussein dropped the phone and reached inside his jacket, but Petrucci was much faster. He’d already levelled his pistol before Hussein managed to draw his weapon. ‘Don’t
move!’ he yelled.

Hussein ignored him. ‘Stop!’ he yelled. ‘Stop them!’

The four police officers looked confused – the shouted order making no sense. But the pistol in the American’s hand was something else, something they could immediately relate to.
Two of them pulled out weapons, but their speed was also their undoing. Although they moved fast, they didn’t move fast enough.

Dawson grabbed his pistol and both the Americans immediately opened fire. Four shots – so close together that they sounded like only two – echoed off the walls, and the two
constables fell backwards, their weapons tumbling from their hands.

‘Don’t move,’ Petrucci yelled again, adjusting his aim to cover Hussein and his two remaining officers. Dawson’s weapon reinforced the threat while behind Petrucci,
O’Hagan and Wilson reappeared with guns drawn.

Hussein stood as if frozen, his right hand still inside his jacket. The two remaining constables gaped incredulously, their horrified glances alternating between their dead companions and the
four Americans, with no idea what was happening, or why. The manager, Barzani, thrust his hands into the air and stood quivering with fear.

‘That’s a good idea,’ Petrucci said. ‘You lot’ – he gestured to the remaining police officers – ‘drop your pistols on the floor and put your hands
up. We don’t need any of you here any longer,’ he added, when they’d obeyed his order, ‘so go away. But Hussein stays with us.’

With a terrified nod, Barzani turned and scurried off, the remaining police officers and the hotel staff following him. They were almost walking backwards, their eyes still fixed on the
Americans.

Once they’d gone, Petrucci gestured for Hussein to come closer. ‘We need you alive, Inspector, at least for the moment. If you do exactly what we tell you, you might still walk away
from this. Now, who called you?’

‘Who are you people?’ Hussein demanded.

Petrucci jabbed the barrel of his pistol sharply into the Arab’s stomach, and he bent forward, retching painfully.

‘I’ll ask you again. Who called you?’

‘Michael Watkinson,’ Hussein replied after a few seconds, his voice rasping painfully. ‘After Richter called him.’

‘That bastard,’ O’Hagan snarled from the doorway of the suite. ‘I knew he was trouble right from the start. But there’s nothing he can do to stop us now.
We’re in the clear.’

British Embassy, Dubai

Sitting at his desk in the embassy, Michael Watkinson was first puzzled, then alarmed. Richter had to be wrong. He just couldn’t see how the four CIA officers, who
he knew had arrived in Dubai on board a State Department aircraft, could possibly have been intercepted or suborned. But Richter’s deduction about the intentions of the Arab terrorists at Nad
Al-Sheba had been uncannily accurate, so he couldn’t simply ignore what he said.