Whilst Khaweini had been daydreaming of his place in history, the others had been finalising their plans as to where the charges would be most effectively placed in each of the sixteen individual turbines. Happy that Jussuf had offered all the information that he could, Kwong Chong Lee showed him a sample device and explained in technical and engineering terms how he had shaped the charges to do maximum damage to the turbines.
Jussuf was neither impressed nor disappointed; he knew that even the small charges being proposed by the Korean would render the turbine blade sets inoperable and put them beyond economic repair. He also imagined, although he did not say, that on the unshielded turbines the charges would probably disintegrate the drive shafts and send shrapnel flying around the turbine hall, shredding all cables, plant and personnel in its path. The two terrorists had made it clear that they were unconcerned about collateral damage.
Jussuf was despatched back to the Gloria Hotel on Sheikh Zayed Road in a taxi with a warning ringing in his ears; “Speak to no-one about this if you and your family want a long and happy life.” The Iranian was tired of hearing these empty threats - threats from Iran, the USA and now these terrorists. He would take their $250,000.00, set up his own consultancy, and fight for custody of his kids.
Chapter 37
The Palazzo, The Boulevard, Doncaster, Melbourne, Australia:
1st March; 4pm. (8am Dubai Time)
At the request of Vincent Polletti, Pete Adams rang a mobile phone number that began with 971 and was followed by 50. These numbers told him that the recipient of the call was in the UAE and on a mobile phone.
The phone rang out for a minute before a sleepy voice answered, “Yes?”
“Hi,” Pete said, in an artificially jovial tone. After all, you never knew who might be listening. “It’s Pete, your old pal from down under.”
There was a pause whilst Pete allowed the recipient to gather their wits. It was still early in Dubai. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to bring our final order forward.”
“When do you want delivery?” the recipient asked.
“By Sunday. That gives you seventy two hours.” It was a tight timescale, he knew.
“I can do it, but you need to understand that once the final delivery is made there will be no more supplies from this region. I will be retiring.”
“We fully understand. Maybe you could join us in Oz for a bit of a break before you retire for good,” Pete responded.
“I will be in Melbourne next week,” the recipient answered, before the call was ended without further discussion.
Pete Adams walked back into the house to report back to his boss. Todd Michaelson would be dead within three days, but at a great business cost. The recipient of his call was a major supplier to the criminal cartel, and would have to leave Dubai in a hurry to avoid being sought in connection with the murder of Michaelson. Business would suffer in the short term, but it was still better than having Polletti in prison for life.
***
The call from Pete Adams had come as something of a surprise. Todd Michaelson was supposed to have been taken care of by others. Of course it was possible to get close to the man and kill him, but not without everyone knowing who had done it. An escape strategy was necessary, one which did not involve flying out of Dubai, but that had been planned many months ago, long before Todd Michaelson had become a problem.
The call recipient lay back on the bed and tentatively planned a future in Australia. The business in Dubai had been lucrative, but all good things eventually had to come to an end.
Chapter 38
Room 436, The Gloria Hotel, Tecom, Dubai:
1st March; 8:12am
Jussuf was shaving when his hotel room phone rang. He quickly wiped his face and stepped into the bedroom, dressed only in a towel. He picked up the phone.
“Hello?” Jussuf was not expecting a call, because only Khaweini knew he was in Dubai.
“Good morning, Jussuf.” The voice on the other end of the phone belonged to Kwong Chong Lee, so Jussuf relaxed. “I just wanted to make sure you were in your hotel room.”
“Why? Are you coming here?” Jussuf enquired.
“Not exactly,” Chong replied, a smile in his voice.
***
The Shadow stood on the glazed and air conditioned pedestrian bridge that carried Metro passengers across Sheik Zayed Road to the Internet City Station, and looked towards the Gloria Hotel just a few yards away. As soon as he had confirmed that Jussuf was by the hotel phone, Lee pressed the send button on a second mobile phone. A second later he heard a muffled explosion, and glass blew out from the fourth floor corner room of the Gloria Hotel.
The Shadow called Khaweini and informed him that all loose ends were tied up. He then slipped both phones into his pocket and strolled over to the station to take the Metro a couple of stops back to the workshop.
***
The Crime Scene Investigation team had very little to work with. The fragmentation device had shredded the man or woman who had been standing beside it when it exploded.
“Farak, look over here.” A tall olive skinned woman in the green coloured hijab that was her police uniform, with her hair concealed under a matching dark green scarf, stepped over the debris that had once been hotel bedroom furniture and moved towards the man squatting on the floor. With a pair of tweezers the young man extracted a Sim card from a badly damaged mobile phone. He held the Sim card up to the light and read off the supplier’s name, which was MCI. “Whoever this man was, his mobile phone is from Iran. MCI is the Mobile Telecommunication Company of Iran.”
“That would be correct,” Farak confirmed, “the reception desk had a photocopy of his passport. It was issued recently in Iran.”
Sergeant Farak Amousa paused and looked at her hand held computer. “What is unusual is that the last time Mr Jussuf entered Dubai he arrived on an American passport. I think we had better pass this on to Special Operations.”
“Farak, do you think this may be related to the Jebel Ali bombing?” the young forensic analyst asked.
“Two bombs in a week, after many years with no such atrocities? I would be surprised if there was no link.”
***
Jamie and Todd joined Max for breakfast. They had just showered following a competitive workout. It was to be a working breakfast. Max had laid out the briefing document he had prepared prior to hearing news of a bombing in Internet City. His mobile had been red hot for the last hour, and it wasn’t quite nine thirty in the morning.
Todd sipped orange juice and munched on wholemeal toast as he read the latest on the bombing on Max’s laptop.
“OK.” Max brought the informal meeting to order. Jamie and Todd sat around the breakfast table and ate as Max spoke. “Kwong Chong Lee is almost certainly the Shadow. We can place him on the school bus which was bought by Khaweini’s Madrassa, and we have been informed that the Bank of Burundi stopped a transfer from Khaweini’s account to an account in the Cayman Islands in the name of ‘Korean Chinese Land Trust’, also known as KCL Trust. So, we are pretty sure that these two are working together.
Unfortunately, Khaweini has absconded and Kwong Chong Lee has never turned up at the hotel he gave as his address in Dubai at passport control. Presently we have no idea where either man is, although we have to assume both men are still here in Dubai and plotting another bombing. Their last effort would not have satisfied their blood lust, or that of their terrorist bosses.”
“Have we no leads at all?” asked Jamie.
“None that are worthy of the name. However, we’re awaiting information from the bombing this morning. The Brigadier is due here before noon to brief us. Assuming Kwong was the bomber, he may have left clues behind. In the meantime, see what you think of this.”
Max walked over to a more formal wooden dining table and pressed a button on a digital projector. A blue screen appeared on the blank wall of the dining room. Computer commands and data appeared in white lettering as the projector booted up
. Then the blue screen was replaced with an Excel spreadsheet.
“This was provided to us by Vastrick. It came in by email. It’s a list of the places where Kwong’s fake passport has been used in the last two years. He’s been travelling under the guise of a passport belonging to Philip Ho, a construction supervisor killed in an accident in Malaysia in 2009.” Max pointed to the highlighted areas. “Interpol has placed him in the cities where four bombings have taken place in 2010 and 2011. They are shown in yellow highlighting. What I think Interpol and Vastrick have overlooked, however, is these five entries.”
Max used a laser pointer to indicate five destinations where Kwong had used the passport in the last year and a half. The list showed:
-Macau
-Melbourne, Australia
-Nice, France
-Las Vegas
-London
“All of these are cities known for their gambling, assuming that he landed in Nice and took the short trip to Monte Carlo, but more specifically they are known for poker tournaments. He landed at McCarran airport in Vegas two days before the Vegas Texas Hold’em Tournament at the MGM Grand Hotel and Casino. He arrived in Melbourne the day before the Aussie Millions Tournament. That was just three weeks ago.”
“I know that tournament,” Todd interjected. “It’s usually held at the Crown Hotel and Casino, right on the Yarra River.”
“Absolutely right. I looked at the photos on the website, and guess what?” Max clicked the mouse and a picture came up on the screen, showing a group of people. “On the left, second man in.”
“Kwong Chong Lee!” Jamie exclaimed. “But how does that help us find him? There are no Casinos here. Gambling is illegal in Dubai.”
“Which might actually make it easier to find him, Jamie. If he’s hooked on poker, he might go to one of the few illegal gambling dens in the city,” Todd suggested. Max smiled, even though the others were stealing his punch line.
“My money is on ‘MaverickPoker’, the infamous blog written by man calling himself ‘Brett Maverick’. They specialise in high stakes games in areas where gambling is illegal or frowned upon. Oil rich Arabs come to Dubai for a long weekend and play against all-comers. Naturally the venue is kept secret, but this is a small city and we may know where the next event is to be held this weekend.” Max grinned.
“Oh, come on, Max!” Todd said, exasperated at the theatricality of the reveal. The picture of the venue came up on the wall. There was a sharp intake of breath from the other two agents.
“Flaming hell, Max!” Todd exclaimed.
Chapter 39
Villa Afzal, 14C Street, Al Safa 1, Dubai:
1st March; 12:15pm
The Brigadier had called in briefly on his way back to Headquarters and had updated the trio on the morning’s bombing. There wasn’t much to report. The victim was an engineer who had American citizenship but who was travelling on an Iranian passport. There was very little left of him, but fingerprints confirmed his identity.
All doubt as to whether the Shadow was involved was removed when the CCTV footage from the Metro Station and the Metro train were examined. Moments after the explosion, Kwong Chong Lee boarded a Metro train heading for Rashidiya, but the train CCTV showed him exiting at the First Gulf Bank Station.
The authorities were attempting to find out more about Jussuf Khalid but the US authorities were still asleep, and the Iranians might reply before the end of the year, possibly. Khalid had been in the Emirate for only two days, and had been scheduled to fly back to his temporary home in Canada tonight.
The Brigadier had also confirmed, off the record, that a poker competition was occasionally held in Dubai, but that no money changed hands. They played for tokens only, and so strictly speaking it was not illegal. He could not confirm the venue, saying that the players tended to move around for reasons of privacy.
“So, what do we know, boys?” Jamie asked, as the three friends stood looking at a map of Dubai.
“I think we’ll find Khaweini in this area.” Todd moved his hand over a section of the map that covered Al Barsha, Tecom, Internet City and the Marina. “It’s not too far from the Madrassa, and why else would you put your engineer up in the Gloria Hotel? It’s not exactly central.”
“And Kwong left the Metro train here, at First Gulf Bank, just a mile along the road. It’s a little strange, though,” Jamie remarked. “We have the bank, the Gold and Diamond centre, car showrooms, a garden centre and Al Quoz industrial estate in walking distance, but no apartments!”
Max wondered how he had overlooked this until now. “If he doesn’t live there, maybe it’s where he armed the bus. I mean, it’s only a few miles from Jebel Ali, and it has some major industrial units. Not all of them can be in use.”
Max wrote a reminder to have the police tour the empty industrial units in the area and find out whether there was any sign of recent occupation or any sign of the Shadow. He would also text Dominic at Vastrick and see if they could do a computer search for any workshops that had recently been let on short term leases.
Right now, I need a new dress, and the two of you need tuxedos.” The two men looked puzzled. “You’re both taking me out to dinner at the Al Muntaha Restaurant tomorrow night. We’re going to eat some of Dubai’s finest seafood in the world’s only seven star hotel, and then, well, who knows? A game of poker, maybe?” she laughed.
Chapter 40
Burj Al Arab, Jumeira Beach, Dubai:
2nd March; 8:15pm
Philip Ho signed into the private suite that was holding an ‘international gaming conference’. The man, whose real name was Kwong Chong Lee, smiled as he was approached by two more regulars from the circuit. They shook hands, and chatted about previous encounters. They had each won competitions recently, and so everyone was in a friendly mood. The top prize tonight was being kept under wraps, in deference to the local authorities who had banned gambling in their country. Nonetheless, wherever the funds were gathered, and wherever they were paid, they would be won in Dubai tonight. The prize was one million dirhams, or around $270,000.
The Shadow knew that his current identity was played out, and he had already made plans to purchase a new American passport from a Korean croupier he met in Las Vegas, who had agreed to obtain the genuine passport in return for an investment in his new business venture. Kwong would re-enter the US as Philip Ho, and leave as Michael T Kwan. But first he had to win a million dirhams and prime sixteen bombs.
***
Max looked more comfortable in his dinner suit than Todd did in his, albeit his hair was just beginning to grow back after his close crop back in the UK a month ago. The temporary tattoos which Max had been carrying were faded and unrecognisable now. They looked like dirty marks on his hands and body. Those that were visible had been covered by Jamie’s concealer. Jamie, her fair hair tied up in a stylish chignon, wore a stylish black dress, although she had been careful to select a less revealing design, so as not to offend their Arabic host country. Her outfit was completed by studded black stiletto shoes and a small sparkly clutch bag. The clientele of the seven star Burj Al Arab Hotel, sometimes referred to as ‘The Sail’, was rather select, and they were very wary of allowing people into the fabulous hotel if they did not meet the dress code.
Todd enjoyed the food, but complained that the portions were ‘mean’. Jamie had to explain that gourmet eating was about taste, aroma and flavour, not bulk. Max laughed as he saw Todd shaking his head in disbelief, whilst complaining that they had paid two hundred dollars a head and he would have to grab a Big Mac on the way home if he didn’t want to go to bed hungry.
Max signed for the meal, and when he saw the bill he was pleased that it was being covered by expenses. The three friends took one last look at the view of the Persian Gulf from two hundred metres in the air, and headed back to the glass-walled elevator that would whisk them down the impressive gold-coloured atrium to the conference suites on the lower floors. As the lift glided noiselessly downwards, Jamie addressed
her two companions.
“As a registered player, I can take in one guest only. That will be Max. Todd, you need to maintain a vigil in the lobby. You can fill up on coffee and cakes. Philip Ho signed in at reception an hour ago, and so we know he’s here and he has to leave via the lobby.”
“Can’t he leave from the helipad upstairs?” Todd asked.
“No. Only one landing and take-off is scheduled, and that’s coming direct from the airport and carrying a Saudi Prince. Coincidentally, it arrives just before the competition and leaves immediately after the final.” The men grinned.
Jamie and Max stepped out of the elevator and headed to the Al Falkak Ballroom, while Todd remained in the elevator and continued down to the lobby.
***
The Shadow sat patiently as the top table filled with players. These players had all earned their right to be sitting at the top table by participating in other competitions around the world. After the first round of hands, one player would leave and be replaced with a ‘wild card’ entry, someone who was playing well on the lower tables. Occasionally, at televised world championships, for example, the winner of an online poker competition would be asked to join the elite, and on one famous occasion the online winner took the Championship.
Around the tables sat a Korean, two Americans, two Russians, two men dressed in full Arab regalia and a Frenchman. The game being played was Texas Hold’em. They were playing with a French card deck and Aces were high. The other cards in a suit ranked below them in ascending value, thus 2 was the lowest value card.
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