Shadow of the Burj

by J Jackson Bentley

  Baker returned to the online booking form and clicked ‘Book now’. He was taking a trip and he wouldn’t be coming back.

  ***

  Jamie couldn’t sleep. The big villa seemed so empty without the guys, and so she Skyped her American friends, for whom it was still 7pm on Tuesday 6th March. She had already chatted to her co-workers and was now speaking to her immediate superior in Homeland Security.

  “Brett, I’m almost fully recovered. I’m sure I could return to work as soon as I return home.” Brett paused, expressing doubts that she could recover so quickly, but she was insistent. “I promise you, Brett, I’m almost back to full fitness.”

  “Jamie, when you get back here you will take a physical and a psych profile. In the last few months you’ve lost your father, and you’ve been shot and were almost blown up. I can’t let you go right back to work, not in your usual role, anyway. Light duties for at least the first month, I’m afraid.”

  Jamie sighed. “OK. I’ll wrap up my business here and book a flight back. Do you want me in DC or New York?”

  “Jamie, I want you working from home with periodic visits into the local office, so you decide. If you are staying in your micro apartment in DC, then fine, but why not stay at your Dad’s old place? It’s still on the market.” Jamie considered the options and tried one last time.

  “I could join the piracy team and head back Stateside after my rotation with them.”

  “Back here, Jamie, by the end of the month, latest. Take a few days. See the sights. Go to Oman. Go snorkelling, or diving. Just do something other than work. You haven’t used your 2011 vacation allocation yet and we’re a third of the way into 2012.”

  After promising to take some rest Jamie headed off to bed, but before she could reach the bedroom her BlackBerry beeped with a text message from Simon at Vastrick’s London Office in the UK, where it was midnight.

  “Trevor George Baker just booked a cruise under one of his known aliases. It seems that he has Algerian citizenship and an Algerian passport in the name of Georges Cohsee. Cohsee was his mother’s maiden name. Full data will be sent encrypted to you and Dominic when retrieved from the cruise booking engine.”

  “Oh my gosh,” Jamie said aloud. “It looks as though I’m taking that well deserved break, after all. I sure could do with a cruise.”

  Chapter 57

  The Palazzo, The Boulevard, Doncaster, Melbourne, Australia:

  7th March 2012; 1pm.

  Todd and Max had been witnesses to the worst-kept-secret raid in history. The house and grounds were deserted. The agent in charge was yelling at the police guards outside the property when another agent came out of the house carrying an electronic ankle tag. It was still broadcasting a ‘safe’ signal and showing a green light. The lead agent didn’t bother asking how Polletti had managed to fool the device. Kids of seventeen had been caught out on the town drinking whilst their tags were sitting patiently on their beds waiting for the wearers to return.

  “I’m afraid that it’s a washout, Todd. We have no idea where they’ve gone or even what vehicle they’re travelling in,” the agent admitted, somewhat embarrassed.

  “He’ll be in Melbourne, boss, and Max and me have a bit of a back-up plan, don’t we, mate?” Max nodded, smiled and ran his fingers across the screen of his iPhone.

  ***

  Vincente Polletti was settling into his new temporary home, which was located in Dow Street, just off Beach Road in Port Melbourne. One of Vince’s legitimate companies leased a two storey modern office in a brick building with a partial view of the sea. The reception area looked like any other commercial premises, furnished with a desk, phones, fax and a sign announcing its owners as being ‘Bangles and Fangles’, a costume jewellery retailer. The framed photographs of the directors that hung on the walls had been lifted randomly from the internet. ‘Bangles and Fangles’ needed no offices. The business was run from the main shop in Elizabeth Street, which was situated in Melbourne’s fashionable shopping district.

  In the back rooms were bunk beds and small individual wardrobes. Girls were housed here until they were moved on or were sold. There were more beds upstairs, along with a communal bathroom. The front upstairs office had been converted into an en suite bedroom for Misha, the lady who took care of the girls. Misha had made way for the boss, and Vincente figured he could slum it here for a day or two until the heat died down and he could get away, probably to Phuket, where he owned a beach house.

  The girls he had brought with him were distressed. Some were crying, and some were in shock. After the lavish treatment of yesterday, they were now in sparse surroundings and chained by the ankles to their beds. The rumour was that a man called Frankie was coming to take them to their new homes. Some of those “homes” were seedy nightclubs, some were whorehouses and a couple were the country retreats of important and rich individuals.

  Shana, the new girl, remained calm and tried to comfort the others. She had been Polletti’s consort the night before and had been relieved when he had shown no amorous intent. It appeared that he liked to be seen with girls, but when he was alone with one he ignored her and preferred to manage his business affairs. Shana was still dressed in her party clothes, as were most of the girls, and around her neck hung a large and ornate Arabic style necklace with a large stone setting just below her throat. Shana tinkered with the necklace unconsciously as she spoke to the other girls.

  ***

  Max looked at the iPhone screen and zoomed in. “I would say that Mr Polletti can be found here.” He pointed at the screen. “Probably in Dow Street, but we’ll know more precisely when we get closer.”

  The agent in charge grinned as he gathered his men. “Mount up, boys; we’re off to the beach.”

  Chapter 58

  Bangles and Fangles, Dow Street, Port Melbourne, Australia;

  7th March 2012; 3pm.

  “Look, guys, this won’t be easy. There really is only one way in to this building without going in through the front door. The street is also pretty deserted, so any kind of police presence will be obvious. I think we need to assume that the men in there are armed and that they have hostages. One of the hostages is an Emirati police officer who is wearing a transmitter set into a necklace. If she’s hurt we’ll have the wrath of some bloody Sheikh raining down on us from a great height, understood?” The men nodded. “OK. Six of us will be going in to clear the building, and then Morrie’s Bravo team will follow up and clean up.”

  “Seven of us,” Todd corrected him. The agent turned around and looked at Todd, who was wearing a black protective overall with blue ID patches velcroed into place. He was also wearing a stab vest, and he was carrying a sidearm.

  “Where did you get that?” the agent asked, annoyed.

  “Borrowed it,” Todd replied with a grin. “You’re not going in there without me. I have way too much skin in this game.”

  “You stick with me like glue,” the agent told him, pointing an admonishing finger at him, “and if you don’t follow orders I’ll shoot you in the leg. Understood?”

  “Sounds reasonable,” Todd answered, trying to conceal a smile.

  “OK. We put Castleton on the front door, Traynor on the rear door. The rest of us follow Buckley in through the sub-station. Take your positions and keep out of sight until I give the signal.”

  Two large agents armed with sub machine guns peeled off and traversed the offices until they could cover the entrances without being seen. Next to the offices on the side of the building facing away from the beach there were two large blue doors, fastened with a padlock and bearing a sign warning of high voltage.

  A blond haired, blue eyed giant of a man led the team down Dow Street, hugging the wall until he reached the blue doors. He produced a pair of bolt cutters from nowhere and removed the padlock in seconds. A minute later all five men were concealed in the transformer room, which hummed constantly and which was very warm. Buckley closed the blue louvred doors and headed towards the back of trans
former room, where there were two more blue painted doors. One had yet more louvres, and, according to the floor plans, led to a control room. The final blue door was sited under a sign that read ‘Fire Exit’. The door led to a common stairwell between two units that allowed for egress into the back yard in the case of a fire. Buckley opened the locked door by drilling through the locking handle with a low noise handheld drill.

  There was no-one in the stairwell, and nor had they expected there to be. The shared stairwell had doors to the first and second floors of the buildings on each side. Bangles and Fangles’ logo was attached to the two doors on the right hand side of the stairwell.

  With a mix of whispered instructions and hand signals the agents split into two groups, two agents manning the lower floor and three, including Todd, taking the upper floor. A minute later all agents were in position outside their respective doors.

  “Go, go, go!” came the instruction through the headset radios and both fire doors were breached.

  ***

  The two agents on the ground floor passed through a bare corridor which housed men’s and women’s bathrooms and a small kitchen. They passed through an open doorway and saw seven girls, each one chained to a bunk. Two men, evidently guarding the girls, had been playing cards at a small round table but quickly leapt to their feet, sending their chairs crashing to the floor as they reached for their guns. The two agents were dressed completely in black, their faces concealed behind visors, and their presence was intimidating, just as it was designed to be.

  “Armed federal agents! Lay your weapons down, now! We do not shoot to wound!” one of the machine gun-toting Robocops shouted menacingly. The two men thought about it for perhaps a second, and then carefully laid down their guns and placed their hands behind their heads without having to be asked.

  Girls were sobbing as the men were cuffed and pushed back into their chairs. One agent remained with them whilst the second agent cleared the rest of the ground floor. As he entered the last room, the reception area, he came face to face with his colleague, who had apprehended two men who had been trying to make a run for freedom through the front door. A dark haired agent with angry eyes took the men, who were by now handcuffed, and led them into the room with the others. The remaining agent again took up his post at the front of the building.

  “Ground floor clear, four hostiles secured!” was the message sent across the closed circuit radio channel.

  ***

  Vincente Polletti was sitting on a comfortable sofa with his arm around Shana, the undercover policewoman from Dubai, when the door burst open.

  “Federal agents are all over the building!” Conrad Adams yelled as he threw a handgun to his boss. Adams was carrying a Sig Sauer and his boss was now holding a Glock 19.

  “How the hell did they know we were here?” Polletti demanded furiously, his composure lost, his panic rising.

  “Can’t worry about that now, Boss,” Conrad said as both men looked for an escape route and realised that there was none. This was a last stand or surrender.

  ***

  The building was secure and all of the girls were safe in the care of federal agents. The hostiles were dead or restrained, paramedics and ambulances were on their way. There was one room left to clear and the agents correctly guessed that it contained Polletti, Adams and the last girl. The lead agent stood shoulder to shoulder with Todd, using the blockwork wall as cover whilst he tapped on the door with his knuckle.

  “Polletti, we are armed federal agents executing an arrest warrant. Open the door and lay down any weapons. Stand with your hands in full view and we will not shoot.”

  “We have a hostage,” came the reply. “I want free passage out of the building and a vehicle. If you do this we will release the hostage as soon as we are clear of the police cordon.” The voice carrying through the thin veneered door was undoubtedly that of Polletti.

  “Sorry, Vince. No deals. We will be coming in hot and heavy, unless you agree to surrender without conditions, in ten seconds.” The notice was greeted with silence, and so Todd opened the door wide and returned to the cover of the blockwork wall. No shots were fired. Todd signalled to the agent that he wanted to speak to the room’s occupants. The agent agreed reluctantly.

  “G’day, Vince. How’s things? It must be about a week since you tried to have me killed. I’m beginning to think you don’t like me any more,” Todd joked, knowing that it would disorient his old boss. Todd stepped into the room, with the lead agent taking his place beside him and two more agents with semi-automatic weapons stepping in behind them. Todd’s gun was levelled at Conrad Adams and was being held at eye level as he sighted down the barrel. Conrad did not have the cover of a girl in front of him and so, sensibly, he laid his gun on the desk and placed his hands on top of his head.

  Todd smiled as he moved his gun around towards Polletti. The man’s face was still masked with confusion. Polletti was almost fully concealed behind Shana. The barrel of his gun was pressing into the skin just below Shana’s left ear.

  “Don’t be an idiot, Vince,” Todd said calmly as he appraised the situation, looking for an angle for a shot.

  “You just won’t die, will you, Michaelson?” Polletti snapped.

  “It’s not my time, Vince. I need to see you rotting in jail. I might get married, have a few kids, maybe turn the Palazzo into a women’s shelter and write you every week to keep you updated.” Polletti snarled in reply and Shana gradually, and almost imperceptibly, moved her legs close together. Todd’s voice was calm but firm. “Put the gun down, Vince, mate, or I’ll have to shoot you, and you know what a good shot I am.”

  “If I’m going down for life anyway, I may as well take this bitch with me.” Polletti smirked as he spoke. Todd started to lower his weapon.

  “OK, mate, let’s not be hasty. Look, I’m lowering my gun. Let’s talk this through.” Todd’s voice was tremulous with nerves. Polletti smiled triumphantly at his opponent’s weakness, but only until he realised it was an act. The gun came up fast and Todd fired twice. The first bullet took out Polletti’s knee, while the second destroyed his ankle. Polletti’s gun hand dropped as he instinctively reached down to comfort his injured limbs. Shana twisted away from his loosened grip and concealed herself behind Todd and the other armoured men.

  Polletti fell to the floor, screaming in agony, but as he landed he exercised his last option. Placing the Glock under his chin, he yelled.

  “I’m not going to give you the satisfaction, Michaelson.” The second and a half he took to issue his last words were enough for Todd to shoot once more.

  Todd’s shot caught Polletti’s right arm half way between the elbow and the wrist, shattering both bones as it passed through and out the other side. It wasn’t enough to stop Polletti pulling the trigger, but instead of pointing directly upwards into his brain pan Polletti’s shot went forward removing a whole chunk of his lower jaw before passing up through his front teeth and exiting half way up his nose.

  Even the hardened federal agents felt nauseous when they saw the damage Polletti had inflicted on himself. Todd ran over to the semi-conscious Polletti and pressed his handkerchief firmly against what was left of Polletti’s lower face to stem the bleeding. He had no intention of letting the man die and evade justice by taking his own life.

  ***

  Two hours later Max and Todd were alone in a police interview room that could have been in any police station in the western world. The blue-grey laminated table, bracketed to the floor, matched the blue-grey walls. The cheap plastic chairs were probably turned out by the thousand in some factory in Taiwan.

  They had just been informed that Polletti was in surgery but that he was stable. The surgeons were content that they could do something with his arm, knee and ankle, albeit the stricken joints would never bend or flex properly again. The face, however, would need major reconstruction over many years, and that would not be possible from prison. Polletti would have to make do with whatever could be done in th
e emergency surgery and its immediate aftermath. When he went to trial he would be pleading his case in writing, because the chances of him speaking coherently again were slim to nil.

  “I guess it’s all over now, then, Todd.” Max sounded suspiciously emotional to Todd’s ears.

  “Yep. You know what, mate? I’ll miss you. Never thought I’d hear myself saying that to a bloke, never mind a Pommie bloke, and never mind a reporter.” Todd paused. “I’ll stay here until the trial, as I’m not welcome in Dubai any more.”

  “They’ll come around eventually,” Max assured him. “You did them a huge favour, after all. We all did. Their culture won’t let them forget that. You just placed them in a position where they had to concede to your demands. You didn’t leave them an honourable way out. They don’t like losing face.”

  “Or a large haul of drugs,” Todd added ruefully.

  “That, too,” Max responded.

  “What about you, Max? What are you going to do now? Write another series about our adventures, hiding behind that handsome bloke’s picture?”

  “No. It’s too soon to go back to the UK. I need to let my hair grow out and see the back of these tattoos. Maybe I’ll write a novel about the whole episode, although no-one will believe it really happened.” Max fell silent and looked out of the barred window at the blue sky. “I think I’ll go and visit a friend in New Zealand. Ben Fogarty. Have you heard of him?”

  “Even before your series on the London riots I knew all about Ben Fogarty. He’s broken too many Aussie rugby fans’ hearts to be forgiven in a single lifetime. Give him my regards and tell him we’re all grateful he’s retired from rugby.”

  “I will, Todd.” Max was smiling now.