by Doug Dollard
“Will you be in attendance at the demonstration,” I asked, changing the subject. Ali seemed not to take offense for he smiled easily and leaned forward as if to share a confidence.
“It was my intention, though pressing matters elsewhere may intervene. However, Basimah will be in attendance as she has persuaded the Emir to invest 250 million Euros in the project,” he added, turning towards the raven-haired beauty seated next to me.
“That’s a considerable investment in an unproven technology Miss Salatt,” I said turning my attention toward her. It was my first opportunity to test the depth of her knowledge. I was curious to know if her skill as Ali’s bodyguard was matched by her intellect.
“If you don’t mind my asking why would the emir risk such a large sum in what many would consider a competitive energy resource?”
For the briefest moment I thought I detected a glimmer of anger flash in her dark eyes. But it was gone almost as soon as it appeared.
“You are of course correct to note the commercial application of fusion technology could adversely affect the demand for oil. Such technological advances are inevitable however. And fossil fuels are a diminishing resource even for countries blessed with great reserves. One day even Abu Dhabi’s oil reserves will be depleted. We are planning now for that inevitable eventuality. It is the reason for our investment in thermonuclear fusion technology.”
Basimah’s answer was cogent though it fell short of explaining the emir’s interest in Global Energy Resources. Clearly there was more to her than a supple body and a killer’s instinct.
“And now you have the practical perspective for our future,” Ali spoke up. I was far from understanding the emirate’s perspective on fusion technology. It seemed to me the oil rich nations would do everything possible to delay the day technology provided a cost effective alternative to fossil fuels. But it appeared my time with Ali and the beautiful Basimah had come to an end for Ali was already rising from his chair. Basimah, taking her cue from Ali also stood, her eyes quick to survey the room.
I stood as well and Ali placed one hand on my shoulder while extending the other to grasp mine in warm friendship.
“Goodbye Michael. It has been my great pleasure to have met you.” I watched him walk away, Basimah at his side, the two swarthy men at the far table not far behind.
There was something final, almost fatalistic in his voice that set the hair on the back of my neck bristling. But I had little time to further ponder such subtle warning signs.
I left my drink unfinished and exited the bar to arrange for a taxi with the concierge. With my transportation secured I headed upstairs to change before leaving for Wilton Park. I was considering the likelihood Ali held membership in the Shield of Islam. Our encounter was certainly no accident. But if his intention was to destroy the facility, why the playful charade?
Whatever his reasons they would have to wait until later. I had less than two hours before the demonstration and I needed to wash up and change into my suit. I took the elevator to the fourth floor and walked quickly down the empty corridor to my room.
Chapter 11
A SHROUD FOR THE DEAD
London, United Kingdom
It hadn’t occurred to me they’d send someone to kill me. Not this soon anyway.
It had been a long and not particularly productive day and after my encounter with Prince Berudi I was anxious to get back to my suite at the Savoy to dress for an event at Wilton Park. I slipped my plastic hotel keycard into the electronic lock in the door to my room and the lock snapped open. Inside the room was dark though I had made a point of leaving the lights on before I left. I stepped inside, trying to recall where the light switch was located.
As soon as I entered I knew Basimah was there, or at least had been there recently. She wasn’t wearing perfume earlier but there is a body scent some women have that is every bit as distinctive.
I reached for the light switch but Basimah’s sultry voice stopped me.
“Don’t, she pleaded softly. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness I could see the vague outline of her body stretched out on the bed. She was lying on her side on top of the sheets, her head propped up on one arm. The pale moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains cast her bronze body in an ethereal glow.
With the exception of the platinum and diamond bracelet I had seen her wearing earlier that evening she was completely naked. In the faint light I could see her breasts were full and round with small, copper areolas and erect nipples. The curve of her hip slipped gently down her thigh, gliding across her calf to a pair of delicate feet. In the narrow valley between her thighs her mound of Venus was completely free of public hair. Her lips were full and slightly parted, displaying perfect white teeth.
Finding a voluptuous woman in your bed doesn’t happen. Ever. It’s the way things happen in movies and in books but never in real life. Gorgeous women don’t just show up in you hotel room uninvited. Especially when they don’t have your room key. Not that I wasn’t intrigued. As my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness I could see her left arm resting easily across her abdomen and the slow motion of her index finger beckoning me.
A dozen thoughts crossed my mind but the one that stuck was the one that saved my life. Basimah was a stone cold killer. I knew that the moment Ali introduced us. It was likely the reason he introduced us.
“Come Mister Riley. Let me show you how Arab women make love,” she enticed me.
I approached her, gambling she was alone and that I wouldn’t be facing more than one assassin tonight.
There are many ways to kill someone. Fewer if you want it to look like an accident. Basimah enjoyed killing so I figured killing me would be a hands on project for her. When I reached the bed I sat down beside her.
“You are a dangerous man Mister Riley,” she mocked me playfully.
“How so?”
“Let us talk later,” she whispered, leaning forward until her lips brushed mine. I had been watching her every movement intently, my body flooded with adrenalin. I felt her left hand caress my chest, her lips tantalizingly soft against mine, her breath sweet. I noted she had quietly slipped her right hand under the down pillow propped against the headboard. She moved her body close to mine and I could feel the stiffness of her nipples through the thin cotton of my shirt. As her tongue darted between my lips she withdrew her right hand from beneath the pillow.
Instantly I shot out my left arm, grasping her wrist, twisting it down and away from its intended trajectory. The syringe she had been holding fell silently on the bed. The hand that had so recently been caressing my chest suddenly became a missile slamming hard into the side of my head just above my temple. The blow stunned me just long enough for Basimah to free herself from my grasp. She made a grab for the syringe but I intercepted her, grabbing her shoulders and tossing her onto the floor.
Rolling with the momentum she came up on her feet in one fluid motion. Immediately she came at me, sending a powerful kick into my right side just below my floating ribs. It took the air out of me and I doubled over in pain. Instantly Basimah dove for the syringe but again I caught her just as she reached the bed, tackling her and bringing her to the floor.
She rolled over on top of me, her legs straddling me and attempted to thrust one of her long fingers into my eye socket. I twisted away and slammed the heal of my hand up under her chin, shattering several of those beautiful white teeth. Blood from her mouth spewed out on my white shirt. She screamed something in Arabic as I pushed her off me.
I was up on my feet near the foot of the bed as Basimah lunged at me again, this time screaming shrilly, hatred flashing in her dark brown eyes. Though I had suspected she would be a formidable foe I had underestimated her strength and tenacity. Her charge carried us onto the bed where she attempted to pummel my face with her fists. I caught her under the chin with an elbow and she swooned, temporarily stunned.
Taking advantage of this momentary respite I flipped her around until I was on top of her, pinning
her to the bed. Her body was well conditioned and surprisingly strong. She fought to free herself, her knees and elbows seeking out my vulnerabilities. Just as I was thinking I had her controlled her hand found the discarded syringe. Gripping the syringe in her fist like a dagger she brought it down toward my neck in a wild arching motion.
I caught her wrist against a raised forearm and the syringe shot free, plunging into her chest above her heart. Screaming she arched up, the syringe connecting with my chest and sending it’s entire contents deep into her heart.
Basimah’s eyes went wide with horror as she realized what had just happened. Her mouth opened wide making little gurgling noises deep in her throat. Her eyes rolled back and a violent shudder rippled through her body just before everything went lip, her head sagging listlessly on her neck. I eased her back on the bed and scrambled to the floor.
Basimah’s blood covered my shirt and I tore it off, heading toward the bathroom. I washed up in the sink, my mind racing. I had no idea what to do next. I considered calling the authorities but immediately thought better of it. My employment with the CIA would make any explanation complicated.
I extracted the syringe from her chest, wrapped it in a hand towel and set it on the floor. Pulling up the bed sheets I wrapped Basimah in them. I put on a clean shirt and took the elevator down to the service garage where I located a laundry cart.
It’s strange but people don’t notice other people who work in menial service jobs. I passed several of the hotel’s guests on my way back to my room with the laundry cart in tow but no one really noticed me. No wonder so many people get away with committing crimes.
Wheeling the cart into my room I lifted Basimah’s body into it and dropped in the towel containing the syringe. I noticed her arm was absent the platinum bracelet. I figured it had broken off in the struggle. I looked around and finally found it under the bed. I also located her clothes folded neatly and stacked on a chair in the foyer. I put these along with her bracelet in the laundry cart as well. I found extra blankets in the bathroom closet and placed these over her body, completely covering her.
I didn’t like what I had to do next but I could think of no alternative. I wheeled the laundry cart back to the service elevator and returned it to the basement. Near the shipping and receiving dock were giant metal dumpsters. I lifted Basimah up and dropped her into the dumpster that was filled nearly to capacity. Her shrouded body appeared frail and small among the discarded trash from the hotel. I found a stack of cardboard ready for recycling and piled it on top of her until she was several feet underneath.
When I was certain no one would accidently discover her body I went back upstairs to my room and sat on the edge of the bed, staring out through the balcony’s sliding glass doors at the distant lights dancing across the dark waters of the Thames.
Chapter 12
A PRAYER FOR THE DEAD
Wilton Park, United Kingdom
The afternoon of the scheduled fusion demonstration Doctor Theodore Porter was beside himself with anxiety. He hadn’t been able to keep anything in his stomach since the evening before his attendance at the Portsmouth meeting arranged by Ali Ben Berundi. Now his nervousness was near panic proportions. He had nearly passed out in the men’s room he was so anxious, and now he was suffering from a continuous series of panic attacks.
Huddled in his office on the ground floor of the Global Energy Resources building Porter was sweating profusely, his intestines repeatedly threatening to void themselves involuntarily. He was feeling progressively worse since drinking a cup of decaffeinated coffee he’d poured from the pot in the employee break room.
MI6 had contacted the laboratory administration that afternoon warning there may be an attempt to sabotage the facility. The facility’s director had called him personally advising of a potential threat. Large numbers of police and CO19 teams were already on the premises. Specially trained dog teams patrolled the perimeter while technicians equipped with bomb detection devices searched every square foot of the laboratory.
Panicked he had gone to each member of the group petitioning them, pleading with them to postpone or at least delay their plans. Now he was deathly ill, a condition that he attributed to the enormous stress he was under.
Not that the police would find anything. The facility’s destruction would be triggered by a fault in the fusion reactor, a threat their equipment was incapable of detecting. But now that the authorities were alerted his middle-eastern colleagues couldn’t possibly carry out their plan.
Waves of intestinal cramping nearly doubled him over in agony. He wished only for this all to be over.
When a knock on the door to his office sounded he nearly leaped out of his chair.
“Who is it!” he shouted. The person outside knocked again more loudly this time and Porter reluctantly got up to answer his persistent interloper. When he saw Prince Abdullah he was both relieved and irritated.
“What do you want?” he almost shouted at the prince.
“You’re not feeling well?” The prince inquired. Porter was about to respond when his bowels rebelled and loosed their entire contents into his pants. The viscous liquid shot down his legs, across his shoes and onto the floor. Porter bent over at the waist, grimacing against waves of nausea. His head throbbed and he was barely able to keep his balance as dizziness threatened to topple him.
Prince Abdullah stepped into Porter’s office and closed the door behind him, careful not to step in the pool of brown liquid engulfing Porter’s feet.
“Abdullah, I need help,” Porter grunted.
“It is far to late for that,” Abdullah said softly. “You are suffering from acute radiation poisoning. You will be dead inside of five minutes.”
“What!” Porter gurgled. There was blood seeping out of his pores now. Blood leaked from around his eyes and dribbled from his gums down his chin. He tried to scream but no sound escaped his lips. His head felt as if it would explore.
“You panicked,” Abdullah, derided him. “All you needed to do was stick with the plan but you couldn’t do that.”
“Please,” Porter begged. He was on his knees now, squatting in his own body fluids.
“Too late for mercy,” Abdullah continued to berate him. Blood was now flowing from every orifice of his body. Porter lay on the floor and groaned but could no longer summon the strength to speak.
“In the event you are wondering how you’ve come to this pitiful end it was thylamine. I put it in your coffee. For this I shall pray to Allah for forgiveness as I shall pray for your forgiveness.” But Porter was beyond understanding, beyond caring and beyond redemption. He died lying in his own waste. The prince left him where he lie, closing and locking the door behind him.
These rooms had already been thoroughly searched twice and would not be checked again before the demonstration began. Porter would become an unfortunate part of the death toll once the body count from this evening’s disaster was calculated.
Chapter 13
THE TOKOMAK CONFINEMENT VESSEL
Wilton Park, United Kingdom
After the attempt on my life I knew with absolute certainty there would be an effort to sabotage the fusion confinement vessel at Wilton Park. It meant Ali knew who I was and why I was here. It also meant they considered me a threat.
Putting thoughts of Basimah’s death aside I focused on finding a way to stop what I was certain would be an attempt to sabotage the Wilton Park fusion vessel. Since British authorities had proven unreceptive to my concerns I had little choice. I had to go. Maybe I’d find a way to disrupt Ali’s plans when I got there.
Anticipating I still had enough time to make the trip to Wilton Park before nine PM I headed for the lobby where the doorman hailed a black taxi. I gave the driver the address and forty-five minutes later I was dropped in front of an eleven-story, steel and glass building.
The Global Energy Research Center for Fusion Research was ensconced within an eighty-acre preserve of densely forested land in rural Wilton
Park northwest of London. A narrow and meandering road leading to the facility ended in a huge circular driveway. Large parking areas were offset from the building on either side, adding to the allusion of an isolated structure in the center of a vast woodland.
As the facility came into sight I noted the grounds were crowded with more than just invited dignitaries, scientists and members of the press core. Parked on the grounds were at least a dozen police cars and a large, black lorry belonging to the British special operations team, a corollary to our SWAT units.
Uniformed police officers in protective body armor and sporting automatic rifles lingered conspicuously outside the building while dog handlers leading German Shepherds patrolled the periphery. It appeared Townsend had taken my concerns seriously after all. I breathed a sigh of relief. I could finally stop worrying. I didn’t even care that I was going to look awfully foolish if this turned out to be a wild goose chase.
The entrance to the building was marked by a series of stone stairs sheathed in red carpet for the night’s event. At the door security personnel dressed in tuxedos electronically scanned my invitation into a database of attendees before ushering me into a cavernous reception area.
Inside were gathered more than a hundred guests; politicians, newspaper reporters, scientists and family members sipping champagne and snacking on an elaborate assortment of exotic appetizers arrayed on tables draped in white linen and hosted by uniformed catering staff.
My timing was near perfect for no sooner had I arrived then we were invited to move to the observatory where we could all view the demonstration. In small groups of seven and eight the guests rode the elevators up to the fifth floor.
