Chapter 9: Rashid
‘Nice! That’s a great piece. I should get a buyer for that no problem. I know this guy that collects van Cleef and Arpels in Moscow,’ said Rashid as he put his loupe back in his pocket and leaned back in his seat. Rashid was my jewellery dealer and had come to see me on my yacht where I was showing him the items I had stolen from Fifi’s owner.
‘Is it likely to be reported?’ he asked me.
‘Not sure. It is possible with it being such a valuable piece,’ I said, pouring him a cup of coffee.
‘I don’t think my buyer would be too bothered. I’m certain that buying stolen goods isn’t his only shady practice,’ he said, looking through some of the other pieces.
We were discussing our transaction sitting in my windowless office, which allows me to work or surf the internet during the day. Next to it is a windowless bedroom. Hollywood films would have you believe we sleep in coffins during the day, but I liked to have my yacht as normal as possible. I can’t speak for all vampires, but I couldn’t imagine any of them going in for this coffin lark. Why on earth would anyone want to lie in a wooden box? It looks so comfortable.
‘So, you’re staying here for a while,’ Rashid asked me.
‘Certainly until the end of the season,’ I replied.
Rashid was in his forties and a diet of curries and very little exercise had made him rather fat. ‘I’ll pay the money into your account when I’ve sold the pieces, which should be in a few weeks. I think I can get you about 250,000 euros.’ He placed the brooch back in its box and put it with the other jewellery in his briefcase. ‘I’ll come to your yacht here next month then?’ he asked me.
‘Yes. I should have some more pieces for you by then. The Cannes Film Festival is always a good time.’
Rashid got up and left with the briefcase. I had met him in Afghanistan where his family’s wealth had made him an obvious kidnap target. Over the years, George had built up a reputation as the go-to guy for kidnapping cases when you didn’t want to involve the authorities or had no faith in them. No one cared who or what we were as long as we got their loved one back. When it finally happened to Rashid, his father contacted us.
In 2007, there was still a lot of fighting between the Nato forces and the Taliban. We’d not only have to get in undetected by the kidnappers, we’d have to avoid both fighting parties too. But Rashid’s family suspected it was the Taliban that had taken him anyway and that they wanted the ransom to fund their war effort. They didn’t trust the Taliban to release him as he was a foreigner to their land and dressed in western clothes. His parents were afraid he would be killed.
Going into Afghanistan wasn’t easy, especially as we couldn’t operate in daylight. I relied on George to keep me hidden during the day; as an ex-SAS man, he was very useful to have along for the job.
We’d found out that Rashid was being held in a compound west of Kandahar. At night we were able to travel at great speed and unseen, as my vampire-improved vision meant I could drive fast without headlights. We drove our Land Rover into the compound before the kidnappers got off a single shot. In the confusion and the dark I managed to get to most of the captors quickly. George secured the hostage until I had dealt with the last of them. Whilst it hurt when I got shot, I’d be all right as long as my head didn’t get separated from the rest of me. I healed quickly after a feeding frenzy too, so I enjoyed myself that night, as there was no need for restraint. We later covered up my work with some gunshots. I wondered if anyone had ever questioned why every single one of the guards was shot in the neck.
‘You’ve been shot. Are you ok?’ asked Rashid when he saw me with five chest wounds.
‘It stings like a bitch, but I’ll walk it off,’ I said airily. I was well fed and in an excellent mood despite the pain. I felt the wounds healing as we got back in the Land Rover – Rashid would have to be told why the wounds were no longer there. When we did reveal my secret, he was surprised, but so relieved to be out of there, he didn’t seem to care.
We met with Rashid and his family a few days later and I was in an extremely bad mood. George had been away all day at their compound concluding the money side of things with Rashid’s father, so I had been left by myself in our small, windowless hotel room in downtown Karachi with no internet access. I had to amuse myself by catching cockroaches. Even though I was in a foul mood, I knew I had to bring my A game to the meeting and be as charming as I could. These were the clients after all.
The family’s compound was large and well-secured with high walls, barbed wire and even an armed guard. Inside I was introduced to what must have been 20 or so aunties and uncles.
‘Eat, eat,’ they said, as a multitude of curried dishes were put before us.
‘I’m ever so sorry, but I haven’t been able to keep anything down today, that’s why I stayed in a dark room all day,’ I explained, as the aunties flocked around me and offered me all sorts of foods and potions that were sure to make me feel better. ‘I’m ok, honestly. If I just don’t eat or drink anything I’ll be fine tomorrow,’ I said pushing all offered foods away.
‘You must drink. You must stay hydrated,’ they insisted. At this point Rashid stepped in and told them to leave me be. They looked hurt, but I soon distracted them with talk about gems and jewellery, which was the family business.
‘You’re not going to try anything are you,’ whispered George in my ear as I admired a stunning ruby necklace that dated from the Mughal period.
‘Course not!’ I hissed back.
‘So Rashid. How did you come to be in Afghanistan?’ I asked him.
‘I was sourcing some turquoise, Mr Blair,’ he explained.
‘Call me Cameron, please, and yes, Afghanistan does have some very fine turquoises, but I believe they’re currently using dynamite to blast open whole hillsides to mine them.’
‘Nobody is happy about that, or that the Taliban controls the mines, but I have demand, so I try and find supply,’ he told me.
‘Seems like you’re willing to take a few risks. War-torn Afghanistan is a dangerous place to do business,’ I said, picking up and admiring some more beads he had put in front of me.
‘Sometimes big risks – but look at the quality of these turquoises and then this Badahkshan lapis lazuli!’ he said enthusiastically, presenting another tray of beads. ‘I had done business with the Taliban before, as they control some of the mines, but this time I found a different guy in charge who didn’t like the look of me and thought he could make more money by taking me hostage,’ he explained, handing me a string of very fine blue beads.
‘That lapis is stunning! So, do you think you’ll go back there?’ I asked.
‘Not for a while. I’ll go and see if I can do some more trading in Europe.’
‘Might be able to help there,’ I said, handing him my card.
Rashid’s family were grateful and generous, but only Rashid knew what I was. I discovered he was a pragmatic fellow who operated on the grey side of legal. He was a shrewd businessman and an international jewellery dealer with useful contacts around the world and an instinct for who to trust. I had nurtured many contacts over the years in the criminal underworld, but I was now coming across some very fine pieces of jewellery that were too valuable for my local fence to shift; for such expensive pieces you needed to know serious collectors and shady gem dealers. Rashid knew just such people and he owed me his life.
I had amassed quite a collection of big diamond-set pieces by the time I met Rashid and our meeting turned out to be lucrative for us both. As he took my collection away, he asked me if I wanted to keep any of it, as I had talked about it with great passion and knowledge, but I told him no. I had learned to appreciate beauty but then to let it go; I had learned not to get attached to people or things – when you live for all eternity you can’t afford to be sentimental.
Language in the Blood Page 20
