Cold Black

by Alex Shaw

  Knight closed her eyes. She was the little Dutch boy plugging the dam. Today it had not burst but one day it would unless….her glass fell splattering the last drops of malt across the rug. Shit. She shook her head and sat up in the chair. Falling asleep here would do her no good at all. She picked up her tumbler, clicked off the TV and made her weary way to her bedroom. The free world was safe, for at least seven hours she hoped.

  In Moscow it was three hours later and the drink was Vodka. Maksim Gurov nodded to himself. It made no difference to him whether the British hostages lived or died, were rescued or not. The outcome was the same. The oil reliant nations of the world had seen that Saudi was not a ‘safe place’ to be in or buy from. The Saudis had rescued the hostages but they had been taken in the first place. It may have played out better if the British Nationals had been killed but it made no odds. He raised his glass in a mock toast to the brave men of the Saudi Special Forces. The cold Vodka hit his throat and heightened his senses. He picked up his encrypted mobile phone and speed dialled the number in Saudi Arabia.

  “Da?” An alert voice answered before the second ring.

  “Davai.” A one word instruction, ‘go ahead’.

  Gurov ended the call and poured another measure. The militants in Saudi Arabia were about to launch a retaliatory attack.

  TEN.

  British Embassy Riyadh, Kingdom of Saudi Arabia

  After being at his desk all night, Harry Slinger-Thompson was expecting a call from Patchem but it was another familiar voice that greeted him.

  “It was quite a night for you fellows huh?” Casey’s voice was too perky for the time of day.

  “Yes Vince, it was. I am just happy that our hostages were rescued and that the Saudi security forces carried out such a professional job.”

  “Huh. Well I hope your ‘black op boys’ are ‘getting the bevies in’ they deserve them.”

  “I don’t follow you Vince.”

  “Sure, play it that way. Listen, I’ve got a lead for you. The Sat phone that was pinged at both rescue locations…. You interested?”

  “Go on.” Slinger-Thompson picked up a pen.

  “It received a call from Doha, our friend we had under surveillance. We tailed him back from Doha to Riyadh, then we invited him to join us for an informal ‘Q and A’ session. You want the transcript file?”

  “Please.”

  “O.K. it should hit your ‘in box’ about now. Oh Harry, before I go, pass my regards to Jack. It’s been too long; tell him to call me before he leaves Bahrain.”

  “He’s not in Bahrain.”

  “No? Ok – my mistake.”

  The call ended, Slinger-Thompson furrowed his brow. Casey was being very cooperative but how did the damn Yanks know so much? He opened the email and started to read. And how did the damn Yanks get so much Intel? He clicked forward message and sent an encrypted email to Patchem.

  Dammam Sea Port, Kingdom of Saudi Arabia

  Konstantin Voloshin swam slowly towards the giant hull of the tanker. It was the largest thing he had ever seen in the water, larger still than the boats they had trained on, those that had approximated NATO warships. Reaching out ahead he placed his hand against the barnacle encrusted steel to stop his forward momentum. He paused and looked around. He had good visibility in these warm waters; the powerful lights of the port illuminated the uppermost metre of the sea and lights from the deck above spilled over the side of the towering hull. This however meant that he had to be extremely vigilant. Reaching down to his pouch he retrieved the first of the magnetic satchel charges and secured it to the hull. He had four of these in total and would place them in the pre-assigned stress points. They were time delay PE4.

  With his tanks perilously close to empty Voloshin kicked away from the ship. The blackness of the Gulf night would conceal him long enough to make good his exfiltration.

  Shaikh-Isa Air Base, Bahrain

  Outside the Sun attempted to burn away the tarmac, inside the coffee and prescription pain killers were just as strong. Both Fox and Snow had been given a thorough check up by an SIS vetted doctor before being advised several days of R&R, bed rest if possible. Now after a few hours’ sleep both men were to be debriefed in person by Patchem.

  With his own red rimmed eyes, the SIS section chief also looked as if he had had a restless night, which of course napping on an HM Government jet he had.

  “I’ll get straight to the point. We have intelligence that leads us to believe someone is specifically targeting British interests in Saudi Arabia in order to erode international confidence in the Kingdom. This is the first time that we have seen kidnap videos emanating from Saudi Arabia posted on Al-Jazeera. It is a worrying development…”

  “You think so? Try being the star of the show!” Fox stated without sarcasm.

  Patchem frowned. “Quite. The group, ‘The Warriors of Mecca’ is hitherto unknown. Before the attacks we had seen no chatter whatsoever using this name. The man who tortured you James, Salah Mahmoud is a university student from Medina. He has given us a name ‘Khalid’. The man who recruited him and probably the same man you both saw. It seems that this ‘Khalid’ has something of a fearsome reputation amongst Mahmoud and his fellow ‘believers’. He allegedly was responsible for beheading a coalition soldier in Iraq and is known to the very highest levels of al-Qaeda. None of this can of course be taken verbatim. In my opinion, all terrorists are prone to boast, but whoever this man is he must be caught. However if even a fraction of what Mahmoud said is true, ‘Salah’ could be a tier one player.“

  Snow massaged his neck with his right hand. “There was another X-Ray taken alive, the Bedouin leader. What have the Saudis got from him?”

  Patchem pursed his lips. “A signed confession, taken under extreme physical duress, that he was responsible for the kidnappings.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing more. He died shortly after. I believe it was because he stopped talking.”

  Snow shook his head. The Saudis were not known for their gentle approach, especially when it came to insurgents. “Video fit?”

  Fox grunted. “How many bearded men are there in the region?” “So who is interrogating Salah?”

  “Not by the same Saudis, I hope.”

  “No Aidan, not the Saudis.” Who, he didn’t want to admit to. “So...” Patchem paused and reached into his trouser pocket. “Sorry, bad manners and all that.”

  The encrypted Blackberry flashed to show a new message. Thumbing the scroll button Patchem opened the email from Slinger-Thomson and started to smile. “Gentlemen it appears that someone is on our side, maybe even Allah himself. I’ve just received new intelligence, full name, photograph and possible whereabouts.”

  “Where?”

  “Dubai.”

  Fox felt his adrenalin surge. “Mr Patchem. He killed a man in front of me in cold blood. He’s an animal. I want him. I want you to let me find him for you.”

  “James…”

  “It’s Paddy.”

  “And I’m Jack. Paddy, you have been very valuable so far but SIS can’t possibly let you continue.”

  “Jack I’ve seen this wanker up close. What better way to identify him than have us meet again? I see him ,he gets ID’ed or he pings me and reacts then he also gets ID’ed.”

  “That does make sense, but Paddy can I trust you?”

  “Ask Aidan.”

  Snow ignored Fox and sipped his drink; he too had been witness to a murder committed by Khalid. “Jack, how recent is this Intel?”

  “Fresh.”

  “Then unless we move immediately he may not be there any-more.”

  “I believe that the Americans have him under surveillance.”

  “Then send us to Dubai, I promise to make Paddy behave himself.”

  “Agreed.”

  Patchem read from his blackberry. “Khalid Al-Kazaz. A Saudi national educated in chemical engineering at Oxford. In short a British trained bomb maker.”

  Patchem held th
e device up. Fox and Snow saw the face they had seen the day before peering back at them from the screen.

  Fox snarled. “That’s him.”

  Patchem continued. “He has his own consulting firm in Dubai.”

  “And a sideline in being a murdering bastard?” Fox clenched his fist.

  “So how does this Oxford graduate become an Al-Q player?” Snow asked.

  “There’s a seven year gap between his graduation in 82 and any further records of him in Saudi. We can take an educated guess that after graduating he spent time in the ‘Stans’.”

  All three men knew the pattern. For a believer of that generation, the call for Jihad against the ‘Russians’ has been great. Many young, idealistic, Muslims flocked to the CIA funded training camps of Pakistan before being let loose on the occupying Soviet Red army in Afghanistan. In the early 80’s this had included innumerable Saudi nationals including a young believer by the name of Osama Bin Laden.

  “And now he’s shitting on his own doorstep?”

  Patchem frowned and rubbed his chin, which unusually had a two day’s growth of salt & pepper stubble. “That’s one way of putting it Paddy. He’s now being funded and supplied by a very powerful third party.”

  ELEVEN

  Westin Hotel, Dubai, UAE

  The room was on the top floor of the Westin Dubai and overlooked the Dubai Palm, with the newly opened Atlantis Hotel at the far sea end a mile away. Vince Casey leant against the balcony railing looking back into the room at Fox and Snow. A warm breeze swept in causing the curtains to flutter. The sun was setting.

  “Gentlemen for political reasons the Agency cannot be seen to be operating in the UAE, which is why we are not and you will be. Jack and I go way back hence you’ve been ‘borrowed’. To business. We believe that the suspect is in a suite on the fourth floor.”

  Snow looked at the photo in his hand, taken by a concealed camera it had blurred edges but a sharp centre. He shivered. “That’s him.”

  Fox craned his neck. “Aye, that’s the little shagger.”

  Casey’s faced creased into a large smile. “That’s the British spirit! We don’t know how long he’s going to be here for or what he’s doing. Heck he’d be a great target for a surveillance operation but given his actions up to date, and the pressure both our governments are exerting, we’re going to snatch him. Any questions so far?”

  “So exactly what back up have we got?” Snow wanted it to be clear.

  “We have two men in the hotel. Our agents have an eyeball on his room and the foyer. If he moves we’ll know it. We’re going in tonight. We need him alive, but if he shoots then shoot back.” Casey pointed to a case on the dresser. “In there are two 9mm Glocks with suppressors. Untraceable. When this is over they go in the drink. However, we would rather you used this.” He held up a syringe. “It’s a muscle relaxant with a little added ‘fun’.”

  “So we just prance in there, happy as you like, ask him to stand still and stick him with a needle?”

  “That’s one idea Paddy. Aidan, you and Paddy will enter the hotel grounds at 22:00. Meanwhile one of our operatives will trigger a small incendiary in the ventilation system. The hotel fire alarm will ‘kick off’; all guests will evacuate including the suspect and you two. At this point Paddy, in the confusion outside, you’ll ‘stick him’ with the needle. They’ll be a boat moored nearby on the palm. Take it and him, to the coordinates programmed into the on-board GPS and I’ll have someone pick you up.”

  Casey made the snatch seem simple, Snow had his doubts. “And if we get stopped or he gets away?”

  Fox spoke before Casey could. “We won’t and he won’t.”

  Casey’s phone bleeped. Without a word he retrieved it and looked at the screen. His face hardened as he read the incoming message. “There has been another attack in Saudi.”

  Fox’s nostrils flared. “On whom?”

  “The Texan Lady. She’s a super tanker, registered in Portland. She’s been scuttled in Dammam Sea Port.”

  “I thought those tankers were meant to be safe?”

  “There are unless you know exactly where to place underwater explosive charges.” His phone rang displaying Langley’s number. “Gentlemen.” Without another word Casey left the hotel room.

  Snow stood and walked to the balcony edge. The sun had now set and the sky was turning from a dark orange to a black. The sea breeze was still however warm. “You think Khalid Al-Kazaz is responsible for the tanker?”

  The older man joined him outside and handed him a weapon. “You’re the expert, you tell me.”

  “He would need technical help.”

  “You’d need to be a frog to do something like that.” Fox referred to the SBS.

  “Or Spetsnaz.”

  “What you think the Russians did it? Sank a US tanker in Saudi?”

  Snow shrugged, it sounded too far-fetched. “Who gains most from destabilising Saudi, apart from al-Qaeda?”

  “Israel.”

  “True who else?”

  “We’re back to Russia, because they export oil? So all this is about business?”

  “Or, national pride. Look before 91 the Soviets were a Superpower, and for ‘Soviet Union’ read ‘Russia’ no one dared do anything against them. Now? Ukraine refuses to pay them for gas and Georgia dares fight them. They’ve lost face. The West thinks they’re an irrelevance.”

  “You swallowed a history book?”

  Snow half smiled. “I’ve just got a thing about the rise and falls of empires. Look, if Russia is relied upon to supply oil then they become relevant.”

  Fox looked at the ever darkening sky and the lights of the Atlantis flickering out to sea, like a mirage in the desert. “Never liked the Saudis much, nor the Russians.”

  Atlantis Hotel, the Palm, Dubai

  Voloshin sat in ‘Plato’s Bar’ just off of the hotel’s lobby. He sipped an ‘Arabic’ coffee. The menu described it as part of the ‘connoisseur’s collection’, to him looked and tasted like ‘brown sludge’. His meeting with Khalid was to be their last. The mission had been deemed a success, for the next part different contacts would be relied upon to make any link between Minsk and Saudi all the more tenuous.

  Dressed in the western attire of polo shirt and cream slacks with freshly trimmed beard, Khalid looked like any other wealthy guest as he smiled at the waiter and placed an order. On seeing the Chechen his eyes narrowed slightly although the smile remained. The Chechen finished his drink and left the bar. Khalid cancelled his order and followed.

  Outside on the terrace both men stood a pair of business travellers in the warm evening air. Khalid looked at the palm as it spread out before him. A man made monstrosity that mimicked the natural beauty of the region. Many found the view from the balcony impressive; he found it an affront to the true believers. This had been constructed for the ‘oil fat’ Westerners, who raped his country and insulted his god, the one true god. However it served His divine purpose that he, Khalid Al-Kazaz make use of this place tonight.

  The Chechen spoke. “You have accomplished more than we ever expected of you my brother.”

  “The Westerners were rescued and my brothers killed.”

  “Your brothers were martyred.”

  Khalid grunted. “They did not kill enough infidels.”

  “They proclaimed the message, our message. The taking of the hostages so easily…” It was a disaster for Khalid, Voloshin knew this, but for him their purpose had been served. “You have posted the executions, the first of such to happen in the Kingdom. It will make all who would seek to insult the prophet by working in the Kingdom think twice.”

  Khalid’s eyes flashed with rage. “We must not deter the infidels from entering my country we must drive those who are in it out!” He turned to face the man who had funded him. “I do not think you know who I am or what I have achieved? I have never before failed. Not when fighting the Soviet sons of whores in Afghanistan and not when killing the Americans in Iraq.”

 
Voloshin nodded an outward assent. The man was a savage he had no respect for him. “Your reputation is well known my brother and you shall be rewarded. “

  Khalid sneered and once more looked out over the palm.

  The car dropped them off fifty metres west of the hotel entrance on the palm’s Crescent road, out of the reach of the security cameras. Both Snow and Fox had their silenced Glocks concealed beneath light suit jackets. The suppressors made the weapons longer and heavier but in the darkness their shapes were hidden well enough. They walked into the hotel complex unchallenged by the security guards; two suited westerners worried them little. They found a table away from the lights and waited for their signal. Most guests would now be frequenting the main outdoor bar area or one of the terraces. Here they were unmolested and undetected.

  The noise of a Siren erupted into the night sky. Voloshin involuntarily flinched. Khalid spun and looked back at the hotel. Voloshin released his grip on the railing, ready for action.

  “Fire alarm,” A waiter called out across the terrace. “All guests are to use the stairs and congregate in the car park at the sea end of the hotel.”

  “Let’s hope that it burns to the ground.” Khalid said without any sarcasm as he made for the external stairs.

  Voloshin gave no reply but instantly started to look for any signs of either a fire or a snatch team. In his experience fire alarms were usually set off by someone with a reason. A rush now of annoyed, intoxicated or worried guests pushed towards the fire exit from the lobby, restaurants and the terrace.

  The small earpiece in Snow’s ear crackled and an American voice said:

  “Target acquired. He is foxtrot. You will have visual in approximately thirty seconds. Repeat 3oh seconds.”

  Snow looked at Fox who winked. The pair of ‘deniable operatives’ waited as the hotel’s rich clientele made their way towards the fire assembly area. In the distance the sirens of the fire service could be heard. Khalid moved past their table unaware that he was being watched.