by Bill Ward
Powell stepped from the car and walked towards the police men manning the checkpoint. Two officers noticed him coming and pointed at him.
“Do any of you speak English?” Powell shouted as he came nearer. “I have an emergency. My son is ill and needs to get to a hospital urgently.”
Powell noticed one of the policemen had evidently understood what he said and appeared to be translating it for the other officers.
“What is your problem?” the officer inquired as Powell arrived at the checkpoint.
“Thank goodness you speak English. I think my son has appendicitis. Can you help me get through this traffic and perhaps give me an escort to the hospital?”
“I’m sorry but we are not able to move from here. We are searching for terrorists.”
“Could you at least move us to the front of the queue? Then you can quickly see my son and I are not terrorists. I’m really worried about him.”
“Are you travelling just with your son?”
“Yes, we’ve been to the airport to see some friends catch a flight back to England. Then he started complaining about stomach pains.”
“You are English?”
“Yes I am.”
“Where are you from in England?”
“Brighton. Do you know it?”
“I studied in London but I have visited Brighton several times. It is a very nice town.”
“Yes it is. Look, I really think my son urgently needs medical attention.”
The police officer was thoughtful for a second.
“Please help,” Powell pleaded.
He had counted there were only four police officers manning the checkpoint. They were all armed but their weapons were holstered. Powell reckoned he had a better than evens chance of being able to take them all out if necessary. The problem would come afterwards when every cop within the vicinity of Riyadh would swamp the area and make escape almost impossible.
The officer suddenly started shouting at his colleagues. Two of them rushed to remove the barrier they had put across the outside lane to force the traffic to merge.
“Drive up this lane,” the officer instructed. “And stop here.”
“Thank you so much,” Powell replied and ran back towards his car.
He manoeuvred his car to the vacant lane and drove to the front of the queue. He stepped out of the car and the officer opened the rear door and looked inside.
“It hurts so bad, Daddy,” Laila moaned. “Please stop it hurting.”
Powell was certain she had a future as an actress. She was able to play a very convincing sick boy.
The officer glanced around the interior of the car and seeming satisfied, reclosed the door.
“Okay, you can go,” the officer said. “Do you know your way to the nearest hospital?”
“I was going to take her to the King Fahad. We’ve been there before.”
“A good choice. You can go and I wish your son a speedy recovery. And say hello to Choccywoccydoodah. It was my favourite place in Brighton for coffee and cake. ”
“Thank you, officer. My son also loves Choccywoccydoodah.” It seemed slightly surreal, given the circumstances, to be discussing a chocolate shop from back home.
Powell felt he was entitled to speed away and as he looked in the rear view mirror, he saw the officer had already returned to checking other cars.
“Can I stop pretending, now?” Laila asked.
“Yes you can. You did great.”
“Will you take me to Choccywoccydoodah? It sounds fun.”
“I certainly will,” Powell promised.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
Powell was relieved when he saw it was Jenkins calling. He had been worried that he might be sitting in a police cell.
“Where are you?” Powell asked.
“My Swedish taxi friend was staying at the Crowne Plaza so that’s where I am now, loitering around outside. Where are you?”
“I’m not far from you. I’ll come and get you. Be there in about ten minutes.” Powell was pleased he’d invested so much time familiarising himself with the city centre.
He finished the call and immediately rang Martin Thwaite.
“Sorry about the late hour,” Powell apologised. “Jenkins and I need somewhere to spend the night. Can you help?”
“I’ll tell them to expect you at the gate.”
Powell liked that Thwaite didn’t ask unnecessary questions like, ‘why not just book into a hotel?’ Powell wondered if he was perhaps a bit more than just an average banker.
“Thanks, we’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”
Relieved he had at least a temporary solution for the night, he went to the boot of his car and checked on Karim who was still fast asleep. Laila had resumed sleeping on the back seat.
It took less than ten minutes to reach Jenkins.
“Good to see you again,” Jenkins said with a big smile, as he climbed into the passenger seat. “
“And you. Luck is on our side at the moment.”
“Long may it last. Where do we go now?”
“We’re staying at Martin Thwaite’s tonight.”
“That’s a relief. I reckon we have possibly another half an hour before they realise we weren’t on that plane and come looking for us.”
They spent the ten minute journey to the compound updating each other on how they had made it through the police checkpoint.
It was eleven thirty when they finally parked up outside Thwaite’s home. Powell glanced around to make sure no one was about and then lifted Karim from the boot and hurried inside.
The children were put in the spare bedroom and then Tessa made some tea.
“Sorry we can’t offer anything except tea,” Thwaite apologised. “You both look as if you could do with something much stronger.”
“We’re just grateful to have somewhere to rest for the night,” Powell said. “It’s been quite a day.”
“I must admit I wasn’t expecting you to turn up with two children. I assume you are in trouble so I’d be keen to know what I’ve got myself into by letting you stay. For a start, where are the parents?”
Powell decided there was no longer any good reason not to share the truth. “Twelve months ago, their Saudi father, who was married to an English woman, abducted them to live here. He told the kids their mother was dead.”
“So you two were sent to get them back?”
“That was the general idea.”
“Well done,” said Tessa. “The poor mother must be going through hell.”
“It’s good of you to help,” Powell said.
“I was asked to look out for you if I could be of any help,” Thwaite stated. “I assume your presence here signifies everything hasn’t gone according to plan.”
“Sadly true. I had a contact who was going to get us through the airport tonight but the security services were crawling all over the place and no amount of money could motivate him to help us.”
“Do you have a backup plan?”
“Not really. I think our best bet is to get across the causeway to Bahrain.”
“Do the authorities know it’s you two who took the kids?”
“If they don’t yet, they should figure it out quite soon.”
“It’s a five hour drive to Bahrain and then you will still need someone to get you past Saudi passport controls.”
“Do you think Lara might be able to help them?” Tessa asked.
“Lara already put me in touch with the guy at the Embassy, who provided the airport contact,” Powell explained. “I can try him again for a contact at the causeway.”
“Lara may be able to help in other ways,” Thwaite suggested. “I think she has shall we say, a closer relationship to certain useful factions at the embassy than I do.”
“Is she dating someone at the embassy?”
“Look, I’ve signed the Official Secrets Act and shouldn’t be saying anything but when I’m asked to provide some insight into the economy or banking matters, it�
�s Lara who liaises between me and the Embassy.”
“Are you saying she works for the Intelligence Service?”
“I have no idea who exactly she works for but I was invited to the Embassy about a year ago and asked if I was willing to do a service for my country. I was informed Lara would make the requests and take back my responses.”
“I know it’s late but can you give her a call and invite her over?”
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
Martin and Tessa had gone to bed after making everyone some coffee. Powell, Jenkins and Lara were sat around the dining table.
Powell thought there was no point in beating around the bush. “We need help and I believe you are more than just a school teacher.”
“I think Martin has said more than he should.”
“Look, I used to work for the Security Services in my twenties. It’s through old contacts I was given this job.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised. You didn’t seem like banking types.”
“Let me explain what’s happened over the last twenty four hours, then you can see if you can help or not.”
Powell took ten minutes to tell the story of recent events.
“You’ve caused quite a stink,” Lara revealed, when he’d finished. “Abdul Rashid is quite high up in their Intelligence community. I heard on the grapevine something was afoot but I didn’t realise you guys were involved.”
“I thought Baz just worked for their consular service, rubber stamping passports.”
“That was his cover while he was in England. Listen, I shouldn’t tell you this but we suspect him of being linked to the funding of ISIS, which is why he is being closely monitored.”
“But he was present during the mall attack, surely he would have known to stay well away if he was linked to ISIS?”
“That was probably just bad luck. He’s not involved in their daily operations. He’s responsible for funds reaching the terrorists. Although Saudi is now the target of bombing at mosques and malls, the fact is they are also the biggest funders of ISIS.”
“Angela Bennett described her husband as very western in his views and I would have to agree. We’ve been to his house and he didn’t strike me as remotely what I would call radical.”
“I’ve met him a few times at embassy parties. I agree he does seem very western in his attitudes but that just makes him a good actor.”
“So you working in the school is just a cover?” Powell asked.
“It’s not just any school. Some of the highest officials send their children to the school to get a good education and prepare them for going to university abroad. It’s a good place to make contacts.”
“Do the Saudis know what he does?”
“We don’t share this type of information with them. We want to turn him and use him in the future. We think that is more valuable than the Saudi approach. They would just haul him off to jail and torture him until he told them everything he knew before having him executed. He’s no use to us dead.”
Powell understood that developing assets was the name of the game. In his time it had been Catholics willing to provide information about the IRA. Today it was all about Al Qaeda and ISIS.
“I’m worried about Karim,” Powell revealed. “He was sprouting quite radical thoughts when we first took him and saying he didn’t want to go back to England.”
“That is interesting. It helps confirm everything we suspect about Baz. Perhaps his influence is rubbing off on his son. We know Baz isn’t helping ISIS for the money, his family is very wealthy, so he must be a true sympathiser.”
“Or perhaps he is being blackmailed?”
“It’s a possibility but we don’t believe it to be the case. At least, we have no evidence to support such a theory at the current time.”
“So like father, like son.”
“Seems that way. You might not just be returning kids to their mother but saving the world from a future terrorist.”
“If I’m to do that I need to get the children out of the country. Can you help?”
“Normally I would say I can get you across the causeway but I think you need to lie low for a few days and let things get back to normal. Otherwise you might just experience the same result as at the airport.”
“And where do we stay in the meantime? It’s not fair on Martin and Tessa to ask to stay here.”
“You can stay with me. It will be a squeeze but if asked, I will pretend you are my brothers, niece and nephew arrived from England. But no one will ask any questions. The guards on the gate are especially chosen to be able to ignore everything that goes on around them in the compound. The authorities don’t want trouble with the expatriate community.”
Powell glanced at Jenkins. “What do you think?”
“I haven’t any better ideas.”
“Okay, let’s leave the children to sleep now and tomorrow we can move to your place. We shall have to be careful with Karim. He should not be left alone with anyone as we can’t trust what he will say. Keep him away from phones as well.”
“Agreed,” Lara said. “I’m afraid none of you will be able to go out until I make the arrangements for your exit. I’ll have Tessa bring you over tomorrow when I get home.”
“Thanks for your help,” Powell said. “I’m not sure what we would have done without you.”
“I’m sure you would have thought of something. You seem quite resourceful. Rest up and I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
It was lunchtime and as usual Afina was working in the bar. She had organised for the graffiti to be removed the very next day and business hadn’t been affected.
Since the incident, she had been very alert to new people entering the bar and informed all the staff to let her know of anything suspicious. The staff had all seen what was painted on the walls and her request therefore made complete sense and didn’t need any detailed explanations about Gheorghe and his friends.
She immediately recognised the two men who entered as the same men who had previously visited with Gheorghe. She alerted Luke as they were sat at one of the tables he covered.
“They are the same men you told me about before.” Luke stated. “Did they have anything to do with the painting of the walls?”
“I honestly don’t know but it’s possible.”
“We should call the police.”
“And tell them what? Two men have just entered our bar and ordered some food and drink.”
“I’ll go serve them and see what they want.”
The next hour passed quietly enough. Afina kept out of the way of the two men but unlike Gheorghe, they had never met. She hoped she just appeared like any other bar girl going about her work.
Luke reported that they ordered food but on this occasion asked no questions about Powell.
Afina was starting to think they were doing no more than keeping an eye on the bar when she heard the raised voices coming from their table. She could see Luke was talking to the two men, who were obviously complaining about something.
“I’m not paying for this food. It was terrible,” one of the men shouted so the whole bar could hear.
“I’m sorry you didn’t like it, Sir,” Luke answered, politely. “Would you like something else?”
The man stood up and threw the plate on the floor. The people at the adjoining tables turned in shock at the impact of the plate smashing on the wooden floor. Pieces of the plate flew in all directions.
“Hey, watch what you’re doing,” one young man at an adjacent table warned. He was with a pretty girl who had jumped up from the table and was checking her leg where a fragment of the plate had cut her skin.
Luke took a few steps backwards. The two men were intimidating in their size and manner. No one in the bar had any doubt they were dangerous.
Afina reached for her mobile and called the police. Then she approached the two men. “The police will be here in a minute. Get out and don’t come back.”
“This place
is crap,” the second man said, standing. He also threw his plate on the floor, with similar noisy consequences from the plate crashing and people complaining.
“Get out,” Afina screamed.
The man moved surprisingly quickly for someone so big. He swung his hand and slapped her with his palm, flush on her cheek, sending her flying backward to the floor. The noise was heard by everyone and several men rose to their feet intent on helping.
Two men in particular advanced towards the troublemakers.
“The lady asked you to leave,” one of them said, firmly in a foreign accent. He was of average build and dwarfed by the two men he was confronting.
His friend was on his knees checking on Afina.
“Piss off,” the man who had hit Afina swore.
The diner took a step forward but before he could say anything further he was shoved squarely in the chest, propelling him backwards against a nearby table, causing further crockery to fall to the floor.
“Don’t eat here,” the original man to complain shouted loudly. “It will be bad for your health.”
Both men then turned and hurried away. On the way out they tipped up two tables they passed, sending crockery and food flying all over the floor.
Afina was helped back up by a combination of Luke and the man who had gone to her aid.
“Are you alright?” Luke asked, concerned.
“I’m okay.” She tried to smile as she noticed all eyes in the bar were staring in her direction. “I apologise for the disturbance. Please all have a drink with our compliments.”
Afina’s face stung like hell but she was more concerned for the mess all over the floor. “Luke, get the floor cleaned, please.”
“Of course. Do you want me to call the police?”
“I’ve already called them. Just get this place cleaned up.”
The man who had been shoved backwards walked up and also inquired, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. Thank you for helping.”
“I didn’t do much. By the way, my name is Gilles.”
“I’m Afina.”
“This is Johny,” he said, indicating his friend, who was picking smashed plates off the floor.
