by Rob Carnell
There were stacks of currency, some of little use since the Euro took over. The Swiss Francs, British Pounds and U.S. Dollars were of course still legal tender. It seemed every box contained at least some jewelry. There were antique watches, pendants, chains, pearls, emeralds and diamonds both cut and uncut. There were even some blueprints, but they were faded and unreadable.
The most valuable items were quite unexpected. A number of the boxes contained artwork. In some of the larger boxes there were some small vases that looked of Egyptian origin and some Inca looking icons. As well there were some old paintings rolled up inside cardboard cylinders. The cylinders labeled the paintings as Da Vinci, Reubens and Rembrandt.
They took a look at the paintings. They did look old and quite beautiful, but neither Kamal nor Juergen were art experts. They had absolutely no idea of their value, or how to convert their ill gotten gain into cash.
Later that day Juergen made some calls. Through a mutual friend in Rome, Juergen was able to find a tight lipped art dealer called Mario Villani who specialized in working with the Italian Mafia.
Juergen quickly decided that if his confidentiality was of sufficient standard to satisfy the Mafia Dons, then it was good enough for him. The dealer readily agreed to an expenses paid holiday to view the paintings and give an opinion on their authenticity. He arrived promptly the next morning.
"Thank you for coming so promptly Mister Villani" said Juergen.
"I hope I can be of assistance" said the heavily accented Mario Villani, but in truth he really meant "I hope I can make some money!"
"We have come across some artworks and we would like your expert opinion" explained Kamal.
"Of course Sir, may I see the objects?"
Kamal passed over the cardboard rolls. He had earlier wrapped some paper around them so the names on the outside of the rolls would not cloud Villani’s judgement.
The man unrolled each painting with the skill of a neurosurgeon. Kamal did pickup on a small gasp uttered by the dealer when he first saw the Da Vinci.
The dealer first spent considerable time looking at the back of the canvas. Then he waved a strange light over the front. Next he produced a large magnifying glass from his pocket and studied every inch of the paintings in detail. Then he concentrated on the signatures on the bottom right corner. After nearly an hour he was prepared to offer an opinion.
"Where did you get these?" asked the art expert.
"That is not important" replied Kamal.
"But I am afraid it is sir" said the Villani "these paintings are undoubtedly genuine. Museums in particular would be most interested. The Louvre would offer a fortune. However, to sell them via auction at Christie’s, Sotheby’s, or one of the other international auction houses, you would need to establish providence."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Kamal.
"It is the paper trail of the painting and the lineage establishing undisputed title and ownership of the work."
Juergen asked "and what would they be worth without this paperwork you mention?"
"But a fraction of their real worth, I am afraid. They would only appeal to private buyers who would then never be able to exhibit their prize."
"Do you know of any such buyers?" enquired Kamal.
"It is possible. Let me ask around."
"Please do it confidentially" said a nervous Juergen.
"That goes without saying sir. Confidentiality keeps me alive" explained Villani.
"Tell me about the small painting?" this was the one Kamal liked the most.
"Don’t you recognize it? It is the Last Supper. This is the painting that Leonardo Da Vinci did in preparation for his contract to paint a larger version on the chapel wall in Milan. It is perhaps the second most valuable painting in history behind the Mona Lisa. This is the most exquisite painting that I have ever seen. It has been missing for nearly one hundred and fifty years and it is worth a king’s ransom."
Kamal pulled out the gold ingot.
"I also have some of these Nazi ingots. Do you know anyone that may be interested in them?"
"I do have some customers in Germany. I will see what I can arrange."
When the art dealer had left, Juergen whispered to Kamal "I fear the Da Vinci is too hot to handle. It will cause us trouble in the future. I think we should destroy it."
Kamal had a better idea "I think so too Juergen. Leave it to me, I will dispose of it. In the meantime, I would like to take the submarine log and study it, is that all right with you."
"Good idea. It must be very valuable to someone, perhaps you can determine it’s significance."
Chapter 24
Balances Bank
Lucerne, Switzerland
21 Years Ago
* * *
JUERGEN WAS terrified so he immediately called Kamal in Riyadh on his private cell phone.
"Kamal, it’s Juergen, we have a major problem" Juergen spat out in a staccato stream.
"Slow down, what is the problem Juergen?"
"A lady came to the bank today. Her mother had died recently and she was given a letter from the family lawyer. Apparently the old lady was married to a Nazi officer who was executed following the Nuremburg trials. The letter was a statement of assets and contained a key to one of our now empty boxes. What do we do?" asked Juergen with a quivering voice.
"What did you tell her?"
"I told her we would need to establish her rightful claim to the box, but she did not buy it. She threatened to contact the Swiss authorities tomorrow if we did not give her the contents of the box. She has a complete list of the contents."
"I see, was it a valuable box?"
"Absolutely, it was the Da Vinci! Do you still have it?"
"Oh, I see. Do you have the details of the woman? I will talk to her. I am sure I can sort something out."
"Of course Kamal" and Juergen gave Kamal the contact information for the woman.
"Do not worry Juergen. Carry on with business as usual. I will be able to fix the problem."
Kamal made a telephone call to his old friend Roy in Boston. Roy made some more calls to his contacts in Paris. They in turn knew someone in Switzerland.
The next day Juergen telephoned Kamal again.
"Kamal, do not worry about contacting the woman. We are so fortunate! I read about her in the newspaper this morning. It seems she was murdered in her home by a knife wielding thief. The whole apartment was burned including all her papers."
Juergen shivered when Kamal replied "Yes, I know. I told you I would fix it. Call me immediately if anything like this ever happens again."
Chapter 25
Gorski Electronics Plant
Moscow, Russia
September 10, 2001
* * *
SINCE THE chance meeting decades earlier with Osama bin Laden, unknowingly, Kamal had been groomed to take over the running of Bin Laden’s organization. Little by little, "The Sheikh" as Bin Laden preferred to be known had become more and more dependent on his young friend Kamal.
Bin Laden had of course orchestrated the chance meeting at the mosque decades earlier. He just wanted to get a hold of some of the money Kamal would inherit in the future. However Bin Laden soon recognized a brilliant young mind as well.
The transformation began slowly. Initially Kamal was tasked with relaying the odd message, but soon began helping with procurement and logistics. Later on he had even suggested targets, and was able to supply sophisticated electronics to neutralize security systems. Kamal was extremely cunning and he was able to assist with the business of terrorism while never appearing on any wanted list. His cover of an international businessman was just perfect.
Kamal was in an office at the electronics plant that his father had initially founded many years ago. It started as a very low tech venture, but was now at the forefront of global technology.
With cheap labor readily available in Russia, Kamal had rebuilt this plant nearly seven years ago. The thing that really amazed him was how
good the Russian workers were. He had heard stories of communist indifference to work, but Kamal saw none of that. Those that worked in his plant realized they were lucky to have such a good job, and they worked tirelessly.
Russian Universities are first class institutions with a long history of excellence. They are particularly strong in the engineering disciplines, and Kamal was able to afford the best and brightest graduates. There were even three PhDs in his office here. One of these had previously been working with the Soviet military on ignition systems for weapons research. Kamal was able to coax him from academia with an offer he could not refuse.
This was a regular visit, Kamal spent a week there every second month ensuring that things were going well.
This particular plant was producing communications equipment. His designers had developed a router much more powerful than anything Cisco had available, but Kamal made them shelve this project to work on projects of more immediate use. These would later come to market via his Chinese operation.
The plant produced radio systems that were sold all through Europe and the Middle East. Taxi systems, CB radios, walkie talkies, and even mobile telephones were made here.
However, the most important project as far as Kamal was concerned, was the development of 100% secure communications. Speech from a mobile telephone handset was converted to a digital signal which was heavily encrypted using advanced algorithms. This was then sent across a regular telephone line, but was diverted on many hops around the globe on the way. In this way, not only was the conversation completely secure, but the source of the signal was totally untraceable.
"You have a visitor Mr. Pashwari" said Eva the pretty redheaded receptionist via the intercom system.
"I am expecting no-one, who is it?" asked Kamal.
"He is a very tall man with blue eyes and a strange accent. He would not leave his name but said you would know him from his description" reported Eva.
Kamal knew instantly the identity of the mysterious stranger, "Please direct him to my office. Bring us tea. Then ensure we are not disturbed".
When he opened the door, he was surprised to see The Sheikh wearing western style dress, carrying a briefcase. Gone were his telltale hat and bushy beard.
They embraced warmly at the door for more than fifteen seconds.
"Welcome, come in my old friend" beckoned Kamal.
When they had both gotten comfortable and Eva had brought tea and departed, the conversation began. Both men knew that Kamal’s office was totally secure and they were able to converse freely.
"What brings you to Russian my friend?" asked Kamal.
"There are things soon to happen that will ensure we may never be able meet again" said bin Laden.
"Tomorrow there will be an attack on the ’Great Satan’ which will bring them to their knees. I will probably become the most sought after person in history. I am going back to the hills in Afghanistan. I will avoid all technology to ensure we remain undetected." The Sheikh explained.
"Can I help with this attack? I am prepared to do anything." asked an anxious Kamal.
"That is the reason I have come here to see you Kamal. I have a far more important task for you. Are you still prepared to do anything to help?"
"You have but to ask," said Kamal with excitement.
"I wish you to take over my organization while I am in hiding" smiled bin Laden.
Kamal was astounded, "But I am not capable, and besides, I have a business to run."
"That is exactly why you are the perfect person to take control. You have so much money that funding will not be a problem, and you can travel the world without raising suspicion because of your extensive business interests."
"Of course, I will do what I can to help, but I am not sure I am capable of becoming a warrior leader of Islam" said a nervous Kamal.
"What is needed is someone who can travel the world and unite our brothers. There are other organizations such as Jamiya Islamaya in Indonesia, Hamas in Gaza and Lebanon, and the SPLA in Sudan just to name a few. Now is the time to work together for our common good."
They chatted intently for nearly three hours, with only breaks for the bathroom, and to get more tea.
"Thank you Kamal, I know you will do whatever is needed" said Osama bin Laden as they embraced again.
Bin Laden pushed the briefcase into Kamal’s hand and said "Everything you need to know is in this briefcase, guard it with your life."
The Sheikh turned around and walked into infamy.
Osama had known that the wrath of the whole western world would descend upon him when the two aircraft smashed into the World Trade Centre in New York on September 11 2001. He went into hiding in the mountains of Afghanistan. Without fanfare, Kamal quietly assumed the mantle of the terrorist leader of the Muslim world.
Because of the untold wealth of his family, both funds "on the books" and those inherited from his father’s numbered Swiss bank accounts, Kamal was able to fund terrorism to an extent never seen before. Yet, the funds were never traced back to him since these amounts were so trivial compared to his vast fortune.
But he still longed to have contact with his mentor Osama bin Laden. Kamal knew that even one encrypted radio signal from the mountains of Afghanistan could cause the death of his old friend. They did have an emergency procedure in place if contact was absolutely necessary, but they both knew this was a last resort.
Chapter 26
Heathrow International Airport
London, England
July 5, 2005
* * *
KAMAL LOVED his regular visits to London. His father first brought him here as a young man and he loved the history of the place. Besides it had lots of memories for him.
Of all the western cities in the world, this was the one most accepting of the Arab culture.
Even Harrod’s, the most famous department store in the world located in the upmarket Knightsbridge area, was now owned by the Egyptian businessman Mohamed al Fayed.
Heathrow airport even had specific immigration counters for speedy processing of Arab business travelers.
"Welcome Mr. Pashwari. Enjoy your visit to the United Kingdom" said a pretty girl with a broad Scottish accent who stamped his passport without delay.
A limousine was waiting for him. It took nearly an hour for Kamal to be settled into his suite at the famous Savoy Hotel.
The Savoy is a London institution. It has been a landmark in The Strand in the heart of the West End theatre district since it opened in 1889. His three thousand pound a night room had an excellent view of the river. The red and white marble bathroom was larger than many complete London apartments.
Kamal picked up his mobile phone and punched the number for Ben Naqi. Ben was the product of an English mother and a Kuwaiti father, and ran a business specializing in tending to the needs of his extensive clientele of wealthy Arabian visitors. His trademark was utmost confidentiality. Of all his customers, Kamal was by far the wealthiest, and Ben ensured Kamal was looked after personally.
Ben Naqi picked up the phone on the first ring and said "as-salaamu ’alakyam" the traditional Arab greeting. It always amused Kamal to hear Ben’s broad cockney accent which belied his outwardly Arabic appearance.
"Hello Mr. Pashwari, can I assume you are once again visiting our fair city?"
"Yes Ben, I will be here for a couple of days".
"Is it business or pleasure sir?" enquired Ben.
"A little of both I am glad to say."
"What would you like me to arrange for you Sir?" asked Ben, already beginning to contemplate his huge fee.
They spoke for about five minutes and Ben took careful notes about what was required by Kamal. There was no question if any request could be fulfilled. It was just a question of logistics, since money was no object.
Kamal then left the hotel for a short walk to the underground rail network known as The Tube. He spent the whole day riding the underground train system, making notes on a notepad in Arabic. On the w
ay back to his room he purchased some paper and envelopes at a convenience store.
When he returned to the hotel, he showered and dressed. He put on a pair of surgical gloves and opened the paper and envelopes.
He condensed the notes he had taken earlier in the day and wrote in English a list of four transport stops onto a piece of paper. He wrote in large block letters. This he placed in an envelope and slipped the envelope into his inside coat pocket.
Kamal checked his watch. It was nearly 6.15pm.
He had time to dispose of the rubber gloves before there was a quiet rap on the apartment door.
"Come in Claudia, it is wonderful to see you again" said Kamal as he stepped aside to allow the stunning twenty five year old young lady to enter. As the door slammed shut, she put her arms around Kamal’s neck and kissed him fervently. Claudia Timms was previously a catwalk model, but preferred the higher income generated as an escort to the rich and famous, or sometimes even the infamous.
"I am so glad you are here Kamal, I have missed you."
Claudia was magnificently attired in a body hugging white full length dress from Chanel which emphasized her slim figure and her five feet nine inch height. She wore elegant gold sandals with two inch heels, which were hard to see as the dress was so long. Her long bright red hair was worn up and she had a simple short gold necklace around her delicate neck.
"You look ravishing my dear, is that the dress that I bought for you on my last visit?"
"Yes Kamal. This is the first time I have worn it" replied Claudia lying easily.
Kamal was dressed in a black dinner suit which fitted perfectly courtesy of an expensive Saville Row tailor.
Claudia pulled two theatre tickets from her small gold purse and passed them to Kamal. "We need to be seated by 8.15pm for the 8.30 start. Perhaps we should leave for dinner immediately so we won’t have to rush." But in truth, the real reason was that since she would have to spend the night with him anyway, she could put off his groping for a few hours yet.
