by Rob Carnell
There was no need to venture too far for dinner since also in The Strand was the one hundred and seventy year old Simpson’s, one of London’s best restaurant traditions.
"Welcome Sir", said the maitre de, "it is good to see you here again." Prior reservations were essential at Simpson’s-in-the-Strand, but that certainly did not apply to Kamal.
"Thank you Henry, we have a theatre booking for an 8.30pm start, can you work around that?"
"Of course Mr. Pashwari, let me show you to your table."
Henry led them to a quiet table at the back of the restaurant against the left wall, adorned with a sparkling white table cloth and Sheffield silverware.
Kamal and Claudia sat and perused the menu, but really there was little choice since everyone came to Simpson’s to eat the roast beef. It is wheeled past on large antique silver domed trolleys, and carved to perfection by professional master carvers.
The appetizer they had both chosen arrived fifteen minutes later, accompanied by a chilled glass of French Sancerre white wine.
The steamed asparagus spears served with Hollandaise sauce were an ideal forerunner for the roast beef, which was served to the table after just the right delay. The trolley was wheeled over by a young man who positioned it just right before beating a hasty retreat. Almost immediately a much older man in a sparkling white chef’s outfit came over for the carving production.
"How would you like your roast beef Miss?" began the restaurant theatre production.
"I will have mine medium please. I am not too hungry, so just one slice with lots of gravy if you don’t mind." Claudia had obviously been here before. The gentleman carved a slice as instructed, but since she was only getting one, he made it nearly an inch thick!
When this was served, the master carver turned to Kamal, "And you sir?"
"Do you have something quite rare? No gravy please, but perhaps some Béarnaise sauce."
"Very good sir, coming up" with a flourish he cut two slices from the thicker end of the beef ensuring they were rare as requested.
When the trolley was pushed away, another waiter arrived with the sauce for Kamal, together with a selection of mustards.
The quite elderly sommelier arrived at the same time with two glasses of red wine. "I thought you may enjoy a glass of wine with your roast. This is The Grange. It is produced in the colonies by Penfolds winery in Australia. Many think this is the finest Shiraz in the world.
"Thank you, this is indeed a fine wine" said Kamal after first swirling it around his glass, sniffing the bouquet, and sloshing it around his palate.
"May I ask you a question?" Kamal said as the wine waiter was shuffling away.
The man turned slowly "Of course sir, go ahead."
"I have been coming to Simpson’s for more than twenty years since my father first brought me here. Every time I have been here, you have served the wine. Tell me, how long have you been working at Simpson’s?" asked Kamal with interest.
"It is good of you to remember me sir. I do recall your father bringing you here that first time. It seems like just yesterday. He had a devil of a time getting you to take a sip of the wine that day. I have been working at Simpson’s for nearly fifty years. Before that my father worked here for a similar time. I am hoping to clock up a century of service between the two of us before I retire."
Simpson’s was like that.
Kamal looked at his watch, it was nearly 8pm.
"I will be back in a moment" whispered Kamal as he stood and strode to the elegant bathroom.
Kamal entered the second stall and put on another pair of gloves from his pocket. Then he took the envelope from his pocket and hid it behind the stacked rolls of toilet paper at the back of the bathroom. When he had finished, he flushed the latex gloves. Kamal had no desire to leave fingerprints on the letter.
By the time Kamal had rejoined Claudia at their table, the letter had already been retrieved by a dark skinned waiter.
Chapter 27
Pickwick Club
London, England
July 5, 2005
* * *
THE CASINO clubs in London were often hosts to groups of Arabs wearing the Dish-dash-ah, the traditional white one piece dress that covers the whole body. Their heads were also usually covered with the Shumagg scarf secured to the head with the black band at the top called an Ogal. The casinos had little choice but to ignore their rules about no head coverings on the premises, since in reality it was the rich Arabs who kept these establishments going.
Kamal was however in non-traditional dress tonight and was welcomed with open arms as he strode in with the beautiful redheaded Claudia hanging off his arm.
The play they had attended earlier in the evening was actually quite boring and Kamal had suggested they leave early to go somewhere with a little more excitement.
Kamal flashed a membership card for the establishment and they walked directly to the roped off high rollers area at the back of the casino. Somehow the rope parted as they arrived and Kamal took a seat at an empty blackjack table. Claudia stood behind.
There was credit already established for Kamal here, and he was passed a stack of one thousand pound chips together with a docket to sign.
Once the paperwork was out of the way, Kamal placed one chip on each of the last three boxes. He was dealt a blackjack on the first box, twenty on the second and thirteen on the last.
The dealer’s hole card was a five. Kamal elected not to take any cards since five is the dealer’s worst card. Most amateur players mistakenly believed the six was the dealer’s worst hole card. But Kamal knew that because the dealer could draw only one card if it were an ace, the five was marginally better for the player. Kamal had done the math.
The dealer busted as Claudia had hoped. Kamal was instantly three and a half thousand pounds richer.
This went on for nearly an hour by which time after parlaying and betting progressively more, Kamal had won a quarter of a million pounds. Not bad for a night’s work! He grabbed a couple of thousand pound chips off the top before pushing the rest of the chips forward and announcing "Cash please." Kamal passed the two chips to Claudia who secreted them instantly into her purse. "Just credit my London account with the proceeds" Kamal said to the pit supervisor.
"I will just be a moment" said Claudia on her way to the bathroom. On the way back she detoured via the cashier to collect her windfall and folded the wad of bills into her purse.
There was a car waiting to take them back to the suite at the Savoy.
Chapter 28
Savoy Hotel
London, England
July 5, 2005
* * *
BY THE time Kamal had emerged dripping wet from the scalding hot shower Claudia was already naked and propped up on a fluffy pillow in the king size bed. Her beautiful breasts peeked playfully over the sheets and her red hair cascaded down the pillow.
"Hurry and get dry darling, I can’t wait to hold you" purred Claudia. She noticed the unusual item around his wrist.
"Don’t you ever take off that bracelet?" she asked.
"Never my dear, it is my good luck charm."
"Then come over here and get lucky."
Kamal had only so much self-restraint and toweled himself quickly before falling into Claudia’s waiting arms.
They kissed passionately for a few minutes until Kamal could wait no longer.
Kamal was a selfish lover at the best of times, but after wine with dinner and champagne at the casino, this was far from a satisfying liaison for Claudia. Yet, her performance was worthy of an Oscar, and Kamal never even considered for a second that Claudia may not be actually enjoying their time together.
It did not take long for sleep to claim Kamal. He had another big day away from prying eyes.
Kamal’s view of Islam was that it did not really apply to him, particularly while he was visiting another country. Drinking, gambling and extra-marital sex were fine as long as he did not get caught in the act by the more milita
nt fringe.
Chapter 29
Transport System
London, England
July 7, 2005
* * *
FOR THE previous twenty years, the social fabric of England had been changing. There had been huge levels of immigration from the West Indies and India. In more recent years, it was the Muslim population that had increased rapidly. One in seven children does not speak English as their first language.
There is a ready supply of freedom fighters who are actually born in England, but had been taught to hate by the militant Islamic fringe.
The first ever coordinated attack on the London transport system began at 8.50am.
Three bombs exploded within fifty seconds of each other.
The first casualty was the underground train 204 east bound on the Circle line. The train had left the King’s Cross station eight minutes earlier.
Bomb number two covered the westbound Circle line and train 216 had just left Edgeware Road Station when it erupted into a fireball.
The Piccadilly line is a deep level underground line and train 311 had just left King’s Cross station when the rear of the first carriage disintegrated.
Nearly an hour later there was a fourth explosion on a red double decker bus.
The death toll for the day numbered fifty six, including the four suicide bombers. Nearly seven hundred passengers were injured.
Due to the open nature of the bus explosion, the body of the suicide bomber was in much better shape. This was the only body that could be positively identified. He was a kitchen hand at Simpson’s in the Strand restaurant. In his jacket pocket, the police located a scrap of paper on which the locations of the four bombings were written in large block letters. There were exact locations, and times given to maximize the carnage caused.
Finger print analysis of the paper was unable to find any prints except for those of the deceased bomber.
Chapter 30
Grand Hyatt Hotel
Nusa Dua Beach, Bali, Indonesia
October 2, 2002
* * *
BALI IS a small tropical island in the Indonesian archipelago. It bisects the Indian Ocean and the Java Sea. The population is ninety five percent Hindu, with Islam accounting for most of the balance.
However, the Indonesian nation as a whole has a much different mix. In fact at eighty eight percent Muslim, there are nearly two hundred million followers of Islam in Indonesia. It is by far the largest Muslim country on earth.
Kamal was on the way home to Saudi Arabia from his annual pilgrimage to the electronics trade show in Las Vegas. He advised his pilot to alter their flight plan to allow for a few days rest in Bali.
By the time the luxury jet had landed, Kamal’s secretary back in Riyadh had made the accommodation arrangements.
While the pilot was staying near the airport, Kamal always opted for more luxurious surroundings. The Grand Hyatt Hotel, the crown jewel of resorts was on the other side of the island at Nusa Dua. A white limousine was waiting for him on arrival, and the pilot loaded his two heavy suitcases into the trunk for the forty five minute trip to the hotel complex. He was checked in by 10am.
Swimming was not Kamal’s strongest sport. In fact, there was no way he was actually going into the seawater. He had read reports of weak swimmers being swept away with the tide. The pool was much more to his taste, and this far from his home, he thought it appropriate to sip on a Pina Colada whilst sunning himself.
He enjoyed viewing the bikini clad tourists lingering around the pool.
There was a wonderful buffet lunch available, and Kamal went back for a second helping of the crab.
He had arranged to join a commercial tour in the afternoon.
He was picked up at the hotel, and they visited the handicraft village of Obud, higher up on the island. Then they stopped at the monkey forest.
"Are you enjoying the tour?" Kamal was asked by a small Asian fellow tourist.
"Yes, but monkeys scare me" answered Kamal truthfully, but using the pre-arranged authentication phrase.
They wandered away from the rest of the group so they could chat unobserved.
"I am Amrozi. Thank you for coming to Bali" the man began.
"It is my pleasure to meet you, I have heard much about your organization here. It is better that you do not know my name" said Kamal.
"Of course sir, we don’t have much time before the tour moves on to watch the Legong Dance at the Ubud Palace. Our plans are in place, but we need money for the explosives. Can you help us?" asked Kamal.
"Yes, maybe I can assist you. Meet me on the beach outside the Grand Hyatt hotel at 10pm tonight" said Kamal who walked back to the tour party. They went to watch the dancing and Kamal was excited seeing the dark skinned girls dancing in their colorful costumes.
He was delivered back to his hotel at 9pm, and he was able to squeeze in a quick snack and a beer before grabbing his larger suitcase and walking out into the balmy night. His villa backed onto the beach, and he was able to slip out unobserved.
Amrozi was hiding under a bunch of palm trees. They shook hands warmly.
"Is that the money?" asked the anxious Indonesian when he noticed Kamal carrying the suitcase.
"It is something much better. It is military grade explosives, I understand you know how to use this product?" asked Kamal.
Amrozi’s jaw dropped "How did you get this here? Security is tight in Bali".
"Everything is possible" explained Kamal, who neglected to mention that having your own private jet made customs checks of any kind a rarity.
"Of course we know how to use this! We are experts. Most of our people are ex-military. I cannot begin to thank you for your help. What can I do for you in return?" asked Amrozi.
"The only thing I ask is that you never mention my involvement here" said Kamal, "it must remain a secret between us so that I can continue to help our other Islamic brothers".
"Of course sir, I will never reveal this to another soul."
The men parted ways and went off into the silent night.
When Kamal returned to his room, the beautiful sixteen year old girl was already waiting for him naked in his bed. She was wearing a bright red wig.
The girl was not quite as co-operative as Kamal required, but a firm backhanded slap seemed to make her more agreeable.
Kamal left for home the next day.
Ten days later, at 11.05pm a suicide bomber detonated a backpack explosive device inside Paddy’s Pub, a nightclub popular with western tourists. As both the injured and uninjured revelers fled the club, a much larger device was detonated. This bomb was hidden in a white Mitsubishi van located outside the Sari Club on the other side of the road. All that was left when the van exploded was a four foot deep smoking crater.
The death toll was two hundred and two, comprising mostly tourists in their twenties and thirties as well as a few Balinese workers. The largest group among those killed, were Australian tourists who numbered eighty eight. Many more suffered horrific injuries and burns.
The Indonesian authorities worked diligently to track down the bombers. Indonesian Police and the military were given a great deal of latitude in their enquiries.
Those involved, and even some of those who were not, were eventually arrested.
That is, all except for the suicide bombers. They were of course blown to pieces.
Chapter 31
Mehrabad Airport
Tehran, Iran
2003
* * *
THE PRIVATE jet landed safely on the tarmac despite having previously declared an emergency with a mayday call to Tehran tower. Emergency vehicles lined the runway. The Cessna Citation business jet had cited engine trouble and was granted an emergency landing shortly afterward.
After being towed to a remote site on the airfield, a dirty dark windowed non-descript sedan drove up to the plane and a robed figure loped up the aircraft stairs.
"Welcome Ayatollah" said Kamal.
"Thank you f
or your continuing support" replied the visitor Ayatollah Hillali.
Hillali had come a long way from the Imam of the small Boston mosque to become one of the most influential mullahs in Iran, but his age was starting to show, his beard was snow white and he now walked with a pronounced limp.
"It is good to see you teacher" said Kamal as they embraced.
"What was so important as to warrant a secret visit?" questioned Hillali.
"In good time, let me get you some tea. Please sit."
After Hillali was comfortable, Kamal went over to the galley. He soon heated some water in the microwave and prepared two cups of steaming tea.
"You too have come a long way since Boston" announced the old man.
"Not as far you have come, teacher" responded Kamal reverently.
Hillali nodded to acknowledge the compliment.
"This is a beautiful aircraft" said Hillali anxious for an invitation to look around.
Kamal remembered the empty Chivas scotch bottles in the sink, and changed the subject instantly.
"I am sorry there is not time to show you around teacher, as I must leave almost immediately. May I get down to business, teacher?" asked Kamal on the fly.
"Of course Kamal, I understand the pressures of international business" said Hillali unfazed.
"I have been contacted by some friends in Gaza" began Kamal.
Both men instantly knew that this meant Hamas insurgents.
"I want to help with the destabilization of Israel. My friends believe that they can run a constant barrage of rocket fire into Israel if they can obtain the necessary technology and hardware" explained Kamal.
