by Terry Morgan
CHAPTER 14
Night had fallen as the black BMW pulled up outside the main gate of the Minister of Finance's vast, walled and private villa. Security lighting reflected off the high, gold and silver coloured painted gates and a swarm of moths and insects danced in the light as the leading police car stood stationary in front of the Minister's car as the following car drew alongside. The driver of the BMW got out and opened the rear passenger door. The Minister, a tall, well built man with a heavy black moustache and wearing a light, grey suit climbed out holding tightly on to his brief case. He nodded to the driver, "My guest is staying at the Sheraton Hotel. Please bring him here at nine thirty."
"Yes, sir." The passenger door was closed and the Minister walked towards the double gates that swung open. Then he walked across a well lit gravel driveway, bordered by a row of short palms and rose bushes, the gates closed behind him and he walked the few metres to the double, wooden door of the villa. It, too, opened before he had mounted the three wide, tiled steps. At the door stood a slim woman wearing a long black dress and headscarf, but she moved behind the door as he entered.
She closed the door and faced the Minister. "Have you eaten?" she asked. Her lips were bright red, her cheeks flushed. There was heavy mascara around large dark eyes that flashed nervously.
"It is not important. I will be in my office. A guest will arrive at nine thirty. There are to be no interruptions until he leaves. Just ensure there is coffee Do you understand?"
"Yes."
With that the woman backed away and the Minister walked through a long tiled hallway with a glittering overhead chandelier and white and gold panelled walls, past the foot of the wide, marble stairway and towards a double door of polished wood. Still carrying his brief case he opened the door. As he did so he loosened his tie and walked into a tiled corridor lit by a row of wall lights with tasselled shades and more chandeliers that came on automatically. Through ceiling-high arches, the corridor then opened up into two separate rooms, one on either side of the corridor with white walls and more gold bordered panelling. To his right, the tiled floor was dominated by a circular Chinese carpet, six ornate, white armed chairs, a glass topped table with a vase of silk flowers and a gilt framed painting of a prancing horse. But the Minister turned left, dropped his brief case onto a settee set with gold embroidered cushions and made his way across another Chinese carpet to a glass cabinet. Dragging off his tie completely he dropped it on a wooden table next to a crystal table lamp and turned the key in the cabinet. There he filled a glass with neat whisky, took it to the settee next to his case, stretched out one leg and leaned back into a cushion. He swallowed half the whisky, placed the glass on the table alongside the crystal lamp, clicked open his case, pulled out a mobile phone and pressed a button.
"Akram?" he asked as the call was answered. "You still in Dubai? Is the purchase finalised?" He waited. "Good, now listen. It is about our bloody Italian friend....." He was interrupted, waited and meanwhile took another drink. Then:
"If that is true then it is time we managed without Signore Guido and his friend Toni and that Egyptian, Tawfik. That crazy man Guido is too greedy. He was useful once but I am thinking he is now past his sell by date." He listened once more.
"If he now says you are not good enough, it is because he does not need you. He thinks he can save a commission, cut you out. We must cut him out. These are my instructions. Do you understand? Cut him out. And cut out that Egyptian fool, Tawfik also. Tell him you no longer need him, that you are returning to Pakistan to see your family. Instead, we will deal with things ourselves. We are now in a very strong position. Deal with it Akram. It is urgent."
The Minister switched the mobile off and leaned back on the ornate high backed couch and put the other leg up on the table. He checked his gold watch, drained the last of the whisky and closed his eyes briefly. But then he stood up, went to refill his glass and, as he did so, heard the door to the corridor open. The woman in the long black dress crept down the corridor in soft slippers, walked around the edge of the Chinese carpet and placed a bronze tray with a dallah, a large, Arabic coffee pot and china cups on a long glass topped table next to a jade statue of yet another prancing horse.
"It is nine twenty," she said, "Coffee for your guest." And then she stood, removed her headdress, pulled a clasp and let her long black hair flow across her shoulders. The Minister watched, smiled, looked at her, up and down.
"That is good. Please show him to the room when he arrives. We will be finished in an hour and then........." The woman nodded, smiled, touched her red lips and bowed almost imperceptibly. Then she backed away, turning briefly to smile again as she passed from his sight down the short corridor.
The Minister was still standing with the bottle in his hand. He held it up, checked the Glen Scotia label, raised his glass to something or someone and then drained it.
