The Gilgamesh Conspiracy (12 page)

She went to the back of the car and opened the tailgate and pulled out a small toolbox. She selected a slender metal device and inserted it into the keyhole and began to feel about.

The sound of a powerful diesel echoed through the wadi. Dan swung round and about half a kilometre back he saw a plume of mud and dust churned up by a military half-track. ‘Now would be a good time…’ he began, but just then he heard a metallic clattering and thud as the chain fell clear of the gate. He ran up and helped Emily push the gate open and then jumped back into their vehicle and they drove through into Fujairah. Dan glanced in the rear view mirror and saw the border guard truck pull up beside the open gate. ‘They’re not going to follow us are they?’ he asked, ‘under hot pursuit rules, or something.’

Emily looked back through the rear window. She saw one of the soldiers gazing at them through a set of binoculars. A heavy calibre machine gun was mounted on the back of the truck but nobody swivelled it round to aim in their direction. A few seconds later the wadi curved to the right and the border post was lost from view. ‘No, I expect they’re just going to re-secure the gate. They’ll probably report this vehicle plate number to the people this side.’

‘We should probably change vehicles then,’ Dan suggested.

‘No, we’ll just change the plates,’ Emily replied. ‘There’re two sets of Fujairah plates and another set of Omani in the big tool box. Just drive a bit further and then we’ll switch to Fujairah plates. Another two kilometres and we should hit the road.’

They drove towards the city in a silence that Dan found oppressive. ‘So how long have you been doing this job then?’ he asked.

She looked at him for a moment, inscrutable behind mirrored sunglasses. ‘I’ve been on it for three weeks or so,’ she replied.

‘No, I meant how long have you been working for SIS, or MI6, or whoever you call yourselves these days?’

‘I call myself a free-lance journalist, or I say I work for the Ministry of Overseas Development, ili ya
perevodchik arabskogo yazyka, menya zovut Yekaterina…’

‘Ok! So enough of the personal questions…I get it!’

They drove on for a few more minutes. ‘It’s my birthday tomorrow,’ Dan announced.

‘I know.’

‘Oh…so you know all about me then?’

‘Your full name is Daniel Edward Hall, date of birth 11
th
May 1973, in Lowell near Boston. Your father is an estate agent or realtor I should say, and your mother is a dentist. You went to school in Lowell and then to Carnegie Mellon university where you studied electrical engineering and graduated magna cum laude. After university you lived with your fellow graduate Hayley Denison who left you when you abandoned working for Cavendish Engineering and went to Quantico for officer training in…’

‘Ok! Bloody hell! So you’ve done all this research on me, then, but I don’t know anything about you!’

‘Why would you want to? After this is over, you won’t see me again.’ She resumed her study of the map. Dan stared forward over the steering wheel, wondering why he felt slightly distressed by the conviction in her statement.

‘Sorry, I had no business mentioning Hayley,’ she said after a while, ‘it was totally unnecessary.’

‘No, perhaps you shouldn’t,’ he agreed. ‘Let’s talk about something else.’

‘You could ask me what music I like, who my favourite author is,’ she suggested.

‘What’s this? Opening gambits at the freshmen’s ball?’ he asked. She shrugged in reply and pouted slightly giving him an incongruous, fleeting impression of a sulky teenager.

‘Ok, I like Sibelius and Mozart, and Pink Floyd and REM,’ he said.

‘I love Sibelius,’ she agreed with enthusiasm, ‘but not Mozart much. I prefer Beethoven. Some opera…’

‘I hate opera! All that over the top singing,’

‘I suppose you prefer Country and Western, Dolly Parton or Shania Twain, then.’

‘Well as you mention them…’

After driving for another half an hour they pulled into the car park of the Hilton hotel. ‘Good morning. I’m Emily Stevens and this is Daniel Hall,’ Emily announced to the receptionist. ‘We have rooms booked for three nights.’

The receptionist greeted them in return and then he consulted his computer. ‘Yes I can confirm the reservation, but we have a check-in time of 3pm. Wait a minute please.’ He tapped at the keypad. ‘I can let you have your rooms at about twelve thirty. Until then you are welcome to use our swimming pool and beach club. And by the time you have eaten lunch your rooms will be available.’

‘That’s fine,’ Emily replied after a moment’s consideration, ‘which way is it to the beach club?’

Dan watched Emily swimming up and down the pool. It appeared to be a favourite form of exercise because she swam length after length of fast freestyle without any apparent effort.  After about an hour she emerged dripping water and wrung out her hair, the muscles over her diaphragm pumping in and out, but by the time she had walked over to him her breathing seemed pretty much restored to normal. Through his mirrored sunglasses he stared surreptitiously at her body clad in a bright blue bikini.

‘I need some shade,’ she announced pulling over an umbrella, ‘I’m not oak-tanned like you. Shall we order lunch now?’

They spent a few minutes perusing the menu and then ordered.

‘I’m just going to have a quick shower and get dressed,’ Emily announced.  She returned fifteen minutes later just as the waiter appeared with their meals, and instead of her paramilitary garb she was wearing a light summer dress.

‘Wow, you look like a real girl!’ Dan declared, taking what he thought was a bit of a risk. To his relief she grinned at him and handed him a plastic key card. ‘I’ve checked us in; you’re in 723 and I’m in 708,’ she said, ‘here’s your key.’

During lunch they carried on their conversation and Emily revealed a few details of her life before university. Despite her reticence he enjoyed talking to her and found she had an enchanting laugh that contrasted with her more usual solemn expression. When they had finished eating she looked at her watch. ‘I have to call home now. I’ll see you back here in a few minutes; don’t go away.’

She returned to her room and pulled out an encrypted satellite phone and called her case officer in London. ‘It’s Tate. Do you have the location for me?’ she asked.

‘You’re twenty minutes late!’ he snapped. ‘Your GPS signal shows you’re at the hotel, so I suppose you’ve been lounging by the pool. The goldfish should be in the bowl at about 19:00 local time.’

‘Ok that makes sense as sunset is at 18:30. I expect the red setter plans to go on board this evening. Have you found his room number?

‘He’s booked a suite on the eleventh floor in your hotel under his Belgian name. Nothing further to add. Take care.’

‘Ok thanks, sorry about the lateness.’

Gerry signed off and resumed her seat beside the swimming pool.  ‘Mulholland has a suite on the eleventh floor,’ she announced, picking up her beer. ‘The dhow is due in port at 19:00. I expect he will wait for it to send a message and then he’ll go on board.’

‘How do you know that?’ Dan asked.

‘Your Navy has two aircraft carriers in the area, and they’re keeping an eye on it for us. We’ll stick to plan A, and visit him this evening before he gets his phone call. What will you do until then?’

Dan could think of something they might do together but knew that he would never dare suggest it. Instead he said ‘Do you like sailing? We could take out one of those Hobie Cats over there.’

‘I’m not staying out in this sun, I’d get burnt.’ She looked down at her arms. ‘I’ve got a bit red just swimming. I’m going to take my stuff to my room and then I think I’ll check my e-mails, keep an eye on things. Can you be in your room from say, six o’clock? I’ll be in touch by six-thirty at the latest.’

‘Ok, I’ll be there,’ said Dan. ‘There’s a good breeze, so I think maybe I’ll go windsurfing for a while.’

At 6.15pm Dan heard a knock on his door. He peered through the spy hole and saw a woman dressed head to toe in black abaya and niqab. She was looking back along the corridor so he could not see her face. He opened the door and she turned to face him but the only part of her face visible was dark skin and brown eyes from the bridge of her nose to just above her eyebrows.

‘Er… good evening,’ he said in his best Arabic.

The woman replied in a stream of Arabic that he could not follow but he thought she sounded angry. He used two more of his collection of Arabic phrases. ‘I’m sorry I don’t understand,’ he apologised, ‘can you speak any English?’ The woman had apparently been crouching slightly under the cover of her abaya and now she suddenly straightened up to her full height.

‘I said are you going to let me in or will I have to stand in the corridor all evening, you brainless son of an ass shagged by a camel.’

‘Oh hell it’s you! Very funny!’ he said and stood aside to allow Emily into his room. She sat down and took the abaya off her head and then unfastened the niqab. Her face was its usual colour apart from a broad strip surrounding her eyes which she had darkened with make-up.

‘I’ve been in the lobby coffee shop for the last few hours, from where you I could watch the main entrance. I saw Mulholland come into the hotel about twenty-five minutes ago with two people who are obviously minders, and one other who I’m not sure about. Are you ready to make a move on them?’

‘I’m ready. I’ve been pacing my room for the last hour.’

‘Good. Can I just borrow your loo? I’ve been sitting in that cafe drinking coffee and diet coke and I’m bursting for a pee.’

‘Be my guest,’ Dan replied, feeling slightly guilty that Emily had been maintaining a vigil whilst he had been relaxing on the beach.

‘Right,’ she said emerging a minute later pulling her abaya back into place over her jeans, ‘I expect one or two of the large gentlemen will be stationed outside the room. My plan is that I will walk past them first and then as you walk towards them their attention will be on you. Then we’ll deal with them as planned.’ She repositioned her veil and head covering. ‘Are you ready?’

As the elevator stopped on the eleventh floor Dan held it with a fire-fighter’s override key that Emily had procured. There was one guard outside the room and he watched her walk towards him with her head bowed down modestly and staring towards the floor. He then marched purposefully towards the doorman whom he saw eyeing him suspiciously. The man reached inside his jacket. He did not notice Emily stop and pull her abaya aside and take a Taser out of her belt. There was a snapping sound and a rapid clicking from the weapon and then Dan watched the man tremble violently for a moment and then fall to the ground. He reached inside the guard’s jacket and fumbled around until he found his gun; he stashed it inside his bag and pulled out his own silenced automatic which he shoved against the man’s stomach. Emily pulled the Taser darts out of his neck and gave him some rapid orders.

‘Now you stand very close to the door so you block the view through the spy hole and then when my friend  knocks on the door you say you need to come in to use the bathroom. You will keep your hands behind your back. Don’t make any mistake or my friend will blow your balls off.’ She prodded him in the groin with her own automatic to emphasise the threat. Under stress he had changed from a dangerous looking heavy into a somewhat bemused, overweight, middle-aged man. He did as instructed.

Emily pulled off her Arab garb and stood one side of the door with a Taser at the ready and Dan stood on the other side. He knocked on the door. They waited for about ten seconds and then the door opened.

‘What is it?’ a voice asked from inside. Dan thrust the door wide open and Emily Tasered the man inside and he collapsed.

‘Ok, go in,’ she ordered the first guard and gave him a push. Emily sheltered behind him as he shuffled forward reluctantly and on the far side of the room she saw a third man aiming a gun towards them.

‘Drop it! Emily ordered.

The man fired a shot that whistled past the ear of the guard and narrowly missed her. She reached around her hostage and shot the man in the thigh sending a spurt of blood onto the carpet. Her victim dropped his weapon and fell to the ground screaming.

‘Shut up!’ she called, pointing her gun towards him. He stopped screaming and shuddered and moaned quietly.  Dan ran forward, picked up the gun and checked the bedroom and bathroom.

‘There’s nobody else here; where’s Mulholland?

The guard who had opened the door began to push himself to his feet and Emily placed the Taser against his neck. He began to curse her in a stream of Arabic invective.

‘Be quiet or I’ll blow your head off,’ she ordered, pointing her gun at his face. The man lay still taking short panting breaths.  ‘Ok Smith lets bind them up. You’d better wrap a towel around his leg.’

Dan pulled out his bundle of cable ties and secured their prisoners at the wrists and the knees and ankles. The man with the bullet wound shuddered in pain as he pushed his knees together. Emily glared at them with her gun at the ready.

‘Well it seems Mulholland’s not here, so where is he?’ At first none of them seemed willing to answer, but she pressed the muzzle of her silencer against the temple of the most nervous looking one and repeated the question in Arabic.