Cold Blood (30 page)

“I don’t need your congratulations, I need your help.” Patchem paused as they exited a roundabout. “Look, I’m a Russian specialist. Our Director General knows this, but she insisted. Aidan, to be candid, I know bugger all about the Middle East, that’s why I need operatives on whom I can rely. I brought you into Six, Aidan, because I was impressed by what you did in Kyiv and how you did it.”

“Thanks Jack, but I’m no Middle East expert either.”

“The ‘Arab Desk’ is in a mess and I don’t know who I can trust there.” Patchem had yet to fully assess the desk staff. “I need my own team.”

They arrived at Snow’s flat. “So what’s my assignment?”

“There isn’t one, yet.”

Patchem brought the Lexus to a halt. There was a silence. He stared into the distance.

“Are you ok?”

“Durrani was a friend.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What? Oh, I see. Yes. It’s been a trying day.”

“Thanks for the lift.”

“Thanks for listening.”

“Do you want a drink?”

“Want, yes. Allowed? No. Jacquelyn is expecting me home.”

*

Riyadh
,
Saudi Arabia

There was a strange noise in the air and a familiar smell in his nostrils that he could not quite place. Burning oil! The Saudi whipped off his thin bed sheet and rushed to the window.

Flames were leaping from his garage, worst still they were moving towards his Rolls Royce Phantom! Struck dumb he was unable to call out to his security guard as the flickering flames reflected hypnotically off of his bedroom window. He opened completely the French window and nervously moved onto the balcony, the heat like an oven on his face.

Finding his voice, Al Kabir yelled guard. Two shadows darted beyond the perimeter wall towards a pick-up truck. Without lights, the truck moved away into the darkness of the desert. There was a rushing sound and suddenly an explosion from the garage, quickly followed by another. A wall of flames raced towards Al Kabir’s newest car, his hands gripped the railings on his balcony but before he could move or utter another word the Rolls Royce was engulfed.

Fouad Al Kabir awoke from his mid-morning snooze with a start. It had not been a dream. The fire had caused over a million dollars’ worth of damage. In addition to the Phantom, two more expensive vintage Rolls’ had been destroyed. The oldest had wooden wheels and had belonged to his grandfather. He stood. They were irreplaceable; this was why Prince Fouad Al Kabir was so angered and saddened. He had already ordered a new Phantom, but the others! Fouad kicked the remaining wall to the garage in despair. This was terrible on a personal level, but an outrage on a national level; he, Prince Fouad Al Kabir of the House of Saud had been attacked! It was unprecedented. He was not fearful, the concept had never entered his head, but upset.

Twenty more members of the Saudi Arabian Royal Guard Regiment, the unit with the unique task of protecting the Royal house of Saud, now patrolled his ‘palace’. His brother said he had been foolish to have stayed at his small place in the desert, but security was not a concept that Fouad could fully understand. He was Royalty so why should he be in any danger? Unlike his brothers – especially Umar, Fouad did not like to leave the Kingdom. He was happy to stay within its borders and play at being a businessman and scholar.

There was a buzzing from under his robes. Puzzled he retrieved his Vertu and answered. “Yes?”

“Your Highness, peace be upon you. I hope you are well?” The voice asked in classical Arabic.

“And you. Who is this?” Fouad noted the number was withheld.

“I am a humble servant of God.” The voice had a lyricism.

“As I am. And?” Every Muslim was a servant of God; the caller was stating the obvious.

“He instructed me to burn your English cars.”

“What?” Fouad couldn’t have heard correctly. “You burnt my cars?”

“That is correct your highness.”

Fouad was incensed. “Then you will be punished.”

“If it is ‘His’ will.” The caller paused; he could hear the Prince breathing heavily on the other end. “Burning your precious cars was a way to get your attention. Now do I have it?”

Fouad held onto a palm tree to steady himself, he couldn’t understand what was happening. “What do you want?”

“You sit on the board of directors of Saudico, the world’s largest supplier of oil. “ The caller paused again.

Fouad did not know how to react; here a stranger was speaking to him in a very impertinent manner. “Yes I do.”

“You must order the company to immediately cease supplying oil to the infidels.”

Fouad paused then started to laugh heartily. “If you were not going to die for destroying royal property, I would find you a very funny man.”

The caller grew angry. “Do not mock me you fool.”

“What!” Fouad ended the call. He had never ever been insulted in such a way.

Fouad walked towards the terrace and snapped his fingers as a signal that he wanted a cold drink. Could he have the call traced? He would ask the Police chief. Just as he was about to sit the phone vibrated again.

“Yes?”

“That was unwise, to end the call in such a way.”

Fouad’s thumb hovered over the cancel button. “Any leniency I may have shown towards you has just been withdrawn. You will be executed for both your actions and your remarks.” That would surely make this unknown person repent.

The caller was again calm. “Stop supplying oil to the west or your daughter will be the one to be executed.”

Fouad dropped his glass. It smashed on the tiled floor. Immediately a servant hurried to clean it up, the Prince pushed him away. “What did you say?”

“Princess Jinan…”

“Don’t you dare mention her name…” He was redder than he had ever been before.

“Princess Jinan is no longer at her School. We have her.”

Fouad felt dizzy. He spluttered with rage and waved his arms to attract the attention of his guards. “You lie.”

The line went dead, the caller had disconnected at his end. The Prince’s brain tried to process the information; he had several people to call but did not know who to call first. The commander of the guards arrived and bowed.

“Call your men who protect my daughter! Immediately!!”

The man bowed again and vanished into the house. Fouad dialled his brother’s number from memory and held the phone to his ear. As he did so the military officer reappeared holding a different handset.

“Your highness.”

Fouad snatched the Nokia and looked at the screen. What he saw made his heart stop. It was a picture of his daughter with a gun to her head. The Prince could feel his heart racing, he clutched his right hand to his podgy chest…he couldn’t breathe. He slumped into a chair. His Vertu had now connected with his brother in England who was calling his name. Panic set in as the Prince’s entourage rushed to revive him.

“Your Royal Highness.” At the other end of the line in London, the voice of the Commander of the Guards was clear and precise. “Prince Fouad is unwell.”

“How?” Prince Umar was concerned for his favourite younger brother.

“He has fainted Your Highness from learning of some bad news.”

“Which is?”

Major Hammar did not quite know how to deliver the news. “Someone has kidnapped the Princess.”

“Kidnapped? But she is in Brighton, at Roedean.” The prince in the Saudi Embassy was suddenly anxious.

*

Shoreham by Sea, United Kingdom

Fox checked his watch. The job interview in central London had been a complete waste of time, in and out in less that and hour. The interviewer – some hair gelled kid in his twenties – had attempted to grill Fox about his suitability for the job. A job that he was overqualified for. The boy had seemed offended when Fox had refused point blank to elaborate on his military career. His CV mentioned only his parent unit, the Gordon Highlanders and not ‘the Regiment’.

On Fox’s way out he’d seen the other applicants, ten years younger and twenty pounds fatter. He had no chance and didn’t give a ….he turned into his street and saw a familiar car. The dark red BMW Z4 of his former boss, Leo Sawyer, parked four houses away on the bend. Complete with number plate that indeed did confirm he was a ‘wanker’, LE07 SAW. Fox frowned. Why would the jumped up salesman be here? A dark thought struck him, and an anger of the type he had not felt for years, deep inside. Fox stopped and retrieved his mobile, dialling Tracy’s number he continued up the street then saw her car in the drive. A mini moto buzzed past him from behind making him flinch. Silly old git, getting jumpy.

“Where are you?” She answered.

“Just getting on the train at Victoria, and you?” He lied, eyeing her car in the drive.

“Still in the office, should be home when you are though. I’m just seeing to something.”

Fox almost threw the phone but managed to control himself. He snapped it shut. ‘Eagle Eye Action Man’ was shagging his wife. He walked down the path, dropping his jacket and briefcase onto the grass, then tried to open the door. It was closed from the inside – the key still in the lock. He could feel the anger rising as he pressed the bell. There was no answer. He started to bang, then pound with his fists. “Open the door!”

There was movement inside, a twitch from a curtain. Fox took a step back and was about to shout again when another mini moto shot past. He turned in the direction of the noise just as two saloon cars swept into the road. Both were going too fast for the bend.

Fox watched on and, as though he were seeing it in slow motion, the first swerved to avoid the youth on the mini moto. The bike bounced up onto the curb and carried on but the car hit the opposite curb and the wall to the garage compound.

There was a heavy crunch and shrieking of metal as the Ford Mondeo hit the wall. The second car some fifteen meters behind slammed on its brakes and stopped sideways on. At the same time noises and movement from his house. Fox ran across the road to the Ford, joy riders or not they needed help. The driver’s side had hit first and what was left of the screen was covered in blood. Fox’s eyes scanned the vehicle, the driver was dead – he was sure but the passenger was moving. He reached down to pull at the door when he saw a weapon in the footwell. There was a whimpering from the back.

Fox peered in; laying half on the seat was a girl, an Arab looking girl with duck-tape over her mouth and arms fastened behind her back. A man was lying under her; he tried to push her off. Fox saw the second weapon, this one a semiautomatic. The girl locked eyes with him and Fox recognised the pleading look of fear.

Without hesitating, Fox grabbed the hand gun from the front of the car, took a step back and shot the passenger though the ear. The sound was like thunder in the enclosed space. Momentarily deafened, he pulled the rear door and the girl half fell out. The second male passenger opened his eyes and reached for his weapon. Fox dragged the girl clear and put a double tap directly into his temple. His head exploded.

Shots from behind. Fox threw himself over the girl and pulled the door in front of him. It was the only protection they had. More rounds and now shouts. Fox sprang to his feet, weapon held in both hands, instantly acquiring a target. A passenger from the second car was running at full sprint towards him, with what looked like an assault rifle in his hands. Fox fired the first round hitting the assaulter in the chest, the second in the head. The man spun sideways and crashed to the ground.

Movement from his right. Another X-Ray, this one using the houses for cover, was heading his way. Both men fired, Fox ducked again and looked at the girl. She was shaking beneath him. He took a breath and sprung back up. He let off a single shot at the target. The man was moving now back towards the car as the driver was shouting at him wildly. Another target came into view blocking his line of fire to the retreating car; this figure was wearing a dark blue shirt and was racing directly towards the Z4. Taking a millisecond to decide, Fox fired a round into the man’s back.

The second car spun its wheels in a ‘J turn’ and screeched away. Fox, out of rounds, had no time to grab another weapon as he tried to catch the number plate. All around he saw curtains twitching. Two teenagers wearing hoodies were standing stunned next to their mini motos, holding up mobile phones, videoing the whole event. On seeing Fox now staring at them, they both ‘legged it’, carrying their toy bikes.

Fox bent down and pulled the girl to her feet, he spoke to her in Arabic. “You’re safe now. I’m going to take the tape off.”

The girl let out a moan of pain as the tape was removed then started to sob as he undid her bonds. She was about seventeen and beautiful, she held her hands to her face.

“Come with me.” Fox reached out gently and took her by the arm. He walked her up his neighbour’s path. Reynolds opened the door, a shocked expression on his face. Fox pushed the girl at him.

“Jim, look after her.”

Without waiting for a reply Fox moved back to the street and, bending down, checked the nearest X-Ray for a pulse. There was none, he kicked the assault weapon away to the side of the road and then moved towards the man with the dark blue shirt, his former boss Leo Sawyer. The sales director lay on his back, his eyes open, his breathing laboured. Fox’s single round had ripped through him, puncturing a lung. Fox aimed the empty weapon at Sawyer’s head and let him hear the dead man’s click.