‘So how—’
‘Bill, just be quiet and listen. There’s somebody on his way out to Dubai right now, to investigate some other unrelated matter. He’s going to be retasked to come to Bahrain instead, and should be arriving here sometime tomorrow morning. I’d like you to act as his liaison officer, so go and meet him at the airport. Give him a full briefing and any help he needs, and with luck we should be able to finish this thing no later than Thursday.’
‘That’s more like it. What’s his name, this SIS man?’
Caxton glanced down at the sheet of paper he was holding. ‘He’s called Richter,’ he said. ‘Paul Richter. Do you know him?’
Evans shook his head. ‘Nope, never heard of him.’
‘Sounds like bullshit to me,’ Grant Hutchings muttered, and John Baxter’s nod suggested that he wasn’t alone in this view.
To his surprise, Stevenson nodded as well. ‘I agree,’ he said. ‘It does sound like bullshit. Every time anything like this happens, a bunch of crazies crawl out from under their stones, and almost always they’re just that — crazies. But everything we have on file about Holden suggests he’s a normal, regular guy. According to the Brits in Dubai, he seemed really disturbed by his premonition. Initially they assumed he was just some crackpot and tried to get rid of him, but he wouldn’t leave until they agreed to write down everything he could recall. He insisted the attack would occur within a short time, probably inside a month. The embassy staff said he seemed so upset they suggested he go see a shrink.’
Stevenson checked his notes again. ‘What Holden claimed was really accurate, far too exact to be dismissed as mere guesswork. He said the bomber would be a Syrian national, aged under twenty, first name beginning with the letter “S” — he thought it might be “Sayeed” — and his last name was “Abbas” or “Assad”. He gave a physical description that wasn’t quite detailed enough for you to pick him out of a line-up, but was real close all the same.
‘When he claimed the attack would be carried out on behalf of “the brothers”, everyone assumed this referred to his fellow Muslims. Nobody at that stage made the connection with the Jamiat, of course, but even if they had, it probably wouldn’t have helped. But it does show how accurate Holden’s premonition was.’
‘So what exactly did the British Embassy do about this report from their eyewitness-in-advance?’ Hutchings demanded, in a tone edged with sarcasm.
‘They filed it,’ Stevenson said. ‘What else could they do? All they had was a physical description, and the possible name, of a possible suicide bomber, who might be intending to carry out an attack at an unspecified location, in an unknown country, within an indeterminate period of time. They ran a basic “anything known” check on Holden, which came back negative, so they just filed the report.’
‘What about the location?’ Westwood asked. ‘Did Holden’s dream give any hints?’
‘With hindsight, sir, that was accurate too. He said the bombing would take place in a dark passage, with lots of people walking about. Not a bad description of a typical Arab souk.’
‘Or an underpass or a railroad station or a bus terminus or pretty much anywhere else,’ Hutchings added dismissively.
‘Agreed, but he also described the roof as metallic and curved with lots of small holes in it. That didn’t mean anything to anyone at the time, but one of the distinctive features of the Al-Hamidieh souk is its roof. It’s metallic, semi-circular in cross-section, and the metal is pierced by thousands of small holes. And that is almost a word-for-word match with what Holden described.’
There was a short silence, before Hutchings spoke again. ‘OK, maybe it’s not pure eighteen-carat bullshit, but it sure sounds to me like we’re getting into X-Files territory here. You briefed Mulder and Scully yet?’
Westwood chuckled and the other agents smiled. Stevenson shook his head. ‘No, but the Fibbies are taking a keen interest in all this.’
‘And what exactly is the Company planning on doing now?’ Hutchings asked.
‘We’ve been in discussion with the authorities in the UAE and the other Gulf States. You have to bear in mind that Dubai, in particular, is a very sensitive area. There’s been a huge level of investment in the Emirates over the last few years. The rulers know the oil revenues are finite, and they’ve been spending enormous sums in diversification, building up Dubai as a financial capital, a real estate investor’s paradise and a holiday destination. Even the slightest possibility that the city could be hit by a terrorist bomb frankly terrifies them. The four of you are going out there for two reasons. The first is obvious: we want you to talk to this James Holden and find out whatever you can about him.’
‘Bit of a stable-door reaction, isn’t it?’
‘Not really,’ Stevenson said. ‘The Damascus bombing is history as far as we’re concerned, and how Holden managed to predict it isn’t what’s important. What we’re really interested in is what happens next, and that’s the second reason for this mission. The Dubai authorities want our assistance because they’ve so little experience of suicide bombers and terrorist activity. You’ve been chosen to go precisely because you do have the relevant expertise. They want you to work closely with the Dubai police, to make absolutely certain that the city hasn’t been targeted—’
Westwood interrupted. ‘David, you still haven’t explained why they’re suddenly so worried. I’m not aware of any credible threat.’
‘A lot depends on how you define the word “credible”, sir. What’s concerning them is that Holden has been back to the British Embassy again to tell them about another dream he’s had. This time he says he can see a major hotel in one of the northern Gulf States getting hit by a biggie, maybe even a tactical nuke. That really does interest us, and it’s already scared the shit out of the people in Dubai.’
Chapter Seven
The Speedbird had landed at Dubai at ten-fifteen local time the previous evening, but as far as Richter was concerned it was only quarter past six, so he knew he was going to have a bad night. He had never been very good at long-haul flying, in either direction. He sometimes said, half-joking, that the only time he hadn’t got jetlag on reaching America was when he travelled there by ship.
The International Airport is close to the city centre, and it was only a short ride in the beige Dubai Transport taxi to the hotel. Along Shaikh Zayed Road, Richter experienced a brief feeling of déjà vu: the area is considered the commercial centre of Dubai, and the road is lined with modern skyscrapers, very reminiscent of parts of New York. Then the taxi had pulled up outside the Crowne Plaza.
The hotel was a surprise. Simpson didn’t normally approve costly accommodation for his operatives and Richter had been expecting a budget or at best a middle-range hotel, but the Crowne Plaza was neither. Unfortunately, the air-conditioned room and comfortable bed hadn’t helped. He turned off his mobile and slid between the sheets at twelve-thirty local, eight-thirty UK time, and lay there, eyes closed but with his brain still enthusiastically keeping him wide awake for over two hours. Then he’d finally dropped off, to be awoken what seemed like fifteen minutes later — but eight-thirty local time according to his alarm clock.