‘No, but obviously this has now become the highest priority for the Saudi police force.’
‘What was that about a missing horse?’ Watkinson asked, as Richter ended the call.
‘Shaf,’ Richter said shortly, and explained about the grisly discovery at the stables.
Watkinson shook his head. ‘We knew the horse had gone missing in odd circumstances, but this certainly puts a different complexion on things.’
At that moment there was a brief double-tap on the door and a junior officer appeared with a buff envelope in his hand. ‘Secret Flash traffic from London, sir,’ he said, glancing curiously at Richter. ‘For your eyes only,’ he added, passing the envelope across the desk.
Watkinson signed the classified-document register, ripped open the envelope and extracted a single sheet of paper. ‘This more or less confirms what you’ve just told me,’ he said. ‘Vauxhall Cross has tasked us with assisting the Dubai authorities to find the men who flew here with Shaf. That isn’t going to be easy, because apparently they were travelling on passports belonging to three of the stable staff, who were dead long before the horse was loaded aboard the aircraft at Riyadh. The only possible lead is that the Saudi police are examining a Range Rover from Al-Shahrood. The vehicle was abandoned at Riyadh Airport, and they think it was used to tow the horsebox. I suppose they might manage to lift some fingerprints from it.’
‘That only helps if the bad guys are on record somewhere,’ Richter pointed out. ‘They’d have needed another vehicle at this end, so the Dubai police should be checking hire firms here. My guess is that they’ll have hired a big four-by-four to deliver the horse, then turned it in for a less conspicuous car from a different company. The other obvious lead is the transporter. These guys didn’t kill a dozen people just for the pleasure of delivering a racehorse to a stable here. They must have brought something else in the horsebox, guessing security would be reasonably lax for a known horse entered in an event like the World Cup. By now they’ll have removed whatever they concealed in the trailer, but there might still be traces left.’
Watkinson nodded. ‘I’ll suggest they use sniffer dogs, because I don’t think they have electronic explosive detectors here. That is what you mean, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. They’ll definitely have brought in explosives, and probably a lot of them. Nothing else makes any sense, as far as I can see.’
‘Agreed. Right, what are you going to do now?’
Richter shrugged. ‘I came out here to see James Holden, so that’s what I’m going to do. This horse thing isn’t my problem — at least, not until my boss tells me otherwise.’
Chapter Fourteen
The four men checked in, locked their bags in their rooms, then three of them met in the coffee shop. The missing man was John Petrucci, whose luggage consisted of a computer bag and overnight case, plus a large and heavy suitcase. Since the latter contained the nuclear weapon they’d obtained from Russia, there was no way they were going to leave that unguarded.
‘Baxter won’t be joining us,’ Dawson explained, using Petrucci’s assumed name. ‘He’s feeling a little jetlagged so he’s taking a nap. Our car will arrive in about thirty minutes, but only two of us will be going to the Old Fort. Baxter isn’t fit enough, so I want you’ — he pointed at Wilson — ‘to start checking out the gear. Get Baxter to help you, and ensure everything’s taken care of this afternoon, because I don’t know what timescale Hussein will be working to.’
The instruction didn’t make any obvious sense, but Wilson nodded, stood up and left.
‘Do you want me to come with you?’ Michael Watkinson asked, as they sat over coffee after lunch.
Richter thought for a few moments. ‘Yes, that would be helpful. If I just turn up out of the blue and start grilling him, Holden may not be particularly receptive. Since you’ve met him before, you can just introduce me as a colleague from London.’
Watkinson glanced at his watch. ‘Now’s probably as good a time as any. Holden will almost certainly be at home.’
Richard Wilson knocked twice on the hotel room door. ‘It’s Agent Franks. Open up.’
Petrucci swung the door wide. ‘Hi, Andy,’ he said. ‘Where are the others?’
‘Waiting for the car. You feeling OK?’
‘Not too good, but definitely better.’
‘Good. I’m going to check the gear we’ve brought out with us. Let me just wash my hands, and I’ll get started.’
He motioned towards the en-suite bathroom and Petrucci nodded, walked in and turned on the cold water tap to confuse any listening devices. Wilson began speaking very quietly. ‘Now we have to move quickly. They’ll be going to see Holden this afternoon, so we’ve got very little time to sort things out.’
‘You’re sure O’Hagan wants it done now?’
‘Yes. He’ll try and delay heading off to Al-Ramool as long as he can, but realistically they could be leaving the Old Fort any time after three.’
‘OK. You want to do it yourself?’ Petrucci asked.
‘No.’ Wilson shook his head. ‘Holden’s building may be under surveillance, so it has to be you, wearing a gellabbiya and a kaffiyeh, because you’ve got the language and I haven’t. And he knows you — I might have a problem getting inside.’
‘Right,’ Petrucci said. ‘I’ll get ready. You’ll stay here, then?’
‘Yes. If anyone knocks at the door, I’ll just be a guy looking out for a sick friend who’s busy throwing up in the bathroom.’
Wilson turned off the taps and they walked back into the bedroom. Petrucci opened a case, rummaged around until he found a white gellabbiya, and pulled it on over his shirt and trousers. A kaffiyeh followed, then he slid a cosh into his pocket.
‘Don’t take a taxi until you’re well away from the hotel,’ Wilson reminded him, his voice barely audible. ‘And don’t forget the computer.’
‘Oh, yeah.’ Petrucci went back to the case and pulled out a CD-ROM in a plastic sleeve. He checked his appearance in a mirror. ‘That’s it. I’d better go.’
‘Agent Hutchings,’ Inspector Hussein said as the two Americans entered his office. For a moment he looked expectant, then puzzled. ‘Agents Baxter and Franks aren’t with you?’
Dawson shook his head. ‘No. Baxter’s suffering from mild food poisoning, and Franks is checking some of the equipment we brought with us.’
‘Very well,’ Hussein said. ‘I’ll order some refreshments. Then we can begin.’
Ten minutes later Dawson and O’Hagan were seated in a briefing room, a selection of soft drinks on the table in front of them.
‘Right, gentlemen,’ Saeed Hussein began, ‘we all know why we’re here. My government’s very concerned that this man Holden might be genuine, and that a credible threat exists against us here in Dubai. I presume you were briefed at Langley on why we asked for assistance?’
‘Yes, but in case we missed anything, could you run through it again, starting with Holden’s first approach to the British Embassy.’
By hearing what the Dubai police had to say, they would find out what the real CIA agents had been told.
In anticipation of this request, the slide projector beside the lectern was already loaded with photographs of the devastation in Damascus. The three men studied these extremely graphic images in silence. The Manama bomb was still being analysed, but Holden’s very accurate prediction about it, and his premonition of a bomb exploding in a waterfront hotel, had the Dubai authorities severely concerned.