‘Yes, but I know John well. If it’s important, he won’t mind being woken up.’
‘OK, but keep my name out of it,’ Jackson said. ‘I’ll probably have to go before a board of inquiry over that Nad Al-Sheba business when I get back to Langley, so the last thing I want is to piss off the guy who might be heading it.’
‘It’s a big bastard, isn’t it?’ Dawson muttered, shading his eyes as he looked up at the huge white belly of the hotel building. The vast expanse of fabric vanished above them, curving into invisibility as it approached the very top of the structure.
Rising over three hundred metres above the Arabian Gulf, it’s the tallest, and certainly the most architecturally adventurous, hotel in the world. The man-made island on which the Burj Al-Arab stands is three hundred metres offshore, and is linked to Jumeirah Beach by a causeway. But it isn’t the island, or the causeway, or even the sheer height of the hotel that stuns the visitor: it’s the shape.
The Burj Al-Arab looks like a huge billowing sail attached to a single mast, the apparent ‘wind’ inflating the sail from somewhere offshore. The effect is dramatic enough in daylight, but at night, when the front of the hotel is bathed in ever-changing colours by banks of massive theatre projectors, it’s simply stunning.
O’Hagan followed Dawson’s gaze. ‘Yup, it’s big. Let’s get to it.’
Inspector Hussein’s mobile rang as he led them towards the hotel entrance, and he stopped to answer it, moving slightly aside. Less than a minute later he closed the phone and, with a smile of apology, continued inside.
The Americans looked around as they emerged through the revolving doors. The interior was like nothing they’d ever seen before. In front of them a massive triangular water feature — a virtual pyramid of illuminated and precisely directed dancing water jets — extended up to the next level, escalators flanking it on either side. The decoration and colours were simply amazing, the atrium a riot of blue and white and gold, curving balconies ascending towards the roof. The aura of luxury was almost palpable.
The manager, who introduced himself as Salim Barzani, looked distinctly unhappy with the group assembled in the foyer — if one could use such a mundane word to describe the enormously opulent atrium, nearly two hundred metres high, in which they were standing. Hussein quickly explained that they were on a training exercise, and that there was no danger of any sort to the establishment.
‘Very well. If you need anything, ask a member of my staff to come and find me.’ With a final dismissive wave, Barzani stalked away.
Hussein turned to the Americans. ‘Where do you wish to start, Agent Franks?’
‘First, we need to look at the characteristics of a building with an atrium.’ For several minutes he discussed air flow, air changes, temperature and humidity, then explained that, in order to undertake a proper check, samples would need to be taken at several different levels — at the top and bottom of the atrium, but also on one or two intermediate floors. ‘I’d like to suggest, Inspector, that your officers should operate the detectors themselves.’
‘I agree,’ Hussein said, and instructed his men to open the cases.
Wilson approached each officer in turn, checking that they knew how the units worked. None of the policemen noticed the large and rather vulgar ring he wore on his left hand.
Thirty-eight seconds later, one of the officers reported a hit, and within a minute all the E-3500 units were similarly registering positive for the presence of explosives.
Richter ended his call to Westwood’s home in Haywood, Virginia.
‘John actually knows about the mission,’ he confirmed, ‘because he attended one of the briefings at Langley. It’s a four-man team. Grant Hutchings is the senior agent. The others agents are Baxter, Franks and Middleton.’
Jackson shook her head. ‘I don’t recognize any of the other names.’
‘He told me that Hutchings has worked out of Langley for most of his career, but he’s also done tours in Vietnam, France and Germany.’
‘When I knew him, he’d just finished an overseas tour, but I can’t remember exactly where.’
Richter’s mobile rang.
‘It’s Watkinson. I’ve just talked to Inspector Hussein and he confirms that the CIA officers will be here for a couple of days. At the moment they’re with the inspector, instructing his officers in the use of explosive detectors. If you want to meet them, they’re staying at the Al-Khaleej.’
‘Got that, Michael. Sorry to have bothered you.’
‘Everything seems to check out,’ Richter said. ‘According to Watkinson, they’re training the local cops in the use of explosive detectors.’
‘In other words, doing exactly what they’re supposed to. So I must be wrong — is that what you’re saying?’
Richter shook his head. ‘Absolutely not. If you are right and Hutchings is an impostor, that means the others must be as well. If we take that as a fact, you’d expect them to act just like the real CIA agents right up to the moment when they take whatever action they’ve got planned.’
‘Which is what?’
‘I have absolutely no idea,’ Richter admitted. ‘But right now they’re surrounded by armed police officers who’ll be watching their every move, so I don’t really see what they could do that those cops wouldn’t be able to stop immediately.’
Inspector Hussein had turned pale. All six detectors were now showing positive readings, and he knew that for sure because he’d checked each one twice.
‘Could this be a mistake?’ he asked. ‘They aren’t still detecting particles from the Semtex you used in the Jumeirah Beach?’
Wilson shook his head. ‘No. Very few particles were released. If only one detector had registered a hit, I’d say it meant traces on our clothing, perhaps. But for all six to show positive? That’s something totally different.’
‘I must speak to the manager immediately,’ Hussein decided.
Two minutes later he was back, with Salim Barzani a couple of paces behind him. ‘You told me there was no threat to my hotel,’ the manager said angrily.
Hussein was defensive. ‘That was what we believed. We should now—’
‘Inspector,’ Wilson interrupted firmly, ‘the analysis comes later. Our first priority must be to locate these explosives.’ He turned to Barzani. ‘What’s security like here?’
‘Very stringent, which is why I question the results you claim to have found. We already have explosive detectors installed in all external doors. So how could some terrorist have managed to get explosives inside?’
‘You don’t search the guests’ luggage or anything like that?’
‘Certainly not.’ Barzani looked shocked. ‘This is the best hotel in the world. The kind of people who stay here would never tolerate that kind of treatment, no matter what the circumstances.’
‘Right,’ Wilson said. ‘The thing about explosives is that they all emit particles and vapours, but there are ways you can beat any detector. If I was trying to smuggle in some C4, I’d pack it in plastic sheeting and then tape the open ends shut. Then I’d wash the outside thoroughly, dry it and wrap it in more plastic, and wash that. I’d do that four or five times over, and at the end of it I’d be pretty sure there’d be no detectable emissions. Just to be certain, I’d pack it in three or four airtight storage bags, washing each one after I’d sealed it. Then I’d put the entire package in a big suitcase with soft clothes all around it to help absorb anything that managed to slip through. Wool and cotton are best. Once I’d done all that, I’d almost guarantee being able to take that case through any explosive detector yet made.’