‘We weren’t expecting this,’ Wilson announced. ‘We guessed that the bomb would be in a suite lower down. I was going to eliminate the upper floors first, but both the detectors are showing similar readings. There are faint traces of explosive here in the corridor, which might simply be due to the hotel’s air conditioning, but we’ve definitely got strong hits right beside this door.’
‘So you think the bomb is somewhere inside this suite?’ Hussein asked.
‘Possibly, though the readings aren’t definite. Who’s in there now?’
Hussein turned to Barzani, who shook his head. ‘Nobody.’
‘Who was the last occupant?’
‘I won’t disclose his name until you’re certain there really is a bomb in there, but I can tell you that this suite was occupied by an important Arab businessman until yesterday evening.’
‘Has the suite been cleaned since he left?’
Barzani shook his head. ‘We’ve no bookings for another few days, so it’s just been inspected but not yet properly cleaned.’
‘Do you have a pass-key?’
Barzani nodded and stepped forward.
‘Allow me,’ O’Hagan said, and took it from him. ‘We’re the experts at this, so we’d better go in first. Stay out here until we’ve either found something or confirmed there isn’t anything to worry about.’
As O’Hagan unlocked the door, Dawson and Petrucci picked up the biggest of the cases and two of the smaller ones and carried them to the door.
‘What’s in those?’ Hussein asked.
‘The big case holds a portable x-ray device,’ Wilson said. ‘If there is a bomb in this suite, we’ll need to scan it before we can disarm it.’
‘Of course,’ Hussein murmured, then jumped slightly as his mobile phone rang.
‘Ready?’ Wilson asked. He and O’Hagan entered first, holding the E-3500 detectors out in front of them.
Behind them, Hussein’s eyes widened as he listened to what the caller was saying.
At the door, Petrucci glanced back at the inspector. Their eyes met and in that instant the American realized that someone, somewhere, had at last made the right connection.
Hussein dropped the phone and reached inside his jacket, but Petrucci was much faster. He’d already levelled his pistol before Hussein managed to draw his weapon. ‘Don’t move!’ he yelled.
Hussein ignored him. ‘Stop!’ he yelled. ‘Stop them!’
The four police officers looked confused — the shouted order making no sense. But the pistol in the American’s hand was something else, something they could immediately relate to. Two of them pulled out weapons, but their speed was also their undoing. Although they moved fast, they didn’t move fast enough.
Dawson grabbed his pistol and both the Americans immediately opened fire. Four shots — so close together that they sounded like only two — echoed off the walls, and the two constables fell backwards, their weapons tumbling from their hands.
‘Don’t move,’ Petrucci yelled again, adjusting his aim to cover Hussein and his two remaining officers. Dawson’s weapon reinforced the threat while behind Petrucci, O’Hagan and Wilson reappeared with guns drawn.
Hussein stood as if frozen, his right hand still inside his jacket. The two remaining constables gaped incredulously, their horrified glances alternating between their dead companions and the four Americans, with no idea what was happening, or why. The manager, Barzani, thrust his hands into the air and stood quivering with fear.
‘That’s a good idea,’ Petrucci said. ‘You lot’ — he gestured to the remaining police officers — ‘drop your pistols on the floor and put your hands up. We don’t need any of you here any longer,’ he added, when they’d obeyed his order, ‘so go away. But Hussein stays with us.’
With a terrified nod, Barzani turned and scurried off, the remaining police officers and the hotel staff following him. They were almost walking backwards, their eyes still fixed on the Americans.
Once they’d gone, Petrucci gestured for Hussein to come closer. ‘We need you alive, Inspector, at least for the moment. If you do exactly what we tell you, you might still walk away from this. Now, who called you?’
‘Who are you people?’ Hussein demanded.
Petrucci jabbed the barrel of his pistol sharply into the Arab’s stomach, and he bent forward, retching painfully.
‘I’ll ask you again. Who called you?’
‘Michael Watkinson,’ Hussein replied after a few seconds, his voice rasping painfully. ‘After Richter called him.’
‘That bastard,’ O’Hagan snarled from the doorway of the suite. ‘I knew he was trouble right from the start. But there’s nothing he can do to stop us now. We’re in the clear.’
Sitting at his desk in the embassy, Michael Watkinson was first puzzled, then alarmed. Richter had to be wrong. He just couldn’t see how the four CIA officers, who he knew had arrived in Dubai on board a State Department aircraft, could possibly have been intercepted or suborned. But Richter’s deduction about the intentions of the Arab terrorists at Nad Al-Sheba had been uncannily accurate, so he couldn’t simply ignore what he said.
When he had rung Hussein to pass on Richter’s message, he had learned that they were currently at the Burj Al-Arab. But when he warned that the Americans could be trying to plant a bomb, Hussein hadn’t responded. Then Watkinson had heard a dull thud followed by loud shouting, followed by at least two gunshots.
He’d waited for Hussein to continue speaking, hoping that his warning had been in time, but slowly realization began to dawn. He held the phone close to his ear, straining to hear anything further, but all he could detect were mumbles of conversation, too indistinct to make out. Then somebody closed Hussein’s mobile, ending the call, and there was only silence.
Watkinson stared at the handset for a few moments, then phoned Richter.
When the taxi arrived, Richter told the driver to wait. The sightseeing trip they had planned obviously wasn’t going to happen, but having a car at their disposal seemed a good idea. The vehicle was sitting outside the hotel, engine running, while Richter waited for a phone call to confirm his suspicions.
The moment his mobile rang, Richter snatched it. ‘Michael?’
‘Wrong — it’s Simpson. I’ve got a couple of answers for you. In the same order as you asked the questions, they are “no” and “yes — Cairo”.’
‘Right,’ Richter replied. ‘No and yes. Thanks for that. It looks like we’ve got major problems at this end.’
‘Anything we can do to help?’
‘I don’t think so at the moment. I’ll call you as soon as I know what’s going on.’
Carole-Anne Jackson looked at him questioningly. ‘And “no” and “yes” mean what, exactly?’
‘It means you were right. Simpson contacted Langley with two questions. I asked if the CIA employed more than one man named Grant Hutchings — the answer was no — and if the CIA team’s Gulfstream diverted to Egypt. It did, to Cairo, so I think it’s fairly clear what happened.’
For a moment Jackson was silent, then she looked at Richter. ‘If I were a terrorist,’ she said slowly, ‘I’d be trying to hit a building that was unmistakably a symbol of Dubai. I’ll bet they’re targeting the Burj Al-Arab.’
‘Makes sense,’ Richter agreed. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
As their taxi pulled away, heading towards Al-Jumeirah Road, Richter’s mobile rang again. This time it was Watkinson.
‘They’re at the Burj Al-Arab,’ he announced, his voice angry. ‘I passed Hussein your message, but I think the bad guys got the drop on him.’