O’Hagan closed his phone. ‘We’ve got it,’ he announced. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
Petrucci walked across to Hussein, who was still lashed to the chair. The police officer welcomed the news implied by O’Hagan’s remark. At last his ordeal was nearly over.
‘I’m going to call the lobby,’ Petrucci explained. ‘Tell them we’ll be down in a few minutes and to have a car ready. Warn them that we’ve placed explosives on the doors, so if anyone attempts to enter the suite in the next three hours, the charges will explode. They must wait until we transmit the abort code for the weapon, and then we’ll tell them how to get in.’
Petrucci called the lobby, and Hussein carefully passed on the message to the staff waiting anxiously below.
‘Very good,’ Petrucci said, ending the call. He picked up a bag and moved away.
Standing right beside the nuclear weapon, O’Hagan input numbers into a keypad, then closed the lid of the box that contained the device. The other two men picked up their bags and checked their pistols.
O’Hagan glanced around the suite to ensure they’d left nothing of importance, then walked across to Hussein. He pulled a length of tape from a roll and fastened it across the police officer’s mouth to silence him.
‘It’s been a pleasure doing business here in Dubai, Inspector,’ he said. ‘We’re leaving now, but before we go I’d like to tell you a little story.
‘In 2001, none of us here even knew each other. We were all ex-military or ex-Agency, and were living and working in New York. It was hot in the summer and cold in the winter, but it’s a great city for the most part. All that changed on the eleventh of September that year when a bunch of Arab fanatics steered a couple of hijacked aircraft into the World Trade Center buildings. Nearly three thousand innocent people died in that attack, but what’s more important is that the four of us on this mission and the two pilots waiting at the airport lost close family members who happened to be inside those two buildings. When the dust finally settled, three of us had lost wives, two brothers, and I’d lost both my sons as well. My whole family destroyed in just a few seconds. And all because a bunch of fucking Arab lunatics decided to declare war on America.’
He paused as if to calm himself, and then continued. ‘This, you see, is the first real counter-attack. Forget Afghanistan — that was just a knee-jerk reaction by a bunch of politicians. And Iraq was nothing to do with Al-Qaeda — that whole operation was just so Uncle Sam could get his hands on Saddam’s oilfields, nothing else. But this little party? This is the real thing. When we’re done, the Burj Al-Arab will be a pile of radioactive rubble sitting at the end of a melted causeway. You knock our towers down, and we’ll knock yours down, and Dubai will be finished for ever. An eye for an eye, all that kind of thing. As a good Muslim, you should understand that.’
Hussein’s eyes were wide and desperate, his head shaking from side to side.
O’Hagan smiled at him. ‘Your government believes we’ve set the timer for four hours, but I actually set it for sixty minutes. And they think we’ll transmit the abort code, but we won’t, because we have no clue what the code is, or even if there is one. Now we’ve activated the weapon, there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it exploding. In about fifty-five minutes you’ll find out if Allah really is waiting for you. My guess is that he isn’t, but I’m just a crude infidel, so what do I know?’ O’Hagan smiled briefly and turned away.
Petrucci had positioned a wad of plastic explosive on one of the double doors, and thrust into it was a spring-loaded wire, hanging down from a battery-powered delayed-action detonator.
O’Hagan flicked a switch on the detonator, looped the end of the wire over the other door’s handle, and pulled the door closed behind him. Ten seconds later the charge was automatically armed, and would explode the moment the wire was pulled more than a couple of millimetres out of the detonator by, for example, somebody opening the suite door.
‘I’ve just heard from the Burj Al-Arab,’ Ghul announced, returning to the interview room. ‘The Americans are about to leave the hotel.’
‘Any news about that helicopter?’
‘Yes. It should be here in less than ten minutes.’
O’Hagan stepped out of the elevator and looked round. The lobby was virtually empty, with only a handful of management staff, including Salim Barzani, waiting there.
Without a word, the four Americans walked out of the hotel. A white Rolls-Royce Silver Seraph limousine stood waiting outside, engine running, rear doors open. They were about thirty kilometres from the airport, almost home and dry.
The car pulled away in virtual silence, heading along the causeway leading to the mainland.
‘I could get used to this,’ Petrucci remarked, sinking back in the leather seat.
‘There’s no reason why you shouldn’t,’ O’Hagan replied, ‘but we’re not through with this yet, so stay sharp.’
The Bell landed on the tarmac outside police headquarters, as Ghul, Richter and Jackson stood watching. The pilot signalled them to approach, and they crossed the road towards the aircraft.
The minigun was mounted inside the rear cabin, beside the open doorway. They climbed inside, sat down and put on seatbelts and headsets. Immediately, the noise of the two Pratt and Whitney turbine engines dropped to a more bearable level.
Moments later, the helicopter lifted off and swung round to port, climbing rapidly as the pilot started the transit to Jumeirah Beach.
The Seraph was accelerating steadily along Al-Jumeirah Road when the driver saw brake lights in front of him and slowed down.
‘What’s wrong?’ O’Hagan growled.
‘An accident, sir. It happens all the time. People drive too fast along this road, even though we’ve got a lot of slow-moving trucks because of the building work.’
The Rolls-Royce stopped completely, and they peered through the windscreen. A cement lorry had pulled out to overtake another vehicle of the same type, and somehow the two trucks had collided. In fact, they seemed to have become virtually welded together, completely blocking the road. Two men in bright blue overalls, obviously the drivers, were standing beside the vehicles yelling at each other. It was clearly going to take some time to clear the road.
‘That’s all we needed,’ Wilson muttered darkly.
‘I don’t like this,’ O’Hagan said. ‘This could be deliberate, to delay us.’ He glanced at the traffic behind them. ‘I don’t care how you do it, but get us out of here.’
‘But there’s nowhere to go, sir.’ The driver gestured at the chaos.
O’Hagan pulled out his pistol and waved it in front of the man’s face. ‘Find a way,’ he snapped, ‘or I’ll shoot you and drive the fucking car myself.’
Ten minutes later, the Rolls-Royce was edging along a side street just to the south of Al-Jumeirah Road. It was still caught in a queue of traffic, because other drivers had had exactly the same idea, but at least it was moving.
O’Hagan was pleased. If the accident back there had been an attempt to stop them reaching the airport, it had failed. They would get there a little later than planned, but that was all.
The hotel looked almost as impressive from the air as it did from the ground, but none of them had any interest in its aesthetic appeal. They were staring down at the helipad on the twenty-eighth floor, which looked about the same size — and just about as fragile — as a dinner plate.
Even when the Bell touched down on it, the helipad still seemed tiny. Two men were waiting by the steps, Ghul having used his mobile to warn the hotel they would be landing.