‘Chief Inspector Ghul? My name’s Salim Barzani, and I’m the manager. I was told no action was to be taken until after the Americans had left Dubai.’
‘I’ve been given new orders,’ Ghul said. ‘We must get into the suite as soon as possible. How many entrances does it have?’
‘You can’t use any of the doors,’ Barzani said firmly. ‘They’re wired with explosives. We must wait until we receive instructions from the Americans on how to open them.’
‘We can’t,’ Richter said. ‘We just don’t have time. The suite’s three floors below us — right?’ Barzani nodded. ‘OK. I’ll get ready.’
‘Have you done this before? Climbing and abseiling, I mean?’ Jackson asked uncertainly.
‘Only a little,’ Richter admitted, ‘but I know the technique.’
‘You’re mad,’ she said, as the two of them headed back to the Bell.
‘Probably, but right now we’re pretty much out of options. Here, give me a hand putting on this gear.’
‘What is it?’ Jackson asked, looking at the harnesses.
‘It’s called a Mitchell Climbing System. The problem with abseiling is that it’s very good at descents, but climbing back up the rope is a bitch. With one of these, I can come up as fast as I go down.’
Richter pulled out his notebook and put it in his trouser pocket. He then buckled on the two harnesses and ran the long ascender cord through the rollers on the chest plate, leaving the cord and its two attachments — the Stiff Step at the lower end, and the Ultrascender at the other — dangling free in front of him.
‘Barzani’s just told me there are two maintenance cradles you can use,’ Ghul said, walking over to the helicopter, ‘but they’re both down at the base of the tower.’
For a moment Richter looked interested, then shook his head. ‘They’ll take too long to get up here. I’ll have to use the rope. Secure it to the staircase supports on the lower level.’
Ghul took one end of the rope and tied it round a thick steel stanchion supporting the staircase, jerking it several times to make sure it was secure.
Richter ran the rope through the other bearing on the chest plate and tossed the free end over the edge of the roof. He stepped across to the parapet and looked down. The artificial island on which the Burj Al-Arab stood was a mind-numbing seven hundred feet below him. But if he slipped, he wouldn’t fall straight to the ground: the curved front elevation of the building would mean he’d slide down it for most of the way, but he’d still be just as dead at the end of it.
‘I’m getting too old for this kind of thing,’ he muttered, and moved back to where Jackson was standing. ‘If this all goes wrong, you’ve got the number, right?’
‘One in my bag, and another in my pocket,’ Carole-Anne confirmed. ‘And all you’re going to do now is look through the window?’
‘Yes. If I can see how they’ve rigged the explosives, maybe we can work out how to get inside without getting our heads blown off.’
Jackson rummaged in her handbag and gave him a small pair of binoculars. Richter inspected all the equipment once more, he climbed up onto the parapet and sat down facing inwards. The most difficult phase of the operation, he had realized as soon as the helicopter had landed, was going to be getting over the parapet — both ways.
‘This isn’t going to be very elegant, but it will be quick.’
He lay flat on his back, checked that the two Ultrascenders were firmly attached, his hands gripping them, his feet firmly lodged in the Stiff Steps, and rolled sideways, out over the edge. For the briefest of instants he was in free-fall, then the climbing rope snapped taut — the Ultrascenders not moving a fraction of an inch on the rope — and he jerked to a halt, instantly slamming into the side of the building.
The impact knocked the breath from his body, and for a few seconds he hung there helplessly. He looked up to see Jackson and Ghul staring down at him, nodded with a confidence he honestly didn’t feel, and took one brief look down. This wasn’t the most sensible of moves as it reminded him forcefully that his life now depended on a hundred metres of eleven-millimetre climbing rope, a handful of straps and a few mechanical gizmos similar to those he’d last used in the Lake District more than five years earlier.
He took a deep breath, unhitched the upper Ultrascender, lowered his body a cautious foot, then re-attached it. He unclipped the lower one, straightened his leg and then clamped that Ultrascender back on the rope. He’d never been particularly proficient in the use of this climbing system, but it was virtually foolproof. He tried to relax — not easy when dangling from a half-inch rope seven hundred feet above the ground — and concentrated on getting down.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The delay on the Al-Jumeirah Road had cost them time, but O’Hagan wasn’t concerned. The traffic was moving — if slowly — and he calculated they’d reach the airport within half an hour.
He called Sutter and quickly explained the situation. ‘Everything clear at your end?’
‘Ready and waiting. We’ll get the first available outbound slot. Just call when you get to the airport.’
The moment O’Hagan had left the suite, Hussein tried to struggle out of his bonds, but after fifteen minutes’ effort all he’d done was to open up cuts on his wrists and ankles. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to free himself, but still he tried, because he had no other option.
He was also trying to move the chair around so that it faced Mecca. In the last minutes before the weapon detonated he was determined to recite his prayers. He thought he could probably tip the chair forward as well, but he was saving that manoeuvre until the end.
Suddenly a shadow caught his eye — a movement where no movement should be — and he snapped his head round to see clearly. Impossibly, the figure of a man was stationary outside one of the suite windows.
For an instant, Hussein thought he must be hallucinating, then he saw the rope and the harnesses. The man held both hands in front of his face, and Hussein realized he was studying the interior of the suite through a small pair of binoculars.
With a sudden surge of hope, the inspector thought a rescue operation must have been mounted.
Then he remembered the American’s final words, and realized his only hope of survival was if they could get him out of the building in time. Whatever happened, and whatever anyone did, the Burj Al-Arab was doomed.
Though small, the binoculars were powerful. Richter had immediately spotted Hussein but ignored him, his sole concern being the doors, and how the Americans had booby-trapped them.
But he couldn’t see enough. The doors were visible, but he couldn’t see the handles — the obvious place to secure an explosive charge — because of the furniture.
Hanging there any longer would be a waste of time. What he had to do was get inside. He began the climb back up to the roof.
The driver was doing well now. Once they’d cleared the chaotic traffic around Al-Jumeirah Road, he’d worked his way successfully through the side streets and now they were well into Mankhool, heading for the Clock Tower Roundabout. Once they reached it, the airport would almost be in sight.
O’Hagan reckoned they’d reach the Gulfstream within ten minutes, and be airborne ten minutes after that. And then absolutely nothing could stop them.
The manufacturers of the Mitchell Climbing System claim that an experienced user is able to climb either up or down a particular distance at approximately the same speed. By the time Richter hauled himself over the edge of the parapet, he was perfectly prepared to agree with them.