“I understand, Gentleman,” he had answered.
With the rest of the weaponry arriving from Thailand, it was not lost on Navjot that Martin deliberately used five brokers to make sure the purchases stayed below the radar.
“Clever,” he had said respectfully nodding his head towards the former Guardsman.
Finally, the ten refurbished Type 63 personnel carriers from North Korea would be delivered to Addis Ababa by way of China and then transported across Ethiopia on Wasir’s trucks to the border ready for deployment. Although he couldn’t show it as he wasn’t supposed to hold any knowledge of military matters and planning nevertheless Navjot was completely satisfied by the proposed plan from Martin.
So much so he had instructed Reza to wire the money through their British Virgin Islands front companies to the relevant lawyers Martin had used in each part of the world in readiness for immediate payment.
All he needed now was the Devil’s handshake with Wasir Osman Hassan.
Navjot picked up his mobile and called his asset in the Burj Al Arab, whom he had recruited when they had met at one of his friend’s Mahesh Tourani’s famous parties when he was establishing the Gourgamangi Singh identity in the early years when he was living in Dubai. Over the years, the asset had become an essential part of the SAD monitoring function on the comings and goings at the famous hotel often making sure Langley received excellent intelligence from the staff, who were always ignored while serving the targets.
It was not though until one particular operation that they realized just how unique he was. On that occasion when having spotted and reported that a senior dealmaker of Hamas was staying at the hotel with no minders as a guest of one of the Sheikh’s of a country sympathetic to the cause, he was asked to take him down in a joint operation with the Israelis.
At the time, Navjot and Ali had both been dead set against it, saying that he wasn’t trained for that kind of operation, but having been overruled by their immediate superiors they reluctantly lent him to the Israelis who had not been able to get a team in place fast enough with strict orders not to reveal his identity. Watching and waiting until the terrorist leader was in the sea with his young Jordanian girlfriend on the hotel’s private beach he coolly took the opportunity to swap his cell phone with a one that had been cloned. This cloned cell phone however contained fifteen grams of RDX explosives that young Israeli Shinbet courier had given him the day before.
Later that evening having followed terrorist out of the hotel and on into Deira, located on the other side of Dubai creek far away from the hotel cameras, the asset had waited. Then as the terrorist walked out of the offices he was visiting answering the call on his mobile phone he coolly and without hesitation remotely detonated the device killing the man instantly before calmly walking away as though nothing had happened, got into his Range Rover, and drove back to the hotel to carry on with his day job.
“Masterful and cool in his approach an absolute credit to your country,” the Shinbet Chief had written when he sent his thanks to the Director.
It was that point Ali and he realized they had recruited a very unusual operative.
The Israelis may have gotten the credit and had the Dubai Police running around trying to trace the steps of a phantom kill team, not to mention trying work out how the Israelis had done it—indeed this was one of reasons why they had gone over the top when they did actually send in a kill team in to take out Mahmoud Al-Mabhouh. One thing was absolutely sure about this operation was nobody suspected it was Sheikh of Dubai’s ‘hotel man,’ as he was known in the Emirate.
Quietly, when the man was on leave after he had traveled to Langley to obtain his Intelligence Star for that operation, he went onto the Farm for special training so they could upgrade his status. They had stood together in the reception room for his private ceremony surrounded by men and women who had never met him nevertheless saluting his bravery.
Asking if he was okay, fearing it was one thing to pass information along another to be asked to kill, for until an agent is faced with an extremely prejudiced situation despite all the best training in the world it stands for nothing until you have processed the baggage that comes with it, he received his answer.
“Never better, G!” he had replied with a smile.
“Because of me, the children on the West Bank get a chance to live whether they’re Arab or Israeli,” he had replied, as if touched by Navjot’s show of concern. “Don’t worry. I sleep like a baby at night,” he had rejoined. Navjot never doubted him after that as could see he meant it.
The click on the end of the line had brought his friend and asset on the line.
“Hi Rob…” he had said letting him know who it was.
“Gourgamangi! Great to hear your voice again,” he had replied with genuine warmth.
“I need favor old chap,” he had asked.
“Don’t you always, G!” he had laughed reverting to his nickname.
In a lightweight dark blue suit with a light blue silk tie, the typical color of hotel managers all over the world sitting in his office of the famous Burj Al Arab awaiting the arrival of Wasir Osman Hassan, was Robin “Rob” Ashley.
British born, single, with no ties he had joined the famous hotel group in early days of early of the Dubai boom at the end of 1990s. Tall with a strong chin and dark brown eyes, he was to all intents and appearances a loyal servant of the Sheikh of the Emirate serving as the organization’s development director and in a less visual role of a ‘fixer’ of deals when required by the Ruler’s Office. Although he hadn’t been originally trained as an intelligence officer, Rob nevertheless had all the natural skills to be one, with his ability to recognize that information was a tradable commodity and being able to act as necessary and coolly under a great deal of stress.
Immensely proud of his Intelligence Star he had earned for the take down a Hamas terrorist in his backyard and was locked up the vault in Langley, along with his freshly minted U.S. passport, and the monthly salary the Agency paid into an account for him that he would receive in full once he became surplus to requirements to the Sheikh or needed to leave immediately, nobody had known about his work outside the Agency not even his closest family.
Although he didn’t even know his friend’s real name who was also his ‘controller,’ their bond over the years had grown into a true friendship, and when he was first approached on a visit to New York in the “mid-noughties,” he did not have a clue that his friend whom he had a met at a party of one of the ‘true’ traders of the Emirate was actually an intelligence asset. Overweight, depressed and drinking too much over some of the things he had been asked to do in his employer’s service all that had changed the minute he went to work for Langley.
They gave him a purpose to his life. Now he was part of the secret battle against the terrorists of the world and was using his black book for something other than the whims of the royal family.
When the phone rang from the front desk advising him that his guest had just gone through the front gate, he left his office to meet him.
A seasoned pro at avoiding the killing humid heat of Dubai he arrived outside the famous hotel’s volcano fountain just as the black Mercedes Benz S500’s, with the flags of Adwalland on the front, passenger door was being opened by one of the lavishly dressed doorman. Ignoring the two bodyguards, Rob offered his hand to the man.
“Minister, welcome to the Burj Al Arab. I am Rob Ashley from the Hotel,” he said in his crisp public school accent, using the hallmark of the hotel of, “Always greet the guest before they greet you.”