No Remorse (16 page)

“Thanks.” She smiled at him and took a sip, then blew on the drink to cool it. “We’re using Khalid to get to Prince Abu-Bakr. Since his father’s been sick, Khalid has taken over his shipping business. We don’t have any evidence on Khalid’s involvement with terrorist networks. Not yet, anyway. Then again, maybe I’ll get something we could use later. We just need something, some email or contact details that will allow us to make up an email and send it to Abu-Bakr. That would then allow us to trace his computer and place a keylogger on his computer like we did with Brazhlov.”

“And if you can’t hack in?”

“Then I’ll try a dictionary attack. That’s what these babies are for.” She pointed at the four five-terabyte external storage drives. “We have every word in every language, every first name and surname in every telephone directory, every place name and email address. Slang terms, you name it.”

“You’re kidding, right? That’s got to be impossible.”

Tally waggled her head, grinning proudly. “The internet is constantly being trawled and the database updated in real time. Our software will crack almost any encrypted password in minutes, unless it’s a random combination of numbers and letters of more than ten characters.”

“What if everyone on Princess Aliya has a long, random password?”

“Most people can’t remember complex passwords. Someone on the
Princess Aliya
will be using a simple password, believe me.”

“But how do you cope with all that Arabic? I can speak it, but the writing’s a little more difficult.”

“I think my eidetic memory makes it easier. I can read and write Arabic and quite a few other languages, actually. But if all else fails, I have some extremely powerful translator software.”

“If it’s anything like Google Translate, its probably not—”

“It’s a few steps up from that, I can assure you.”

Mac watched for a while, becoming increasingly fascinated at the way Tally worked with three computers at once.

Without warning, her eyes flashed up at him. “What’re you grinning at?”

He hadn’t realized he was staring so intently. “I was… just wondering what that big red button was.”

“That’s the panic switch. If there’s trouble, we just hit that switch and the computers lock up. The only way they can be unlocked is through a complex password given to us from Montreal. Any attempt to break in and the hard drives self-destruct.”

“Impressive. Derek mentioned how valuable they are. By the way, there was a strange-looking guy in one of the photos from the briefing file. Adnan Ziad. Got anything in that photographic memory of yours about him?”

Tally nodded and with a couple clicks of the mouse brought up a profile shot. “Works for Khalid. Security chief or something. From Karachi, Pakistan. We don’t know much about him, other than he’s worked for Khalid for a long time. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, just thought I saw him as we walked through the lobby,” he lied. “What do you want me to do while I’m waiting for you to hack in?”

Tally held up a brick-sized object that looked like a GPS unit, and a tiny device he recognized as an audio bug. “We want you to try and plant these on the
Princess Aliya
.”

Mac raised his eyebrows. “What is this, the 1980s? That the smallest unit you have? The one’s I’ve used are about the size of a matchbox.”

Tally smiled. For the first time he spotted a small round scar under her left eye, like a chicken pox scar. Strange he hadn’t noticed that before.

She shrugged. “It’s the battery and the waterproofing. It has to send a signal to a satellite for six months. We’ll be able to monitor where the boat goes and potentially identify Khalid’s connections with terrorist groups or weapons suppliers, information that will support our suspicions about Khalid’s support for terrorism. Then we’ll be able to target him.”

A knock at the door. Room service.

“Just in time. I’m starved,” he said. “Jet lag, I guess.”

Tally stretched her arms and yawned. “You have some money for a tip?”

“Wait. Check the security viewer first.” As he turned to her, he reached for his wallet and knocked it onto the floor.

“Just a minute!” Tally called out, picking up the wallet. She recoiled, raised her eyebrows. “And what, may I ask, are those?”

“What, you’ve never seen condoms before?”

“Not ones that look like they’re past their expiry date. How long have you had them in there?” Her voice oozed with sarcasm.

Mac coughed. “A while. Emergency supply.”

“Only two? Well, let me reassure you, there won’t be any emergencies in Dubai.” She took out two bills and thrust the wallet at him, grinning. “Wow, you really know how to impress a girl, Rambo.”

Strolling with a daypack along the marina near the hotel where the
Princess Aliya
was berthed, Mac lingered among tourists taking photographs of the magnificent vessel. He had a palm-sized camera with a 25X zoom. Even if his photos weren’t of much intelligence value, taking them gave him an excuse to study ways he might sneak aboard later. The GPS was big and he’d need to find somewhere that was rarely used to hide it. A storage cupboard, maybe. Further aft, he spotted four barrels secured outside the superstructure, ready to deploy life rafts in an emergency. Perfect. Except they were about thirty feet up.

Men were still loading provisions, but there was no obvious security. He decided to test the defenses. With an audio listening device hidden in his palm, he ambled up the gangway and posed grinning, camera at arm’s length, taking photos of himself on board. Almost immediately, a solidly built crewmember appeared at the top of the stairs.

“This private. You leave now.”

He waved. “G’day, mate.” He hoped he sounded like an Australian. “Any chance of a yap with the Captain? I’m a yachtie looking for work.”

The other man shook his head and signaled for him to get off the boat, then pulled out a two-way and spoke in Arabic: “Just another idiot tourist. I’ll wait until he leaves.”

Mac understood every word, being fluent in Arabic, but gave no indication. “I’ll come back later, with me résumé,” he called up to the man. Backing off the vessel, he deliberately lost his footing, and as he grabbed the rail he attached a tiny bug on the rail’s underside. It could transmit about eight hundred yards, more than enough to reach the hotel room. He headed back and stopped at the beachside bar, where he ordered a Coke and plugged in the bug earpiece that looked like an iPod.

He listened. Nothing. Nobody seemed inclined to chat on the stern deck. All he had on tape after an hour of inactivity was one long fart. He was about to go upstairs when he heard some voices on the vessel, and soon after a group passed him, heading towards the car park. Leading the group was a man he badly wanted to talk to. Ziad. He was carrying a maroon briefcase. Following Ziad and four men were three women in western-style clothes—the personal trainer, Sheriti, the sister, Rubi, and one he didn’t recognize, a teenage Arab girl.

If only he could figure out a way to isolate Ziad and take him somewhere to interrogate for an hour or two…

He took a discreet photograph of the group and followed them as they drove the short distance to the busy Madinat Jumeirah souk, whose castle-like facade contrasted with the ultra-modern silhouette of the nearby Burj Al Arab. They climbed aboard an
abra
that ferried them along a canal. Mac hurried on foot through the crowd along the promenade by the canal. After they disembarked, the women headed for the clothing boutiques with two bodyguards while Ziad and his two men went in the opposite direction, to the gold bazaar.

Ziad disappeared into a gold shop. After several minutes, Mac wandered inside, browsing the gold bracelets, rings and other trinkets. A well-groomed and overly perfumed young man asked if he could assist. There was no sign of Ziad, but his two men stood outside the door leading to the rear of the store. It appeared that a little business was being transacted, no doubt over a glass of sugary mint tea. Mac left the store and made a note of its name. Soon after, he spotted Rubi and the girl entering a beauty salon. Their bodyguards stood outside.

Sheriti strolled off alone, and he decided to follow. Later, he wondered why he had done that, and he couldn’t come up with a rational answer. Gut instinct, he guessed. Sheriti hurried past the entrance to The Noodle House and turned left at the amphitheater, slipping through an exit door. He raced to the next exit so she wouldn’t spot him following her, and emerged on the promenade beside the canal.

Vanished.

Damn!

He bought a freshly squeezed orange juice and ambled along, browsing the stalls while watching for her. And then he spotted her, in the shadow of a palm tree, with a burqa-clad woman. A pre-arranged meeting, had to be. They ambled along the almost deserted walkway beside a canal, occasionally checking their surroundings as they walked. Mac’s suspicious nature made him wonder if the person under the burqa might be a man. A secret boyfriend? He’d had plenty of experience studying people in burqas in Afghanistan and he decided that no, it was probably a woman.

After looking around, the burqa woman passed Sheriti a bag with the Madinat logo. Sheriti lifted the item halfway out of the bag to see what it was, then let it slide back. It was the distinctive white box of an Apple laptop computer. Why, he wondered, would a woman be delivering a computer to Sheriti at what appeared to be a clandestine meeting? What else might be happening here?

Staying well back in the shadows, he aimed the camera and zoomed in, taking several close-ups as he followed them, passing a small alley that served as an emergency exit.

Crack.

Black.

After the simple graveside service in Ad Dammam’s main cemetery, Khalid strolled over to speak with his brothers, Hakim and Tariq. Out of courtesy, not affection. To Khalid, his brothers were do-nothings who sponged off their country’s wealth and contributed nothing to change Saudi Arabia for the better. Hakim, his elder brother, was a highly paid bureaucrat in the Department of Health who twiddled his thumbs while foreigners ran the hospitals. Tariq was one of the many vice presidents of a government-owned oil subsidiary, paid to shake the hands of foreigners and pretend he had an important role, when in reality he was just one of the royal rent-a-crowd.

“Ah, the exiled playboy makes an appearance. I’m surprised they would permit you to enter the Kingdom, given your crimes,” Hakim said, lighting a cigarette. “Perhaps they intend to arrest you.”

“I have a twenty-four-hour entry permit. It would not have been necessary had you allowed our father to be buried in Dubai as he wished.”

Hakim and Tariq had different mothers to Khalid, and looked nothing like him, or each other. Hakim was tall and carried himself with the haughty superiority of an eldest son. His chin, with its neatly trimmed beard, was thrust forward so that he looked down his nose at everyone. Tariq, conveniently, was shorter.

“Why did you come? You dishonored our family and your father,” said Tariq.

“On the contrary.” He turned to Hakim. “In fact, father told me that
you
didn’t even visit him when he was in one of your hospitals for treatment. He heard you were afraid of catching his illness.”

Hakim’s eyes flickered for a moment and Khalid knew the allegation was true. “That is a lie. I’m a busy man, with important projects.”

Tariq nudged Hakim and gestured at Ibrahim. “Why is father’s bodyguard with you, Khalid?”

“Ibrahim began working for me at the request of our father. He was making the arrangements for father’s permanent move to Dubai.”

“What nonsense! He never mentioned this to mother,” said Tariq.

“He hadn’t slept in the same bed as your mother for twenty years,” Khalid said, and turned to Hakim. “Ah, I see that
you
knew, brother.”

Hakim merely shrugged. “It is of little relevance now. What’s important is that as an exile, you’re not entitled to any of father’s estate. It will be divided between Tariq and me,” he said, with a malicious smirk.

Khalid shrugged. He recalled his father’s warning not to tell his brothers, but couldn’t resist provoking them. “You need not be concerned, brothers. Our father has provided more than adequately for his favorite son.
Inshallah
.”

Tariq’s forehead creased and he turned to Hakim, who briefly frowned. As Khalid turned away from them, Hakim grabbed him and leaned close. “If you think that you can get away with stealing what is ours by the law of the Kingdom, you should think again, brother. I have influence in the Ministry. Our Department of Public Security will track you down and bury you in the sand as we did with that whore of yours, Muna.”

Khalid’s face darkened. It was a deliberate provocation by Hakim, but he could not allow it to go unpunished. His hand moved to the khanjar at his waist. Tariq stepped back, glancing around for his bodyguards, but Hakim took up the challenge and grabbed the handle of his khanjar, ready to fight.

At the first sign of a physical confrontation, Ibrahim and Masoud had begun to jog towards them and now four bodyguards belonging to Hakim and Tariq moved to intercept them. The fighting was over in seconds. Ibrahim and Masoud quickly rushed to Khalid’s side, leaving the four other bodyguards on the ground. Ibrahim grabbed Tariq’s arm and shook his head at Hakim.

“You are a traitor, Ibrahim. You will regret this,” Hakim said.

Tariq stepped further back and uttered a choking sound, clearly terrified of Ibrahim.

“Come, Highness. Now is not the time,” Ibrahim said to Khalid quietly. “Hakim is trying to have you arrested.”

Khalid’s eyes flickered as the words sunk in and he brought his emotions under control. Of course that was Hakim’s intent. And once he was locked up, Hakim would manipulate the system to have him held indefinitely, perhaps even murdered in prison.

Ibrahim released his grip on Tariq’s arm.

“They still chop off the right hand of thieves here, you know” Tariq said weakly, trying to save face.

Khalid didn’t take his eyes of Hakim. “Perhaps, Tariq, you should learn to control the actions of your own right hand.”