No Remorse Part 8

"Let's go."

Mac led Tony out into the living room and gave a lazy salute to the bodyguard, who was walking out of the bedroom.

"Okay," said Mac.

The man said something that again Mac and Tony didn't understand. Then he said in a gruff voice: "Clean! Clean!" and waved his hand around the room.

"Lady clean!" Mac yelled back and shook his head. Looked at his watch. "Lady clean!" He held up five fingers. "Five minutes!"

The bodyguard nodded and looked relieved. Waved them out.

"Merci, Monsieur. " Mac lingered by the door, palm out meaningfully.

The bodyguard pulled a face and tossed him a two-euro coin.

As they hurried to the elevator, Tony said, "We're screwed if Brazhlov notices one of his tags missing."

21.

Tally's excitement mounted. At the Royal & International Bank of Seych.e.l.les Log In prompt, she typed the number of Brazhlov's account and pa.s.sword that she knew from memory. A soft 'beep' sounded and another popup screen appeared.

"Give me the token, Tony."

She typed the token as he read it out, then hit Enter. The screen went blank while the bank's security authentication protocol processed the data. After a moment, a list of accounts appeared.

"I'm in!" she whispered, but Tony had disconnected.

In Brazhlov's account were six sub-accounts, all with amounts in US dollars. The amounts ranged from $420,000 to $320 million. Brazhlov had named each account after a bird: there was a Falcon Account, Eagle Account, Hawk Account, and so on. Tally memorised these in case she could gain access again later.

She called Tony back and got voicemail. What had happened? She started to feel guilty that she'd been hoping Mac would screw things up. Now her concern was that without more tokens she wouldn't be able to access any of Brazhlov's other accounts. If that was the case, she would need to recover as much as she could from the accounts now showing on her screen.

So be it.

She went through each sub-account, checking the last four month's transactions. The largest transfer was from the Eagle Account, for $41 million. She mentally crossed her fingers as she typed in a transfer of $40 million to the numbered account AST A had opened at the Standard Global Bank of the Cook Islands. She held her breath. Waited. After a moment, the confirmation screen appeared, signalling the funds had been transferred.

One down, five to go!

She released her breath and sneaked a covert grin at Rosco, who winked in return. She moved the cursor to the Hawk account, which had a $243 million balance, with the highest transfer being $15 million. As she attempted to transfer $14 million, a message in bold appeared: Maximum transfer permitted on this account: $10 million. Brazhlov must have changed the daily transfer limit. She transferred nine million and moved to the next account. After a few minutes, she'd transferred $87 million to the Cook Islands Account.

She dialled Tony again, but again it went to voicemail. She dialled Mac's number. He answered on the second ring.

"What happened? I can't get Tony."

"He's down in the bas.e.m.e.nt bringing up the rental. We're checking out. One of Brazhlov's men came back to see if the room was being cleaned. Good news. I have another token tag. The Mediterranean Commerce Bank of Cyprus. Care to try that?"

A few minutes later, Tally had recovered a further $64 million. She was shaking. She wanted to run from the internet cafe before the police stormed in and arrested her. At the same time, she could scarcely restrain herself from squealing with delight. She pressed speed dial. After a moment a voice came on the line.

"Wisebaum."

"One hundred and fifty big ones, Derek!" she whispered.

"Great job, Tal. Now clean up and walk out nice and slow. We'll talk later." He disconnected.

She deleted her applications, cookies, history, and residual files, then reconfigured the switching server at the Nice Exchange. She rebooted the computer. Taking out a small perfume spray bottle, she sprayed the keyboard, desk and mouse. The alkaline mixture would destroy any fingerprints.

"Let's hope Brazhlov doesn't want to check his balance tonight," Rosco said to her as they arrived back at the Negresco Hotel to meet the others, before departing for the airport.

Clearance of the funds would occur in two to three days. After that, the funds would be electronically s.h.i.+fted among hundreds of accounts at various banks in Liechtenstein, Turks and Caicos, Panama, Cyprus, Cayman Islands, Bermuda, and Antigua and Barbuda. They would be then consolidated in three Monaco banks before being s.h.i.+fted to various ASTA accounts around the world. The Cook Islands account would then be closed. Within five days, there would be no trace of the funds' final destination.

They just had to wait.

22.

At his suite in the acute care wing of the Pierre Morrell Cancer Clinic in Dubai, Prince Abu-Bakr Yubani smiled weakly, beckoning Khalid closer until the cracked lips almost touched his ear. His father's foul breath had a metallic edge, and the old man struggled for air before gaining sufficient strength to speak. The words came out in a hoa.r.s.e whisper, interspersed with shallow, weak coughs. "Our fortress?"

"Finished. It's magnificent, father. I pray you'll soon be well enough to fly to Andaran and see it. Everything is ready. We finally have a donor girl with excellent compatibility, and Dr. Xi's team has practiced the operation on four other patients. When will the doctors say we can move you?"

His mother, Princess Aliya, stopped talking quietly with Rubi and came over to adjust Abu-Bakr's pillows. "The doctors say he'll be released in about two weeks. He just needs a little more rest after the pneumonia."

"It is in Allah's hands," Abu-Bakr said. "Is the fortress completely secure?"

It will be, once Fanning and his wife are eliminated, Khalid thought. But he knew better than to worry his ailing father about that.

"It's totally secure, father. Tell me about these threats Ibrahim mentioned?"

Abu-Bakr put his finger to his lips before whispering the words, "Jing-Ho." He grimaced as he tried to s.h.i.+ft his body to a different position.

"The old man who looks after your villa in Paris? Surely he is not threatening you?"

Abu-Bakr shook his head and gestured to Princess Aliya, who took an envelope from her handbag and handed it to Khalid.

"Just before he was admitted to this place he wrote things down," Princess Aliya said. "The rest you'll get from Ibrahim and your father's attorney."

Khalid felt a weariness wash over him. He wanted to be gone from this morbid place. "I'll go then, mother. I have business at home."

"Ibrahim..." Abu-Bakr croaked, pointing to the door.

Khalid called Ibrahim into the room.

"Ibrahim, you must retrieve the cargo..." said Abu-Bakr, grabbing the oxygen mask and taking a few breaths. "...and move it to the fortress."

Ibrahim nodded. "I will ensure it is moved to safety, Highness."

Abu-Bakr gasped and grabbed Khalid's arm, the urgency insistent. "Son, you... cannot go with Ibrahim.. .Cargo is buried... Saudi desert. Be careful, my son. They..." He lay back and closed his eyes.

"What? What?" Khalid asked, leaning closer, but his father had slipped out of consciousness. Khalid gagged at the putrid smell of cancer on his father's breath. He was relieved to be leaving.

"It is as well that you don't come tomorrow," Princess Aliya said. "Your brothers and his other wives are coming for a visit. He'll be fine. We will see you on Andaran in two weeks."

Khalid gave his mother an affectionate hug. As he and Rubi walked out with their bodyguards, he took one last glance and thought about the girl, Sophia. Soon her lungs would be inside his father, and he would have a new lease on life.

23.

Khalid s.h.i.+fted in his chair, feigning interest in the conversation, as servants cleared the table and his children ran around outside in the twilight within the high walls of their villa in Dubai's Emirates Hills. Khalid was anxious to read his father's letter, but Sheriti had been teaching him the pleasures of delayed fulfilment, so he forced himself to wait until after the meal, when he could open it in the sanctuary of his retreat.

Seated next to him was his second wife Rasha, in a patterned cotton dress that disguised the baby b.u.mp. She'd been educated in France and as usual was leading the discussion.

"Jamila's unhappy, husband. She misses her family and comes to my bed in the night. And she cuts herself. She needs a baby, Khalid."

He knew that he hadn't spent much time with his wives lately, and he and Jamila had married only three months ago. But he'd been busy, launching the new website, finalizing the Andaran project, and finding a suitable transplant donor for his father.

Jamila's warm smile, playful personality and rebellious streak had charmed him when he had first met her two years ago as a fourteen-year-old at his uncle's estate in London, but since they'd married she had shown that she had a moody side. Occasionally the impetuous teenager would go too far.

He would not tolerate insubordination from anyone.

"Cuts herself? Ridiculous! This is my problem, Rasha? You, who has a baby every year for me?"

Salimah, his first wife, continued her needlework, on what Khalid thought was probably some baby clothes. "You haven't been here. Otherwise she'd be with child by now."

"I do not excuse my absence to you, woman. You are well taken care of."

"I am sorry, my husband," said Salimah, bowing her head. "I did not mean to imply-"

He dismissed her comment with a wave. "Jamila, show me where you have cut yourself."

"It is nothing, husband."

He whipped his hand across her cheek. "Show me!"

Jamila flinched as her cheek reddened with the mark of his hand, and with a shameful look pulled up her sleeves to reveal the healing scars on the inside of each arm.

"If you cut yourself again, I will divorce you. Do you understand, child?"

"You sound like my father," Jamila persisted. "And my mother scolds me because I am not yet with child. Why won't you give me a baby, Khalid?"

As he rose to his feet, about to hit her again, Rasha admonished her. "Jamila! A wife does not speak to her husband that way!"

He dropped his raised hand to his side and smiled at Rasha. She was smart, he thought. She understood when to support him and when she could challenge his authority. "Jamila, you will come to me tonight, and every night I am here. I will ensure you are given my full attention."

Jamila looked at each of the others. Suddenly she began to wail. Tears poured down her cheeks and dripped off her chin. "Please, Khalid. Take me to Andaran. We have not yet had a honeymoon. I want to travel with you so that I may pleasure you every night."

"She should have a honeymoon, husband," Rasha said. "It is only fair. Take her, with our blessing."

Salimah nodded her agreement.

"What? What is this?" He switched his gaze between them. He never took his wives on trips unless it was for his public image. He couldn't allow them to be aboard Princess Aliya when there was a s.h.i.+pment of slaves, or models on photographic shoots. Or when he was entertaining actresses or celebrities. Then there was Sheriti. He needed time to persuade her that marrying him would increase her status, not make her just another of his wives.

But perhaps Rasha was right. Khalid considered that it might well serve his interests for Jamila and Sheriti to spend time together. Jamila seemed to look up to her. And she might provide rea.s.surance to Sheriti about her status. And if that didn't work out, he could always fly Jamila home.

"Very well. Jamila, out of respect for Salimah and Rasha, you may accompany me. But you must promise not to listen in on my private conversations or go where you are not permitted, and to do what you're told. Otherwise I will send you home."

Jamila's expression changed instantly. She put her arms around his neck, kissing him generously. "I swear you will not regret this, husband!"

He glanced at Rasha, who was smiling at him. "Then it's settled. Now, I have work to do. Jamila, you will come to me in thirty minutes."

Alone in his retreat, he collapsed onto the sofa, and opened his father's letter. He was almost disappointed when inside was a single sheet with his father's shaky Arabic script, until he read the words: Peace be with you, son I have placed for you more than $800 million in numbered accounts, property, investments, and other a.s.sets. Muhammed Al-Saheed has the key. See Jing-Ho. Do not allow your brothers to discover the existence of these a.s.sets, for they will try to take them from you.

He smiled as he saw the amount. Eight hundred million dollars! His father's gift would immediately double his personal wealth. It would help him consolidate his position as an international celebrity speaking out against the regime in Saudi Arabia, and he'd be able to increase his support for the rebels inside the Kingdom. He continued reading: I could not tell you the details before, but one of the reasons I financed the fortress on Andaran was that Saddam Hussein asked me to hide a cargo of great value that I was to return once the Americans had left Iraq, With Saddam gone, I have decided it is now appropriate to entrust it to you, my son. I pray to Allah that you use it wisely to support our cause. Move it quickly to the security of the fortress. The Israelis have somehow learned of its existence and have demanded I hand it over. I have refused, of course. Their threats continue. The Americans, too, may have learned of its existence. Only Ibrahim and Abdul know where it is hidden.

May Allah guide and protect you.

Abu-Bakr.

Khalid could feel the pulse pounding in his neck as he read the words again. A hidden treasure. He was not surprised that his father's old friend, Saddam, had asked for help, because Abu-Bakr had arranged many arms deals for him in the past. Now the threats made sense. The Israelis. Their reputation was well established: they were ruthless and persistent. And the greedy Americans, whose hypocritical support for the autocratic regime of Saudi Arabia was based solely on their dependence on Saudi oil. But why was the Saddam cargo so valuable? He knew he would need to plan carefully to ensure the cargo was not stolen before it could be secured in the fortress. He needed to question Ibrahim about what he knew.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Jamila entered, treading lightly with bare feet. She paused, eyes lowered in deference, unsure whether he was ready. He nodded, and noted with amus.e.m.e.nt Seth's furtive glance as she padded past the bodyguard, her small b.r.e.a.s.t.s jiggling through the diaphanous robe. Khalid took in the patchouli and musk of her body as she wriggled onto his lap and loosened her robe so he could access her more easily. Her glossy black hair cascaded over her bare shoulders almost to her waist and she gazed up at him with an expression of impish mischief that revealed her intense desire.

His fingers teased her belly and moved up over her ribcage to toy with her nipples until they were tight. She closed her eyes as he kissed her and squeezed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She moaned, her body responding as he caressed her, and she opened her legs to his playful explorations.

His phone buzzed. Ziad. He was in Paris discussing the next s.h.i.+pment with The Frenchman. Whatever he wanted, it could wait. He switched the phone to mute, inhaling sharply as Jamila kneeled in front of him and lifted his thobe. She moistened her dark, smooth lips with her tongue and he lay back on the sofa, shutting out his earthly problems as, using skills she'd been learning from the other wives, Jamila showed him a glimpse of what Paradise would one day be like.