Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

W ILLIAM TICKED OFF THE LAST of the dinner party guests as they left the Saudi Embassy. He checked his watch: just after eleven. Most of the protestors had also departed – nothing like a cold night and PC Rain to assist the police with their job. William decided to go home and find out if he still had a wife and children.

He was just about to tap Danny on the shoulder when a young man, no longer in a keffiyeh and thawb but wearing a casual sports jacket and an open-neck shirt, came out of the rear of the embassy. William recognized him immediately.

‘Time for some old-fashioned foot slogging,' said William, who quickly jumped out of the car, making sure he didn't lose sight of the Black Prince as he made his way along Curzon Street, past his favourite bookshop and on towards Park Lane.

Prince Ahmed kept a steady pace and never once looked back.

William wondered where he could be going at this time of night, unaccompanied by his usual hangers-on.

When the Prince reached Park Lane, he turned right and headed in the direction of Marble Arch, but had only covered another hundred yards before he reached the entrance to a hotel where the head porter bowed low and said, ‘Good evening your Royal Highness.'

William kept his distance and hung back before entering the Dorchester a few moments later, as if he were a guest. He remained out of sight as the manager escorted the Prince to the nearest lift.

William walked slowly across the lobby, his eyes fixed on the indicator above the lift that showed Ahmed was heading for the ninth floor. When the night manager returned a few minutes later, William was standing in the corridor waiting for him.

‘Can I help you, sir?' he asked.

‘I'm responsible for the Prince's security,' said William, producing his warrant card. ‘It would be helpful for my team if we knew if His Royal Highness has retired for the night or has plans to go out again. I want to make sure he gets the best protection possible while he's a guest of the British government.'

The manager looked suitably impressed. ‘All I can tell you, Chief Superintendent, is that His Royal Highness is expecting a guest in about twenty minutes' time, and has no plans to go out that I'm aware of.'

‘Thank you,' said William. ‘That's most helpful. And I feel sure we can rely on your discretion.'

The night manager nodded before returning to the reception desk.

William was puzzled by who could possibly be visiting Prince Ahmed at that time of night. He assumed it had to be a young lady who charged by the hour. He hoped it wasn't one in particular, because if it was, he would have no way of protecting her.

He allowed a policeman's curiosity to get the better of him, walked back across the lobby and remained secreted behind a pillar in the far corner that gave him a clear view of the revolving door, as well as the bank of lifts to his left. He didn't have to wait long.

When he saw who it was entering the hotel, he assumed it had to be a coincidence, but then policemen don't believe in coincidences. He remained behind the pillar as the night manager greeted the guest and accompanied him across the lobby to a waiting lift. When the doors slid closed, William walked across to see that the little arrow didn't stop until it reached the ninth floor.

If this had been Moscow or even Washington, the room would have been bugged, but it was London, so William could only hazard a guess as to what they might be discussing. He returned to his place behind the pillar and wondered how long he would have to wait.

···

As Miles made his way up to the ninth floor, he felt unusually nervous. Dealing with petty criminals and people who relied on his patronage was one thing, but having to handle a prince of the Royal Blood was quite another, especially as this particular Prince was not in need of financial succour. But then, perhaps he had something to offer that he needed more than money. He hoped that half the stories about the Black Prince were true.

When Miles stepped out of the lift on the ninth floor, he made his way across to an un-numbered door. He pressed the little pearl button and, moments later, it was opened by a man dressed in a light blue suit and open-neck shirt, who thrust out his hand and said, ‘I'm Hani Khalil, His Royal Highness's senior consultant.'

Miles shook hands with a man he instantly disliked, but returned his insincere smile before being led into the presence of his master. Prince Ahmed was sitting in a large, comfortable chair as if it were a throne; he made no effort to welcome Miles. The two men stared at each other like a mongoose who's come across a snake, each waiting for the other to strike. Ahmed waved an imperious hand in the direction of the seat opposite him to let him know he could sit down. Khalil remained standing.

Miles sat on the edge of his seat and took a closer look at his would-be collaborator. He exuded arrogance, vanity and entitlement in equal measure – three weaknesses he always welcomed whenever he was trying to close a deal. Miles bowed low and said, ‘How kind of you to spare the time to see me, Your Royal Highness,' playing his first card: flattery.

The Prince didn't respond; clearly this was no more than he expected from an infidel.

‘His Royal Highness,' said Khalil, ‘understands you have a proposition to put to him, Mr Faulkner, and as he is expecting another guest to join him in a few minutes' time, perhaps you could tell us the purpose of your visit.'

‘Avril Dubois,' said Miles, who didn't have to wait for a reaction.

The Prince lurched forward in his chair, as if he was about to attack the mongoose, but the snake remained uncurled.

‘I have it on good authority,' continued Miles, ‘that when the trial comes to court, Ms Dubois will be returning to Riyadh as part of a British defence team, when she will produce irrefutable evidence that His Royal Highness might find extremely embarrassing.'

The Prince shifted uneasily in his chair, but still didn't comment.

‘She wouldn't get past immigration control,' said Khalil.

‘Which is exactly what the Foreign Office are anticipating,' said Miles, not missing a beat, ‘and is why she will also be accompanied by foreign correspondents from The Guardian , The Times and the New Statesman . I have to warn you they have already written their copy, which will not read well.' Miles paused before he played his trump card. ‘However, if you think it would be helpful, I can make sure she doesn't reach the airport.'

‘And what would you expect in return?' came back Khalil.

‘That Simon Hartley also doesn't make it to the airport.'

There was a short silence, during which time Khalil and the Prince exchanged glances.

‘Why is Hartley so important to you?' demanded Khalil.

‘For the same reason Avril is important to you,' said Miles. ‘A great deal of money is at stake.'

Miles waited for a response, aware that all the information Booth Watson and ex-Superintendent Lamont had supplied had hit home.

‘You have a deal, Mr Faulkner,' said the Prince, speaking for the first time. He rose from his place and shook hands with Miles as if they were old friends.

Miles bowed low once again before he said, ‘It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Your Royal Highness.'

The Prince simply nodded to indicate that the meeting was over. Khalil accompanied his guest back to the lift, but this time, when he offered his hand, Miles didn't shake it.

‘Now listen to me carefully, you little shit,' said Miles as he waited for the lift to appear. ‘Should you fail to keep your end of the bargain, I would advise you not to return to your homeland, because if you do it won't be your wife and children waiting to greet you in the Arrivals hall.'

Khalil was still shaking when the lift doors opened. Miles stepped inside, pressed G, and continued to stare at Khalil as the doors slowly closed. Once he'd returned to the ground floor, he walked across the lobby and out of the hotel to his waiting car, with William following his every step.

As Faulkner climbed into his Rolls, William took out his mobile and dialled a number he didn't need to look up. It was some time before a voice came on the line and barked, ‘Who's this?'

‘Warwick, sir,' William replied. ‘We have a problem.'

···

Chief Superintendent Warwick arrived back at his home just after three o'clock that morning. He closed the front door quietly, crept upstairs and slipped into bed, hoping not to wake Beth.

He lay awake for the next four hours with only one question on his mind.

He slipped out of bed just before seven, took a cold shower, brushed his teeth, dressed in the dark in yesterday's clothes and left the bedroom without turning on the light. He crept back downstairs, went into the kitchen, grabbed a bowl of cornflakes, and made himself a cup of tea and a slice of toast which he spread with marmalade. He ate and drank at the same time.

He'd left the house before anyone realized he'd even been home.

···

Once again, they all stood in line and watched as the Saudi Defence Minister and his son climbed on board the 747 and disappeared inside without once looking back or offering the traditional wave.

William, who was standing some way off from the main party, breathed a sigh of relief when the cabin door finally closed.

As the Foreign Secretary watched the plane slowly begin to taxi towards the runway, he remarked to Trevelyan, ‘So now it's anyone's guess who will end up with the arms deal.'

‘I can't pretend to be over-optimistic about our chances,' responded Trevelyan. ‘The only time the damn man was polite was when he was with the Queen.'

The sound of the four jet engines roaring into life drowned out the Foreign Secretary's reply as the plane took off.

Once William had accompanied Robin Cook safely back to his office in Whitehall, Danny drove him on to Scotland Yard so he could brief the Commander on how the morning had gone.

Without a hitch, but last night …

···

William arrived at the Yard just after eleven to find the Commander already seated behind his desk. Within minutes, Ross, Paul, Rebecca and Jackie had joined them and taken their places around the conference table.

‘What I can't work out,' said the Hawk, as he took his place at the top of the table, ‘is why would Faulkner visit Ahmed in the middle of the night.'

‘Ahmed must have something Faulkner wants,' suggested Ross.

‘But what could those two possibly have in common?' said William.

‘They'd both murder their grandmothers if there was something in it for them,' commented Jackie.

‘I would guess,' said Rebecca, ‘that an extra one hundred and fifty million pieces of silver is more than enough for Ahmed and Khalil to want to risk anything to ensure the French and not the British end up with the arms contract.'

‘But Faulkner's never shown any interest in arms or oil in the past,' said the Hawk, almost talking to himself. ‘It's not his world.'

They all fell silent until Rebecca said, ‘It isn't their grandmothers they'd have to kill to make sure the French get the arms deal.'

‘Only Avril Dubois,' said William. ‘But that still doesn't explain what Faulkner's involvement is.'

‘If Prince Ahmed arranged for Faulkner to have Avril killed,' said Ross, ‘Ahmed would be off the hook and the one hundred and fifty million would be his.'

‘But what would Faulkner expect in return?' said Paul. ‘It has to be more than thirty pieces of silver to take such a huge risk. If he was implicated in Avril's murder, he would be spending the rest of his life in prison.'

Another long silence followed before the Hawk said, ‘That's one mystery we won't solve sitting around this table, so we'll have to keep Faulkner under surveillance twenty-four-seven, because if he does plan to have Avril killed, he'll have to employ someone else to do his dirty work, and I need to know who, and even more important, when.'