Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

R OSS TRIED TO RECALL THE relevant words from the Foreign Office brief. In the Middle East you can't hope to close a major deal without being represented by an established agent. There are several who have the ear of the Minister, but there is only one you should be interested in, as he's the one person who can lead you to Avril Dubois. However, tread carefully, as they may no longer be on speaking terms, and if they are, it will have been a wasted journey and you could well be on the next flight home.

Not part of Ross's plan.

By the time Mr O'Reilly reported to the concierge of the Palace Hotel, Jim Fellows already had everything in place. The gentleman in question – if gentleman was an accurate description – had already been briefed and told that a Mr O'Reilly had booked into the Presidential Suite ($1,000 a night) and was hoping to arrange a meeting with Prince Sharif bin Nayef Al Saud, the Saudi Minister of Petroleum and Mineral Resources. Jim had also informed his contact that Mr O'Reilly seemed ‘fairly green' when it came to how business was conducted in the Middle East. ‘But then he is Irish,' Jim had explained.

In the short conversation that followed, Jim told Mr O'Reilly he would be surprised if Khalil hadn't contacted him before the end of the day.

‘The sooner the better,' was Ross's only comment, because if Khalil were to call Dublin, he would quickly discover why the Minister for Marine and Natural Resources wasn't at his desk. According to the FCO brief, Declan O'Reilly would be spending a quiet weekend in Cork with his mistress (unnamed), but was expected to be back at his desk first thing on Monday morning – midday in Riyadh. Ross accepted that at best he only had a couple of days to carry out his mission (another Foreign Office word). But as they reminded him, in Saudi, Saturday and Sunday are working days.

‘Thank you,' said Ross. ‘I'll report back if Khalil contacts me.'

‘Not if,' said Jim, ‘but when. By the way, the Irish accent is good,' he added with a nod of respect.

‘It ought to be,' replied Ross. ‘It's the only thing about me that's genuine.'

‘The dining room is on the far side of the lobby, sir. Breakfast is served between seven and ten,' said the concierge when another guest joined them at the desk.

‘Thank you,' said Ross, before heading off to the dining room.

How right Jim turned out to be, because Ross hadn't even ordered his second coffee before a man he recognized from photographs supplied by the FCO was standing in front of him. Ross put down his copy of the Wall Street Journal , left open at the page listing the latest oil prices, and looked up.

The man gave him a slight bow before speaking. ‘It's Declan O'Reilly, if I remember correctly.'

‘Yes,' said Ross, looking puzzled.

‘My name is Hani Khalil. We met at a government reception in Dublin a couple of years ago, but you may not remember me.'

Ross could only admire how Khalil could lie so effortlessly and with such conviction. He suspected he was one of those people who didn't even know when he was lying. Something Ross intended to take advantage of.

‘How nice to see you again, Mr Khalil,' said Ross, gesturing him to a seat on the other side of the table. ‘Won't you join me for breakfast?'

‘Thank you,' said Khalil, sitting down opposite him, ‘but I can't stay long as I have a meeting with the Minister at ten.'

‘The Minister?'

‘Prince Sharif, the Minister of Petroleum and Mineral Resources,' said Khalil, without missing a beat.

‘How fortuitous,' said Ross, ‘as I was rather hoping to meet the Minister myself before I return to Dublin on Monday. But I fear he may consider Ireland fairly low down on his list of priorities.'

‘If you were able to tell me the reason you need to see him,' said Khalil, ‘I might be able to assist.'

‘My government have instructed me to try and open negotiations with the Saudi authorities with a view to signing a long-term oil contract.'

‘It would help if I knew the details.'

Ross hesitated for a moment, hoping to leave the impression of being cautious about breaking a confidence with a stranger.

‘You can rely on my discretion,' said Khalil, who slid his card across the table.

Ross studied it.

‘My government would like to purchase fifty thousand barrels of crude a week at spot price for the next five years.' Although he delivered the Foreign Office's exact words with confidence, he only wished he knew what he was talking about.

‘I feel sure that can be arranged,' said Khalil, ‘but of course, one would have to add a small percentage for services rendered, to ensure the contract lands on the Minister's desk.'

‘How small?' demanded Ross, hoping he sounded hard-nosed.

‘Ten per cent on top of the agreed price, which is no more than the going rate,' something else the FCO accepted without question.

‘I'll have to call the Taoiseach and get his clearance,' said Ross, ‘and then perhaps we could meet later?'

‘Why don't you join me for dinner at the Fairmont this evening?' suggested Khalil. ‘I can assure you they have the best chef in town.'

Ross nodded. ‘Seven o'clock?'

‘Seven o'clock it is, Declan,' said his uninvited guest as he rose from the table. ‘I look forward to seeing you then.'

Ross called for the bill as he watched Khalil leave the dining room. He'd forgotten just how easy it was to con a con man. He signed the bill using his new name for the first time.

Ross strolled across to the concierge desk. ‘Thank you, Jim. Hook, line and sinker,' was all he said before making his way across to the bank of elevators on the far side of the lobby, well aware that the embassy would be informed of his progress within minutes.

Once back in his suite, Ross made two phone calls. The first to Commander Hawksby at home – he was already up. The second to Mr Trevelyan on his mobile, who didn't sound wide awake. Both seemed satisfied with his progress so far, although Trevelyan reminded him, ‘Your cover will be blown once the Minister returns to Dublin at twelve noon on Monday your time, so make sure you and Cinderella are both on your way back to London before then, with or without her slippers.'

···

Ross arrived at the Fairmont a few minutes late, assuming that Khalil wouldn't be on time. He was wrong. Mr Ten Per Cent was already sitting in the lounge looking like an overfed cat waiting for his next helping of cream.

‘Good evening,' said Ross as he joined him, taking a seat in one of the gold chairs that were scattered around the room. ‘The Taoiseach has given me the go-ahead in principle, but asked me to call him after I've seen the Minister.'

‘I've already seen Prince Sharif,' said Khalil, ‘and he'll be free to see you at eleven o'clock on Monday morning. Why don't I join you for breakfast on Monday and then I can take you to his office?'

The way you took Simon Hartley to the Minister's office, thought Ross, while Declan O'Reilly said, ‘How did he react to my proposal?'

‘As long as you accept that the cost per barrel will always be based on the daily spot price in the Wall Street Journal that morning, plus ten per cent, he can't see any problems,' said Khalil, as a glass of sparkling water was placed by Ross's side.

‘When you next come to Ireland, Hani, I'll have to introduce you to an old friend of mine, Mr Jameson, who sadly couldn't get a visa.'

‘Fear not,' said Khalil, ‘he has several relations over here who can be found in a club I only take special friends to, but not before the sun has set. After dinner, perhaps …'

‘You're a man after my own heart,' said Ross, raising his glass – another bonus point for the whizz kid at the Foreign Office. ‘Are you currently involved in any other deals?' Ross asked casually.

‘You've probably heard about a major arms deal that's due to be signed fairly shortly.'

‘Who hasn't?' said Ross, tapping the newspaper in front of him. ‘Three billion is involved, if you're to believe the Wall Street Journal .'

‘Not to mention an agent's fee of fifteen per cent,' said Khalil. ‘So you got off lightly.'

A piece of information Mr Trevelyan would be interested to hear about.

‘But the Journal suggests the deal hasn't yet been signed.'

‘All but,' said Khalil, clearly enjoying himself.

‘Congratulations,' said Ross.

Both men raised their glasses of water.

···

Following a lengthy dinner and several glasses of sparkling water, they left the hotel to find a silver-grey Phantom awaiting them, driver in full livery. In Riyadh, only foreigners give a Rolls-Royce a second look.

‘I'm parched,' said Ross as they climbed in the back.

‘Fear not,' said Khalil, ‘your friend Jameson is nearby.'

‘How is that possible?' asked Ross innocently as the car moved off, ‘remembering how strictly Sharia customs are observed and, indeed, that breaking the laws on alcohol is a punishable offence, that would end you up in jail.'

‘A gated compound has been built on the outskirts of the city to cater for foreigners' needs. It's treated like an embassy, so you wouldn't even know you were in Saudi.'

‘So, none of the locals will be joining us tonight?'

‘Several of them – not that you'd notice, because they will be wearing suits tailored in Savile Row with shirts from Jermyn Street, to make sure no one can identify which country they come from.'

‘It's good of you to take pity on me,' said Ross.

‘It's all part of the service, my friend,' said Khalil as the car came to a halt in front of a barrier, which was immediately raised after one look in the back.

Khalil accompanied his guest into the mansion, and it quickly became clear he was a favoured customer, as every member of staff bowed low as he passed and greeted him with ‘Good evening, sir.'

Ross followed Khalil into a spacious lounge where he headed straight for the bar and two empty stools that were clearly reserved for him. He didn't have to order a drink, as the barman began to pour a dark liquid from an unlabelled bottle that, from its shape, could only have been Vat 69.

Khalil slipped the barman a hundred-dollar bill as Ross took his place on the vacant stool. He only took a sip of his drink, as he needed to remain sober, even if later he would appear to be the clichéd drunken Irishman; a role he'd performed so many times in the past that he wouldn't need to rehearse.

Ross began to scan the room, which was decorated with European paintings, stylish furniture and beautiful women. While Khalil continued to boast about his latest enterprises, Ross gave the impression of listening intently, while his eyes slowly circled the room for a second time. He first checked every one of the girls: all foreign, stylish and stunning. Several of them were entertaining potential customers, while the others smiled at every man who entered the room. But the one person Ross was looking for was nowhere to be seen.

Ross's eyes settled on a man seated at the far end of the bar and noticed he was the only person drinking water. When they'd first entered the club, he'd acknowledged Khalil with a slight nod, confirming he was on the payroll.

During the next hour, Ross didn't interrupt Khalil's monologue, when he learnt about a new luxury five-star hotel, a state-of-the-art shopping mall, and the latest six-lane highway that had all been given the green light; for all of which the Lebanese fixer claimed he was representing the relevant ‘Minister'.

Although the whisky bottle was now half-empty, Ross was only on his second glass, and beginning to fear it was going to be a wasted evening.

He continued to sip his whisky as different girls disappeared upstairs, accompanied by different men, only to reappear an hour later in search of new punters.

Ross kept up a running commentary about the under-the-table deals he was involved in back home and what his new friend Hani could expect in return should he ever visit Dublin. He could see Hani was warming to the idea. Fifteen per cent was regularly mentioned.

After another hour of listening to Khalil's opinion on everything from Bill Clinton's Oval Office antics to why gold prices were so high, Ross was more than ready to return to his hotel and come back again tomorrow evening in the hope Avril would be working. What made it more difficult was he couldn't mention her name, or even touch on the subject of Hartley, for fear his cover would be blown.

‘I think I'll call it a day,' said Ross, yawning.

‘Wouldn't you like to spend an hour or two with one of the girls before you leave?'

‘No, thank you,' said Ross, not even bothering to look around the room.

‘Just one for the road, perhaps,' suggested Khalil as a door on the far side of the room opened and in walked the woman he'd crossed a continent to meet.

Ross recognized Avril immediately from her photographs in the confidential Foreign Office file. Her most recent customer gave her a warm embrace before departing.

‘That one could make me change my mind,' said Ross, as he continued to look at Avril. He turned back to see Khalil staring at him quizzically. Ross immediately realized he'd reacted too hastily, and quickly tried to recover. ‘But on the other hand …' he said, looking at another girl on the other side of the room, and giving her a warm smile.

She returned his smile.

‘I think you'll find your first choice could prove more profitable for both of us,' said Khalil, taking Ross by surprise. ‘However, be warned, if Avril thinks you're a friend of mine, she might not be willing to go with you. But if she does, you could do me a favour.'

‘What kind of favour?' asked Ross, taking advantage of a retreating enemy.

‘Let's just say you would be doing me a great service that would not only guarantee you getting the contract, but I'd also be willing to split my commission with you.'

Ross suddenly realized just how desperate Khalil was to get Avril singing from the same hymn sheet before Hartley appeared in court.

‘I'll do anything I can to help, my friend,' said Ross, playing the con man at his own game.

‘You won't regret it,' said Khalil, sounding genuine for the first time. ‘But first, you'll have to find out if she'll agree to go back to your hotel.'

‘I'll do my best,' said Ross, equally genuinely. He slipped off his stool and made his way slowly across the room, to be greeted with a frosty welcome when he sat down on the cramped sofa next to Avril.

‘I won't have anything to do with anyone who's a friend of that man,' were Avril's opening words, not even looking at Ross.

‘Understandably,' he said, ‘and I can promise you I feel exactly the same way about Khalil as you do. So just smile and treat me like a normal customer, because I need to ask some questions.' Avril produced a false smile but didn't look convinced, as Ross continued, his lips hardly moving. ‘I'm aware you recently tried to leave the country, but the authorities confiscated your passport. If that's correct, just nod or shake your head.'

Avril nodded as a waiter appeared carrying a bottle of champagne with two long-stemmed crystal flutes on a silver tray. Ross waited for him to pour them both a glass and leave, but just as he was about to speak again, she took him by surprise. ‘But if you're with Hani Khalil, why should I believe a word you say?' she asked, the smile no longer in place.

‘He thinks I'm trying to close an oil deal on behalf of the Irish government and is hoping to represent me, whereas in fact I'm only here to help you get back to England.'

‘I don't have a passport,' she reminded him.

‘I've already sorted that problem,' said Ross. She still didn't look convinced, but this time didn't interrupt. ‘First, I need to know if you still want to go back to England?'

‘That won't be possible until the arms deal has been settled one way or the other. Just look around and you'll see how carefully we're being watched. Ahmed has eyes and ears everywhere, so you can't afford to make the slightest mistake.'

Ross was beginning to realize why Avril had become such an intractable problem for Khalil.

‘I can make it happen,' said Ross, ‘but not unless you're able to pretend I'm a punter and are willing to come back to my hotel.'

‘If I agree,' said Avril with an exaggerated smile, ‘be warned, that goon at the end of the bar will never be more than a few paces behind.' She paused. ‘It's a long story.'

‘I know the story,' said Ross, ‘and we can take advantage of it, but only if you'll trust me.'

‘If I do,' said Avril, ‘you'll have to pay the barman five hundred dollars. The only thing that talks in this place is cash.'

‘Par for the course,' said Ross, returning her smile.

‘And it will help speed things up if you add an extra hundred – that's assuming the Foreign Office can afford me.' The smile turned into a grin.

‘Then let's give it a try, shall we?' said Ross. He got up and made his way slowly back to the bar, aware that several eyes were following him.

‘Did she turn you down?' said Khalil, looking disappointed.

‘No. She's agreed to come back to my hotel and spend the night, but she doesn't come cheap!'

‘Did she say anything about me?' asked Khalil, still sounding anxious.

‘She doesn't like you, but I said I didn't either.' Khalil grinned. ‘Though it's still going to cost me five hundred dollars.'

‘You'll have to pay,' said Khalil, ‘otherwise she'll become suspicious.'

Ross took out his wallet, extracted six hundred-dollar bills and handed them to the barman. He looked forward to explaining the entry on his expenses sheet. The Hawk wouldn't question it, but he suspected Mr Trevelyan would want a detailed breakdown.

The barman placed five hundred dollars in the till, and pocketed the other hundred.

‘Once you get back to your suite,' said Khalil, ‘fuck her once if you want to, but then lock her in the bathroom, come down to the lobby and leave the rest to us.'

Did Khalil think the Irish were that green? Perhaps he really did believe money could buy anything, so he continued to play along. ‘And what exactly can I expect in return?' asked Ross, using the only language Khalil understood.

‘Not only will you get your contract, my friend, but I'll give you two per cent of my commission, which will make you a very rich man.'

Ross glanced at the goon on the other end of the bar who'd never taken his eyes off them, well aware exactly what Khalil had planned for Avril. ‘Five per cent,' he said, once again calling the tune.

Khalil immediately nodded, which only confirmed just how desperate he was.

‘Take my car,' said Khalil. ‘Tell the driver to come back once he's dropped you off.'

Ross turned and nodded to Avril, who drained her glass of champagne before she got up and strolled across to join him. She didn't once look at Khalil.

‘Shall we go?' was all she said, linking her arm in his while accompanying Ross towards the door.

Ross glanced back to see Khalil talking to the man who had been seated at the other end of the bar.

As they left the club, he said, ‘Don't say anything while we're in the car, because you can be sure Khalil's driver will be listening to every word and will be reporting back to his master.'

‘Do I look that stupid?' said Avril as she climbed into the back of the Rolls.

‘The Palace Hotel,' slurred Ross, ‘and your boss wants you to go back and pick him up once you've dropped us off.'

‘Yes, sir.'

On the journey back to the hotel, Ross gave a convincing performance whenever the driver glanced in his rear-view mirror and observed the two of them embracing each other.

When they were dropped off outside the Palace Hotel, Ross parted with another hundred-dollar bill for which he received a salute and ‘Have a good night, sir.'

As soon as they entered the hotel, Ross went straight across to the concierge desk and quickly briefed Jim on what he needed. Jim nodded from time to time, until he spotted one of Khalil's men coming through the swing doors. It was the same man who had been sitting at the other end of the bar in the Overseas Club.

‘A car will be waiting for you,' whispered Jim, as Khalil's man walked past, adding, ‘Have a good night, sir.'

‘Thank you,' said Ross, before walking across to join Avril, who was standing by the lifts with her back to the henchman.

‘Don't look back,' she warned him. ‘Salim – Khalil's thug – is hanging around in the lobby and he hasn't taken his eyes off you.'

‘I'm well aware of that,' said Ross as they stepped into an empty lift. Neither of them spoke again until the doors had closed.

‘I don't usually ask for my client's name,' said Avril as the lift began to move, ‘but in your case …'

‘Declan O'Reilly,' said Ross, ‘and you're my wife.'

‘Forgive me for mentioning this, Mr O'Reilly, but I don't remember you proposing to me.'

‘That's possibly because I'm already accounted for.'

‘Most of my best clients are married men,' said Avril as the lift reached the top floor and the doors slid open. ‘So, what are you hoping to get for your five hundred dollars?'

‘Just follow my instructions to the letter, Mrs O'Reilly, and don't waste time asking any questions.'

Ross got out of the lift and headed straight for the Presidential Suite with Avril a pace behind. He opened the door and was switching on all the lights when the phone began to ring. He picked it up, well aware who would be on the other end of the line.

···

Salim stood in the lobby and watched the numbers rise on the display panel as O'Reilly's lift progressed to the top floor without stopping. He then walked across and waited for the next available lift. When it arrived, he joined several other guests. While one man swiped his pass card, Salim quickly pressed the button for the Executive Suites. The lift stopped on the seventh, ninth, fourteenth and twenty-first floors as it continued its slow progress to the summit. Salim began to curse out loud.

· · ·

‘Khalil's man has just got into a packed lift,' said Jim, ‘so you've got about a minute, a minute and a half at the most.'

‘Understood,' said Ross, quickly replacing the receiver. ‘We have to move and move quickly,' he said, grabbing Avril by the arm before heading back towards the door. He left all the lights on and switched the card on the doorknob to D O N OT D ISTURB .

Once they were in the corridor, he began to run towards the lifts. He jabbed the Down button several times, aware that most of his ninety seconds were already up.

···

Salim waited as the lift progressed, opening on twenty-one, twenty-three, twenty-five … When he reached the twenty-seventh floor, one door opened, and another closed.

Salim stepped out of the lift and walked cautiously across to the Presidential Suite. The first thing he saw was a narrow strip of light shining from under the door and the D O N OT D ISTURB sign hanging from the knob. He retreated to the far end of the corridor, took out his mobile phone and began to dial.

···

When the lift reached the ground floor, Mr and Mrs O'Reilly stepped out and headed straight for the main entrance. They found Jim standing outside on the pavement looking as if he was hailing a taxi. When a car drew up, they both slipped into the back without a word passing between them. Ross handed Jim a tip to make it look as if he was a normal customer.

‘Thank you, sir,' said Jim as he closed the car door, and the driver shot off, not needing to be told where his passengers wanted to go. Once the car was out of sight, Jim returned to the front desk and made a call. He woke the Ambassador.

···

Khalil picked up the phone in his car.

‘They're both in the Presidential Suite,' said Salim, unaware that Mr and Mrs O'Reilly were heading towards the airport. ‘I'll call you the moment O'Reilly comes back out.'

‘That's when you move in. Once you've dealt with the girl, go straight back to the club, but make sure the "D O N OT D ISTURB " sign remains on the door, so they won't find her body until a maid comes in the morning.'

‘What do I say if anyone asks when I last saw her?'

‘No one's going to ask you anything, because you never left the club. And in any case, the police and hotel management won't want to advertise the fact they found a hooker with her throat slit in the Presidential Suite, especially that particular hooker.'

‘And O'Reilly?'

‘We've agreed to meet in the lobby, and I won't leave him in any doubt why he needs to be on the first plane back to Dublin.'

‘And if they come back out together?' asked Salim.

‘Then my next call will be to the Chief of Police.'

···

As the car sped along the King Salman Highway, Ross didn't need to look across at Avril to know her usual self-composed front had been replaced by a mask of apprehension. He reached across and squeezed her hand, and she gave him a smile never afforded to a customer.

As they approached King Khalid Airport, they were greeted by a swarm of passengers heading into the concourse, and although the sun had not yet risen, from the size of the crowd one might have thought it was the middle of the day.

The driver came to a halt outside International Departures and handed his passenger two tickets.

Mr Declan O'Reilly stepped out onto the pavement and waited for his wife to join him.

···

When Khalil's driver dropped him off at the Palace Hotel a few minutes later, he walked straight into the hotel and began to look for O'Reilly, who had agreed to meet him in the lobby, but there was no sign of the Irishman. He assumed he was getting his money's worth.

On the other side of the lobby, Jim made his second call to the embassy. After briefing the Ambassador, never raising his voice, he put down the phone while keeping a close eye on Khalil, who was speaking animatedly on his mobile along with accompanying hand movements resembling an out-of-control conductor.

‘Where the hell is he?' he demanded. ‘Because he isn't in the lobby and it can't have taken him that long.'

‘He hasn't come back out of his suite yet,' said Salim. ‘Do you want me to break in and find out what's going on?'

‘Not yet. Don't move until I call you.' Khalil turned off his phone and headed for reception.

‘How can I help you, sir?' asked the girl behind the counter.

‘Put me through to Mr Declan O'Reilly in the Presidential Suite.'

‘You do realize it's two o'clock in the morning, sir,' said the receptionist.

‘I do,' said Khalil, ‘but it's an emergency. Mr O'Reilly's mother has been taken to hospital and he needs to catch the first plane back to Dublin.'

‘I'll put you straight through, sir.'

Khalil waited as the phone continued to ring and ring, until finally the receptionist said, ‘I'm sorry, sir, but no one seems to be answering. But if you leave me a message, along with your name, I'll get one of the porters to slip a note under his door immediately.'

Khalil turned his back on her and began dialling.

‘Who's waking me at this ungodly hour?' demanded the Chief of Police.

···

Mr and Mrs O'Reilly ran into the concourse and headed straight for the British Airways desk.

‘How may I help you, sir?' asked the booking clerk.

‘I'd like two business-class tickets for your flight to Heathrow,' said Ross, looking up at the departure board.

The booking clerk began tapping away. ‘I'm afraid business class is sold out, sir, but I do have a couple of vacant seats in first class.'

Ross thought about Mr Trevelyan, but only for a moment, before he handed over his credit card and two passports. He looked around to check if anyone in uniform was entering the terminal. Several cabin crew, but no sign of a policeman.

The clerk handed back their passports along with two first-class tickets. ‘Thank you, Mr Hogan,' she said. ‘Your flight has just begun boarding.'

‘Thank you,' replied Ross, his Irish accent more pronounced. They both left the desk and quickly headed for Departures.

The officer at passport control only glanced at both passports before stamping them. ‘You'd better hurry, Mr O'Reilly,' he said. ‘Your flight will be departing in a few minutes' time.'

···

The Chief of Police's car came to a skidding halt outside the entrance to the airport. He jumped out of his car with Khalil a yard behind and ran into Departures. He went straight to the British Airways desk.

Slightly out of breath, the Chief asked, ‘Have you booked two passengers on your flight to Heathrow during the last hour?'

‘Several,' replied the booking clerk. ‘Do you have a name?'

‘O'Reilly,' said Hani Khalil, who had caught up with him.

‘No one has booked in with that name,' she confirmed.

‘Tall man, around forty, accompanied by a good-looking blonde in her early thirties,' said Khalil. ‘The man has an Irish accent.'

‘Ah yes, I do remember them. Mr and Mrs Hogan,' said the booking clerk, once again checking her computer. ‘They only just made it.'

‘That has to be them,' said the Chief.

‘They were among the last passengers to book in,' said the clerk, ‘first class.' She glanced up at the departure board. ‘But the gate for that flight has already closed.'

‘Get me air traffic control now,' barked the Chief.

···

Ross and Avril made it to the check-in desk a few minutes before the gate was closed. They were the last to enter the aircraft and were quickly taken to their places at the front.

Ross remained calm as he fastened his seat belt, while Avril's eyes never left the open door, and she didn't begin to relax until it was slammed shut.

A member of the cabin crew took them through the safety procedures on this particular aircraft, first in Arabic, then in French, then in English, which Avril thought would never come to an end.

At last, the stewardess returned to her seat at the front of the plane and fastened her seat belt as the cabin lights were dimmed.

Moments later, the four massive engines began to whirl, becoming faster and faster as they prepared to take off.

···

Suddenly, without warning, the engines began to slow down, before finally stopping.

‘This is your captain speaking,' announced a voice from the flight deck. ‘I'm sorry to inform you that there will be a slight delay,' he added without explanation.

A groan went up throughout the cabin when the captain appeared and gave the purser an order to open the cabin door.

No sooner had he pulled it open than the Chief of Police and Khalil marched in.

‘Do you have a Mr and Mrs Hogan on board?' he demanded.

The purser checked his manifest. ‘No, sir,' he replied. ‘However, they were no-shows, and as they didn't have any luggage on board, we were given clearance to take off.'

The Chief of Police sighed. He turned to Khalil and said, ‘You underestimated Hogan.'

Khalil let out a string of invective, before he said, ‘Then they must both still be somewhere in the airport.'

‘I doubt it,' said the Chief, looking out of the cabin window to see an Air France plane gathering speed on the runway before taking off.

‘Get them to turn back,' shouted Khalil.

‘Only the Minister can authorize that,' said the Chief calmly, ‘and if you want to wake him, be my guest.'

The plane disappeared into the clouds.