Chapter 4: London: October 3
Douglas Easterby did not feel the warmth of the freakish Indian summer weather outside that had brought the crowds onto the City of London streets below his twelfth-floor metallic window. The chairman of British Defence Systems (BDS) was preoccupied with the substantial contracts his company had just missed out on in Turkey and Indonesia. In consequence, the company’s blue chip shares had lost nearly five per cent of their value on the FTSE over the last two days.
To make the situation worse, recent news was no more encouraging from British Defence Systems’ flagship projects in Kuwait, Saudi Arabia and Ramliyya. The Saudis were being perennially awkward over contractual details and slow with payments. The Kuwaiti consultative shourah would not provide any decision on the next phase of a massive missile project, and now the old sultan’s death had cast doubts in Easterby’s mind over the long-term future of BDS’s cash bonanza in Ramliyya.
And it was with Ramliyya on his mind that Easterby had telephoned his old protégé over at MI6 only yesterday morning. But now Easterby wished he hadn’t. MI6 either genuinely knew very little about the changes going on in Ramliyya, or Max Clayton was becoming increasingly ungrateful for the series of promotions he and Foreign Secretary James McPherson had arranged over the years for their former lieutenant.
Now things were even worse. Any second, Amanda would buzz him on the intercom to announce that Dr AbdulAziz Al-Badawi, the deputy ambassador of the Royal Embassy of Ramliyya, had arrived to see him. Whatever the deputy ambassador wanted, Easterby was certain it would not be welcome news.
So when the call finally came, Easterby hurried personally to the reception. The Ramlis demanded and received the most courteous of welcomes at all times. The chairman escorted Dr Al-Badawi to the black-leather comfort of his private study, where he buzzed Amanda for suitable refreshments.
The small talk was long, as it usually was with his Arab clients, but Easterby considered himself to be as polished as the best of them when it came to charming the Arabs’ easily offended sensitivities.
‘I trust you will pay His Excellency Sultan Faysal my special compliments,’ the chairman smiled stiffly, pouring Arabic cardamom coffee from a silver set that he had bought in Jeddah.
‘His Excellency will be honoured,’ nodded the deputy ambassador, ‘and he remembers his friends here in Britain. That is why he has taken the unusual step of sending me to discuss your company’s contract with my government.’
‘I hope His Excellency is well satisfied with our performance.’
‘Satisfied? With all hardware, yes. But you will be aware, Colonel Easterby, of the special problems that are caused for us by the presence of your British technicians and military personnel in our country.’
Easterby stiffened.
‘Problems, you say?’ he repeated. ‘Well…small problems, I’m sure. But the presence of our staff in Ramliyya is vital to provide the correct training for your armed forces, Dr Al-Badawi. After all, the equipment is only as good as the men who use it.’
The diplomat replaced his thimble-sized cup on the silver tray.
‘Quite so, Colonel Easterby, but let me be clear. You know that we Ramlis observe the holy shariah law with the strictest of discipline. I think I can assume your confidence when I tell you that the late Sultan Adil attracted some criticism on your account—silent criticism, to be sure, but criticism all the same. It came from the mutawaeen, the leaders of religion in our country. They were angry with him for allowing the Western oil workers and military instructors into Ramliyya. Do not forget, Colonel Easterby, that Madinat Al Aasima is only two hundred kilometres from the holiest city in Islam.’
Easterby nodded, looking across sharply at the deputy ambassador and jutting his colonel’s chin defiantly at the Arab, ready to fight his corner if it came to a scrap.
‘Nevertheless,’ the diplomat continued, ‘we have always allowed your workers to have their Western freedoms—make alcohol and watch movies, yaani—provided of course that these things remain inside their private compounds. Unfortunately, Colonel Easterby, we have evidence that our concessions have only encouraged some of your employees to exploit our tolerance and engage in activities that we can never allow.’
‘Activities?’ Easterby snapped. ‘What activities do you mean, Deputy Ambassador?’
‘I mean drugs, Colonel Easterby. Imagine the repercussions for your contract in Ramliyya, even for our diplomatic relations with the United Kingdom, if we were forced to raid your workers’ premises and make arrests. You are aware of the punishment for drug traffickers in our country?’
Easterby nodded. It wasn’t the public beheadings in Ramliyya that bothered him; in fact, they could do with something similar in the UK—and for a wider range of offences. All the same, he still didn’t like the turn the deputy ambassador’s talk was now taking.
‘I assure you, Dr Al-Badawi, that I will personally launch a full investigation into this matter, and I promise that any offenders will be sacked and expelled from Ramliyya immediately.’
The chairman hoped that there was still hope for stern promises and compromise, but the Ramli diplomat gave Easterby a sly look that smelt of trouble.
‘Normally we would be quite happy with such assurances, my dear Colonel. But our young Sultan Faysal is keen to settle this matter in his own way, and by this he means without publicity.’
‘So you have a proposal?’ asked the former colonel, sensing a wily plot behind such elaborate manoeuvring.
‘We do, Colonel Easterby. We are anxious for British Defence Systems to resolve this sensitive issue quickly and unofficially, using outside help. To be more specific, we have in mind a small independent security-surveillance company that comes highly recommended to us—a British company, in fact.’
With a swish of his robes, Dr Al-Badawi pulled a card from an inner pocket.
‘Here we are. It’s called Ultimate Security of London. It should be possible, I think, for you to place some of Ultimate Security’s men undercover in your Ramli operations. When they have discovered those responsible, you will sack and expel any of your employees who are compromised by the investigation and report to me personally the names of any Ramlis who may be involved. This way we can both avoid embarrassment and continue our good relations—which brings me to the other business I have come to discuss.’
Easterby was intrigued. Instinct told him that calm was about to follow the storm, so he motioned for the deputy ambassador to continue.
‘His Excellency Sultan Faysal is keen to maximise security in our region. To this end, he will create a new elite division of Ramliyya’s National Guard. This unit will be supported by the latest helicopter gunships, missiles, artillery and tanks. Of course, we will be asking British Defence Systems to bid first for this contract—and it will be substantial. Provided that the problems I have outlined are resolved, there is no reason why we would look elsewhere to meet our requirements.’
Easterby allowed himself a rare half-smile. This was the game as he understood it. They would fight over the backhanders later, he and the deputy ambassador, at future meetings behind even more tightly closed doors.
‘You can assure His Excellency Sultan Faysal that I shall follow his wishes exactly as you have outlined, Dr Al-Badawi. And I will liaise directly with you at the Embassy, you say?’
The diplomat inclined his head in assent.
‘Then I will inform you in person the moment I receive the information you require,’ Easterby concluded, heartily shaking the Ramli’s hand. Tricky devils, he smirked, watching the swish of the old fellow’s robes in the doorway. Tricky and full of strange foibles, like this unknown security firm they wanted him to use. But let them have it their way. For a tiny country, the Ramlis bought arsenals enough of BDS hardware to equip all the armies of the Middle East. And now they wanted more. Well, so did British Defence Systems’ shareholders!