Chapter 12
Sunday, March 4th 21:15,
Muscat, Oman.
Deane unlocked the door to his flat and heard footsteps from the floor above. He walked upstairs and knew who it would be. ‘I thought you would be long gone by now.’ A long silence lingered between the two men as the evening shadows streamed across the cramped room.
Olsen picked up his hand luggage and placed the bag on his shoulder. ‘I’m booked on the next flight out of here. I’ll be accompanying the Royal party back to London. I just didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye…or having our discussion.’ A shiver of fear slowly made its way down Olsen’s spine, for a moment he wondered whether Deane would break his promise because of his actions during his pursuit of the terrorists.
Deane sat down in the nearest chair and pushed aside what he was going to say about the car chase. For the first time in over a decade, he allowed his mind to drift back to that fateful day in Oman but his heart resisted somewhat, as he knew what an ordeal it would be. ‘Sit down, Sam, and I’ll tell you what happened.’
Olsen did as he was told and waited patiently.
Deane fiddled with a scar on his right hand as he tried to begin. The memories bubbled away in his mind. Old feelings resurfaced, together with the pain of losing his partner and mentor. His voice was shaky at first. ‘As you know, Geoff and I were here for Operation ESPY. It had been a long running issue but it was one we thought we had control of…’
June 26th Thirteen years ago, Muscat, Oman.
Calm sea breezes blew through Deane’s fine black hair as he turned a corner and re-joined the pavement in central Muscat.
On first impression, he appeared to be a quiet and relaxed visitor to the country who wore a white disdasha. Other Omanis passed him by, without so much as a second look. The reality was somewhat different. Having been an MI6 agent for many years, he had experienced more at 30 years of age than most would in a lifetime. His official file at MI6 headquarters read ‘A highly skilled and capable agent with expertise in undercover work, hand to hand combat, surveillance and reconnaissance.’ Truth be told, Deane thought of himself as an expert in every field. In his mind, aside from his partner Geoff Olsen, he had no equal.
Deane was acutely aware of his surroundings. His memory was sharp and despite walking along the relatively quiet Al-Bahri Road with his head down most of the time, he could inform a stranger of any parked cars nearby, together with useful descriptions of the nearest people. His walking pace quickened at the sight of a run-down car in a side street ahead. As he turned a corner, a small child called out in Arabic whilst grinning innocently. Deane was fluent in Arabic and understood the question, but was focussed on the job in hand and continued towards the vehicle. As he reached the passenger door, Deane gave a sweep of the area with his cold and emotionless eyes, to make sure nothing was out of place. Feeling at ease, he got in and exchanged a look with his partner.
Geoff Olsen read the expression on his partner’s face so well. Straight away, he turned the ignition key and the ageing Toyota roared into life. ‘Don’t tell me you lost him?’
Deane shifted in his seat as he wound down the window. A faint smile spread across his features. ‘Don’t worry, our targets are still at the Al-Nahda Hotel. Are we all set?’
Geoff turned the car onto the main road and passed several Omanis on pushbikes. The older agent was dressed more traditionally, looking more like a genuine visitor with his light blue shirt and sand coloured trousers. Geoff had always been happy to leave the undercover work to his partner of 10 years. ‘Did you see them?’
‘They entered the hotel together after hiring a private taxi. They must be making the drop sometime today.’ He said sternly.
Operation ESPY had been a long, drawn-out process. Tracking intelligence leaks was never easy. The experienced partnership of Olsen and Deane had once again proved their worth. After locating a former agency ally in Stratford, London as the initial suspect, the two men had tracked down the buyers of the intelligence data to Muscat, Oman. It was likely the two men would sell the data to another faction for a large sum of money.
Geoff Olsen slotted the car into third gear and focussed his mind on the events that would soon be upon him. At 45 years old, he had seen the world, served his country and more importantly, lived through it. Despite his love of the job, Geoff felt confident that his partner was more than capable of taking on the role of OMA1, the MI6 codename for their agent stationed in Oman. He ran his hand through his thick, greying hair and felt the adrenaline rush reach every corner of his body. I’m going to miss this feeling, he told himself. Still, he was well aware that his wife and teenage son back home in London needed his presence more than Deane or MI6 did. That alone assured him that it was time to move on.
The car drove through the quiet streets and moved onto the slightly busier Mutrah Corniche. Several Omanis walked along the road that was set close to the water’s edge. The evening sunshine streamed across the walkers and the beautiful Portuguese-influenced whitewashed houses. Decorative balconies and facades could not be missed. The sight of the bare, rugged hills in the background made the houses stand out.
Geoff steered the car through the stunning sight as the hazy evening sunshine flowed through the windscreen. The beautiful surroundings didn’t distract him as he continued to focus on the journey and his mindset. He glanced over to his partner, who looked blankly out of the window. The silence didn’t bother Geoff, who had always pegged Deane as the quiet, moody type. Several times, he had trusted the young man with his life and would do so again without hesitation.
The car weaved in and out of the taxis parked at the stand, and passed a small souvenir shop before coming to a halt in a side street, not far from the Al-Nahda Hotel.
Geoff switched off the ignition and looked out. ‘Strange how this hotel is cut off from the rest, it’s a perfect location for them.’ He reached for a file and read all about Oscar Moas, the Syrian national who would no doubt sell the acquired intelligence reports.
‘Here we go.’ said Deane quietly, as he leaned forward.
The run-down hotel sat alone on the corner of the street, several hundred yards from the busier areas. Two men appeared at the entrance, both holding a package.
Geoff watched carefully from behind the wheel of the car. ‘There he is again. That must be his partner. Did we get a rundown on him?’
Deane fumbled through some papers and read through the accomplice’s vital details. He looked up and watched the two targets talk to each other, taking note of the body language between the pair. ‘You can tell Moas is the one in charge. Wait…they’re splitting up.’ Deane looked over sharply to his partner, the senior agent.
Geoff ran a hand through his hair and thought for a moment. ‘We don’t have a choice. They could both have some of the data we need to recover.’ He locked eyes with his partner. ‘You take the accomplice. I’ll take Moas.’
Deane looked at the targets that were moving off in opposite directions and then back to his partner. ‘Moas is the key. We get him and the data is ours. I say we both stay on Moas.’
Geoff took the car keys out of the ignition and opened the car door. ‘This is my call. Protocol dictates that we split up if it’s necessary.’ He saw his partner begin to object again and spoke with a more forceful tone of voice. ‘Don’t take any risks. We’ll meet back here in one hour.’ With that, Geoff set off after Oscar Moas.
Deane watched him go and looked away in disagreement. Slowly, he gave a sweeping look at his surroundings and set off in the direction of the accomplice. Several minutes passed as he kept him in his sights. Deane stopped and saw his target walk down a crowded alleyway which led to the fish market. He followed and kept a respectable distance as he watched the target merge with the crowds. The strong smell of all types of fish swept over him as the hustle and bustle of the market came into view. For an instant, Deane lost sight of his target. He slowed down and took his time to locate him again. His steely lo
oking eyes locked onto the suspect again who stood by the side of a fish stall at the far end. Relief came over him though it quickly changed to dread as the target stepped out from the stall and looked straight at him. Deane didn’t flinch, and he held a casual stare for a second before he looked away. When his gaze returned to the location, he saw the target jog down the road to a waiting car. Deane cursed himself in Arabic for not spotting the vehicle before and set off in pursuit in full sprint. He tried desperately to make his way through the busy crowds in time but watched in vain as the car sped off. His eyes looked around frantically for a taxi, but the street appeared to quieten down almost immediately. Deane closed his eyes, angry with himself at the failure then focussed his mind on his partner. Did they want to split us up? Without wasting another second, he turned on his heels and began to sprint back towards the Al-Nahda Hotel, convinced his partner was in serious danger.
Geoff Olsen watched Oscar Moas linger on the corner of Al-Mina Street from his position outside the Mina Hotel. If this guy’s on his way to a meeting, he’s not in any hurry. He gave the surrounding area another check before he set off in the same direction. On the corner of Al-Mina Street, he caught sight of his target move off down an alleyway. Warning signals went off in his mind as he sensed Moas was now aware of his presence. Despite the alarm, he still felt in control as he walked slowly down the steep road before coming to the corner of the alleyway. He studied every part of the quiet street before peering around the edge of the wall. The alleyway was narrow and deserted and served as the back entrance of the souvenir shops and Post Office. No witnesses, he thought to himself. Geoff summed up the risks and thought about waiting for Deane, but he decided to make his move. We need this intelligence data. I can’t let him go. Confident in his decision, he set off down the narrow side street and quickly caught up Oscar Moas, who now appeared to be deliberately walking at a slower pace. Geoff felt for the Fairbarn Sykes knife, his lucky charm, which was strapped to his back. Attracting attention was the last thing he needed, the recovery of the intelligence data was all that mattered.
On Al-Mina Street, behind Geoff Olsen, a taxi coasted to a stop. Oscar Moas’s accomplice got out and silently closed the door. Two other men did the same from the other side. The accomplice gave a nod to his colleagues and led them down the alleyway, closing in on the threat they had been waiting for.
Minutes passed as Deane rushed through the crowds and found himself back at the Al-Nahda Hotel. The sun felt hotter to him than it had done as beads of sweat began to form on his forehead. Deane tried to recover from his sprint and felt his heart miss a beat when he saw his partner’s empty Toyota car. He gritted his teeth and felt even more on edge as he wondered where his target was. Wasting no time, he rushed down the street and continued to look in all directions, desperate to see a sign or a clue. Experience told him to return to the hotel and wait but something inside made him walk on further. The Mina Hotel passed him by, looking as deserted as it had done before. Deane looked around again and was just about to give up hope and turn back to the car when a woman’s scream shattered the peace. Without waiting to see what had happened, he sprinted in the direction of the noise. Ahead of him, other Omanis were gathering around the cause of the distress. Deane did the same and almost fell to the ground in shock when he saw what it was. There ahead of him was his partner Geoff Olsen, lying motionless in a pool of blood. On first sight, it looked like Geoff had been stabbed in the neck and lower abdomen.
Deane lost all colour in his face. His mouth was open, and his eyes were wide with disbelief. The scene ahead of him was unthinkable, never had he imagined his partner and best friend as fallible. A young Omani woman was sitting beside the body of Geoff Olsen, screaming out for help in Arabic. Still Deane stood on the side-lines. His body shuddered under the weight of the emotions that were rushing through his system. I should have insisted…I should have made Geoff realise we shouldn’t have split up. Suddenly, Deane pushed his way violently through the crowd and rushed over to his partner. He did his best to put his personal feelings aside and assess the patient. Within seconds, he set about giving Geoff Olsen Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation (CPR). Gently, he tilted the head back and checked the airway. As he switched into autopilot, he desperately tried not to look into his friend’s lifeless eyes, pinched the nose closed and gave two rescue breaths. With no signs of circulation, he locked his hands together in the correct formation and placed the heel of his right hand over his partner’s lower ribs. ‘One…two…three…’ Deane continued his compressions, but lost control and tears ran down his face. After the first two breaths of mouth-to-mouth ventilation, his friend gave no response. The Omani woman in front of him mumbled in Arabic but Deane was not giving up. He brushed his tears away and tried again, refusing to listen to the voice in his head that was telling him it was his fault…