Read The Devil's Handshake Page 4

  Interview completed, Thomas thanked Jessica and with Mikhail left the studios of MGN in his Armored Mercedes Benz S500.

  Pulling out his phone, he rang Nara first in London to see how she was.

  "You did very well, my Thomas!" she said before he said anything referring to the interview he had just given.

  "You saw it then, darling," he chuckled.

  "You put that little Jelep in her place!" she responded with passion before launching into an update on Victoria, who was still calling home once a day while she got used to boarding school.

  The update exhausted, Nara finished off the call with a confirmation as to their table guests for the annual TLH senior team dinner at the weekend at Farrow Hall, their country retreat in Sussex.

  Domestic obligations out of the way Thomas then emailed Louise whose BlackBerry was never off and asked her to ask Angus to invite Mrs. Elizabeth Field and a guest that he knew, if she accepted, would be a fellow officer.

  He also instructed to put her on his table, as well as making sure that the new Russian Ambassador to Adwalland and his wife were on it as well.

  He had decided to invite Rebecca because she had asked to see him?so to?provide with her an update on matters in Adwalland.

  It was something he hadn't expected, so he wondered if that meant the British was about to pull the plug with respect to his formal request that the Prime Minister and Trade and Industry secretary make some kind of formal statement of support for the British companies investing in the country due to the Americans increasing counter briefings.

  With what he just said on television and not to mention having put the ball into play with Steve over the last month Thomas knew at some point that would almost certainly happen and now it appeared it was.

  He just needed to make sure that whatever happened in the game between Russia and the U.S. with respect the Naval Base, his interests were protected.

  Reaching Aureole Charlie Palmer's restaurant on 135th and 42nd Street, Mikhail got out of the car first checked the environment, then allowed Thomas to get out and enter the restaurant. As he did so, he spotted the Black Cadillac SUV sitting across the street.

  "I see we have a friend Mikhail?" Thomas noted.

  "FBI," Mikhail answered earning a nod in return from Thomas over the fact that they were keeping tabs on him as they walked into the restaurant together.

  Greeting the receptionist on the front desk he asked if Ambassador Fielding had arrived at the restaurant.

  "Yes sir, he's there already, sitting at the table," the pretty lady answered with a smile before gesturing for him and Mikhail to follow her.

  Twice married, hard-nosed, no-nonsense Jack Fielding was a career diplomat who previously had been a Special Advisor to the President George Bush Junior on African Affairs, and before that when the French ran the forward operating base a former Ambassador to Djibouti and now ran his own strategic consulting firm on business development.

  James Weston had set up this meeting, on the premise that "If you're going to be taking fucking heat on the Adwalland investment from our cousins then I suggest you get your own voice within the floors of the houses," he had said, making reference to the lack of friends that TLH had in the congress and senate.

  Reaching the table he found James, tie undone as usual, in his Saville Row uniform of a pinstripe grey suit, while the ambassador wore a uniform that most New York businessmen preferred of a regular Brooks Brothers dark blue suit though, in his case, his tie was made up and because he was a former public servant he had a little American flag pin on his lapel.

  Getting up, James greeted him.

  "Fucking good effort, Tommy!" he said instantly in his regular redneck boy-made-good way in respect to his coolness under pressure during his interview with Jessica. "The fucking phone has been going non-stop from the business desks asking what you meant on the Russian Navy base situation, though," he said, half asking.

  "What have you been telling them?" Thomas asked.

  "That you're FUCKING British! Not FUCKING Russian!" James answered hoping that he had actually grasped his positioning.

  Thomas acknowledged his answer with a nod of his head knowing he would have been a tad more eloquent than that though, but, not by much, he reflected just as the Ambassador decided to introduce himself.

  "I can vouch for that sir, Jack Fielding," he said offering his hand with a smile.

  "Oh fuck! Where are my manners?" said James embarrassed, despite his brilliance in communications, a double first in Modern and Medieval Languages from Cambridge, he had missed out the lesson of diplomatic etiquette. "Ambassador Jack Fielding, may I present Sir Thomas Litchfield," he said introducing, now back on track, "and Mikhail Pshenicnikov," he added.

  The Ambassador started the conversation.

  "I haven't seen your interview yet, Sir Thomas, but having been briefed by James and seen the number of calls that he has been getting I certainly can see you must have set fire to the 'blue touch' paper!" he said warmly.

  "I just answered it from a businessman's point of view, Ambassador," Thomas replied as he began to assess the person across the table from him.

  "Well, I can certainly see why the State Department has been taking an interest in you!" answered the Ambassador with a small smile of his own and who was doing the same thing with respect to Thomas.

  "Well, one does like to get out in the midday sun," deflected Thomas straight-faced as he began to look at his menu.

  "Indeed," replied the older Statesman as he put his glasses on to read the menu in his hand.

  The dinner was really a fishing expedition for both men, with the Ambassador providing Thomas with insight as how the State Department was viewing Russia's re-emergence, himself, and of course their proposed base in East Africa, and finally in an effort to promote himself how he could be potentially useful within the corridors of the lower and the upper house on the Hill.

  Thomas was impressed. The former Ambassador knew his stuff and quickly grasped what TLH end game was and positioning.

  "You know, Sir Thomas, I think there is a touch of Metternich in you," Fielding said suddenly out of the blue as the coffee arrived.

  "Witty or tenacious?" Thomas offered deadpan with his own light-hearted attempt at the synopsis.

  Smiling back in return if what somewhat surprised that the man across from him actually knew he was referring to the great Prince of Austria's personal overall character traits who kept the powers of France and Prussia surrounding him at bay in the 1800s, the Ambassador, having recovered from his momentary surprise, answered.

  "I was actually thinking that you're unquestionably someone who has perfected the shape and nature of diplomacy of this era is going to take just as he did in his."

  "A dokter un a kvores-man zeinen shutfim," offered Mikhail.

  "I am sorry, Mikhail, forgive me. I don't speak Yiddish," replied the Ambassador recognizing the language nevertheless.

  "It means 'doctors and grave-diggers are partners.'" Mikhail replied with a smile as he took a sip of his water. He never drank when on duty.

  "So true! That works too!" offered the Ambassador with laughter. "So which are you, Sir Thomas?" he probed again.

  "I will take the fifth on that Mr. Ambassador," Thomas answered.

  "So you will support TLH?" James asked, ignoring the Ambassador's efforts at intellectual flattery by pushing him to confirm whether he would act as their advocate in the corridors of Washington, knowing full well that Thomas needed him.

  "I would be delighted to consult for your business, gentleman," he answered as the bill arrived.

  30

  Dubai

  Sitting in his villa in the old part of Jumeirah, Navjot set down his secure sat phone having just finished briefing Ali on where the operation was with regard to the seduction of Wasir for the Director's office. He reflected on their conversation for a moment.

  With the hiring of Andrew Martin, he now had all
the cornerstones in place. Later today he planned to introduce the future dictator of Adwalland to his new technical advisor, who had impressed him for, as promised, over the last month he had very efficiently delivered the recommended equipment on time and within the budget.

  Despite Navjot's doubts at the time, the refurbished Mil-17 helicopter had been sourced from Ukraine and was about to be refitted in Guinea Bissau by the Ukrainians, complete with its gun pods and rocket launchers.

  Then a few days before they were ready to go they would use Wasir's front-loading Il-76 plane to pick it up and fly it into Adwalland, offload it at the airport and then start the operation to bring into effect a regime change.

  The former Guardsman had estimated he needed about two hundred men. At first Navjot thought that was an excessive number but to remain in tune with his cover he had accepted it.

  Instead, he had asked. "Why Ukrainians for officers?"

  "That is simple, dear boy, Gaddafi had them as officers of Tuareg in his old legion, so there is a natural mechanism of command for the NCOs."

  "That essential?" he had questioned.

  "Very much so, I am afraid experience tells me that these things have a habit of getting out of hand, there is no such thing as a bloodless coup. If our friend Wasir is going to get dirty it is better that his Muslim foreigners do it for him rather than his Christian Mamluks," he had said with sigh, before continuing.

  "So if does happen we need to make sure up until that point arrives our orders are being followed," he had said without emotion.

  "Three degrees of separation Mr. Singh," Tony Wilson had offered in support of his former boss who had sat in on the briefing.

  At that precise moment, Navjot despite being an experienced operative, had started to feel incredibly guilty, but he had quickly dispatched it. He had done things in the past in the pursuit of terrorists that in some cases caused innocents to die this, however, with its capacity to be a bloodbath was something very different. It troubled him greatly.

  When he was at the Farm, the lecturers had once made the trainees debate the thought process behind Winston Churchill's decision to not to warn the residents of Coventry that Hitler was planning to level the city as a requiem to the Luftwaffe dead to protect the fact that they had broken the German Enigma Codes used for their coded radio messages. One thousand souls had lost their lives that night. In a war of attrition, terrible decisions had to be made, Churchill did not shirk them, nor would he. He suddenly remembered Jeremy Bentham's famous quote, "It is the greatest good to the greatest number of people which is the measure of right and wrong."

  That didn't make it any easier though. On his last operation in Pakistan before he was reassigned he had ordered the death of twenty people, some of them children, just so they could get a high value Al Qaeda operative who happened to be on the bus with them.

  "No," stopping his train of thought in mid flow. "Deal with this later once you get back home with the Langley shrinks," he had lectured himself as he responded with a single nod of his head without emotion.

  "I understand, Gentleman," he had answered.

  With the rest of the weaponry arriving from Thailand, it was not lost on Navjot that Martin deliberately used five brokers to make sure the purchases stayed below the radar.

  "Clever," he had said respectfully nodding his head towards the former Guardsman.

  Finally, the ten refurbished Type 63 personnel carriers from North Korea would be delivered to Addis Ababa by way of China and then transported across Ethiopia on Wasir's trucks to the border ready for deployment. Although he couldn't show it as he wasn't supposed to hold any knowledge of military matters and planning nevertheless Navjot was completely satisfied by the proposed plan from Martin.

  So much so he had instructed Reza to wire the money through their British Virgin Islands front companies to the relevant lawyers Martin had used in each part of the world in readiness for immediate payment.

  All he needed now was the Devil's handshake with Wasir Osman Hassan.

  Navjot picked up his mobile and called his asset in the Burj Al Arab, whom he had recruited when they had met at one of his friend's Mahesh Tourani's famous parties when he was establishing the Gourgamangi Singh identity in the early years when he was living in Dubai. Over the years, the asset had become an essential part of the SAD monitoring function on the comings and goings at the famous hotel often making sure Langley received excellent intelligence from the staff, who were always ignored while serving the targets.

  It was not though until one particular operation that they realized just how unique he was. On that occasion when having spotted and reported that a senior dealmaker of Hamas was staying at the hotel with no minders as a guest of one of the Sheikh's of a country sympathetic to the cause, he was asked to take him down in a joint operation with the Israelis.

  At the time, Navjot and Ali had both been dead set against it, saying that he wasn't trained for that kind of operation, but having been overruled by their immediate superiors they reluctantly lent him to the Israelis who had not been able to get a team in place fast enough with strict orders not to reveal his identity. Watching and waiting until the terrorist leader was in the sea with his young Jordanian girlfriend on the hotel's private beach he coolly took the opportunity to swap his cell phone with a one that had been cloned. This cloned cell phone however contained fifteen grams of RDX explosives that young Israeli Shinbet courier had given him the day before.

  Later that evening having followed terrorist out of the hotel and on into Deira, located on the other side of Dubai creek far away from the hotel cameras, the asset had waited. Then as the terrorist walked out of the offices he was visiting answering the call on his mobile phone he coolly and without hesitation remotely detonated the device killing the man instantly before calmly walking away as though nothing had happened, got into his Range Rover, and drove back to the hotel to carry on with his day job.

  "Masterful and cool in his approach an absolute credit to your country," the Shinbet Chief had written when he sent his thanks to the Director.

  It was that point Ali and he realized they had recruited a very unusual operative.

  The Israelis may have gotten the credit and had the Dubai Police running around trying to trace the steps of a phantom kill team, not to mention trying work out how the Israelis had done it-indeed this was one of reasons why they had gone over the top when they did actually send in a kill team in to take out Mahmoud Al-Mabhouh. One thing was absolutely sure about this operation was nobody suspected it was Sheikh of Dubai's 'hotel man,' as he was known in the Emirate.

  Quietly, when the man was on leave after he had traveled to Langley to obtain his Intelligence Star for that operation, he went onto the Farm for special training so they could upgrade his status. They had stood together in the reception room for his private ceremony surrounded by men and women who had never met him nevertheless saluting his bravery.

  Asking if he was okay, fearing it was one thing to pass information along another to be asked to kill, for until an agent is faced with an extremely prejudiced situation despite all the best training in the world it stands for nothing until you have processed the baggage that comes with it, he received his answer.

  "Never better, G!" he had replied with a smile.

  "Because of me, the children on the West Bank get a chance to live whether they're Arab or Israeli," he had replied, as if touched by Navjot's show of concern. "Don't worry. I sleep like a baby at night," he had rejoined. Navjot never doubted him after that as could see he meant it.

  The click on the end of the line had brought his friend and asset on the line.

  "Hi Rob?" he had said letting him know who it was.

  "Gourgamangi! Great to hear your voice again," he had replied with genuine warmth.

  "I need favor old chap," he had asked.

  "Don't you always, G!" he had laughed reverting to his nickname.

  In a lightweight dark blue suit with a light blue
silk tie, the typical color of hotel managers all over the world sitting in his office of the famous Burj Al Arab awaiting the arrival of Wasir Osman Hassan, was Robin "Rob" Ashley.

  British born, single, with no ties he had joined the famous hotel group in early days of early of the Dubai boom at the end of 1990s. Tall with a strong chin and dark brown eyes, he was to all intents and appearances a loyal servant of the Sheikh of the Emirate serving as the organization's development director and in a less visual role of a 'fixer' of deals when required by the Ruler's Office. Although he hadn't been originally trained as an intelligence officer, Rob nevertheless had all the natural skills to be one, with his ability to recognize that information was a tradable commodity and being able to act as necessary and coolly under a great deal of stress.

  Immensely proud of his Intelligence Star he had earned for the take down a Hamas terrorist in his backyard and was locked up the vault in Langley, along with his freshly minted U.S. passport, and the monthly salary the Agency paid into an account for him that he would receive in full once he became surplus to requirements to the Sheikh or needed to leave immediately, nobody had known about his work outside the Agency not even his closest family.

  Although he didn't even know his friend's real name who was also his 'controller,' their bond over the years had grown into a true friendship, and when he was first approached on a visit to New York in the "mid-noughties," he did not have a clue that his friend whom he had a met at a party of one of the 'true' traders of the Emirate was actually an intelligence asset. Overweight, depressed and drinking too much over some of the things he had been asked to do in his employer's service all that had changed the minute he went to work for Langley.

  They gave him a purpose to his life. Now he was part of the secret battle against the terrorists of the world and was using his black book for something other than the whims of the royal family.

  When the phone rang from the front desk advising him that his guest had just gone through the front gate, he left his office to meet him.

  A seasoned pro at avoiding the killing humid heat of Dubai he arrived outside the famous hotel's volcano fountain just as the black Mercedes Benz S500's, with the flags of Adwalland on the front, passenger door was being opened by one of the lavishly dressed doorman. Ignoring the two bodyguards, Rob offered his hand to the man.

  "Minister, welcome to the Burj Al Arab. I am Rob Ashley from the Hotel," he said in his crisp public school accent, using the hallmark of the hotel of, "Always greet the guest before they greet you."

  Wearing a white linen shirt and black tailored trousers with sandals with large 'rapper' style Gold Gucci Sunglasses over his eyes, making him looking more like a pop star to him than a Minister, Wasir Osman Hassan replied.

  "Thank you Mr. Ashley," he said, firmly taking his outstretched hand in the process.

  "Mr. Singh has asked me to look after you, so if you would like to follow me," he offered as he gestured towards the open front door. Making small talk was something all trained hotel employees of a five-star hotel were taught to do yet sensing Wasir wasn't someone who engaged in the art Rob instead just smiled politely at him.

  Leading the way in silence up the escalator past the fish swimming behind the glass wall of the aquarium, past the indoor water feature, until they reached the lifts on the first floor at the back of the Hotel. Once inside, the lift dropped back down again to the Juna Lounge on the ground floor behind the vast aquarium.

  The lounge, rarely used in the daytime was the perfect place; away from eyes, out of sight, and any possible surveillance equipment as there are no cameras on the floor unlike the conference rooms at the top of the hotel and as such that was why Rob had arranged for the lounge to be closed for a private meeting for his controller.

  Opening the door, they found the Indian sitting in the seat in the corner smoking a cigar playing the part of a successful, rich Sikh businessman to the "T".

  Immediately on seeing them enter, the Indian got up to shake Wasir's hand. As he took it, Rob spoke up.

  "Gentlemen, I'll leave you to it, but if you need anything let me know and I will post a Butler to look after you." Before he left the room he gestured to Wasir's bodyguards who hadn't moved to follow him. Initially refusing, they finally did so when Wasir nodded his head for them to go.

  Sitting back down, Wasir got right down to business straight away.

  "Gourgamangi! I understand from Reza that you have a proposal for me," he said coolly.

  All he knew at that moment came from his friend from the bank while the both of them sat having a drink together in the hotel nightclub in Bur Dubai he liked because it was always stocked with blonde Russians, was that his new wealthy friend whom he had hosted on his recent trip to Borama was interested in exploring some business opportunities.

  "A good one Minister," replied Navjot as he exhaled smoke from his cigar before offering one from his case to Wasir, who took the expensive stick but chose not to light it, because his mind was focused on business.

  "I would like to give you the opportunity as we discussed to take your rightful place as the leader of among your people," Navjot continued.

  "No point beating around the bush when offering to back a coup," he had reasoned.

  "I am listening," answered the pirate cautiously rolling the cigar in his fingers as one would do with worry beads.

  "If we become partners I will give you three million U.S. dollars for security provision now and another three per year followed by a undiluted thirty percent stake in any ventures we undertake together in Adwalland and anywhere else," offered Navjot knowing full well it was higher what he had agreed to with Litchfield a few months ago on his yacht.

  The pirate trying hard not to move his position forward so as not to show his delight failed, because old habits die hard. Navjot could see he had grabbed the man's attention.

  "A fair offer," Wasir replied his composure restored.

  "Which areas of our country are you interested in? I am sure the Energy and Resources Minister will be very helpful," he asked and offered in quick succession with a cruel smile.

  "All of it," Navjot replied as he exhaled the rich smoke again.

  "All!" Wasir answered in disappointment.

  "That's not possible. TLH and the Russians have already signed agreements with the Government," he said as he waved his hand disappointed at the Indian's lack of understanding of his country.

  Ignoring the theatrics while he continued stare at the pirate to drive his statement, Navjot went for the kill.

  "I have a solution I would like to put to you," he said. He was actually thinking if he didn't go for it then, nearly two months of work would be wasted. "What about if I could bring in technical assistance at my cost to help you to convince the tribal chiefs to support you?"

  The ex-pirate's eyes immediately narrowed taking in the Indian in the process.

  "I am listening," he replied, now clipping the cigar.

  31

  Upper Barpham

  Once a year ever since he started his business, Thomas would host an event for his partners and staff.

  At first he had held the event at The Savoy in London, but that changed when he purchased the lease of Farrow Hall from the National Trust as a ruin in the mid-nineties.

  The Hall in many ways was to Thomas a representation of his success. First built in 1570 by his ancestor it was best described as classic looking Elizabethan Manor with its Boston ivy all over it.

  Spread over fourteen thousand acres, over the years and as his personal fortune grew Thomas had modernized the estate to include the addition of a fifty-room luxury hotel, serviced cottages, guest wings, and stables on the edge of the estate.

  Throughout the renovations and expansion he had insisted that the refurbishment and development of all of the buildings were true to original manor in order to maintain the integrity of history that surrounded the property.

  When the house was not in use by him or Nara, the estate
was run as a business offering a range of sports, operated as a farm, and allowed members of the National Trust to visit as per the conditions of the lease.

  Originally, his assistants had managed the program of events around the weekend, but when Nara entered his life he allowed her to take over all the event planning. This was why he found himself with her and Louise parked inside his study going over the guest list and the seating plans for the weekend.

  The list included the UK Business Minister, the local MP, CEOs, Oligarchs, Ambassadors, Financiers, Socialites, senior staff, spies and finally because he was on charm offence, though much to his distaste if not Nara's as he had never allowed the event to be photographed, a society magazine from Steve's group to record the event.

  Something that he did draw the line under was the magazine's crude attempt to park a few of their contracted starlets into the event to promote their profiles.

  In fact, apart from the hired help for the night and Steve Krivets' latest starlet Danielle Becker and one or two actresses or famous ballerinas attached to the arms of his National Champion's colleagues for the weekend, the event was a true high society event.

  Having reviewed the menus, declaring he was satisfied with what the Michelin starred chef from the village was going to prepare for both evenings and not just tonight, which traditionally was purely for his team, he moved on to the entertainment planned for each night.

  Again using a record company within Steve's group, Nara had arranged for some of their musicians to be supplied. Reviewing it, he found an exciting mix of modern pop with a band of the moment and more to his taste a brilliant Jazz band from Ronnie Scott's plus, though he chose not to make a comment, the addition of the Russian Pop group.

  Looking up from the list he smiled at his Nara then raised his eyebrow in mischief.

  It was a quizzical look that said it all. She took the bait.

  "I like their music, darling!" she said with a glare, ready not to back down if he attempted to take them off the list.

  "I didn't say a word!" he joked in return, knowing if he did he would be playing with fire having already vetoed the fountain of ice surrounded by Iranian caviar that would have cost a hundred thousand pounds for being a little too over the top!

  "No caviar!" she had said in horror with a look that looked like a knife had just been plunged through her heart desperately trying to get him to change his mind with one of her sexiest pouts. Nine times out of ten he gave in to her, but this time he had not. For all her other talents, she had never learned that having a mountain of caviar as a centerpiece while a magazine was in the house was inviting a public relations nightmare!

  Review finished, Louise left the room leaving them alone together. Assuming that Nara would follow he went back to his paperwork on his desk.

  "Thomas," Nara asked.

  "Yes," He said, looking up to find a slightly worried look on her face biting her bottom lip. A look that usually meant she needed something outside her usual spending patterns.

  "I?h-a-v-e something to tell you," she nervously stuttered.

  She had only found out this morning when her doctor rang her to confirm the news. Immediately she had been awash with emotions, she hadn't told him that she had stopped taking her birth control pills because she wanted to make sure that she secured her place in his life by giving him a son and eventually marry her. If she did she feared he might forbid her and quickly decide she was surplus to his life in the future.

  Over the years as he had never expressed any interest, in adding to their family or marriage she had wrongly assumed it was because, like the majority of her girlfriend husbands or partners, he had other women that he enjoyed. So accepting that he never threw it her face, ever the survivor, she had parked it in the back of mind just as her friends did with their men.

  She truly loved Thomas more than life itself over what he done for her and her mother, but because of her early life she automatically assumed the day would come when he would move on from her.

  Taking her early life experiences as a base she threw herself fully into making a baby with him. Much to her surprise though to her delight Thomas had responded with just as passion and was if anything even more passionate with her now than when she first entered his life at nineteen or their weekend in Venice all those years ago when they made their love child.

  The result was the last couple of months had been to her the most incredible of her life with him despite missing her little girl terribly whom he had made her send away to school.

  "Would he act like that again?" she had thought, thinking back to the last time he was angry with her and beat her all of those years before. Although it had never happened since it was never far from her thoughts.

  By the look on his face, she knew he was under a great deal of stress at the moment with the job he had been given by the President of the Motherland.

  Dispatching her worries momentarily as she found the courage to tell, Nara said, "I am pregnant, my Thomas." She bit her lip.

  As she said it, Thomas felt a thunderbolt sear through him, but it wasn't destructive or unpleasant in nature rather an intense, powerful feeling of emotion, something he had only ever experienced in his life once before.

  "Bloody hell!" he thought as looked back stunned at his beautiful but terrified lover seated in front of him.

  Getting up, Thomas quickly walked around the desk, fell on a knee, took her hands, looked into her eyes and said with sparkling eyes.

  "That is wonderful, my darling girl!" he said, his emotions bubbling over.

  "You're happy? My Thomas," she said with a nervous smile.

  "YES?yes? and yes! My lovely lady!" he replied excitedly as her news began to take hold over him.

  At that moment having seen that in fact Thomas was completely over the moon and not upset in any way over her news she tore her hands away from him, grabbed him, passionately drawing him into her, and then peppered him with a kiss after kiss, dropping her papers out of her lap in the process.

  "I love you my darling Nara!" he said, making her happiness complete.

  On the morning of the main event with the guests now arriving, Mikhail, who was still nursing a seriously bad hangover from the amount of champagne, wine and fatally, the whiskey he had drunk after the both of them had told him and Hanna their news, wandered in to join Thomas and Saul the CFO of the group, to let him know that Rebecca and her companion had arrived at the hotel.

  Immediately as he entered, Thomas laughed.

  "You look like how I feel!" he said something that was true because the pair of them had drunk for England and Israel so much so that Nara had undressed him and put him to bed.

  "Don't!" he said with a laugh. "I don't know what I'm doing, I'm all farmisht," using the Yiddish phrase "for mixed up" as he sat down beside Saul before continuing.

  "Anyway, Boss! Miss Leiris has checked in under Miss Field with her companion," Mikhail said somewhat gingerly changing the subject back to his reason for popping in, ever the professional to the core.

  "Companion or spook?" Thomas asked intrigued, unaware of the room arrangements.

  "Spook!"

  "He would never pull something as Shayn as her; he must be her boss!" answered Mikhail using the Yiddish word for "beautiful."

  "Don't let Hanna hear you say that, she'll cut your balls off," retorted Thomas to his old friend in reference to his wife who before they married and had their three children, was an operative in the Shin Bet and had more than once had killed in the service of Israel, causing Saul to laugh at his friend and colleague's expense.

  "Tell me about it!" replied Mikhail joining the laughter in the room everybody knowing that although Mikhail may still look, he would never betray one woman who had tamed him. "I asked Angus to pop in and say hello like you asked," he said, changing the subject back to business. "I also asked Saul here to make sure she gets twenty minutes with you this afternoon as well, Godfather," pointing with his thumb towards to Saul making sure he was
n't the only one in the room to bear the brunt of jokes. Thus earning a further chuckle from the CFO at his use of the Godfather reference of Thomas, half in joke and half in truth, knowing his habit of having him line up every thirty minutes, "a private meeting" slots outside the study door in the evening before the main events during the weekend.

  "Alright! Alright! I get the message!" Thomas said, putting his hands up in mock surrender with a smile to hold his aching head.

  When the offer arrived to attend his private garden party in response to Rebecca's request to discuss further the situation in Adwalland, Michael, who was sitting beside her as they drove down to Litchfield's estate together, had no idea it was to do with her personal crusade with regard to Christopher's killer.

  Instead, her immediate superior believed it was linked to the additional information request they had received from across the water with respect to Thomas Litchfield.

  At first Michael thought about having one of Rebecca's colleagues attend the event but thought better of it when he reviewed the guest list.

  The opportunity to gain intelligence overrode his plans for the weekend! Not to mention if he were honest with himself he was guilty of suffering from a touch of voyeurism in that he desired to see how the other half lived. Something he wisely kept to himself when telling his wife.

  Checking into the hotel on the estate once inside the room, Michael actually thought his wife would have really enjoyed this place not to mention the Spa, so much so he mentally decided not to tell her about it, as they could never visit it because he had used a cover name instead of his own.

  Although they had been happily married over twenty years and she knew what he did for a living; he hated lying to her. It was bad enough all their friends thought he was a middle ranking civil servant instead of a senior officer in the SIS.

  Because she never complained or asked him details in turn, he never told her about anything he experienced, not that there were many of them which could be considered luxurious or potentially enjoyable and he stuck rigorously to cockroach related stories to make her feel better.

  At that moment though, Rebecca wasn't thinking about the Spa.

  Originally she had toyed with using the approval as a carrot as part of her strategy to get at Wasir, but she had changed her mind when one of her junior analysts advised her that the Americans had requested increased monitoring and information on Litchfield's interests plus on his investment in Adwalland.

  When she listened to his telephone conversation with the President of the country she quickly decided there and then Thomas represented a much better chance of revenge, if she handled it correctly.

  With British interests over the last two years becoming focused on ongoing Gas supplies and Asian export Markets like India and China, Her Majesty's Government, since the election, had moved away from the supporting American Foreign Policy goals and focused heavily into the rebuilding of relations between Russia and China using the position of a trusted 'neutral,' following the parliament's vote over military action in Syria representing a prime example.

  First, the Litchfield deal had been parked on the sidelines on the basis it was considered advantageous for British business but when the Americans had turned up on the scene, this meant as far as Rebecca was concerned that situation presented a much better bargaining chip that she could use on him.

  The Vauxhall Bridge analysts had immediately grasped this by watching his first interview describing it as hostile, to say the least, for a network his company was a major shareholder in.

  With the Director General instructing Michael to be "helpful" towards the Americans, in effect, meaning "all assistance short of help" so to allow the opportunity for the "deal" to bed in one-way or another.

  Using her rank she had quickly taken over the liaison with the Americans using excuse that as she had the most knowledge on Litchfield and having established links of communications with him and senior members of his organization, she was the most logical choice. Secretly though it was because she instinctively knew she could use him as a lever in her quest to revenge Christopher.

  "Bloody Americans! I take it we are being 'helpful.' I don't want us to be caught up in a pissing contest between them and Ivan primarily as the Prime Minister and the Foreign Secretary have both expressed their support in this deal!" the Director General had said to Michael and her in their weekly briefing at his offices in Vauxhall Bridge.

  "Of course, Sir" Michael had replied.

  "We are also happy to confirm that we don't believe he is an agent of the SVR," Rebecca had added, handing him her report.

  "Excellent news! I will let Foreign Secretary know so he can brief the Home Secretary and Number 10." He smiled. "I had the 'comic relief' boys on at me why we were taking so bloody long-now I can tell them to bugger off," he had said taking the report from her, having used his Service's nickname for the MI5 which came about due to the red nose of Sir Francis Walsingham, the famous spymaster of Elizabeth I that formed part of their crest.

  Like always, Michael, ever the inquisitor, had eyed her with a thoughtful eye when she presented her case for taking over the file.

  Originally she had planned to tell him that Thomas actually knew her real name due to the politics surrounding him because she still wanted a career in the service, but relying on her instincts she had changed her mind on her way back to the office from their meeting at the Connaught over a month ago.

  At the time, she processed the decision as low risk because he hadn't let on he knew her in any of their public meetings so why take oneself out of the game, plus, though she didn't want to admit it, she wanted to see him again having enjoyed the mental swordplay and flirting with him.

  That had all changed the moment when she saw the photos of Wasir, to the point that she actually thought it might have been fate, for if she had told Michael he would have taken her off the assignment immediately. The direct consequence would have been that she would never have seen Wasir's picture, and as such missed her opportunity to get him.

  "Bashert!" meaning destiny in Yiddish she had thought at the time.

  "Makes sense, Becks" Michael had said in support at the time when she offered him her dressed up false flag logic. "I will let Langley know you're the new case officer."

  The phone buzzing in her room pulled her away from her thoughts and her unpacking for the night.

  "Mrs. Field?" asked the regular public school voice of an older gentleman when she picked it up.

  "Yes."

  "Angus Mackintosh."

  "Hello, Angus, and how are you?" Rebecca replied, recognizing the voice.

  "Very well, Mrs. Field. I was wondering if you're free for a meeting with Sir Thomas this afternoon?" he asked with the typical style of a British Army Officer not bothering with small talk, something his wife told him he was useless at in any case.

  "Of course, what time would suit you?"

  "How about three?"

  "That is absolutely fine," Rebecca answered.

  She didn't ask to bring Michael because she wanted to take the opportunity to find a baseline as to what type of leverage she might be able to use. If Michael attended the meeting he possibly could weaken that position by expressing or giving up the fact the service was only going through the motions with respect to their increased interest in Awdalland.

  At a quarter to three Rebecca made her way down the stairs of the hotel. Finding Angus waiting at the bottom they shook hands then got into his golf buggy and proceeded to drive towards the main house from the hotel. Making a terrible attempt at small talk by using every Englishman's old friend of the weather as a subject, Angus never mentioned that he knew her real name by sticking religiously to Mrs. Field all the way.

  Taking five minutes to reach the main house, Angus parked up the buggy. Whereupon a member of the household staff quickly ushered them inside to the study.

  Finding Thomas was already standing. It pleased her that he made no reference to thei
r meeting at the Connaught as he shook her hand and smiled.

  "Mrs. Field. I trust everybody is looking after you at the hotel?" he said using her cover name as a way of telling her that as Angus was present he wouldn't call her by real name.

  "Very much so, Sir Thomas," she replied smiling in return, playing along.

  "Excellent. I hope you don't mind Angus being present?" he then asked.

  "Of course not," she replied. In her mind over the last hour she had toyed with a couple of scenarios as to how she could use the man standing in front of her now in the personal quest; in the end she settled on testing him first with respect to his relationship with Wasir and whether the phone conversation with the President was just to keep him on side.

  Getting the small talk out of the way she went straight down to business.

  "Sir Thomas, what can you tell me about your relationship with Wasir Osman Hassan?"

  That question in itself immediately told both Angus and Thomas two things: firstly the British had him under surveillance, something both had expected so not surprising, and secondly the Interior Minister was a person of interest to the British.

  "Why are they asking about him?" Thomas thought.

  "I am sure you know more about him than we do, Mrs. Field," Angus stated in return, surprised that a field intelligence officer was actually telling them they were under surveillance despite them both suspecting they would be.

  "Why are you asking?" he probed with a forceful look.

  "We are trying to make sure that no laws are being broken with respect to possible links back to Her Majesty's Government," she offered using the government's latest crusade in the buildup towards the General Election.

  Again that told both men they were also listening to their conversations, but that was pretty weak positioning as nobody took any notice what really happened in a third world country.

  Having gathered his thoughts, Thomas answered this time instead of Angus. "He is the Interior Minister of Adwalland and provides security to the TLH exploration teams in the fields, because at the moment the law enforcement officers of the country are still pretty much in their infancy. His Ministry is responsible for the protection of all foreigners in the country."

  Angus offered a question back. "So why is he a problem Mrs. Field?"

  "I take it you're aware of his rather suspect past and business operations?" she countered ignoring Angus's question for the moment.

  "Well my dear, we know he isn't a saint!" Angus answered annoyed at her rudeness in ignoring his probing and the fact that it was an unwritten rule that the role of MI6 wasn't there to pass judgment on Her Majesty's subjects and business practices of companies registered in the United Kingdom with regimes, not under UN Sanctions. It was only supposed to get involved or provide assessment with respect to whether British interests were at risk. This was a line of questioning was overstepping the mark in his opinion.

  "Bribery! I will be damned," he thought.

  Sensing she had touched a nerve by Angus's tone, this time Rebecca chose to stay silent to get the answer she needed to hear one way or another.

  How Thomas answered it over the coming seconds or minutes, would tell her whether he would be an asset or represent an obstacle to her plans. Reading her face, trusting his instincts that there was more to this than meets the eye, Thomas chose to answer her question.

  As he did so, Angus raised an eyebrow at his answer.

  "Elizabeth, I actually agree with your service's assessment. I think he is a dangerous man with his own agenda with respect to the leadership of his country and he is somebody that we are very aware could cause serious harm to TLH reputation if we do business with him."

  Her next answer totally surprised him in return.

  "Her Majesty Government will be pleased to hear that, Sir Thomas, as you are aware the Prime Minister is keen on seeing your investment in the country gets the full support it needs. I have been tasked with making sure that happens and it is our office opinion he represents a clear threat to that."

  Rebecca's next statement told them everything.

  "Our American cousins believe he is a strong leader who has the support of the Clans. Therefore he represents to them a potential ally in the region against Al-Shabaab for them."

  "Interesting," answered Thomas quickly understanding the significance of the exchange of information now taking place, for Al-Shabaab though a useful "PR" tool, had nothing to do with the real reason behind the American positioning.

  "So they think that the Russians are backing the wrong man in the President?" asked Angus.

  "That appears to be their assessment of the situation in Adwalland," answered Rebecca.

  Deciding to push a little further, Thomas asked, "So if he were to convince the Chiefs that he was a suitable alternative then he could count on their full support?"

  "We can't speak for our cousins, but we believe that is indeed the case," the MI6 officer responded without emotion, years of training masking Rebecca's true feelings.

  A dumbfounded Angus now sat in silence processing Rebecca's words as she started her briefing on Wasir Osman Hassan to ensure that TLH Group could best prepare with the threats coming from within Adwalland.

  "Her Majesty's Secret Service has just basically tipped a wink towards us that they'd rather see the Russians secure their interests in Africa over that of the United States of America! Just like Thomas told me over lunch," the old General thought as she went about briefing them on the Americans view of him.

  "The next Cold War is not going to be fought over ideology but rather over natural resources and in future, Her Majesty's interests will have to be wrapped up in who best provides them to our way of life," Thomas had said to him.

  "That's the only ideology that matters now, Angus," he had said with absolute conviction when they had disagreed with each other two hours earlier.

  "Britain would never back the Russians over American interests there's just too much history, old boy," he had said to back to Thomas, but now this beautiful young woman had just proved him wrong. He suddenly felt very old.

  "It was always easier when it was just black or white, Communist or Capitalist, Christian or Muslim, Jew or Muslim, this new game only had survival of the fittest at its heart," Angus sadly thought.

  "The lines from now on would only be blurred!" he reflected in sadness. "The world was now the Devil's playground!"

  By letting Thomas know the Americans were taking a close look at Wasir as a possible replacement of the President she had thereby planted a seed. Dressing for dinner, Rebecca's mind pondered on their exchange of the afternoon.

  "Dad would be pleased in his little Jewish princess!" she told herself as she did her makeup.

  She hadn't actually formulated what she would do had Thomas's answers indicated that he had in fact, a close relationship with Wasir. The fact that he didn't, she took as a sign of "Bashert" was in motion.

  Pleased with her overall appearance, she was wearing a simple long, black evening dress with her hair up in a bun above her face to show off her angled features. She picked up her clutch bag as she shut the door behind her and joined the rest of the guests in the lobby to wait for the convoy of BMWs and Audis that had been leased to take guests to the main house.

  She spotted Michael dressed in a white dinner jacket with black trousers engaged in conversation with a colored gentleman and a lady Rebecca assumed immediately were Somali by their profiles. She gracefully joined them at his side.

  "Ah, Elizabeth there you are!" Michael said smiling as he kissed her cheek.

  "I was just having a chat here with His Excellency Suleiman Qalajango and his lovely wife, Aasyia," Michael said. "Your Excellency, may I introduce my colleague, Mrs. Elizabeth Field," he said keeping in line with their simple cover of civil servants newly attached to the East Africa desk. She offered her hand to the man who she guessed was the Ambassador of Adwalland and whom Michael had befriended earlier, before they had had a cup of tea together
on her return from the main house so she could brief him on the meeting she just had with Thomas and Angus.

  After introductions, a young member of staff, with an overriding instruction to herd the guests towards the cars outside to maintain the steady flow up to the house and avoid congestion in the lobby, wandered over. Politely he asked that the four of them make their way out of the hotel to the porte-cochere where a car would take them to the main house. Taking the hint, Michael suggested that they should catch up later. Something the Ambassador also agreed on.

  Reaching the house in a matter of minutes they were met by yet another member of staff who quickly directed them through the Tudor hall and out towards the back of the house. As they wandered through the corridor, Michael's eye was drawn to an overly large picture of an Elizabethan Buccaneer with piercing eyes watching over them from above.

  "He looks like a hard bastard! Christ, doesn't he look like Litchfield," Michael observed.

  "Yes he does," answered Rebecca. "They're very similar as well!" she offered.

  "Really?" asked Michael.

  "That's Sir Humphrey Litchfield. He was one of Elizabeth the First's famous Seadogs," she briefed him.

  "Christ, you really do know everything about Litchfield!" replied an impressed Michael with a smile at the extent of her knowledge covering his family history.

  "That's a little harsh Elizabeth, I have never traded slaves!" a voice behind them said with a chuckle as he joined them.

  "You must be David," Thomas said, dressed like Michael in a tailored white dinner jacket and black trousers, offering his hand

  Taking his hand with a firm handshake, Michael confirmed his cover identity.

  "I trust everybody is looking after you?" Thomas enquired as he did earlier with Rebecca.

  "Very much so, Sir Thomas, and thank you for inviting us this evening," replied the diplomat despite his hidden agenda.

  "You're most welcome and thank you very much for your assistance," Thomas responded in turn in reference to his and Rebecca's meeting this afternoon as Nara wearing a stunning couture Chanel dress joined him at his side.

  "Madam Gurbanammedowova, I am Elizabeth," Rebecca said offering her hand seizing the initiative to introduce herself to the woman who shared Thomas's life.

  "I am impressed, Elizabeth, most people have no idea how to pronounce my name," Nara replied smiling, taking Rebecca's hand who in turn was also assessing the attractive mature woman in front of her.

  Thomas looked on with a quizzical eye.

  "There were very few women in the world who can hold a candle visually to Nara in looks. Rebecca, although a polar opposite, is one of them," he concluded as Rebecca informed Nara in fluent Russian with a hint of a French accent that was because she was once attached to the British Embassy in Moscow.

  "Your Russian is perfect!" an impressed Nara said with a sparkle in her eyes.

  "With a St. Petersburg accent as well!" injected an equally impressed Thomas as if a complement in reference to the fact that her accent with its French undertones sounded like the highborn society women of the early twentieth century from that city.

  "A lady of many talents," Nara implied, now eyeing up the woman copiously considering her as a possible rival after seeing the light in her Thomas's eyes as he looked down at the woman while she introduced herself to her companion.

  It was something that hadn't been lost on Michael either as they wandered out towards the lawns of the house at the back, having had their introductions curtailed by Nara spotting one of her friends behind them, dragging Thomas off to say hello to them.

  "I see he likes you, Elizabeth! Are you sure you two never met in Moscow?" he asked ever the intelligence officer, knowing they were both there at the same time.

  She turned her head ever so slightly towards Michael. "His eyes just like to wander!" she answered, attempting to deflect him.

  Michael smirked as if not quite believing her as yet another member of staff asked for their names so he could show them to their table for the night.

  "My eyes wouldn't wander if I had that firecracker in my life!" He muttered in reference to Nara's beauty as they followed the young man to their table.

  "Michael! What would your wife say," mocked Rebecca.

  "Where did he find her?" he asked intrigued whist ignoring the quip.

  "The legend goes he bought her off a pimp in Turkmenistan!" answered Rebecca quietly as they walked down the path of the gardens.

  "Really!" he answered in genuine shock.

  "So he is a slave trader then," he joked as he took onboard her response.

  Rebecca smiled back at Michael's joke but didn't say a word.

  "He certainly doesn't play by the rules of society!" she thought knowing the details behind the legend of how the beautiful woman entered his life having researched him. The psychoanalyst report made reference to the particular moments and decisions in his life appeared to follow a form of Homeric views.

  Not knowing what the analyst meant by Homeric she had looked it up and agreed instantly with his synopsis. It was why she used the Greek legends during their conversation at the Connaught.

  "Everything he undertakes in his professional and personal life appears to have reason, intelligence, worldliness, secularism, courage, honor, integrity, and restraint," the analyst had concluded. Rebecca though recognized something else. That being, because Thomas was bound to act in a particular way and to live up to his nature and not shirk from it. More specifically he had a strong inner and outer strength to achieve it. This meant once you put them all together then it was fair to assume that Thomas certainly didn't feel the need to conform to the defined laws of society or even feel the need to be bound to it and as such in the future, this might represent a threat if on the other side,

  The saving of the beautiful woman at his side was pure consequence of those views. The romantic in Rebecca saw him as a throwback to a warrior king from the stories of ancient Charlemagne. Yet from a national security viewpoint Thomas represented a dangerous threat to the national security and to the way of life she had sworn to protect if Britain's interests ran contrary to his own, such was his influence and power.

  For now though, he was an ally in her quest. At their table Rebecca and Michael found the dashing Angus and his wife, Anne, the rather young looking new Russian Ambassador to Adwalland known as Vitkor Vladimirovich Karpin, and his wife Olga.

  Introductions out of the way, the dinner started with a routine by a famous wit from British Television and a contemporary of Thomas's from Oxford as the host of the night promptly followed by a short speech by Thomas.

  With the first courses delivered as the first band of the night started the entertainment, all the parties made a toast with the excellent Penat-Chardonnet Grande Reserve Grande Cru.

  His speech finished, Thomas quickly left the stage and made his way to his table, stopping to shake a few hands along the way in the process with the Minister of Business, the local MP and his wife, who made sure the society photographer got a photo of her kissing his cheek.

  Arriving at the table, Thomas apologized for getting caught up. Luckily everybody had started without him as Nara told everybody not to wait, knowing from experience he would most likely get waylaid.

  Going around the table, Thomas hugged the Russian Ambassador to the United Kingdom, then Steve Krivets followed by a handshake with his long term friend and fellow National Champion, Valeri Aleksandr Berezutskiy, before finally their particular wives with kisses on the cheeks, and in Steve's case his girlfriend Danielle. It did not go unnoticed by Nara that the girl had stroked Thomas's side rather too suggestively for her taste.

  "Little Jelep!" she thought in disgust.

  As they picked up their glasses for their private first toast, Elena a beautiful young former ballerina from the Bolshoi, whom Valeri had acquired as a second wife, commented on the champagne.

  "Nara, this champagne is like fresh, crisp green apples in my mouth it is so complex, where di
d you get it from?" she asked with her piercing blue eyes.

  Knowing her young friend had a penchant for following them, having taken her under wing when she moved to London with Valeri, Nara replied.

  "You can't buy it, Elena, because we own the entire vintage."

  "The entire vintage!" cried Steve impressed. He didn't think that was possible.

  Stepping in to cut short the discussion as Thomas hated it when Nara went into one of her 'One-upmanship' modes, despite understanding that it was part of her make-up, due to having nothing before he entered her life and a general affliction of his National Champion colleagues, including Valeri who had just brought his own Premier League team, he interjected.

  "There are only five thousand bottles Steve, I agree though; it is a fabulous champagne, excellent choice darling," lifting his glass to Nara to show his appreciation.

  The Ambassador's wife, ever a trained diplomat herself noticing that Nara's glass was filled with only mineral water and her plate was missing, knocked on the table three times then pretended to spit three times over her left shoulder as she radiantly smiled towards Nara, who quickly followed suit and did the same in response.

  A shining glowing Thomas also followed suit.

  "What does that mean?" asked Steve as the Ambassador, Valeri and Elena having now grasped the situation as well, followed suit, which carried over to the next table where Mikhail and Hanna and his closest aides all did the same, beaming smiles all around.

  "We are praising Nara's pregnancy. You knock the table three times and spit over your left shoulder so not to jinx it," the Ambassador answered with a huge smile.

  "It's an old Russian custom," Valeri further explained to Steve.

  "Pregnant!" shouted Steve as both he and his young starlet girlfriend Daniele followed suit as well joining the joyful laughing surrounding the tables.

  As the ripple was finished, Thomas winked at Nara whose eyes sparkled when she caught it as they raised their glasses to his lady, but not before a little shiver went down her spine.

  Once the party had entered into full swing Steve joined Thomas in his study. After offering him a cigar and a tumbler of three fingers of his 78 Speyside Mortlach, Thomas asked if he wanted water.

  "Yes, please Buddy, just a touch," Steve answered as he clipped a Short Churchill cigar and proceeded to light it.

  Handing the malt to his friend, Thomas started to light his own cigar.

  "I am sorry Jessica went a little overboard the other day," Steve said, starting their catch-up.

  "Don't worry about it! James had me well prepared," Thomas answered sincerely. "We knew it was coming and anyway it proved one thing! Your leaders have definitely taken the bait!" Thomas added.

  "Yeah I had that prick McGiven on the line moaning to me that our publications were being too friendly towards you and the Russians. Little fucker!" Steve added with a touch of theatre as he remembered the exchange that took place having decided he wasn't go to tell his friend yet of his plan to run for the Governorship.

  Thomas too held own his secret. That being the meeting with Rebecca at which she informed him about the "nod and the wink" as to the Americans intending to support Wasir.

  Instead, Thomas asked Steve if he could give Ambassador Jack Fielding some airtime so he could assist them in the pushing of the neutral position of being honest brokers to be used by, rather than Thomas becoming the recipient of the United States of America sword.

  "Fielding!" Steve replied shaking his head with a pained look that immediately told Thomas there must have been some past history between the two men.

  "Do you know him?" he probed.

  "You could say that!" Steve cryptically answered looking into his whiskey deeply.

  To Steve the memory that flooded back after all these years was of her slender, girlish figure. Her oval face that made her beautiful in the extreme and with her finely honed figure, large eyes, a mass of coal black hair, olive skinned skin and molded lips, Kelly Christina Fielding. The only woman he had ever loved.

  A product of Jack Fielding's first marriage to an aristocratic Spanish woman Steve had met her at the Cannes Film Festival at one of his father's parties when he was twenty-one, and she was just eighteen. She was a free spirit, born from unstable home life and a Swiss boarding school and Steve was instantly drawn to her for her ability to spark chaos all around. Over the course of that wonderful summer, he had fallen head over heels in love with both her vulnerability and independent spirit like a moth to a flame and found himself constantly getting into fights all over South of France trying to protect her from herself, forgiving her each time. It was to end tragically at the end of the summer with Steve losing her to a drug overdose on the Rivera and with it all his dreams of having children and a stable relationship.

  Fielding blamed Steve, so much so, he had banned him from attending her funeral.

  "We have a personal history," was all he said to Thomas.

  Seeing his friend face change to one of sorrow within an instant, Thomas chose not to press him on it.

  "Fair enough, let's forget it, I will get Weston to earn his keep," Thomas offered wondering what had affected his friend so badly.

  "Thank you," was all Steve said.

  32

  Borama

  Although all Somalis genetically belong to the "G" tribe, each town or city much like the cities of the United Arab Emirates were responsible for their immediate geographical area.

  In Adwalland, these areas were Saylac and Lughaya in the northwest then finally Awdal in the west with all the areas using the original Clan base divisions of the sixteenth Century Sultanate that had ruled when it was known as the Emirate of Saylac.

  The reason why they chose to follow the municipality system of the UAE had made sense when they had been setting up the State as it meant it the Presidency of the new nation could be shared every five years and allow the tribal chiefs to self-govern their own areas without one tribe dominating the others.

  In bringing all the sub-clans of the Upper and Lower Houses together to create a cabinet of six members to act as the ruling council, the President had for the first time since the Sultan been able to create a State for the whole area, but despite this, the peace was still fragile. Therefore Thomas and the President needed to make sure that the spoils from their agreement with the Russian Government were shared correctly and more importantly, fairly.

  The clean water wells, roads, electricity, telecommunications, schools and medical facilities were the first part of the plan as the harbor contractors set about creating the docks and channels to take boats with up to twenty meter drafts to make it one of the biggest ports on the East African coast and one to certainly a rival to Djibouti's next door to Adwalland once it was completed.

  The second part was cash. Over the last month the Russian Central Bank had set up the correspondence relationship with Adwalland's new Central Bank and in doing so was able to serve as the underwriter to the Western banks for the new country that would struggle to get credit otherwise if they hadn't.

  TLH had placed its first lease payment of fifty million U.S. dollars on deposit into the new Commercial Bank of Adwalland, and the Russian Government had placed into the new branch in Moscow their first tranche of 200 million U.S. dollars for deployment into Adwalland joint ventures.

  This was now being explained to the Council by Omar, but instead of understanding the significance of the gift they were receiving, which would make them over the next ten years a leading African state, unfortunately it now appeared to Thomas that they had all immediately seen it as an opportunity for 'land grab.' As a result, each Clan was seeking to divert the monies into their own areas, not understanding that the money couldn't be deployed in that way.

  At least that's what he surmised from what he could make out by the emotions on the President and his many advisers' faces.

  After about three hours of going around in circles, and copious amounts of mint tea, the meeting finally broke u
p for the evening.

  "Thomas, I need money!" the mentally exhausted President said once they were alone.

  "You have money, Mr. President," answered Thomas bracing himself for a renegotiation of the terms.

  "No, I need money here in Adwalland, not in Moscow!" replied the emotionally drained man.

  "Once they begin to see the buildings going up, the supplies arriving they will be glad." Thomas offered in simple terms. Omar waved his hand as if to cut him off at the pass.

  "That is not the problem! The problem is Wasir!"

  "Why?"

  "I took care of him. He has received the payments he requested to be sent to Dubai for his security teams," Thomas answered annoyed having not understood a word of the exchanges over the last few hours, only the bits that used Arabic. He had assumed it was about greed, not the vicious bastard who had insulted his family and had cost him a couple of million U.S. dollars in a thinly veiled bribe.

  "He has been filling the Council's heads with thoughts that the deal is not good enough!"

  "Well, that is nothing new!"

  "No deal is good enough," Thomas replied even if he were still fuming inside at the treachery of the pirate.

  Omar said nothing, but Thomas could see he was at his wit's end.

  "Okay, what did he say?" he asked instead.

  "That he has partners from India through his contacts in Dubai who will give them a better deals than my Russian and English friends."

  "Better deals!"

  "Mr. President, Adwalland has only just been born, it cannot act like pirates and tear up international contracts with a sovereign state like Russia because it has been promised more elsewhere," Thomas explained to his friend with a touch of anger in his voice. "In any case how do they know it is a better deal!" he asked doubtfully.

  "He took his friend to see them, and in each case he gave them money and left it up to them on how best decide to spend it within their area!" he said. "Just like the old days!" he said continuing with his rant in reference to a time when you could buy a Clan's loyalty with a few U.S. dollars.

  Thomas looked at Omar's tired face.

  "For all the idealism one may have, self-interest always trumps in the end!" Thomas sadly reflected.

  "How much?" Thomas asked instead, resigned to the fact he was going to have?to?match the offer. "One million each, plus five percent of any resources mined or extracted from their regions," the President answered in disgust.

  As he took onboard the latest information he reflected that it wasn't the cash figure that bothered him, he thought that affordable. It was the percentage figure.

  When Wasir originally asked for ten percent of the profits before taxes he thought that was excessive, but this was completely uneconomic.

  After a mine or oil company had paid out the expenses and the Central Government's share of the revenue, it generally left them with profit before taxes of about twenty-five percent though he admitted to himself it was still huge a sum it certainly isn't if you have to factor in local Clans receiving revenue shares as well as. Investors would deem it uneconomic for the area and pass on it. Therefore, this was far worse than having to up cash contributions as he was now facing a creditability issue on the international markets. That affected TLH, not just Adwalland.

  "Who is his friend?" asked Thomas narrowing his eyes.

  "Some rich Indian called Gouramangi Singh," answered the leader of Adwalland.

  "He is in diamonds not oil!" thought Thomas surprised. Although he had heard of him their paths had never crossed.

  "Okay, what do you believe will help you with the Council?"

  "I think I need ten million U.S. dollars in cash to keep them in line," answered the President sincerely.

  "I will organize to have the cash transferred," Thomas answered decisively having also reflected on Rebecca's warning of a week ago and thinking it had to be linked. "But I will need to go Moscow and make sure our partners are satisfied as to the reasons why," he added.

  "Of course, I understand, when will you return?" the concerned President asked.

  "I will be back next week for the arrival of the Russian Ambassador," he answered to a now very relieved President.

  Not wanting to waste any time, Thomas left the President's residence and went straight to the airport.

  On boarding his Boeing BBJ to head off to Moscow, he noticed a G-4 parked up by the Cargo hanger.

  "That's the GSG plane," Mikhail said, reading his thoughts.

  "Where are they staying?" Thomas asked.

  "With our friend Wasir," answered Mikhail before again beating him to the punch by adding he had asked Barek to get his system of street kids to discreetly keep an eye on him having observed the exchange between Thomas and the President.

  One other thing he did as well was to ask Angus to get some intelligence on the Indians.

  Once settled into their seats for takeoff Mikhail asked Yossi for the printout of what the former solider had sent across.

  "From Angus," said Mikhail as Yossi handed the notes to Thomas.

  Casting his eyes over the report Thomas reflected that thought it made interesting reading, but he couldn't quite get his head around why he was offering such an uneconomic deal from his point of view.

  "One could argue he was of a marketer or retailer, therefore, inexperienced," he countered trying to see the Indian's point of view, but because he had a joint venture in a mine in Alaska that meant Singh should have enough experience with 'Hardhats' to understand that offering deals of this nature would never appeal to an investor base in London or Canada let alone New York, not to mention by trying to secure all the rights already contracted he was putting at risk a major piece of infrastructure that would be created to export the product.

  With plenty of rights to go around because Thomas and his investors had advised the President and his Energy and Mines Minister to structure it as such on the basis that encouraging investment meant the country could grow faster, it was nothing but plain stupid.

  So again reflecting back on the Rebecca discussion of a few days ago still not quite believing it he as he thought through it, Thomas concluded that the Indian had to be receiving money from one source and one source only with a completely different agenda to that of business.

  "This is fucking suicidal!" Saul who never swore unless stressed interrupted Thomas's train of thought for a moment.

  "He couldn't possibly afford five billion in infrastructure either!" Thomas added, referring to the sum that the Russian Miners and TLH as one of the Anglo-Russian Oil and Gas producers had secured from the Russian Government when Saul finished walking him through the numbers.

  "So what or who do you think is behind our Mr. Singh?" he asked Saul, wanting his trusted CFO input not just his own conclusion to mull over just as one of the team pretty air hostesses brought him his customary glass of Blue Label on the rocks.

  "I am on the case!" replied Saul not being able to answer Thomas at that time.

  It didn't matter. Thomas figured he already knew the answer: The United States of America.

  33

  Moscow

  They arrived at Sheremetievo airport's private terminal early Tuesday morning. They progressed quickly through customs and immigration because the resident FSB officer had cleared them as belonging to the 'trusted person's list,' a godsend as Mikhail's and Saul's Israeli passports under most circumstances would have meant at least a two hour delay traveling in and out of Russia.

  Getting quickly into the dark blue armored Range Rovers the TLH group owned, Thomas and the team set off for his home in Moscow with a black BMW X5 with a blue light from the FSB tailing them.

  The Director of FSB Dmitri Arkady Pavlov was sending his message, "I am always watching you," just as he did with Thomas and all of the seventeen super wealthy brethren, all with a net worth of over one billion U.S. dollars in Russia otherwise known as "a National Champion."

  With a gifted Russian passport, Thomas w
as considered no different, despite on this occasion, having used his British documentation, as the visit was unplanned.

  Traveling quickly through the dark streets due to the fact that the early morning arrival had provided them with the benefit of being able to avoid the dreaded Moscow traffic that seemed to get worse every time he returned to the city, they reached the house thirty minutes later.

  Met by his former Ghurkha batman Sgt. Tan and his wife, who ran the house and had done so ever since he had bought it when he had first come to Russia in the early 1990s. A tired and jetlagged Thomas asked Tan to wake him at six-thirty before making his way to the bedroom where he hit the bed, fully dressed apart from his shoes and fell fast asleep.

  Three hours later Mr. Tan, just like when they were in Army, gently placed a cup of extra sweet English Breakfast Tea by the side of his bed. Old habits dying hard Thomas was instantly awake and alert.

  "Good Morning, Sir Thomas!" beamed the batman.

  "Mrs. Tan will have breakfast ready for you in the Conservatory whenever you're ready," he continued with a smile because he was happy to have his former commanding officer back home.

  "Thank you, Tan," Thomas said rubbing his weary eyes as his old Army Batman and trusted servant left the bedroom.

  Sitting up, the former Gurkha officer took a sip of the sweet tea. Instantly the potion did its magic by helping to clear his mind. Seeing he was still dressed, Thomas got up, quickly took his clothes off then walked into the dressing room then finally into the bathroom.

  Thirty minutes later, completely refreshed, the old warrior emerged from the bedroom, clean-shaven wearing a simple tailored blue suit with?a?sky blue shirt and tie, and then went downstairs for breakfast.

  Entering the conservatory he found Saul already up and dressed like him except he was in a grey suit with white shirt and purple silk tie.

  "Morning, Boss," he said with a smile as he set about bashing his boiled eggs.

  "Bloody hell, Saul, don't you ever sleep?"

  At just thirty-three years of age with short cropped jet-black thick hair, deep blue eyes and a thin physique, Saul Berkovic had become Thomas's CFO of his Private Office after having been recommended for the job by Hanna Pschenicnikov who knew his family well before she had married Mikhail.

  Joining TLH straight after graduating from the London Business School, the hawkish looking book warrior had become an indispensable member of his team over the last few years because of his "terrier" ability in being able to run the numbers for the hordes of lawyers and bankers of the overall group around the world. So much so, Thomas had made him an Executive Director of TLH Group and one of Victoria's trustees despite his young age.

  "No rest for the dammed," replied Saul taking it as a backhanded compliment. Thomas just shook his head while he sipped a cup of coffee.

  Breakfast over, Thomas departed to his study. Unlike his homes in England his Moscow abode was ultra-modern in design, with Swedish look with black and white and stainless steel reflecting the style of the furniture. The art in the room though, was most definitely Russian with a beautiful Icon from Peter the Great era of the Madonna and Child taking center stage.

  He looked at the vintage Patek watch on his wrist, a special gift he had never changed, as the timepiece had come from his mother. Seeing it was seven-thirty he picked up the phone on his desk and dialed the CEO of the new Russian-Adwalland joint venture Bank. Then the CEO of the Russian Correspondence Bank before finally the person who was his overriding reason for coming to Moscow: Alexei Nikolai Anynkov.

  "Good morning, Director," Thomas offered as soon as the Director of the SVR picked up his call, earning a simple reply of his name in Russian as an acknowledgement.

  Knowing Anynkov didn't bother with small talk, Thomas asked for a meeting with him to give an update on matters in Adwalland, again Alexei Nikolai was quick in his response by confirming he could see him at ten o'clock.

  As he put the telephone back on the hook, Mikhail walked into his office looking refreshed and as always looking more like a businessman than his personal bodyguard in his Brioni suit instead of his Adwalland attire of chinos, desert boots. The holster with his Heckler & Glock pistol in it showed over his polo shirt with dark sunglasses over his eyes.

  Morning greetings out of the way, Thomas informed him that they had a meeting with Alexei Nikolai at ten o'clock. Looking at his watch, knowing that the office of the SVR was on the other side of Moscow, Mikhail immediately suggested that they leave at eight thirty knowing the unreliability of the ever-growing Muscovite traffic it would be a push to get there on time

  "Oh and tell Saul to get some sleep, will you Mikhail?" Thomas added concerned that his young CFO was burning himself out.

  "He needs a good wife," replied Mikhail with a smile.

  "Who says that, you or Hanna?" asked Thomas, knowing Hanna's habit of acting like a good commanding officer wife when it came to life's of many members of his team, and that including him before Nara entered his life all those years ago.

  "No, comment!" Mikhail said as he departed his study.

  As always Mikhail was right on the money; the traffic was absolutely terrible. Arriving at quarter to ten and on walking into the tall structure known as "Les" or "Wood" in English on the outskirts of Moscow in the Yasenevo District amongst the trees that surround it, Thomas was met by an attractive blonde in her late twenties and immediately shown to a conference room.

  Refusing the offer of tea, Thomas waited patiently for Alexei Nikolai. In business life, Russians hate being late, seeing it as a kind of impoliteness Thomas took it for what it was and in spite of his unique relationship with Russia and his citizenship he was still a foreigner in the eyes of the technocrats that run the country and as such he would always remain so.

  Over the last five years since Alexei Nikolai had become the head of the SVR the organization of 13,000 men and women had redeveloped itself into an impressive network of operatives that followed the second pillar of recruitment for the "Love of Russia." Though Thomas wasn't one of them in heart, the Mayor had made sure he was very much an instrument as when needed.

  "Good Morning, Fama," said Alexei Nikolai entering the room not bothering to give his hand as he sat down. Despite the insult nevertheless Thomas responded politely using the Director's title in front of his surname instead of the informal but respectful use of his two Christian names.

  Having listened for ten minutes during which his assistant delivered them both a pot of black tea, Alexei offered his views.

  "So you believe Singh is being bankrolled by Americans interests?"

  "I have no proof, but it makes sense, the economics of the deal suggest a primary underwriter of the deal he is offering and the Americans have been very vocal in their attacks on this investment," replied Thomas. He was referring to the media he knew the Director of SVR Analysts would have almost certainly been monitoring including his personal interview, but still not declaring the actual source of the intelligence that had confirmed it for him had actually come from Rebecca in their meeting at Farrow Hall.

  Taking a sip of tea, Thomas tried to gauge the director's reaction.

  "Do you believe the President's at risk?" Alexei Nikolai probed.

  Thomas nodded then offered, "I have to say the answer is Yes!" before adding that he had also asked the bank to make ready the ten million U.S. dollars in cash to take back with him to assist in shoring up the President's position with the chiefs.

  Alexei took a moment to reflect on Thomas's response in silence. It was true the American media had been carefully increasing the temperature through various worldwide media outlets over the last couple of months. This method of destabilization certainly wasn't new-they had used the same strategy in Russia in the early 1990s.

  The new director of the CIA also had a reputation of being a manipulator of the dark arts.

  With an ambassador due to be deployed next week. A regime change was the last thing Alexei felt he needed primaril
y because Vladimir Vladimirovich had made this agreement a cornerstone example of the re-emergence of Russia's traditional rights in the world.

  He didn't like the man sitting across the table from him. Thomas was an example of everything that was wrong with the Russia emerging from the ruins of "Catastroika." Ever the pragmatic though, that certainly didn't mean he wasn't useful plus he had certainly been making a difference in the sectors of the economy the President had told him to invest in.

  As he respected Thomas's business experience and contacts this meant the Englishman wasn't exaggerating the situation that was fast developing in the Adwalland. It was because of this he took a decision.

  "I will make sure that Jawari has a team of suitable advisers he can turn to if he wants to and I will take your thoughts under advisement," offered the Director of SVR before getting up, signaling that their meeting was over.

  Taking his cue, Thomas also rose and followed him out of the conference room. A brunette instead of blonde met him this time to show him out of the grey building.

  Met by Mikhail, his trusted old friend asked how it went.

  "He listened!" was all he said as he got into the Range Rover. He debriefed Mikhail as Barek drove the off road vehicle back to the house. His trusted driver offered a piece of information.

  "Boss! I think that means the team who been observing us in Boroma belongs to Americans then," he said as he drove.

  "What team?" Thomas asked before answering his own question. "I think you're right," linking it to Rebecca's information before Barek completed his explanation.

  Returning to his office picking up the phone, the Director of the SVR dialed a number. The person he called was Sergei Andreyevich Petrov.

  A tall man with salt and pepper hair, a strong jaw and piercing blue eyes Petrov was the forty-nine year-old commanding officer of the SVR paramilitary unit known as Zaslon. Numbering just 500 personnel in size and reporting directly to the Director, the unit had a fearsome reputation.

  Established in the late 1990s to perform covert missions abroad, the unit's brief ranged from anything involving hostage rescues to assassinations. To many in the counter-intelligence community it was considered the counterpart of the Agency's SAD, however within the Russian Intelligence as it did not even have a service badge, it didn't even exist.

  Joining the KGB straight after university during the last days of the Soviet Union but choosing not to resign like many of his colleagues after the fall and enter the world of commerce or organized crime, Petrov stayed to become part of the new 'refocused' SVR under Yevgeniy Maksimovich Primakov.

  With his ear for languages and his unique survival experience, he had been deployed to the United States, Europe, Afghanistan, Jordan, Lebanon, Iraq, Pakistan, Syria, and few other places along the way.

  A tough no nonsense man, he was a dedicated professional who cared deeply for his country. He had taken over the Zaslon unit after his predecessor botched the assassination of the Chechen leader Zelimkhan Yandarbiev in Qatar in 2003. Officially, Sergei's title was Deputy Director of Planning but everybody in the service knew who he really was.

  Although the conversation was warm between the two men it had been short with a request that Sergei join the Director for a meeting in his office.

  "Of course, Director," replied Sergei in his dress uniform of a blue pinstripe tailored English suit sitting at his own desk.

  One hour later, the pair sat across from each other.

  Old soldiers they went back along the way, with a bond of trust that had been forged in blood. First working together in the early days of the 1990s stealing industrial, scientific, and technological data from American and European companies, their role changed the moment the Mayor became President after the Chechen terrorist attacks.

  Following that attack and working together as a team they set up a series of networks in the Middle East and Pakistan to combat the growing threat from the second Chechen war.

  Bloody and ruthless with neither side backing down, Alexei and Sergei had both carried out sanctions in the past in response to the hijackings, the infamous taking of the Moscow theatre and the worst kind of crime the murder of children who were only guilty of going to school.

  One such operation took place in the UAE. Sergei and his team had tracked the target to a villa in Sharjah who was known as the Financier of the Arab Mujahedeen in Chechnya and the man behind the kidnapping of the four Russian diplomats that were later executed in Iraq.

  "Acting as the tip of the sword," to quote the Mayor, Sergei had shot the Jordanian of Chechnya heritage in the head as he was coming out of the Villa and was awarded the Hero of Russia medal for the kill. Clean, efficient with little collateral damage he was always Alexei's first port of call when he needed something handled with kid gloves so to speak.

  Over the last couple of years with the exception of the successful Crimean Operation, Sergei's part had been mostly handling the training of Assad's militia and the covering of Moscow's tracks by ensuring that sensitive military technology-including new surface-to-air systems-didn't end up in foreign fighter hands in Syria.

  A war the pair both sadly reflected was likely to become another Chechnya or Dagestan with it international funders from America and Wahhabists.

  "I need you to put a team into Adwalland," Alexei said once their friendly enquiries into each other families were out of the way.

  "No problem, Alexei. May I ask what their role will be?" Petrov asked.

  "Officially to provide protection services to the new embassy, unofficially to put a shadow team in theatre to ensure Omar Jawari maintains his position as President," answered Alexei

  "Who is the threat?" Sergei asked because his experience with regard to the country was limited to the fact that it was new and Russia's President had reached an agreement to set a new naval base there similar in size to the one they currently had in Syria to replace their listening post located on one of the Yemeni Islands that was being shut down by the Pro-American Government.

  "According to the 'Blagorodnyy,' the threat is coming from an ex-pirate who runs the Interior Ministry with backing from an Indian with American ties," Alexei answered, using Thomas's codename meaning 'Noble' and taking the intelligence of Thomas as read, even if he hadn't acknowledged that he had.

  Sergei nodded as Alexei handed in an encrypted USB stick containing analysis from the famous Support departments of the Special Services on Adwalland, the key players and intelligence evidence from the U.S.

  34

  Bangkok

  The sweat caused by the unrelenting heat and humidity of Bangkok dripped down the back of Ahmet Abylow's neck as the air-conditioning was still switched off to save on fuel while he was going over his final pre-flight checks on the IL-76 aircraft.

  The young man had the look of a person on a personal crusade brought about by years of bitterness over his circumstances. He was originally educated in Switzerland and the plan had been to join the air force of Turkmenistan for a few years to fly MIG-29s before joining his father in his business. The assassination of his father though had ended that dream abruptly. Fearing for the lives of his mother and two younger sisters alongside him, Ahmet had left his homeland forever the night that happened.

  With no access to any of his father's wealth, apart from the cash he had hidden away in Dubai, Ahmet had used the skills for flying to get rated on, IL-76, Airbus A300, and 747's to enable him to feed his family by flying beaten-up cargo planes in and out Africa and Asia.

  It wasn't until 2011 when having gone into business with the pirate he had met in one of Bur Dubai hotel bars and was,?by a happy coincidence, looking for a pilot to fly cargo in and out of Somalia that Ahmet had found his life picking up. So much so he was looking at buying an old 727 to add to the fleet.

  Then earlier this year as he sat in his friend's hotel in Borama having an espresso he couldn't believe who appeared before his eyes.

  The very person, who was known, though nobo
dy had ever proved it, to have ordered the murder of his father, the famous Oligarch who had become a legend in Turkmenistan over the deal he had once done with his father when he had brought one of his whores, walked through the lobby.

  "Allah, please allow me to avenge my father!" he had asked spitting on the floor in disgust at the time. Now it appeared such a chance was going to be granted.

  When he first saw the cargo that was being loaded up, Ahmet had quickly worked out that his friend and his new Indian business partner were planning a possible coup d'?tat.

  He didn't care; he saw it as 'Kismet.' Deciding there and then he would kill the Englishman and in his eyes regain his family's honor under the law of qan dushar, a term that means 'blood reaches' and a unwritten right still practiced by the tribes of Turkmenistan that allowed an individual with a common patrilineal ancestor who is not more than seven generations removed to seek revenge on the killer and their immediate kin.

  The plans of Wasir represented a perfect opportunity for him to do so.

  "We're ready, Ahmet!" said his Bosnian-Croat Co-pilot.

  "Right let's get this show on the road," answered the young Captain.

  35

  Moscow

  On Thursday morning as Sergei Petrov and his driver pulled up to the gate of Litchfield residence in their black Mercedes Benz G Wagon, he chuckled as he caught sight of the standard FSB X6 BMW with its blue light on top sitting across the street.

  It wasn't lost on his driver either.

  "I bet you one hundred Roubles he's on the phone right now telling Dimitri Arkady that we are about to have a meeting with Blagorodnyy right now!" the tough looking Crimean said, referring to the Director of FSB and Thomas as the residences security team went about checking them over.

  "Ruslan, Don't be so horrible!" Sergei replied sarcastically with a smile before dismissing them from his thoughts due to being more interested in the professionalism of the men that were now inspecting the car.

  Despite the both of them showing their state credential cards of the SVR, it was not lost on Sergei that they had taken their time and reconfirmed everything. Twice over!

  "No lazy dreamers here!" he thought.

  Over the last twenty-four hours, Sergei and his team had read a considerable amount of intelligence and analysis on Blagorodnyy's organization. Made up with ex-military or policemen it was the sort of protection any high profile Oligarch would have. So it wasn't this fact that had impressed him.

  "This Englishman is certainly no ordinary Oligarch." He continued.

  "And, it isn't because the British have awarded him a Military Cross either, despite the impressive account on how he had supposedly received it." He concluded as he made notes.

  No, what had really impressed Sergei was how he handled the attempt on his life by the 'Moldovan Mafioso' and again it wasn't over how he handled the gun as the SAS were among the best in the world at training their men.

  The way he had stood by the side of his wounded head of detail. Protecting him from the FSB and also, over the following years, taken care of the family of the young man who had died taking a bullet for him by taking an activate interest in his children's lives by acting as their 'Sendakim". Proved to the Head of Zaslon that these weren't the typical reactions of the spoiled, arrogant rich men that he had come across in life who overdosed themselves on the excesses of success.

  "No!" he decided. "This is the reason why his team were completely loyal to him,"

  For as far as Sergei was concerned it was this reason why they had never given away any valuable intelligence on his weaknesses and not just the theory promoted by the Analysts of the SVR "That he is extremely generous with his remuneration of them all!"

  "Idiots! This man has fought with them! He is one of them!" he said out loud to himself in the early hours of the morning.

  Having spent the last twenty years of his life fighting the Clans of Chechnya and Dagestan plus running his own teams the same way he certainly recognized Clan loyalty when it was presented to him.

  It was that point he dismissed the synopsis before him and had gone to bed to get some sleep having decided he would call Alexei in the morning and ask him to arrange a meeting with the man so he could evaluate him face to face.

  "Intelligence files only went so far, instinct was what saved you in the field."

  Security checks finished, the gate opened and in they went. Arriving at the house both men were met by the man they immediately recognized as his head of detail.

  "Mikhail Olegovich," Sergei said offering him his hand in respect one professional to another.

  "Sergei Andreyevich," said Mikhail responding in kind while taking his hand firmly before asking them to follow him into the house as his personal security team stayed outside with his men.

  Mikhail handled the introductions as both men assessed one another.

  "Sir Thomas, thank you for seeing us on short notice," offered Sergei in fluent English that would have made a Newsreader on the BBC proud.

  The fact that Sergei had chosen to use Thomas's title an affectation something that a Russian and certainly not an officer of the SVR would never do with its links to the Imperial past had momentarily caught him off guard.

  It was something, though not mentioned, that wasn't lost on Sergei either.

  "Happy to help Sergei Andreyevich," Thomas answered, his composure restored.

  When Alexei had rung and told him to expect him he was privately pleased. He had heard of the legendary Zaslon unit, but this was the first time he had actually met a member and certainly not the Director of them. This signaled that Alexei was taking his concerns seriously and not just giving him lip service.

  "Sir Thomas, that is excellent! Although Alexei Nikolai has officially tasked me with the security of the Ambassador for his arrival next week," Sergei started. "Because I am never one for the bullshit why don't you tell me about what this Jawari has so we can assess what he needs and what we have got in the short time available!" he answered referring to the real nature of his mission.

  Thomas quickly decided that he liked the man sitting across from him dressed like a British lawyer in his bespoke Saville Row suit with an understated tie.

  "Please call me Thomas," he offered towards Sergei just as Sgt. Tan walked into the study with black tea and coffee, earning a smile in return from the Director of the Zaslon as an acknowledgement as the old Ghurkha asked if he would like tea or coffee.

  "I don't suppose I could have some sweet English Breakfast Tea, please Sgt. Tan?" asked Sergei.

  Again Thomas raised an eyebrow slightly by his use of Tan's previous rank and at his request of a cup of tea the way all members of the British Army took it.

  "This Petrov is definitely an interesting man!" he reflected.

  "Why of course, Sir!" answered the Ghurkha with a beaming smile pleased that an English friend of his former commanding officer had used his former rank.

  Twenty-four hours later the BBJ plane was on its way back to Adawlland with ten million U.S. dollars in cash for chieftain's whims, along with Thomas, Mikhail and his long standing permanent security team of Benny Zaguri, Barak Levi, Yossi Spungin and Avi Ohana and a team of ten men known as Unit B from Zaslon.

  All veterans, experienced in the dark arts of counter-intelligence and insurgency Unit B had spent the last six months in Syria training and assisting Assad's intelligence service. Led by a thirty-three-year-old dark haired man with his hair cut crew cut style with brown eyes and olive skin, due to his mother's Chechen heritage, called Igor Valeriyoych Protasov.

  Although Sergei had been less than forthcoming in terms of his experience, he did admit to them he was a graduate of the Foreign Intelligence Academy and over the last six years had seen service in the Middle East.

  As with all the members of Zaslon, he spoke four languages other than his native Russian, but it was because he was fluent in Hebrew and English that Sergei decided he would be the best qualified to work with Thoma
s and his men.

  Assessing him, Thomas could see he had already seen enough action for two lifetimes from the look in his eyes. It was the look he once had before Nara and Victoria had entered his life.

  Still probing the young officer the only time in the last couple of hours he had managed to catch him off guard was when he had spoken Arabic to him. Immediately Igor had responded with a Jordanian tint in it, but he could see he was surprised that he had spoken the language as fluently as him.

  Thomas knew then that the young man had spent time undercover in Amman with the ten thousand strong, exiled Chechen community. It was something Thomas had said to Igor as well to test his reaction. Yet again though although Igor had smiled politely he didn't comment.

  He had of course read the background files on all them. So the officer knew they weren't your usual civilians, plus Sergei Andreyvich had warned him he was no ordinary Oligarch, but nevertheless he was still impressed "Blagoeodnyy" had picked up his Jordanian accent.

  Despite this, for the moment neither Thomas nor any members of his team had shared their information with respect to the observation team that had been watching them in Borama, as Thomas had wanted that kept in his back pocket for the moment. The logic was simple.

  "If they were Russian, there was no point letting on about them, but if they were American and things started to get out of hand, then the information about the presence might represent a useful bargaining chip for TLH." So instead, they had briefed Igor and his men on all the stress points in the capital, covering off on their maps and satellite photos the locations of the hotels, hospital, TV station, airport, petrol stations, government ministries, electricity hubs, communications towers, embassies, and residences of key individuals before finally the various Ministries.

  The advance team of the Russian Foreign Service that was tasked with the setup of the embassy had been very helpful with this respect. So it was a job made easier by the excellent photographs they had taken on the ground.

  During this time, not offering any value, Thomas took the opportunity to touch base with home first, then read the encrypted notes that Saul, who had stayed behind in Moscow on the GSG business, had sent him. The report covered everything that good due diligence on a potential acquisition target should provide, if that was the goal. One name stuck out "Litchfield Hirsch," his father's firm. They had acted as one of advisers on the other side of the joint venture of his mining deal in Alaska. He decided to park that revelation for a moment when one of the plane's staff said dinner was ready to be served. It wasn't a hard decision. Whenever his father's name popped up it always brought a mixture of emotions within in. None of them ever good!

  Litchfield Hirsch was originally founded in the mid-1800s in Hong Kong as a trading house by one of their shared ancestors. The business was originally an importer of opium but by the 1880s Henry Litchfield, his great, great grandfather, recognizing the opportunities offered by the emerging rise of the oil industry, instead started to ship cask oil from Russia to Japan. His business began to do so well that he was able to commission his own ships for bulk oil transportation.

  By the twentieth century, flush with the excess capital, Sir Henry's third son and Thomas's great grandfather, Edward, started the Merchant Bank in partnership with his other great grandfather, his Jewish partner Arabham Hirch. Together they then set about turning it into one of the best natural resources merchant banks in the world.

  When Thomas's father Rufus married his mother, the eighteen-year-old Emilia Hirch, the only child of Abraham's son Isaac, many saw it as the as the final merging of the bloodlines into one on the birth of Thomas.

  History though chose otherwise. Despite the many affairs of his father over the years, his mother had steadfastly refused to divorce him. It was only when Thomas was up at Oxford when his father told her that he was leaving her finally for his young mistress who was pregnant did he finally push her over the edge. It was as though the loss of her husband and son at the same time was too much for her to bear.

  Her funeral at the family estate was the last time he had ever spoken to his father despite his father's many attempts to reconcile. Indeed he had never met his thirty-year-old socialite twin half-sisters who were always in the society pages and their many efforts over the years to engineer a meeting. In Thomas's mind, the best way to punish his father was to be better than him in business, something he long surpassed.

  Sitting around the table waiting for dinner, the three men started to fill in their situation assessment grid together. It was something neither he nor Mikhail had used since their days in their respective army careers, thus rekindling memories of times gone by for both of them.

  The meal included a starter of smoked salmon with traditional garnish of endive salad of goats curd and sweet mustard dressing, followed by Australian lamb cutlets with new potatoes with a very good white burgundy by Corton Charlemagne, Grand-Cru, Rapet p?re et fils, and finally a vanilla cr?me br?l?e served with excellent Sauternes by Chateau Laville. It was something that even a seasoned professional like Igor or any of his team couldn't turn down despite being on an operation.

  Thomas chuckled watching them all. Soldiers always enjoyed a good meal before going into battle. It was also because of meals like this he personally worked out at every given opportunity in the morning for an hour with each member of his protection team in turn. If he didn't, he would be the size of a house.

  Together the team reviewed the weather, terrain, and how the military aspects could be affected by their movement around the city and the country; followed by the civil considerations: political, economic, sociological and psychological factors that both the President and the perceived threat of the Interior Minister held.

  In the enemy column, each placed into it the codename 'Viper' they agreed would be the call sign to represent Wasir.

  "Mikhail, were you aware that he has been recruiting Ukrainians?" Igor asked, formal barriers broken down over the glass of excellent wine, stopping dead the briefing.

  "Ukrainians?" answered Mikhail surprised.

  "Yes our assets in Kiev inform us that a GSG Security Head a?" Igor paused to check his notes. "A Tony Wilson and his security consultant an Andrew Martin, have been hiring former officers of Gaddafi's Islamic Legion for deployment into the region to supply advice to the Interior Ministry on how to protect mining companies," he continued.

  "That's interesting!" Thomas thought he had heard of Martin, of course, he was a regular carpetbagger that one would find on AIM listed natural resources companies.

  "Benny can you look into that when we land?" ordered a concerned Mikhail earning a nod from the Israeli in return. He had heard what some of those Ukrainians and the dead leader's Tuareg Militia had gotten up to when the Gaddafi regime was collapsing. The thought sent shivers down Mikhail's spine and instantly took him back to Bosnia from a long time ago.

  Mikhail's mind switched back to the present and he indicated towards Barek to continue, who did so by quickly adding his thoughts to the assessment.

  "Dispositions! Let's see, Viper maintains over hundred former pirates on the coast in Lughaya, all listed as Interior Ministry Port Control Officers!" Barak said with a smirk. "They have limited skills capabilities though with Toyota Land Cruisers and AK-47 and pistols for weapons. As men they might be helpful for intimidation, not for firefights in my opinion," he added.

  Igor nodded adding Barak's comments to his notes.

  "In Borama, Viper has ninety Clan members who are totally loyal, all listed as Interior Ministry Officers. They run his businesses from whores, tankers, money lending, and slavery."

  Again they all made notes before Barak continued on with his briefing on the weaponry they had.

  "Their skill levels are better than the pirates as they fought in the various militias against the Ethiopians, Somalis, and Al-Shaahab, so they are battle hardened and utterly ruthless. Weapons wise though, they are limited to standard AK-47 and pistols."

  "At t
he Airport, Viper has an IL-76 transporter which is his air cargo business. It is run by a Turkmen who lives between Borama and Dubai," advised Mikhail interrupting Barak for just a moment.

  "Well, he just added to that fleet," interjected Igor.

  "Really! What has he bought?" asked Thomas, as he wrote his own notes.

  "A Mil-17 helicopter!" answered Igor

  "Omar didn't tell me that!" Thomas replied, assuming that the government had purchased the helicopter Gunship as he put his pen down.

  "It was paid for by GSG," answered Igor.

  "Don't tell me Ukrainians?" asked Mikhail, a little pissed off as it was something he had only just asked Saul to organize for their interests down there. The Minister had beaten him to the punch.

  Igor just offered a wry smile. They had some handheld Strela 2 shoulder missiles to deal with any Halo threats, but he knew it was unlikely, as Sergei had informed him that he would get the director to deal with neutralizing the threat of having a gunship running around with 57 mm rocket pods. Instead, Igor's mind was focused on whether they had to deal with any tanks or armored vehicles. It was the next question he asked Mikhail.

  "Viper uses a couple of Armored B6 Toyota Land Cruisers and is guarded by a team of ten, led by his oldest son Mohammed. All experienced, again ex-militia, but it's my assessment that they're not really trained in close protection skills. That said they are loyal and carry Heckler & Koch UMPs, so they are well equipped," Mikhail replied.

  "At Viper's villa he has four mounted M60 machines guns at each corner with thirty men all armed with AKs. Vehicles wise, again three Toyota Land Cruisers not armored though one is a pick-up with a mounted M60," Mikhail continued as he pointed to the house's location on the overhead shots of Borama.

  After taking a spoonful of his cr?me br?l?e, the Israeli moved on to the offices, explaining in the process that the Interior Ministry was, in fact, a dressed up villa with the same structure in terms of men and deployment as the Viper's own villa on the outskirts of the town.

  "What is Viper command structure other than his son?" asked Igor.

  "His number two is a guy named "Ahmed" we don't know his full name, but he we know he is a former member of the National Security Services. He is bright and well trained, having received training from the CIA in Mogadishu. I think he is about forty but can't be sure?" answered Mikhail.

  "Okay, I will see what we have on him. The NSS are very sound peddlers of information!" replied Igor making a mental note to include it within his update later.

  "What's next?" Thomas asked.

  "Jawari's men," answered Igor.

  After about a further thirty minutes of briefing on the friendly forces, Igor gave his initial assessment.

  "We need to look at the Americans' capabilities in Djibouti as well."

  "Why do you think they would become involved if there were a coup?" asked Mikhail, thinking that now it had been smart of Thomas to order them to withhold the information about the surveillance team Barak had discovered, now convinced it was American.

  "It never hurts to be prepared, Mikhail," answered Igor, but still not explaining himself.

  Thomas didn't say a word; Igor's answer was the exact reason why he had gone to such lengths to ensure he had his back channels in place.

  With supper over, the plane fell silent as the lights dimmed. Igor sent an encrypted message on his military grade Getac Notebook to Sergei.

  "FLASH CONTENT"

  OPERATION KANJAR

  First review attached for the possible deployment into theatre. Will provide detailed information once on the ground.

  IP

  The information was immediately relayed on to Sergei, who was in bed with his wife at their family Dacha. The sound of his encrypted ready BlackBerry buzzing woke him. Picking it up, he read it. Then quickly went back to sleep, deciding it could wait until morning.

  Igor was like a vampire! He never slept!

  36

  Moscow

  The call from Alexei Nikolai in the early part of the afternoon, outside their formal once a week briefing, had taken the Minister of Foreign Affairs by surprise.

  Listening carefully as he sat in his study at his weekend dacha, Sergey Viktorovich Lavrov took notes.

  Trusted by Russia's President although he wasn't a member of his inner circle, he was nevertheless seen as a faithful servant rather than a formulator of foreign policy and thereby trusted for his skills as a tough, reliable, extremely sophisticated negotiator by all in the diplomatic world. This was the reason why he had stayed in the role since his appointment even after the man took power.

  "This might need some fees to be arranged, Alexei Nikolai?" he further added after going over his notes.

  "No problem Sergey Viktorovich, I will take care of anything that needs reimbursing," answered the Director of the SVR, understanding what the Foreign Minister meant.

  In the last few days, his analysts had tracked the whereabouts of helicopter through their assets within the Security Service of Ukraine having picked up on what they had previously reported over the last couple of months concerning the recruitment of individuals by Xerulla.

  It had then taken them the rest of the day to locate the helicopter and send the local resident at the embassy in Guinea-Bissau to the airport to confirm it was indeed there.

  They were able to do this so quickly because one of the pilots had foolishly left his travel itinerary from his travel agent on his Gmail account.

  "Give me an hour," the Minister asked.

  "Of course sir," replied the Director.

  Picking up the phone, the Minister spoke to his personal assistant to ask him to find the man he was looking for. Ten minutes later, his assistant rang back and connected him to the person he wished to speak to.

  When the call came in on his mobile, The Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary of the Republic of Guinea-Bissau, Francisco da Silva was at dinner with friends at his favorite local restaurant, the Enotheque Tinto Fino. Seeing it was from the Foreign Ministry he answered it immediately only to be surprised to find the Minister for Foreign Affairs on the other end of the call. Excusing himself for a few moments, he went outside and listened.

  Two hours later he met with an operative from the SVR at the famous Night Flight nightclub. He listened to his request and considered his thoughts for few moments as he took a sip of his Black Label. He then stated the amount he needed for expenses before finally outlining what he required to be transferred to his Swiss account in Zurich for organizing the arrangements.

  Meeting over, the Ambassador finished his drink, got up, and left the nightclub a very pleased man because he was now able to buy a house in Lisbon on his retirement. Ready to celebrate he picked up his favorite big-breasted curvy blonde, left the bill for the SVR officer to pay, and walked out of the club.

  An hour later the transfers were made. The first transfer for $100,000 U.S. dollars went to an account in Jersey, Channel Islands. The second transfer of $200,000 U.S. dollars went to a small private bank in Zurich.

  Four hours after that, the Ukrainian pilots currently working for a company that had just set up their helicopter transportation business in Bissau were both arrested by the State Intelligence Services of Guinea Bissau.