WHATEVER THE COST: A Mark Cole Thriller (19 page)

6

‘You play a good game, my friend,’ Abdullah al-Zayani said to Cole when they were finally seated, at a private table overlooking the marina.

Dusk was arriving, and the last rays of the dying sun cast a warm glow over the yachts and boats moored there. The place was as impressive as Cole would have expected; it was, after all, reserved only for the most senior of Saudi National Oil’s executives.

‘You too,’ Cole said. ‘On another day, the outcome might have been different.’

Al-Zayani nodded his head. ‘Yes, I think you are right.’

Cole waited for more, but there was nothing. The man was arrogant, and was probably not used to losing; Cole suspected that the people under him often let him win.

‘The club’s nice,’ Cole said to break the ice. ‘Beautiful view.’

‘You are right again,’ al-Zayani said. ‘This is a beautiful country, no?’

‘Oh, definitely,’ Cole agreed. ‘It’s very appealing.’

Al-Zayani smiled.
‘Even though you cannot drink here?’ He tutted and wagged his finger. ‘I know you Americans, you like a drink, yes? But that is something else which is
ithm al-kabir
here. I know of many of your countrymen who have simply not been able to cope. They come here for work, eager to have our money, but they do not respect our principles.’

Cole could see that the man was still smarting from his
defeat, he was trying to ruffle Cole’s feathers. But in the man’s eyes Cole could see the feeling of hatred as he mentioned Americans, his cool façade slipping ever so slightly; and for the first time, Cole believe that al-Zayani really could be the man he was looking for.

‘Well, I like a drink as much as the next American,’ Cole said, ‘but when in Rome, right? The people who can’t follow rules probably aren’t welcome anywhere.’

Al-Zayani merely grunted and picked up his menu. He studied it for only a few moments before snapping his fingers at a waiter.

As his dining companion placed his order, Cole agreed to have the same;
yet his mind was elsewhere, having just seen al-Zayani’s assistant Abu come through the front door with two other men.

It could have been a coincidence, but Cole was unsure what to think. The club was for level 11 executives only, and Abu was surely well below that. So what was he doing here? He didn’t seem to pay them any attention,
which – given the fact that al-Zayani was his boss, and Cole was an honored guest – was strange in itself. He simply went to the bar with his colleagues, ordered black tea, and then led the group to a table in the corner.

Did al-Zayani suspect Cole was not who he said he was? Or was the man so upset over the loss of face he had suffered on the golf course that he was going to have Cole beaten up, and sacrifice a billion-dollar business deal? Or was Abu here just because he liked it, and had somehow bypassed the entry requirements?

It was going to make things more complicated, that much was certain; even if Abu wasn’t here at his boss’s request, he would probably still notice if the two men went missing suddenly.

Cole settled back into his wicker chair and sipped at his cardamom-scented coffee, trying to relax. After all, he had the whole of dinner in which to come up with something.

An hour later, Cole had managed to alleviate the mood and brought al-Zayani back onto his side; he had discussed the proposed oil deal over dinner, and had made certain concessions that had pleased the man immensely. It even seemed that his loss on the golf course had at last been
forgotten, and al-Zayani was in a jovial mood by the time he’d finished his dessert of
Baklava
, freshly made on the premises by the resident pastry chef.

Abu had finally come over to their table to pay his respects as they were partway through their meal, and Cole reassessed his previous position; it was probably just a coincidence, and perhaps Abu was higher up the executive food chain than he’d first thought. But still Cole watched the group out of the corner of his eye, still not quite trusting the situation.

‘Ah,’ said al-Zayani as he pushed himself back into his chair with an air of deep satisfaction, ‘perhaps it is just as well that I lost today, eh? Otherwise we might never have enjoyed such a meal, or worked things out so agreeably.’

‘These things happen for a reason.’

‘Yes,’ al-Zayani agreed, ‘
in sha’Allah
.’

Okay
, Cole thought,
it’s time.

‘Do you have a boat in the marina?’ he asked, although of course he already knew the answer; he had found out earlier that al-Zayani owned a western forty-foot cruising yacht which was moored only a hundred feet down the dock.

Cole was glad when he saw the proud smile on the man’s face. ‘Yes I do,’ he said happily. ‘Do you like boats?’

‘Love ‘em,’ Cole replied honestly; he’d had his own yacht when he’d lived in the Caribbean.
When he’d had a family.

No
, he told himself firmly.
Don’t think about them.
Now wasn’t the time.

‘You have boats in Dallas?’ asked al-Zayani in surprise.
‘There is no sea.’

‘We have lakes,’ Cole answered. ‘The Dallas Yacht Club is on Lake Lewisville, I’
ve got a small day sailing yacht there.’

Al-Zayani clapped his hands together. ‘Excellent! We will see my boat, yes?’

‘I’d love to,’ Cole said, already rising from his chair. He moved towards the bar to pay, and but al-Zayani waved his hand. ‘No need,’ he said. ‘They will add it to my account. Now come,’ he said, ushering Cole out of the sliding screen doors which led out towards the jetty.

Cole checked Abu and saw that he hadn’t moved at all, was still sat chatting animatedly to his friends, and decided that his plan might just work
after all.

‘So what do you think?’ al-Zayani asked as they sat on the main deck of his yacht, staring back towards the marina at Half Moon Bay.

‘Very impressive,’ said Cole, meaning it; the yacht must have cost more than most people’s homes.

‘Some say that the Arab people are reluctant mariners,’ al-Zayani said, ‘but they forget about those who spread our faith to Africa, India and the Far East.’ He patted the teak woodwork which lined the entire deck. ‘I feel like that myself,’ he said. ‘A sailor blessed by Allah to spread His word.’

It was the eyes which did it; a slight glimmer, for just a fraction of a second.

Cole moved instinctively as an iron bar swung down towards his head from behind him. Turning quickly, he kicked the first of Abu’s friends in the gut. The second moved in with a knife, and Cole reached out for the knife arm, wrenching the man around and securing the attacker’s forehead with his arm as he slit the attacker’s throat with his own knife.

Blood spurted out onto the deck, showering al-Zayani as he ran for the steps down to the jetty, and Cole took off after him, stabbing the first man – just rising after the kick to his gut –
through the chest as he went; but then the gorilla-sized form of Abu stepped between Cole and al-Zayani, handgun raised.

Cole’s hand snaked out to the side, ripping an oar from its place secured to the starboard wall, and in the same action slam
med the heavy wood down onto Abu’s arm. He heard the arm crack and the man try and stifle the scream as the gun dropped to the ground. Cole moved forwards quickly, sweeping both of Abu’s legs out from under him with the oar and leaping over the falling body just as al-Zayani reached the steps.

Pulling the man around, Cole’s hand fired out in two rapid strikes to the man’s neck, rendering him instantly unconscious.

He turned to see Abu rising unsteadily back to his feet, hands groping about on the deck for the gun. Cole dropped al-Zayani’s body and shot forwards, cracking Abu across the head with the blade of the oar.

The big man staggered backwards, his eyes rolling back into his head, but miraculously he still remained standing and Cole rammed the point of the oar towards Abu’s throat.

With incredible speed, Abu caught the oar in mid-air and smashed the forearm of his other hand straight through it, coming back at Cole with the broken half.

Cole used his own half of the oar to block the attack, swinging it back round to slice across Abu’s cheek and ear, the broken wood splintering on his face.

His eyes filled with rage, Abu attacked again, but Cole sidestepped the giant and sent a kick into his knee which dropped him to the deck. And as the big man fell, Cole arm accelerated the broken oar outwards, the jagged end piercing the side of Abu’s thick neck, until it was buried up to Cole’s knuckles, blood spilling in thick gouts over his hand and arm.

Cole let the body drop to the deck all the way, and it landed with a loud thud.

Taking a few deep breaths, Cole surveyed the deck for any sign of more attackers; seeing none, he turned his gaze back to the yacht club. Nobody was coming to investigate, and presumably the action had gone mercifully unnoticed.

But, Cole decided, it was probably time to take the yacht out for a little sailing.

It was another hour later before al-Zayani regained consciousness; and when he did, it was clear to Cole that he wished he could have just stayed asleep.

Al-Zayani was upside down, hanging off the edge of the boat, head close to the water; to his right and left were the similarly inverted bodies of his colleagues – or at least what was left of them.

‘
Bull sharks,’ Cole said from the deck, and he saw al-Zayani crane his head up to look at him, terror in his eyes. ‘Nasty little bastards. They enjoyed having your friends for dinner though,’ he said amiably, as if they were still talking business back at the yacht club.

Cole had sailed out into the waters of the Arabian Gulf, and although there
were
sharks out here, they hadn’t caused the horrific, bloody damage to the bodies strapped next to al-Zayani on the side of the boat; Cole had done it himself.

It had been a nasty job, but he needed al-Zayani to
talk, and to talk honestly; and there weren’t many men who could overcome the fear of being eaten alive by a hungry shark. Even a man with a knife wasn’t as inherently terrifying as a shark; you could reason with a man, after all.

‘Attracted to blood in the water,’ Cole sai
d casually, leaning down and stroking the blade of his knife across al-Zayani’s exposed belly.

‘No!’ al-Zayani screamed. ‘No, please! I’ll tell you everything! Please!’

‘Why did your men attack me?’ Cole asked.

‘They were only going to question you,’ al-Zayani sobbed, ‘I promise you! Please! I promise you! Pull me up! Pull me up!’

‘Question me about what?’ Cole asked as the ship bobbed up and down in the dark waters, the movement of the waves making al-Zayani scream again in terror, thinking that it was sharks approaching the boat.

‘About who you are,’ al-Zayani said weakly. ‘When you beat me at the club this morning, I couldn’t get it out of my head. I called the Colonial and asked about you, they were surprised, they said you weren’t that
good, I should have beaten you easily! I asked what you looked like, and their description didn’t really match, I called Texas Mainline and they confirmed that it
was
you, but I just had to know!’

‘Do
Saudi National Oil executives routinely ask questions with thugs, knives and guns?’ Cole asked, aware of the irony; al-Zayani had been trying to lure Cole to the boat in exactly the same way Cole had been trying to get
him
there.

‘No, I – I . . .’

‘Or is it that you were worried about something else?’ Cole asked, blade tickling al-Zayani’s ribs. ‘Maybe about something connected to a twenty million dollar payout to Jemaah Islamiyah for the hijacking of the Fu Yu Shan?’

There was a pause while al-Zayani weighed his options, hanging upside down between his three supposedly half-eaten colleagues, black waters below him threatening him with the same fate. In the end, it was no choice at all.

‘What else do you know?’ al-Zayani asked fearfully.

‘Let’s not get involved with what
I
know; I want you to tell me what
you
know. Now, what was in the crate that was so important?’

‘I don’t know!’ screamed al-Zayani. ‘Please, I don’t know!’

‘Wrong answer,’ Cole said coldly, drawing the knife across al-Zayani’s abdomen, opening up a thin cut which immediately started leaking blood down over his chest and face, until it dropped in small rivulets into the dark sea below.

‘No!’ al-Zayani screamed in unbridled terror. ‘No, please! Let me up! I will tell you everything!’ he shouted. ‘I will give you the Lion! It was the Lion! It
was Abd al-Aziz Quraishi, the Assistant Minister for Security Affairs, it is his group, Arabian Islamic Jihad, he told me to do it! Please, let me up!’

The man was sobbing uncontrollably now, and Cole decided that the time had come to relent; he pulled the terrified man back up onto the yacht and let him fall to the teak deck, shaking with fear.