The Watchman

Nineteen

Angela Pryce took a dislike to Xasan the moment she set eyes on him. He was short and rotund, with a curly black beard peppered with grey, and lightly tinted spectacles that veiled most of the expression in his eyes. He also smiled too much and seemed intent on staring openly at her legs and chest. When he wasn’t doing that, he addressed most of his comments to Doug Tober, who listened but said little. It seemed to be the way Xasan wanted to conduct things.

They were seated in the bar of the Crowne Plaza Hotel in Upperhill, Nairobi, where Xasan had requested their initial meeting in a last-minute email message. Three other men entered the bar with him, two in front and one behind. They took separate tables, but kept their eyes on the two SIS operatives. They were young and slim and neatly dressed in short-sleeved shirts and pants, with large gold-coloured watches on their wrists, and could have passed for casual visitors. But to the trained eye they were too watchful, too intense. The waiters, Angela noted, stayed well away.

She recognized the game, though: it was designed to intimidate, a gentle show of force from the outset.

‘Jesus,’ Tober growled softly. ‘What a bunch of cowboys.’

Angela agreed. The taxi ride from the international airport had been just long enough for Xasan’s people to check if the SIS officers had company or not, so this display was simply theatrics.

‘Welcome to Nairobi,’ Xasan murmured, his voice gentle and measured, as he stopped in front of their table. ‘I hope we may conclude our business in a satisfactory way to all concerned. May I see some ID, please?’

They took out their passports and slid them across the table, already aware that arguing wasn’t an option. Xasan picked them up and flicked through the pages, comparing photographs with faces. He nodded slowly, giving Tober a more studied look, then returned them, adding, ‘Excellent. It is an honour to have members of the Secret Intelligence Service here all the way from London’s Vauxhall Cross. It is well placed by the river, is it not? Very scenic.’ He waved a vague hand around. ‘As indeed is this city.’

‘What’s the agenda?’ said Angela. She wanted to cut short any idea Xasan might have of a guided tour. She knew that simple etiquette meant they were hardly in a position to make demands, but any show of easy compliance would be seen as weakness. Besides, any intel they got now about where they were headed might be useful later.

‘As soon as we get word, we go from here to Ras Kamboni. You know this place?’

Tober remained silent, save for a flicker of an eyebrow.

Angela said, ‘Isn’t that in Somalia?’

‘That is correct. You have done your research.’

Angela didn’t like it. ‘There was no mention before of having to cross the border.’

Xasan shrugged. ‘The borders here are … flexible, you understand. It is just a few kilometres, that is all. It is nothing. Nobody will notice and the police do not go out that far. Trust me. The man you will meet is anxious that all goes well. You need have no fears.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it.’

Xasan didn’t react to that. ‘There is a place to the north of Kamboni called Dhalib. Beyond that is a house on the coast road, built by an Italian industrialist many years ago. It is comfortable and right on the beach, with very pleasant views. Also —’ he wagged a finger — ‘absolutely safe for our honoured guests.’ He placed his hands together. ‘A suitable place for a meeting such as this — a meeting, I hope, that will form the basis for many others.’

Money-grabbing bastard, thought Angela, and stared blankly back at him. No doubt he would be doing well out of any deal struck between the UK, the US and the pirates, with a percentage sticking to his fingers on the way through.

‘As soon as you get word?’ Tober asked. ‘What does that mean?’

Xasan’s smile didn’t shift. ‘We must be patient, Mr Tober. I regret to inform you that there is a slight delay in proceedings.’

‘What kind of delay?’

‘The gentleman you are meeting has been unavoidably held up by bad weather to the north of here. He sends his most sincere apologies but there is nothing he can do.’ He shrugged. ‘We are at the will of Allah in these things. Mr Musa has arranged as a measure of his regret that you be accommodated here in this establishment until we can meet.’ He waited for a response, but when there was none, he continued, ‘It is very comfortable and I am assured that they have a very high standard of western cuisine. However,’ he paused and looked towards the entrance of the hotel, ‘I must advise you not to leave the hotel under any circumstances. This is for your own safety. Nairobi is not as secure as some other cities, and we would not wish anything untoward to happen to you.’ This time his expression seemed loaded with insincerity.

‘How long do we wait?’ Angela asked. She had worked in the region before and, like in the Middle East, time was treated in a very different way to anywhere in the west. If Xasan said they had to wait, then that was it. But there were limits.

‘Until tomorrow, I think. I will telephone you as soon as I know. Until then, please be comfortable here and enjoy yourselves.’

They watched him walk away, collecting his guards with a flick of his fingers. One of the men trotted out in front of him, checked the car park then turned and signalled that it was safe before Xasan left the building.

‘The fat little prick’s playing with us,’ said Tober.

‘Of course he is,’ Angela agreed. ‘And there’s not a thing we can do about it.’ She stood up. She needed to report in to London.