The taxi drops you outside the Metropolitan Hotel. You pay the driver and he sneers at the damp banknote you give him and makes no attempt to give you any change. The Metropolitan is a half-hour drive from the QE2. It’s not one of Dubai’s best hotels, far from it, but it is home to the Rattle Snake Bar, which is where you are sure you’ll find what you’re looking for. The bar opens at eleven o’clock in the morning but doesn’t really get going until early evening, when it would be packed to the rafters with freelance hookers. Now that your memory has returned you can recall several long sessions at the bar, usually with Russian clients. Prior to hooking the oligarchs you had laundered money for Russians who, while wealthy by most standards, were still approachable and liked a night out on the town before getting down to business. That was in the days when the operation was funded by the NCA’s Proceeds of Crime Centre, and you’d had many an argument with your boss when you’d handed in your expenses claims. Superintendent Tony McMullen knew there was a price to be paid to infiltrate you into the world of Russian money laundering, but he baulked at your attempts to put through payments to prostitutes as a legitimate expense. It wasn’t that you were taking advantage of the sex that was on offer but the clients you were trying to win over expected to be comped. Not that McMullen cared - he insisted on only putting through receipts for booze, meals and transport.

  As you walk in to the bar, eyes swivel in your direction but you ignore them. You buy yourself a beer and spend the next ten minutes or so surveying your surroundings. The hookers are easy enough to spot. Young, attractive, made up to the nines and usually sitting in pairs. It is a prostitute smorgasbord, with Asians, Chinese, Westerners, all available at a price.

  The Russians are easy enough to spot. Immaculate make up, high cheekbones, glossy hair and watchful eyes. They never relax, the Russians. Their eyes were always moving, looking for customers but also wary of danger. You narrow your choice down to two young women sitting to the right of the bar, their backs to the wall. They are drinking blue cocktails and chatting to each other as their eyes work the room. One is blonde with razor sharp cheekbones and bright red lipstick, wearing a black dress that covered her shoulders and knees but cut low enough at the front to show a decent amount of cleavage. There is a Channel handbag hanging from her chair. Her companion is slightly taller with waist-length wavy chestnut hair. She is tanned and has gone for Barbie pink lipstick and nail varnish. She is also wearing a dress that is demure enough not to get her into trouble in conservative Dubai, but which showed off her considerable assets. Any thoughts that they might be a couple of businesswomen enjoying an afternoon drink are shot down by the meaningful glances they keep firing in your direction.

  You walk towards their table and immediately they straighten their backs, thrust out their breasts and widen their eyes. You flash them your most ingratiating smile. ‘Hi, my name is Rob, would it be okay to join you?’

  ‘Of course,’ says the blonde. ‘Sitting is free.’ Her English is good but heavily accented.

  You sit down and hold out your hand to the blonde. ‘Rob,’ you say. ‘From London.’

  She smiles. ‘Natalya,’ she says. ‘From Moscow.’

  You shake her hand. ‘You are very beautiful,’ you say.

  Her smile widens. ‘I know,’ she says. ‘Have you ever been to Moscow?’

  ‘Never,’ you say, and that’s a lie because you have been dozens of times over the years. ‘But I hear that it is a dangerous city.’ You offer your hand to the brunette. ‘And you are?’

  ‘Katerina, also from Moscow.’ She shakes your hand.

  ‘And what brings you to Dubai?’ you ask.

  ‘Work,’ she says, and she smiles over at Natalya.

  ‘Can I buy you ladies a drink?’

  ‘Champagne?’ says Katerina.

  ‘Of course,’ you say. You wave over an Indian waiter and order a bottle of Moet and three glasses. You take out your bulging wallet and place it on the table in front of you.

  Katerina smiles at Natalya again. ‘He dresses like a pig but he has money,’ she says in Russian.

  You frown and fake ignorance. ‘What did you say?’

  She flashes you a beaming smile and caresses the back of your hand. ‘I said you have good choice in champagne. So what about you, Rob, are you here for business or pleasure?’

  ‘Oh, business,’ you say. You smile. ‘But I am always open to pleasure.’

  ‘Perhaps you and I and Natalya could party. Would you like that, Rob?’

  ‘I think I probably would.’

  ‘What business are you in, Rob?’ asks Katerina. It feels as if she using your name a lot so that she doesn’t forget it.

  ‘Finance,’ you say. You shrug. ‘Boring.’

  Katerina is stroking the back of your hand again. ‘Money is never boring, Rob,’ she purrs.

  The waiter returns with the champagne. He opens it with a flourish and fills three glasses. You pick up your glass as he walks away. ‘To business,’ you say, toasting them.

  ‘And pleasure,’ says Natalya with a girlish giggle. It’s an act. You can tell. She’s giggling like a goofy teenager but her eyes are ice cold and weighing you up. You can tell from the look on her face that she isn’t impressed by your clothes or trainers, but she has noticed your Louis Vuitton wallet.

  You drink your champagne. ‘How much do you think he’ll pay?’ Natalya asks Katerina in Russian.

  ‘A lot,’ Katerina replies. ‘We just have to get him in the mood.’

  ‘So, ladies, I have a proposition for you,’ you say.

  ‘You want to party?’ says Natalya.

  ‘Actually I have a better idea,’ you say. ‘An easier way for you to earn money.’

  They go into defensive mood, putting down their glasses and sitting back with their arms folded. You smile, trying to put them at ease. ‘I’ve run into a problem with my business partners in Dubai and I need to leave, immediately. The problem I have is that my passport - and my money - is in the safe in my hotel room. I’m staying at the QE2, do you know it?’

  Natalya nods. ‘We have been there many times. It is a nice hotel even if it is really a ship.’

  ‘My business partners want to hurt me and I’m worried that they might be watching the hotel. So I need someone to go to my room and get my passport and money.’ You take your room card from the wallet and place it on the table. ‘You can get the passport and the money and bring it here and I will give you half the money.’

  ‘How much money?’ asks Katerina.

  ‘There are some Euros and pounds, and I’ll need most of them. But there are almost twenty thousand dirhams in the safe and you can have that.’ Twenty thousand United Arab Emirates dirhams is equivalent to about four thousand pounds. You have no idea how much the two girls charged for a night of pleasure, but you figure that four thousand pounds for a simple delivery is pretty good going. You lean towards them. ‘I’ll pay for a taxi for one of you to go to my hotel. If there is anybody waiting for me they’ll probably be in the lobby. You can go up to my floor and if there is no one there you can knock on the door. If there is someone waiting inside, you can just say you have the wrong room. If there’s no one in the room you can get my money and passport and bring them to me. There’s absolutely no risk, it’s me they’re looking for.’ You smile enthusiastically. ‘How does that sound?’

  ‘Who are the business partners?’ says Natalya.

  ‘Just some locals who don’t want to pay me what they owe.’

  ‘Why don’t you go to the police?’

  I force a smile. ‘The problem is that when it’s a local against a foreigner it’s always the foreigner who comes off worst. If I go the cops I’ll be the one who ends up behind bars, even though I haven’t done anything wrong.’

  ‘So you’re just going to run away?’ asks Natalya.

  ‘I don’t have any choice,’ you say. ‘So will you help me?’

  Natalya turns to Katerina. ‘What do you think?’ she says in Russian.

  ‘It’s a small thing. And twenty thousand dirhams is good money.’

  ‘We could steal all his money. And I know people who will give us good money for a British passport.’

  ‘But then he’d have no choice other than to go to the cops. Then we’d be in big trouble. The marina has CCTV everywhere and there are cameras all over the ship.’

  Natalya nods. ‘So we do what he wants. I’ll go and get his stuff, you can sit here and drink champagne. See if you can persuade him to go for a threesome.’

  You sit and smile. You would love to tell them that you understand every word, but then you’d blow the advantage you have. ‘Is everything okay?’ you ask.

  Natalya smiles. ‘Everything is fine.’ She picks up the room card and slips it into her Chanel handbag. Then she holds out her hand. ‘You said you’d pay for the taxi.’

  ‘Of course. You take a 500 dirham note from your wallet and give it to her.

  She takes it and sneers. ‘It’s wet.’

  ‘I got caught in the rain.’

  ‘It hasn’t rained today,’ she says. ‘And I’ll need the taxi fare back.’ She holds out her hand again.

  You know you’re being ripped off, but in the grand scheme of things it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you get back to London in one piece. You give her another damp 500 dirham note. ‘And can you do one more thing for me?’ you say.

  Natalya smiles coyly. ‘You want a blow job? That will be extra.’

  She’s joking and you can’t help but smile. ‘As tempting as that sounds, no. Can you take a few selfies when you go back through reception. Just so I can see if I recognise anyone.’

  ‘Photography will be extra,’ she says.

  ‘Of course it will.’

  CHAPTER 43

  You sit and drink the Moet with Katerina. She’s good company but then that would probably be a requirement for her profession. Surliness and resentment would be counter-productive when dealing with clients, obviously. But as she looks into your eyes and laughs at your jokes and occasionally strokes your hand, it would be easy enough to believe that she actually liked you. Of course she didn’t like you, she is just playing the part, doing whatever is necessary to separate you from your money. Her name probably isn’t Katerina and you doubt that she is from Moscow. You aren’t great on accents but she sounds more like she is from the south of the country, Krasnodar, maybe, or Rostov. She tends to pronounce her g like an h, her tone is generally nasal and she uses a lot of soft ch and sh sounds. Definitely not a Moscow girl.

  The girl can handle her drink, too, and downs two glasses for each of yours. After forty minutes you order a second bottle of Moet and you are half-way through it when Natalya returns. She sits down and you refill her glass. It’s clear from her smile that everything went well. ‘You have it?’ you ask.

  ‘Of course,’ she says.

  She sips her drink and then opens her handbag. She hands you the passport and you thank her. ‘No problems?’ you ask.

  ‘There was no one in the corridor and no one in the room.’ She takes out two envelopes and slides them across the table. ‘There’s a lot of money there, Rob.’

  ‘We agreed you’d keep the dirhams.’

  ‘We did. But now that you’ve got your passport back, I thought you might consider a tip.’ She nods at the envelopes. ‘Five thousand Euros in 500 Euro notes, and another three thousand pounds in fifty pound notes.’

  You smile as you sip your champagne. She was always going to look inside the envelopes. ‘I’ll run up a lot of expenses getting back to England,’ you say.

  The two girls smile sweetly at you, but their eyes are ice cold. You are treading a narrow line. They can cause you a lot of problems if they want, but then they are also foreigners in a culture where foreigners always come off worst. The trick was to keep them sweet with the minimum outlay. You pick up the envelope of Euros and slide out four of the notes. Two thousand Euros. Natalya smiles, looks at the envelope, and raises one eyebrow. You take out another of the notes. The eyebrow goes up just a little more. You laugh and take out another note, then put the envelopes into your jacket pocket.

  ‘Englishmen are so easy,’ Natalya says to Katerina as she takes the notes. She hands two to Katerina and puts the others in her handbag. She picks up her glass and raises it in salute to you. ‘It has been a pleasure doing business with you, Rob.’

  You grin. ‘Right back at you.’

  ‘If you like, we could party, the three of us. We’d give you a discount.’ She looks over at Katerina. ‘Wouldn’t we?’

  ‘Oh, I’d do him for free,’ laughs Katerina.

  ‘To be fair, you already have a thousand Euros,’ you say.

  Katerina smiles sweetly at you. ‘Baby, that wouldn’t even buy you a handjob in my world.’

  You chuckle at that but she’s probably telling the truth. I smile at Natalya. ‘And the selfies?’

  She takes an iPhone from her bag but she holds it out of your reach. ‘We said there’d be a photography fee.’

  You can’t help but smile. ‘We did.’ I give her another thousand Euros and she smiles, takes the money, then calls up her recent photographs. ‘There’s video too,’ she says. ‘For no extra charge.’

  She has taken a dozen shots at various places around reception, always including other people in the background. You don’t see any potential surveillance in the photographs or the video. I thank her and return the phone. ‘Ladies, as much I would love to continue talking to you, I really do have to go.’

  ‘Have a safe trip,’ says Natalya. ‘And don’t forget to pay the bill on your way out.’

  ‘Perhaps buy us another bottle,’ says Katerina.

  Natalya laughs. ‘Yes, being a good samaritan is thirsty work.’

  You reach over and take her hand, then kiss the back of it. You do the same with Katerina. ‘Ladies, it truly has been a pleasure meeting you. Thank you for your help, and I hope you enjoy the rest of your day.’

  You go over to the bar, order a third bottle of champagne and pay the bill. As you leave the bar, Natalya and Katerina are already making eye contact with two American businessmen at a neighbouring table.

  You go out into reception and over to the concierge desk where a very pretty Polish girl in a white uniform calls you a taxi to take you to Zayed International Airport in Abu Dhabi. The taxi takes just over ninety minutes and costs you 500 Dirhams, about a hundred pounds. You could have flown out of Dubai with Emirates but there was always an outside chance that they might be looking for you, so better safe than sorry. At the airport you go to the Etihad desk and buy a one-way business class ticket to Dublin using cash. There’s a flight leaving at just after one o’clock in the morning you so you spend a few hours in the business class lounge, which is no hardship. Before you go to the lounge you buy new clothes and shoes on the Duty Free shopping concourse. You take your purchases - a Hugo Boss jacket and shirt, Diesel jeans, Calvin Klein underwear and socks, and Prada loafers - to the toilets where you change and throw away your old clothes.

  The flight takes eight hours and it takes another hour and a half to pass through immigration at Dublin, where just two overweight Garda officers have been assigned to check the passports of several hundred passengers.

  It’s just after ten o’clock in the morning by the time you are outside the airport and haggling with a taxi driver to drive you to Belfast. It ends up costing you three hundred Euros. Once at Belfast Airport you go straight to the British Airways desk and buy a ticket to Heathrow. Because Belfast is in the UK you don’t have to show your passport, your driving licence is accepted as ID. It’s not a guaranteed way to get into the UK, but Robert Johnston is not an uncommon name and without a passport number there is no reason to think that his arrival from Belfast would raise any red flags.

  There’s no immigration to pass through at Heathrow and you didn’t see anyone in the arrivals area paying you any attention, so you start to relax, a little. You catch the Heathrow Express to Paddington and arrive there at just before five o’clock in the evening, then you take a black cab to Kilburn. Your journey is almost at an end.

  CHAPTER 44

  You wait the best part of three hours outside Adeya’s house in Kilburn. You bought a dog lead from a pet shop in the high street, and you keep it in full view as you walk around, pretending to look for your non-existent dog. Eventually you see her Ford Fiesta turn into the road and you wave because you don’t want to give her a nasty shock. Her eyes widen and her jaw drops and you flash her what you hope is a reassuring smile.

  She eases her car into a gap between two SUVs and you walk over as she gets out. ‘I got my memory back,’ you say quickly, needing to explain why you have turned up out of the blue.

  ‘What? How?’

  You force a smile. ‘It’s a long story. But I need to go back to the house. My house.’

  She frowns. ‘Why?’ Then she spots the lead in your hand. ‘Have you got a dog?’

  You smile and shake your head. ‘It’s a disguise.’

  She frowns in confusion. ‘You’re disguising yourself as a dog?’

  You laugh. ‘No, I’m passing myself off as a guy who is looking for a dog.’

  ‘Does this dog have a name?’

  ‘If anyone asks, I was going to go with Rex.’

  ‘That’s a good name for a dog. What’s going on, Phil?’

  You slip the lead into your pocket. ‘I’ve remembered the accounts. But not the actual numbers. I took screenshots and they’re on the hard drive in the house.’

  She frowns. ‘What are you going to do, Phil?’

  ‘I’m going to get the money back.’

  ‘The money that belongs to the Russians?’

  ‘The money that has been confiscated. It’s not theirs.’

  She puts her hands on your shoulders and looks into your eyes. ‘You’re hyperventilating, Phil. Square breathing, remember?’

  You force a smile and breathe in, hold it and exhale. You realise she’s right, you were starting to get light-headed.

  ‘We should go inside,’ she says. ‘You’re lucky, my housemates are both out tonight.’ She grins and wags an admonishing finger in your face. ‘And that’s not an invitation.’