Michael Reagan - The Devil's Handshake

“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.

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.