I am hoping to type up the next part later tonight, but for now, here is a bit of an interlude. After a few 8,000-word chunks, 2,700 pretty much counts as minuscule ;)
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Hell is paved with good intentions; Bruce may have meant to get out at 6 AM, but in the end neither of them remembered to set the alarm. Instead, they jump awake at seven when their phones chime a simultaneous text alert.
Pick up IDs + props Internet point next to Customs House bar, Macquarie Place Park - TFR
Compared to Jamie, Theo is the height of eloquence. She is still wondering how he pulled it off when Bruce says her other question out loud.
"What the devil does he mean by props?"
"Maybe he's found something to hide the cash in," she offers.
"No use, this kind of quantity will show up on an X-ray. It'll look like a stack of paper, but a stack this size will be suspicious."
"Well, there's only one way to find out what those props are."
"Right. I suggest that I go pick up the stuff and go to the Four Seasons, it's close by anyway, and you check out and join me there so we take a look together and see what we do next. Does it make sense?"
It does, on balance; there is a slight risk of her being linked to him, but unlike her, he is not going directly to the Four Seasons and should be able to spot and lose anyone tailing him en route. Besides, the Four Seasons is a big busy hotel, and once she goes up from the lobby no one will be any the wiser as to her destination; she can press buttons for other floors just in case. On the plus side, it also gives her a chance to see his Royal Suite.
"Sure."
xxx
It goes as expected; less than an hour later, she walks into the elegant, airy, wraparound-view apartment to see Bruce surveying an assortment of monochrome garments laid out on the living room sofa.
"What the hell is this?"
"The props," Bruce answers her with a touch of sarcasm. "You're not gonna like it."
"Oh."
"Our IDs are Saudi diplomatic passports. Or rather, they're diplomatic UNLPs, United Nations laissez-passer passports, but they're issued in the names of Saudi nationals and have Australian and Thai diplomatic visas stamped in them. The diplomatic status means that we can't be searched, but the Saudi nationality means…"
"…that I'll be wearing a burqa," she finishes wryly.
"It's called abaya in Saudi Arabia. And there's the headpiece called niqab that goes with it."
"The one with a slit for the eyes. Great." The arrangement does make her scowl; but upon reflection, she can see the benefits. "On the plus side, it allows you to carry a lot of cash with impunity" – as a diplomat, his personal effects cannot be searched either – "and lets me evade anyone who might be tracking me."
"Exactly. I'm assuming that was Theo's reasoning, provided he picked our cover himself. I hope we don't run into Arabic-speaking flight crew, though. All I can say is As-salamu alaikum."
"One more reason I can live with this," she comments, pointing to the black garment. "Mine's a non-speaking part."
She takes up the red passports from a side table. Each one has a photo – hers has a black hijab headdress but not the full niqab covering – and a name in Arabic and English. Waleed Mohammed Saleh Al-Juhani and Sahar Abdul Latif Al-Jaber; she'll have to memorise these. Bruce's, or should she say Mr Al-Juhani's, passport proclaims him to be a country director at the International Labour Organisation, presumably senior enough to justify the diplomatic status for him and his immediate family. Inside each one is a gold Mastercard in the passport holder's name. Her passport also holds a yellow card in the two languages; the English translation shows it to be her guardian's, that is, her husband Mr Al-Juhani's, permission for her to travel abroad on her own should the need arise.
"One way or another, it looks like we've got our travel identities sorted out." She looks up the flights again. "If we leave here in an hour, even an hour and a half, we can make the 11:25 flight."
"Sure." He picks up the tablet and clicks the travel app to get the tickets. "You know, there's an upside to being rich Arabs. The Bangkok Oriental has this really superb Royal Oriental Suite that takes up most of its top floor, and since no one will recognise you under these," he points at the black coverings, "we can stay there, and then you can change to your Tamil dress on the way to the meeting."
Staying at the same suite is risky, but one look at it on the hotel website is enough to sway her. "OK, it's a deal. Tell you what, you finish the bookings and print the boarding passes, and I'll go try out that round bathtub you've got in here looking at the Opera House... OK," she relents, unable to resist the imploring look, "you can join me when you're done."
xxx
Just over an hour later, they walk out of the hotel, he in head-to-toe pristine white and she in head-to-toe black. Someone might, in principle, recognise Bruce under the white ghutra headdress and sunglasses, but there is no way anyone would know the identity of the woman next to him under the forbidding niqab. Thanks to online checkout, they do not even need to stop at the reception, instead heading straight to the concierge to ask for a limo transfer to the airport as would befit their alter egos du jour. Needless to say, their tickets are first class, so after going through security where they are given no trouble, and passport control where their only concession to official requirements is Selina briefly lifting her face veil to let the officer – female officer per Bruce's insistence – compare her face to the photo, they go to the first class lounge to wait for the boarding announcement. She would not mind a snack, or a drink for that matter, but does not want to take off the niqab, at least until they are on the plane; it gives her an opportunity to observe the other lounge occupants without being seen. They sit down in a corner, Bruce brings over a bowl of cocktail nibbles, and she quietly sneaks her hand under the headdress to munch on a few.
She may be known for her poker face and right now she is wearing a garment that provides it by definition, but her surprise in the next moment is immediately obvious to Bruce when she almost chokes on an almond.
"You OK?" he mutters to her; since neither of them knows a word of Arabic, they have to resort to talking very quietly in public lest they blow their cover.
"Look on your right," she mutters back. "See him?"
"I'll be damned." He momentarily forgets caution and says it out loud, but recovers by making it part of his address to the newcomer. "Mr Reimann, what the f... what in the world are you doing here?"
Unlike the two of them, Theo is not surprised one bit. "Mr Al-Juhani, a pleasure to see you! And your wife," he adds with a bow of his head to Selina. "I'm afraid I have to correct you, my name's Tim Renner, but I remember we met in Geneva last year…" By now Theo has walked over to them so they continue the conversation at a lower volume, which allows Bruce to resume the inquiry.
"…all of which is fascinating, but doesn't explain what the fuck you're doing here," he mutters.
"I'm on holiday," is Theo's innocent reply.
"Like hell you are. Don't bullshit me, Mr… Renner."
"I am. I took a week's leave and told Sylvie there was an Interpol conference in Singapore where I was invited as a guest speaker. I hope she never finds out there's no conference or she'll kill me."
"Theo, stop it, I'm serious… She'll kill us both, by the way. Me first, probably."
"Well, for one thing, I've brought you the UNLPs."
"There's no way you could have left Europe after you got my message and made it here this morning. Either you were already here – "
"Not quite. I was on my way here. I was planning to stay in Singapore overnight and fly into Sydney this evening, but your message mentioned going to Bangkok today with this flight as your best travel option, so I knew I had to make it to Sydney in time to drop off the passports for you. I figured we'd see each other in here, but you needed them to get to this point in the first place."
"I take it you're on the same flight."
"Sure am. Listen, last time the two of you ran off on a save-the-world mission, she" – he tips his head at Selina – "came back with her leg in twenty pieces and you came back a nervous wreck because of it. I figured this time I'd at least tag along to keep the craziness in check."
"Don't hope for it," Selina mutters to him.
"Or at least take part in it," Theo admits.
"So when did you leave Europe?" Bruce asks.
"I left Zurich on Sunday night and got your message when I landed in Singapore fourteen hours ago. Luckily for you it was the best place to pick up this sort of thing, the second best after Lyon, anyway, and I had a two-hour stopover that was just enough to have the stuff delivered to me. I must apologise for the outfit you have to wear," he adds, turning to Selina, "but these identities were the best bets to let you travel under the radar and to let him carry the cash."
"I know." She thought as much. It is not her favourite disguise by a long shot, but it serves its purpose. "No need to apologise. I guess we now owe your ex-colleagues a big favour."
"Actually, I now owe a massive favour to a would-be boss. A certain Mr Wainwright."
Bruce frowns at him in bewilderment. "You mean…"
"No, Mr Al-Juhani, I mean an old acquaintance of mine. He's not really old, we're the same age, but we've known each other for almost fifteen years. A great guy named Rob, maybe you've heard of him."
If this is meant to clear Bruce's confusion, it obviously has not helped one bit.
"He's the current head of Europol at The Hague. He started out as the UK country liaison when the Europol was being set up, and I was part of the Interpol task force that helped them in their startup phase, so we ran into each other pretty regularly. Then when he was made its boss three or four years ago he tried to get me to work for him. I told him I was already working for a guy named Wainwright, which, as we now know, wasn't technically true," he continues, cocking an eyebrow at Bruce, "and that I wasn't keen on the idea of moving to The Hague, which was true, so it didn't go much further, but we stayed in touch. So now I called Rob and asked him to have a chat with the head of the Singapore regional Interpol HQ before I spoke to the guy myself, I know him very slightly but he and Rob went to LSE together. In theory I could have begged him for a loan of a blank Interpol passport for immunity and visa-free passage in Celine's case, but she'd still need a national passport to show together with it, and it could get complicated seeing how her alter ego has quite a track record. So instead I got the director's blessing to let the evidence department lend me these UNLPs, they were originally stolen and the covers were steamed so they peel off allowing to stick in new photos. And they were nice enough to throw in the cards, though I had to give them a corporate guarantee, and the clothes to go with these. Don't worry, the passports have been temporarily taken off the blacklist so you won't be getting any headaches at immigration or at hotels."
"Yep, they worked fine just now."
"Good. Glad I didn't beg and grovel in vain."
"Any way we can help you return the favour?" she asks. It is their fault he had to ask for it anyway.
"I need to find a good hacker to help Rob with their cybercrime unit. It's his biggest headache at the moment and I promised to help him find someone in exchange for this. If you know any good candidates, feel free to make suggestions."
"You're baiting me, right." Bruce is not asking.
Theo looks surprised, of all things. "I wasn't… unless you want to do it. I didn't think you'd be up for it."
Bruce sounds vaguely pissed off. "Up for it as in interested, or up to it as in good enough?"
"I meant interested. I've seen enough of your tricks to know you'd be up to it, but I've also seen enough of your secret-identity paranoia to doubt if you'd be up for it."
"Don't write me off. I mean we'll have to talk about it and I suppose I should meet this namesake of mine before I make a final decision, but I'd do it in principle."
She will probably never know if Theo really did not mean to tease Bruce into taking it up, or if it was a subtle ploy to get him to volunteer. Either way, she is curious to see how it will play out – especially the meeting with this Rob Wainwright guy. Perhaps she can persuade Bruce to wear the spy gear into it.
xxx
"Guys, I wanted to ask you something."
They are the only people in the first class "social area" – euphemism for a bar – just behind the pilot cabin door; their furtive glances and quiet muttering have made their wish for privacy clear enough to the cabin attendant, so they have been left alone, but still have to keep voices low. Theo's presence is a blessing as it gives them an excuse to speak English, but seeing him sipping the Dom Perignon is making her envious when she and Bruce are supposed to be Saudi teetotallers – and she is still veiled so cannot drink anything at all.
"Don't get mad at me." This is meant for Bruce, whose response is a raised eyebrow."I was thinking I should probably be your wife in Bangkok." This directed at Theo, whose response is an exaggerated round-eyed stare followed by a sideways glance in Bruce's direction. "I could be getting paranoid, but if there's a way they can hack into immigration data to monitor arrivals and tag me, they'll be then looking for a veiled woman travelling together with an Arab man who looks like Bruce. So if you swap clothes as soon as we've passed immigration, I have a better chance of slipping by as a veiled woman travelling with an Arab who looks like you. And you," she turns to Bruce, "can keep an eye on my meeting tomorrow and take a picture of this Brian guy."
For once, Bruce does not look alarmed. Not happy either, but kind of resigned to his fate. "I wish I could say it doesn't make sense," he says with a sad smirk. "There goes my stay in the Royal Oriental suite… at least it's got two bedrooms or else Mr Renner here would be sleeping on the terrace." He shakes his head at Theo. "I knew you were trouble when you showed up, but I guess you're one of…" he pauses for a second to do the count, "...four guys I know who I could possibly trust to play Selina's husband, and the other three are either in Gotham or in Cornwall." Presumably, the fourth one is Gordon, the only one from what must be Bruce's shortlist who did not make it to their wedding. Lucius and Alfred may have known Bruce for much longer, but Theo has an added boost to his credentials as Sylvie was Selina's maid of honour. "We'll need to swap the passport picture before you get to the hotel. And get yourself some dark contact lenses or you'll look like Lawrence of Arabia."
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TBC
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Notes
UNLPs are a real thing and work as described, ie as normal passports. I held a regular (blue) one, as pictured on the wiki site, at one point in my life and still have a cancelled-out one as a memento ;) The red ones were news to me, but diplomatic privileges for international organisation employees (and full diplomatic status for senior-level ones) are real. See [http] en*wikipedia*org/wiki/United_Nations_laissez-passe r. Interpol passports also exist, but are, as mentioned, only valid in conjunction with national ones in the majority of member countries: [http] en*wikipedia*org/wiki/Interpol_Travel_Document.
The permit given to Saudi women by male guardians for travel abroad is, unfortunately, also real. I am no fan of that country's treatment of women – the abaya was a tempting ploy, but for the record, I had reservations about it.
Rob Wainwright, the real life head of Europol and, if the wiki is to be believed, a nice guy, was an unexpected discovery this past September – and once I'd stopped snickering, there was no way I'd pass up a chance to sneak him, and the also-real-life cybercrime unit, into the backstory: [http] en*wikipedia*org/wiki/Rob_Wainwright_(Europol)
The first class mini-lounge on Emirates/Quantas flights is also a real thing. I could not have them talking in the first-class cabin per se as the seats on newer-model planes are suites with closing doors - only the middle ones have a partition that can be lowered. Check out [http www] ausbt*com*au/emirates-first-class-compared-with-qa ntas for a couple of pictures.
Lawrence of Arabia, aka Colonel Thomas Edward Lawrence, is a historical character. My mental image is of bright-blue-eyed Peter O'Toole playing him in the epic film of that name: check out [http] 2*bp*blogspot*com/-ajeYfJwCwSY/UiCzBXyXBNI/AAAAAAA AD0g/rsVH6zpyZVE/s1600/Lawrence+of+Arabia*jpg or, for an even brighter-eyed version, [http] 4*bp*blogspot*com/-ByNN9ieTAVo/UiC1EW9_DXI/AAAAAAA AD1I/UktmRpNst5A/s1600/lawrence-of-arabia2*jpg