Business Central Twin Towers.
Near identical clones of New York’s Chrysler Tower, the elegant art deco style structures sprung from nowhere and dominated the Media City portion of town. Unlike Dubai’s other super-tall skyscrapers, these graceful spires stood alone among half a mile of low-rise offices. At night their curvaceous, chrome steeples were illuminated, providing a breath-taking landmark often overlooked by tourists.
“It’s a shame about the bland name,” Asp said.
“I agree,” Zain replied. “These have got to be the two most under-rated structures in the country.”
“They also perfectly sum up the mind-set of the Gulf,” Asp said as they crossed the unpaved sand-lot car park that fronted the mall beneath the buildings.
“How so?”
“You have one Chrysler Tower,” Asp replied in a deep comedy voice. “We have two! Ha ha! And ours are thirty per cent bigger!”
The Twin Towers were mostly home to advertising agencies, salesmen and dot-coms. Several of the companies within were clients of Chrome and Asp used this to get two security passes.
Exiting the elevator on the 43rd floor, they entered a typical bean-bag chairs and funky lamps office that was the double of any other trendy agency they might find around the world.
“White Wolf Consulting,” Asp noted as he walked past the Perspex sign outside the door. “For all your prostitution and extortion marketing needs.”
A meeting of ‘pretty, young things’ was happening around a whiteboard in one glass-walled office. Each of the twenty-somethings listened to their boss as they stood around a foosball machine. Another empty room contained a pool table.
“You really think this is the hangout of the Russians?” Zain asked.
“It’s brilliant, isn’t it?” Asp replied. “Best money laundering operation ever. They can run anything through the books here that they like and claim it comes from the legit business. Then, with zero corporate tax, it instantly becomes totally useable cash anywhere in the world. Outstanding.”
Zain silently agreed.
“Half these girls probably graduated to posts here after working the hotel circuit for their pimps,” Nate added, “that is, if they’re not doing it still while trying to get a permanent post here.”
They moved through into the jazzy neon lobby area. Asp resisted the urge to put his sunglasses back on. A voluptuous receptionist stood from her immaculate workstation and asked:
“Can I help you?”
“Sure,” Asp replied, “I’m looking for an appointment with Fedor.”
The secretary visibly hesitated.
“Mr Milanovich doesn’t usually take unsolicited meetings in this office.”
“He’ll make an exception for me, I’m sure,” Asp replied. “Tell him it’s Nate Aspinal of Chrome and I need to discuss with him the aggressive restructuring of my staffing levels that he’s been making.”
“Er,” the lady took a step back from her desk. “Sir, I don’t think that will be possible. He leaves the office at this time of day for lunch.”
Zain looked at his watch.
“It’s an unusual time of day for eating,” Asp responded.
“Sir,” the secretary replied, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave...”
“Oh,” Asp replied, “that sort of eating... well that puts a different spin on things. He’s in a meeting with Carlotta?”
“You’re going to have to leave right now,” the receptionist blushed.
Asp turned.
“We’re going?” Zain asked.
“Yep,” Asp replied. “I know exactly where he is.”
***
Qasid examined the puzzle box cautiously.
“It’s beautiful.”
“I thought you’d appreciate her,” Blake replied, sitting comfortably on the sofa in Qasid’s open plan lounge.
Qasid Al Ghaf was an athletically built Emirati. His voice was low, dark, and silky. Yet, for all its gentleness it carried the considered weight of one of the greatest intellects Blake had ever met.
Qasid was always immaculately dressed. His alabaster
Near identical clones of New York’s Chrysler Tower, the elegant art deco style structures sprung from nowhere and dominated the Media City portion of town. Unlike Dubai’s other super-tall skyscrapers, these graceful spires stood alone among half a mile of low-rise offices. At night their curvaceous, chrome steeples were illuminated, providing a breath-taking landmark often overlooked by tourists.
“It’s a shame about the bland name,” Asp said.
“I agree,” Zain replied. “These have got to be the two most under-rated structures in the country.”
“They also perfectly sum up the mind-set of the Gulf,” Asp said as they crossed the unpaved sand-lot car park that fronted the mall beneath the buildings.
“How so?”
“You have one Chrysler Tower,” Asp replied in a deep comedy voice. “We have two! Ha ha! And ours are thirty per cent bigger!”
The Twin Towers were mostly home to advertising agencies, salesmen and dot-coms. Several of the companies within were clients of Chrome and Asp used this to get two security passes.
Exiting the elevator on the 43rd floor, they entered a typical bean-bag chairs and funky lamps office that was the double of any other trendy agency they might find around the world.
“White Wolf Consulting,” Asp noted as he walked past the Perspex sign outside the door. “For all your prostitution and extortion marketing needs.”
A meeting of ‘pretty, young things’ was happening around a whiteboard in one glass-walled office. Each of the twenty-somethings listened to their boss as they stood around a foosball machine. Another empty room contained a pool table.
“You really think this is the hangout of the Russians?” Zain asked.
“It’s brilliant, isn’t it?” Asp replied. “Best money laundering operation ever. They can run anything through the books here that they like and claim it comes from the legit business. Then, with zero corporate tax, it instantly becomes totally useable cash anywhere in the world. Outstanding.”
Zain silently agreed.
“Half these girls probably graduated to posts here after working the hotel circuit for their pimps,” Nate added, “that is, if they’re not doing it still while trying to get a permanent post here.”
They moved through into the jazzy neon lobby area. Asp resisted the urge to put his sunglasses back on. A voluptuous receptionist stood from her immaculate workstation and asked:
“Can I help you?”
“Sure,” Asp replied, “I’m looking for an appointment with Fedor.”
The secretary visibly hesitated.
“Mr Milanovich doesn’t usually take unsolicited meetings in this office.”
“He’ll make an exception for me, I’m sure,” Asp replied. “Tell him it’s Nate Aspinal of Chrome and I need to discuss with him the aggressive restructuring of my staffing levels that he’s been making.”
“Er,” the lady took a step back from her desk. “Sir, I don’t think that will be possible. He leaves the office at this time of day for lunch.”
Zain looked at his watch.
“It’s an unusual time of day for eating,” Asp responded.
“Sir,” the secretary replied, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave...”
“Oh,” Asp replied, “that sort of eating... well that puts a different spin on things. He’s in a meeting with Carlotta?”
“You’re going to have to leave right now,” the receptionist blushed.
Asp turned.
“We’re going?” Zain asked.
“Yep,” Asp replied. “I know exactly where he is.”
***
Qasid examined the puzzle box cautiously.
“It’s beautiful.”
“I thought you’d appreciate her,” Blake replied, sitting comfortably on the sofa in Qasid’s open plan lounge.
Qasid Al Ghaf was an athletically built Emirati. His voice was low, dark, and silky. Yet, for all its gentleness it carried the considered weight of one of the greatest intellects Blake had ever met.
Qasid was always immaculately dressed. His alabaster
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