Those who had horizontal stripes and no logo were no more than two dozen, and those with a black or near-black bottom stripe were five.
Gabon, Netherlands and Sierra Leone all had three horizontal stripes of which the lowest was deep blue, which could show up black in a monochrome photograph. Only two had a bottom stripe of three which was definitely black: Sudan and one other. But the Sudan had a green diamond up against the flagpole as well as three stripes. The remaining one had a vertical stripe nearest the flagpole. Peering at his photo, Dexter could just make out the fourth stripe; not clear, but it was there.
One vertical red stripe by the flagpole; green, white and black horizontals running out to the flapping edge. Zilic was standing on an airport somewhere in the United Arab Emirates.
Even in December a pale-skinned Slav could get a badly burned nose in the UAE.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Gulf
There are seven Emirates in the UAE but only the three biggest and richest, Dubai, Abu Dhabi and Sharjah, spring readily to mind. The other four are much smaller and almost anonymous.
They all occupy the peninsula at the southeastern tip of the Saudi landmass, that tongue of desert that separates the Arabian Gulf to the north and the Gulf of Oman to the south.
Only one, A1 Fujairah, faces south onto the Gulf of Oman and thence the Arabian Sea; the other six are strung in a line along the northern coast, staring at Iran across the water. Apart from the seven capitals, there is the desert oasis-town of A1 Ain that also has an airport.
While still in Belgrade, Dexter found a portrait photographic studio with the technology to rephotograph the picture of Zoran Zilic, increase its clarity and then blow it up from playing-card to softback-book size.
While the photographer worked on one task, Dexter returned to the cybercafé, enquired after the United Arab Emirates and downloaded everything he could get. The following day he took the JAT regular service via Beirut to Dubai.
The wealthy Emirates derive their riches mainly from oil although they have all tried to broaden the base of their economies to include tourism and duty-free trade. Most of the oil deposits are offshore.
Rigs have to be resupplied constantly and although the vehicles used for heavy cargoes are seaborne lighters, personal transfers are faster and easier by helicopter.
The oil companies operating the rigs have their own helicopters but there is still ample room for charter firms, and the internet revealed three such, right in Dubai. The American Alfred Barnes had become a lawyer when he visited the first. He picked the smallest, on the grounds it was probably the least concerned with formalities and the most interested in wads of dollar bills. He was right on both counts.
The office was a Portakabin out at Port Rashid and the proprietor and chief pilot turned out to be a former British Army Air Corps flier trying to make a living. They do not come much more informal than that.
‘Alfred Barnes, attorney-at-law,’ said Dexter, extending his hand. ‘I have a problem, a tight schedule and a large budget.’
The British ex-captain raised a polite eyebrow. Dexter pushed the photo across the cigarette-scorched desk.
‘My client is, or rather was, a very wealthy man.’
‘He lost it?’ asked the pilot.
‘In a way. He died. My law firm is the chief executor. And this man is the chief beneficiary. Only he doesn’t know it and we cannot find him.’
‘I’m a charter pilot, not Missing Persons. Anyway, I’ve never seen him.’
‘No reason why you should. It’s the background to the picture. Look carefully. An airport or airfield, right? The last I heard he was working in civil aviation here in UAE. If I could identify that airport, I could probably find him. What do you think?’
The charter pilot studied the background.
‘Airports here have three sections: military, airlines and private flyers. That wing belongs to an executive jet. There are scores, maybe hundreds of them, in the Gulf. Most have company livery and most are owned by wealthy Arabs. What do you want to do?’
What Dexter wanted to buy was the charter captain’s access to the flying side to all these airports. It came at a price and took two days. The cover was that he had to pick up a client. After sixty minutes inside the executive jet compound, when the fictional client failed to show up, the captain told the tower he was breaking off the charter and leaving the circuit.
The airports at Abu Dhabi, Dubai and Sharjah were huge and even the private aviation sector of each was far bigger than the background in the photograph.
The emirates of Ajman and Umm al-Qaiwain had no airport at all, being cheek by jowl with Sharjah airport. That left the desert city of A1 Ain, Al Fujairah out on the far side of the peninsula facing the Gulf of Oman, and, right up in the north, the least known of them all, Ras al-Khaimah.
They found it on the morning of the second day. The Bell Jetranger swerved in across the desert to land at what the Britisher called A1 K, and there were the hangars with the flag fluttering behind them.
Dexter had taken the charter for two full days, and brought his handgrip with him. He settled up with a fistful of hundred-dollar bills, stepped down and watched the Bell lift away. Looking around, he realized he was standing almost where Srechko Petrovic must have been when he snatched the photo that sealed his fate. An official stepped from an administration building and beckoned him to clear the area.
The arrival and departure building for both airline and private jet passengers was neat, clean and small, with the accent on small. Named after the emiral family, Al-Quassimi International Airport had clearly never disturbed those airlines whose names are world famous.