there really no crime in Dubai?’ It was a
question I had been burning to ask for a while and I was looking forward to his
view.
‘Sir, there is many crime in Dubai! But you
will never hear of it,’ he replied.
‘Can you give me an example?’ I asked, curious.
‘Do you know the story of the Russian
businessman at Burj Al Arab?’
‘No, I haven’t heard that one.’
An ominous look came over his face. ‘Oh sir,
very bad story.’
‘I would love to hear it.’ It sounded like a
thriller; I couldn’t wait.
‘Sir, only two months ago, a big Russian
businessman was staying in Burj Al Arab hotel. Very rich and powerful man. He
was in Dubai for one week only. So he wanted to buy some beautiful jewels for his
wife, you know, because he want to impress her.’
‘As you do,’ I said with a smile.
‘Yes, sir. So he called one big Indian
jewellery company in Dubai to bring his best jewels to show him in his room. He
said money is no problem. He will pay anything. Thinking he will make a big
profit, the Indian jeweller took his very best diamonds, rubies, gold, silver
and sapphires in his suitcase to Burj Al Arab hotel. He takes $4.5 million
worth of jewels to show to Russian businessman. He is thinking he will make the
biggest sale of his life. Big money.’
This was getting juicy. ‘Okay, so what
happened?’
‘So he travels to Burj Al Arab hotel, to show
his jewels. And then he never comes home. He completely disappeared. The
jeweller’s wife is going crazy, his family is worried. He just vanished.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘After a few days, there is a bad, how you say,
smell in Burj Al Arab. It is coming from Russian man’s room. The police come to
the hotel and break open the door. They find Indian jeweller’s body hanging in
the bedroom cupboard. He is stabbed to death, and Russian and jewels is gone.
Nobody ever see Russian man again.’ I was speechless. ‘So you see there is many
crimes in Dubai, sir.’
‘Is that a true story?’ I asked.
‘Yes, sir, true story.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘My cousin is the bell boy at Burj Al Arab
hotel. He saw everything. And my cousin never told a lie in his life.’
We took our exit off the Sheikh Zayed Road and
entered the Emirates Hills development. Nicknamed ‘Millionaire’s Row’, it was considered
the most exclusive neighbourhood in Dubai due to its high concentration of
ultra-wealthy residents. The Montgomerie Golf Club was nestled in the centre of
the Hills, and many of the villas looked out onto its groomed world-class
fairways. I remembered how Cameron had described it to me back in London months
ago. It was just as idyllic as he had said, with countless palm trees, dancing
fountains and meandering lakes. As we passed the ostentatious villas, I
wondered which of them was Cameron’s.
I arrived at the clubhouse a little earlier
than nine, so I ordered a cappuccino and waited for Saff inside. Observing the
tables around me, it was obvious that the Montgomerie was the preferred social
haunt of well-to-do Western expats. Groups of European men shared a round of pints
after eighteen holes and expat wives sipped on expensive red wine while their
husbands finished up on the floodlit driving range outside. The only non-white
faces in the club were the Indian waiters, who were rushing around tirelessly
to serve and please.
I recognised Saff instantly from his picture.
He was tall, slim and immaculately dressed in an elegant tailor-made suit with
a matching salmon tie and handkerchief. I stood up to welcome him.
‘Glad to meet you,’ he said in a polished
English accent as he shook my hand firmly.
‘Likewise, thanks for taking the time,’ I
replied. ‘I know you’re a busy man.’
‘No, not at all. It’s always a pleasure to meet
a fellow British Pakistani.’
I froze, surprised. ‘How did you know I was British
Pakistani?’
‘Well, I’m the same, so I guess I could tell as
soon as I saw you. We seem to be a
question I had been burning to ask for a while and I was looking forward to his
view.
‘Sir, there is many crime in Dubai! But you
will never hear of it,’ he replied.
‘Can you give me an example?’ I asked, curious.
‘Do you know the story of the Russian
businessman at Burj Al Arab?’
‘No, I haven’t heard that one.’
An ominous look came over his face. ‘Oh sir,
very bad story.’
‘I would love to hear it.’ It sounded like a
thriller; I couldn’t wait.
‘Sir, only two months ago, a big Russian
businessman was staying in Burj Al Arab hotel. Very rich and powerful man. He
was in Dubai for one week only. So he wanted to buy some beautiful jewels for his
wife, you know, because he want to impress her.’
‘As you do,’ I said with a smile.
‘Yes, sir. So he called one big Indian
jewellery company in Dubai to bring his best jewels to show him in his room. He
said money is no problem. He will pay anything. Thinking he will make a big
profit, the Indian jeweller took his very best diamonds, rubies, gold, silver
and sapphires in his suitcase to Burj Al Arab hotel. He takes $4.5 million
worth of jewels to show to Russian businessman. He is thinking he will make the
biggest sale of his life. Big money.’
This was getting juicy. ‘Okay, so what
happened?’
‘So he travels to Burj Al Arab hotel, to show
his jewels. And then he never comes home. He completely disappeared. The
jeweller’s wife is going crazy, his family is worried. He just vanished.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘After a few days, there is a bad, how you say,
smell in Burj Al Arab. It is coming from Russian man’s room. The police come to
the hotel and break open the door. They find Indian jeweller’s body hanging in
the bedroom cupboard. He is stabbed to death, and Russian and jewels is gone.
Nobody ever see Russian man again.’ I was speechless. ‘So you see there is many
crimes in Dubai, sir.’
‘Is that a true story?’ I asked.
‘Yes, sir, true story.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘My cousin is the bell boy at Burj Al Arab
hotel. He saw everything. And my cousin never told a lie in his life.’
We took our exit off the Sheikh Zayed Road and
entered the Emirates Hills development. Nicknamed ‘Millionaire’s Row’, it was considered
the most exclusive neighbourhood in Dubai due to its high concentration of
ultra-wealthy residents. The Montgomerie Golf Club was nestled in the centre of
the Hills, and many of the villas looked out onto its groomed world-class
fairways. I remembered how Cameron had described it to me back in London months
ago. It was just as idyllic as he had said, with countless palm trees, dancing
fountains and meandering lakes. As we passed the ostentatious villas, I
wondered which of them was Cameron’s.
I arrived at the clubhouse a little earlier
than nine, so I ordered a cappuccino and waited for Saff inside. Observing the
tables around me, it was obvious that the Montgomerie was the preferred social
haunt of well-to-do Western expats. Groups of European men shared a round of pints
after eighteen holes and expat wives sipped on expensive red wine while their
husbands finished up on the floodlit driving range outside. The only non-white
faces in the club were the Indian waiters, who were rushing around tirelessly
to serve and please.
I recognised Saff instantly from his picture.
He was tall, slim and immaculately dressed in an elegant tailor-made suit with
a matching salmon tie and handkerchief. I stood up to welcome him.
‘Glad to meet you,’ he said in a polished
English accent as he shook my hand firmly.
‘Likewise, thanks for taking the time,’ I
replied. ‘I know you’re a busy man.’
‘No, not at all. It’s always a pleasure to meet
a fellow British Pakistani.’
I froze, surprised. ‘How did you know I was British
Pakistani?’
‘Well, I’m the same, so I guess I could tell as
soon as I saw you. We seem to be a
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