What others are saying about Saviour
Hard-hitting truth from the hand of the “bodyguard of the superstars” who sees and hears ALL.
V.W. Queensland, Australia
This is a fantastic read! The recent introduction of confidentiality agreements and legal red-tape has ensured that bodyguards can no longer spill the beans on their assignments…we are very fortunate that Andy provided protection at a time where there were no such agreements!
K.D. London, UK
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SAVIOUR
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Written by Andy McCutcheon
Copyright © Andy McCutcheon 2010
Published by New World Publishing at Smashwords
ISBN: 978-1-4523-2538-5
License Notes:
This edition is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work and rights of the author.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 – A Wolf in Sheikhs Clothing
Chapter 2 – Three Times Lucky for Lauren
Chapter 3 – We Stand on Guard for Thee
An Overview
‘Saviour’ is an autobiographical account of life amongst reigning world leaders, professional athletes and some of music and films most recognizable names. Each new chapter weaves you further into a web of obscurity, detailing the lives of extraordinary people who function daily in the “fishbowl” of society.
This book personifies the axiom, that “truth is stranger than fiction” and reveals an exclusive in-depth insight into the real life highs and often catastrophic consequences that befall celebrities. From a glimpse at life on the road with pop queens Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera, right through to a cross section of unforgettable experiences with The Rolling Stones, Tina Turner and Andrea Bocelli to name a few, ‘Saviour’ provides a front row, behind the scenes look into ‘celebrity life’. It exposes the veiled consequence of fame and fortune and is a sexy voyeuristic look at the underbelly of the rich and powerful.
Foreword
By Kay Danes; International Best Selling Author of ‘Nightmare in Laos’
Over the years, there have been many names reserved for those who put their lives on the line or in harms way to professionally protect another from personal assault, kidnapping, assassination, loss of confidential information or other threats.
One word that is synonymous with this industry - Bodyguard.
In 69 AD Emperor Galba appointed Piso Licinianus Deputy Roman Emperor. This upset a rival contender, Marcus Salvius Otho, who later conspired to assassinate Galba and Piso and seize power. Otho and a company of renegade Praetorian Guards ambushed the Royal convoy. Praetorian guards were supposed to be the loyal protectors of the Emperor but under Otho’s instructions, they had become his assassins. Fortunately for Piso, his bodyguard Sempronius Densus bought him time enough to escape. It was recorded in history by a Greek historian, that Sempronius gave his life defending both Galba and Piso. He single-handedly defended them from scores of armed assassins, while all his comrades either fled or joined the enemy against him.
This story effectively epitomizes the role of a Bodyguard even in those very early days – to protect the client at all costs. But in keeping with reality, sometimes the unexpected happens. Unfortunately, Sempronius defended his charge as long as he could until finally he was killed, cut down at the knees. The assassins hacked his and the Emperor’s corpse to pieces and paraded Galba’s severed head on a pole. Two assassins sought out Piso and dragged him from his sanctuary, the Temple of Vesta, where they killed him.
Although Sempronius failed in his duty as a bodyguard, to protect the life of his charge, that fatal day is recorded by historians as being the only heroic act done in Rome that day. It is hard to imagine that any sane person would willingly accept this kind of position but a bodyguard will lay down their life to protect others. They are motivated by a desire to protect the rights of those in their care. Many examples of this same dedication is recorded years later in the days of the Bushido, the Samurai, an elite group of warriors in Japan who, like Sempronius, were bound by a strict code of honor that demanded they live and die to protect their charge.
Over the years, we see that same tradition continuing. In 1890, Walter Henry Thompson was born and throughout his manhood faithfully served for eighteen years as bodyguard to the then UK Prime Minister, Winston Churchill.
Real-life Bodyguards are generally quiet, unassuming grey men. They lead inconspicuous lives for the most part, until circumstances around them change and force them to become highly recognizable; such as Mr. T, a well known American actor starring in the 1980 television series The A-Team. He was a rather flamboyant personality who later became a bodyguard to Muhammad Ali, Michael Jackson and Diana Ross. His business card famously read, "Next to God, there is no greater protector than I."
And who in the industry could ever forget Trevor Rees-Jones, the bodyguard of Dodi Al-Fayed, son of the Egyptian billionaire Mohamed Al-Fayed. Rees-Jones was the only survivor of a car crash in Paris that killed its driver, Fayed and Diana, Princess of Wales. His face was plastered all over the tabloids with a promise that he would never work a single covert operation again as a result.
In more modern times, bodyguards have been fictionalized in movies like The Bodyguard, a 1992 film starring Kevin Costner and Whitney Houston. Again In the Line of Fire, a 1993 film about a psychopath who seeks to assassinate the President of the United States and the US Secret Service agent who tracks him down.
Though there have been many name changes to the profession over the centuries from Centurion to Samurai, Bodyguard to Minder, and finally - Close Protection Officer, all share those same traits that define the person undertaking this unique and challenging role; integrity, loyalty, honor, courage, ability, capability and complete focus.
Bodyguards play an important function in our society requiring a high level of skill, confidence and professionalism to be effective. They are not easily ruffled when things come up unexpectedly because they are trained to quickly adapt to change, and to expect the unexpected. They generally have good instincts and are in tune with their intuition. Most have some affiliation or former service with the protection industry; Law enforcement officers, ex-military personnel, Special Forces Operators, Weapons Specialists, Martial artists and even fitness trainers have become some of the world’s most highly sought after Bodyguards.
All have a determination to be the best that they can be in their line of service, a strong will to succeed and are not afraid of sacrifice – they are an unstoppable force.
As a former Director of an International Company providing VIP Protective Services to Executive Personnel working across SE Asia, I have witnessed first hand the dangers of the business and even, incredibly, spent almost a year of my life as a hostage in a communist state, in service to a client. I have also had the extreme pleasure of working with a variety of unique individuals who, through their professionalism, often made an otherwise hostile environment seemingly less so. I have worked with and employed bodyguards, who just like Andy McCutcheon, began their journey from elite military service to the corporate world of Close Personal Protection. Their adventurous lives could fill the pages of many chapters of numerous books and still would barely scratch the surface of all they have seen, endured and overcome. I am honored to write the foreword of ‘Saviour’ and to reiterate a pivotal point; it is unlikely that another book like this one will ever legitimately surface because of the non-confidentiality agreements that gagged most of us who ever worked in the Close Protection Industry.
Andy’s adventures as a one of the World’s most recognizable Bodyguards are truly incredible - as is his commitment to the code; protect the client at all costs, don’t judge them, just make them feel safe. Andy gives valuable insight into the professional realm of Close Personal Protection and in particular, a purist perspective on celebrity life. ‘Saviour’ will weave you in and out of the lives of extraordinary people, providing you with an insight into their triumphs and tragedies.
Chapter 1 – A Wolf in Sheikhs Clothing
Chapter 1 unfolds on the Serengeti Plains. Following a lead given him by an acquaintance, the Author accepts an assignment to protect a client while on a 10-day business trip to Nairobi, Kenya.
The client - is a gorgeous woman. Following the untimely shut down of her clothing store; she is persuaded to work as a “stripper,” as a means of staving off bankruptcy and losing everything.
Posing as a consultant, she is intent on travelling to Kenya and buying her way out of the sex trade by brokering the sale of a $10,000,000.00 hotel property to one of the wealthiest families in Africa.
Enroute to Nairobi there is obvious chemistry between the pair and when they arrive, a hotel error constrains them to share accommodations. The client wastes no time in making her desires known.
Fraught with delays, the meeting date is finally set. Sheikh Ahmed arrives, bringing with him over $10,000,000.00 in cash to make payment for the hotel.
In an effort to conclude the transaction, the Author is asked by Sheikh Ahmed to transport the money illegally from Nairobi to Toronto, via London.
As the assignment concludes, the flight home is interrupted by the terrorist bombing of Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam, giving the Author time to reflect on the events of the previous 10 days.
He examines his motivations and questions his involvement in the obscure profession of personal protection.
Chapter 2 – Three Times Lucky for Lauren
Chapter 2 follows closely on the heels of the trip to Africa as the Author prepares for the high profile celebrity wedding of Hollywood heartthrob, Lauren Holly, to Francis Greco.
The Author mitigates paparazzi intrusion at the church, while actress Amanda Peat accompanies Lauren in the limousine, switching roles as they arrive.
As the service gets underway, the Author and colleague Shawn Cooper discover a homeless woman in the pews of the lower gallery. They work cooperatively to remove her from the church, returning as the ceremony concludes.
The reception, devoid of paparazzi, is flowing with alcohol. After several drinks, Lauren forgets she is wearing over $5,000,000.00 worth of rented diamonds. Ignoring recommendations from her husband, Lauren continues dancing, risking the loss of more than just her jewellery.
As the night ends, Lauren gives the Author an appreciative kiss and invites him to visit with the newlywed couple at their home in New York.
One week later, the photos are published in the “National Enquirer.” The Author views the photos with delight, leading him to explore the chain of events that have led to his enviable career.
Chapter 3 – We Stand on Guard for Thee
Chapter 3 looks back to where it all began. During military training, the Author embattles the task ahead – and the girlfriend he left behind. After facing a major setback during training, he soldiers on - getting the grade, and the girl.
Once assigned to his unit, promotion prospects improve as placement on the Junior Leaders Course promises faster than normal progression through the ranks. An unsuspecting injury however, threatens the Authors health – and his livelihood. While assigned to a desk job recovering from injury, the Author befriends several high-ranking officers who assist in resuscitating his career.
With Battalion pride at stake, he unwittingly accepts a berth on the military’s toughest course. After coming to grips with the demons of his past, the Author completes the course, narrowly escaping death while on his final parachute jump.
Posting to the Special Forces proves a bittersweet victory as timing of his transfer due to extenuating circumstances rises more than a few suspicions. Cornered alone one night in the field, the Authors combat training is put to the test - leading to assault with a deadly weapon.
Now facing an uncertain future, the Author finds himself losing the battle but winning the war, when deciding to leave the military for civilian life.
Chapter 4 – Pie in the Sky
Chapter 4 follows the Authors release from the Special Forces. Armed with a military education, civilian career prospects misfire, when aspirations of corporate employment are diffused.
Repeated rejection, impose the Author to self-employment, leading to the acquisition of his commercial pilot’s licence. Childhood ambitions fly high, but dreams are denied when his wife’s reluctance to relocate, force him into restricted airspace.
With his wings clipped, the Author is against the wall. He only has two things left in life – his balls and his word, neither of which he is prepared to break. While appraising his unique skill set, he discovers that flying isn’t the only way to soar.
In a stroke of good fortune, moviemaking mayhem causes Miramax moguls Sam and Harvey Weinstein to become the first of his Hollywood heavyweight clients.
Chapter 5 – Capitol Gains
The Authors highly paid, but short-lived encounter with Hollywood’s elite cause him to seek government assistance.
Landing a steady government contract for transportation leads him to a broader role within Foreign Affairs and soon has the Author showcasing his abilities to some of the most powerful leaders in the world.
He is taken under the wing of the Secretary of State and the Deputy Prime Minister and soon finds himself inside the government’s inner sanctum. With a looming election that threatens his lucrative contracts, the Author plays possum and walks a political tightrope in a dangerous game of double jeopardy.
Chapter 1 - A Wolf in Sheikhs Clothing
As I unravel the extraordinary events of my life, it becomes easier to understand who and what I have become. In retrospect, I had no concept of how far removed from a “normal life” I would be taken and no amount of training could have prepared me for what I am about to tell you.
In November 2000 I enjoyed a rare, two consecutive days without an assignment. I decided instead to have dinner with a friend of mine Richard at a trendy restaurant in Toronto Canada. Richard’s penchant for expensive wines, exquisite cuisine and jazz was evidenced by his portliness - a testament to years of overindulgence.
In addition to his epicurean passions, Richard’s other mistress was golf. He was a member of The Devil’s Pulpit Golf Club - one of the most prestigious courses in the world.
Richard and I were introduced by a business colleague and Richard subsequently introduced me to course owners Scott Abbott and Chris Haney; former journalists who had invented the board game ‘Trivial Pursuit’ in 1979. Their success had turned Scott and Chris into multi- millionaires and their wealth was put to use in the construction of the course.
I stood outside Le Saint Tropez restaurant in the heart of the entertainment district awaiting Richard’s arrival. I rubbed my hands vigorously. I recognized Richard’s silhouette in the distance and as he began walking towards me we shook hands briefly and moved inside.
The maitre d placed us adjacent to the crackling warmth of the fireplace and as we ordered - the conversation quickly turned to work.
‘Do you know anyone with ten million dollars?’ Richard asked.
‘Do you know why the rich get richer?’ he continued…
‘Well…’ He cut me off mid-sentence…
‘There is this client of mine in London.’ ‘He has let me in on a program.’ ‘You need ten million to get in though.’
‘How does it work?’ I asked.
‘Currencies from around the world are traded.’ ‘During each market fluctuation they are leveraged by phantom funds’ – propped up by wealthy investors. ‘They change hands on paper and the profit is astronomical.’ ‘They pay the investor a fixed rate which equals roughly one tenth of the profit earned.’ ‘At select times during the year there are “openings” when additional investment is needed.’ ‘You don’t even have to physically give them the money – they just leverage the money and it stays in your account.’ ‘When the “program” ends twelve months later, they pay you “forty million.”’ ‘If that sounds like a lot of money to you – think of how much the bank has earned to be able to afford to pay you that kind of money?’
‘Shit’! ‘Does it really work?’ I blurted.
Richard lowered his voice.
‘I have a client in the program right now.’ ‘If it works I’ll let you know.’ ‘How has work been for you?’ He queried.
‘Busy.’ I said.
‘That’s good – isn’t it?’
I nodded motioning the waiter - pointing to my glass. I continued…
‘Most of my friends have no concept of what I even do Richard.’
‘You live a very charmed life!’ Richard quipped.
‘It’s ironic - nobody knows the ‘real’ truth Richard – nobody!’ ‘For one thing, I’m never at home anymore and it’s starting to cause problems.’
‘Why?’ he questioned.
‘Because when it’s my weekend to have my daughter Mackenzie I’m always away it seems. When I get back - the ‘bitch’ won’t let me see her and says it’s not my weekend.’ ‘It’s killing me Richard – I miss her so much.’
‘That’s a bit harsh - can’t you do anything?’
‘I’ve tried Richard – believe me…I have tried everything except having her ‘whacked.’’
‘I still don’t understand why you can’t see her?’
‘She works for the “Cops!”’ ‘She knows exactly how to manipulate the system.’
‘Hey - getting off topic for a moment - I recommended your services to a friend of mine.’ They’re off to somewhere in Africa!’
‘What are they doing there?’ I questioned.
‘I don’t know – but here’s their number, give them a call if you have a chance.
After leaving the restaurant I closed the door of my SUV and searched for $20 to pay for parking. The napkin Richard had scribbled the number on fell out onto the seat.
As I stared at it, I was curious and wondered if it were too late to call? I decided to find out and picked up the phone.
‘Allo,’ said the voice on the other end – in a distinctive French accent.
‘Good evening… is “Frankie” there?’
‘I’m Frankie - may I help you?’
‘I was given this number by Richard…’ I was interrupted.
‘Oh yes,’ she said – Richard has told me about you.’
‘Forgive me…I assumed that “Frankie” was a man?’
‘It’s short for “Francine.”’
‘Well – now that we have that out of the way - are you able to meet Francine?’
‘Sure.’ ‘Do you know where “Runway 66” is - near the airport?’ She asked.
‘I knew “exactly” where Runway 66 was.’ I had provided their management with a 6-month security contract. It was also one of the “gentleman’s clubs” I frequented with celebrity clients – ‘but what was she doing there?’
‘Can you meet me there in an hour?’ She asked.
45 minutes later I arrived and as I entered it was dark and smoky. I gave the doorman a nod and made my way to the VIP lounge upstairs. I sat alone in the corner and waited.
Moments later the sultry figure of a woman emerged from the hazy darkness and sat beside me. She was stunning.
‘Allo Je Suis “Francine.”’
‘Frankie?’ I retorted.
‘Shhh…’ she murmured - placing her index finger on my lips softly. ‘Nobody knows my real name.’ ‘Everyone knows me in the club by my stage name “Jennifer.”’
I got straight to the point. ‘Why do you want a bodyguard?’ I asked her in a low voice.
‘I am going to Nairobi.’ ‘It is a very dangerous place.’ She whispered. ‘I wouldn’t want anything to happen to me’
‘Why are you going to Africa Francine?’
‘For business – I’m going there for a business transaction.’
It was all I could pry from her in that crowded room – but I could tell she wanted to tell me more.
Now it was time to ask the painful questions. ‘Who is going to pay my fee and expenses? I asked awkwardly. It seemed an inappropriate time to ask that question, but being forward I found, overcomes payment issues down the road.
I never really had any problems with accounts receivable – with the nature of the work I did I always told my clients that ‘if they didn’t pay me – they wouldn’t have to worry about the threats they were being protected from - I’d fucking kill them myself!’
She responded to the money question by saying ‘”Sheikh Ahmed” - he is paying for everything.’ That didn’t mean a thing to me at the time.
Our conversation had left me feeling strangely uneasy. ‘Did she know what she was getting herself into?’ ‘Was I being seduced as a patsy?’
‘East Africa is consumed with “warlords” and other infidels. Every second Muslim in Nairobi is named “Sheikh Ahmed,” including “Sheikh Ahmed Salim Swedan,” a Kenyan national who tops the FBI’s list of “most wanted” terrorists.
Over the next 48 hours I gave very little credence to Francine’s proposal until I received a call from my bank manager indicating that there had been a USD$25,000.00 internet bank transfer into my business account from an overseas account.
My contacts within the Canadian Department of Foreign Affairs were advising me that visits to East Africa were not recommended – but what did they know, they weren’t field operatives, they were pencil heads sitting in some office in Ottawa.
According to the Department of Health however, if I stayed in the greater Nairobi area that was approximately 2,500’ above sea level on the Serengeti plateau, I was told the risk of contracting “Yellow Fever” would be reasonably low.
Taking that into consideration I couldn’t be certain of the proposed itinerary? I needed to have a Yellow Fever shot. I have a phobia of needles – but took to the immunization like a “heroin addict to a free syringe” when comparing the tiny prick of a needle to the possibility of contracting ‘jungle fever.’
The day we left it was snowing at Pearson International Airport in Toronto. My driver picked me up at the loft and took us both to the airport. We were flying out mid morning.
The flight to Amsterdam was the shorter of two legs that concluded a 24- hour travel day and when we arrived in Nairobi we were met by a thin Negro man holding a placard that simply read ‘Andy & Francine.’ He introduced himself as ‘Simon” and said he would be our driver while we were in Nairobi.
‘Where’s David Kambe?’ Francine asked.
‘He was unable to make it to the airport.’ ‘Quick, get in – I’ll take you to your hotel.’
As we drove away from the airport, I studied the landscape for recognizable signs; any indication that we were actually being taken to the hotel. Opening the window provided temporary relief from the stifling heat of the Serengeti Plains.
Once stopped at a traffic light I noticed a group of youths no older than nine or ten. They were filthy and unkempt, many of them without shoes or clothing - their bodies crawling with insects. It was like living in the pages of a National Geographic article. They crowded our vehicle with hands outstretched. They were staring through us with ghastly faces, like the living dead – hungered and chanting something in Swahili.
‘Keep your hands in the car.’ I was told sternly. ‘If you don’t do up your window right now they will cut off your arm with a machete for that gold ring you are wearing.’ Simon was glaring at me in the rear view mirror.
Our destination was the Silver Springs Hotel. It was rated as a “five-star” property, but upon arrival, almost instantly I became aware of the widening gap in foreign standards. We checked in and gathered our luggage.
‘Where are my room keys?’ I queried Francine some ways down the hallway.
‘These are the only one’s they gave me?’ She questioned looking at them.
‘Ok.’ I’ll sort the accommodations out later – right now, I need a shower. ‘Do you want to shower first?’ I asked.
‘No I’ll unpack - you shower’ she offered.
As I stripped off I adjusted the spigot in the shower cubicle to accommodate for my height - a trickle of lukewarm water was all it produced. ‘This ‘piece of shit,’ I murmured.
By this time, naively unaware, Francine had wrapped herself in a towel and was ready to replace me in the shower.
‘Don’t get your hopes up,’ I warned - rolling my eyes. ‘The shower sucks.’
As Francine closed the door, I towelled off just outside the bathroom door.
The sound of the water cascading off her body and onto the shower floor was like a mantra. My eyes felt heavy after the long journey and I thought I would lie on the bed momentarily. I found myself floating effortlessly between states of consciousness.
I awoke suddenly, startled - feeling the sensations of cold water droplets and warm wet kisses on my chest.
I opened my eyes and saw Francine who had positioned herself over top of me completely naked and dripping wet from the shower. She was gently stroking my cock in her hand - in my wearied state I had been completely oblivious to her advances. My body tingled incessantly. I felt the moistened ends of her long blonde hair dancing on my shoulders as she pressed herself against me. Her scent was intoxicating. I breathed deeply.
When I established this business, I had made a pact to remain professional at all times which included not sleeping with clients! Thwarting her advances however would prove the most difficult and dangerous assignment I would ever face.
I remember the phone ringing sometime later. It was strangely disorienting, ‘Did I dream the whole thing?’ ‘Had our obvious physical attraction manifested itself?’ ‘Did I break my own code of honour?’ I mumbled. I couldn’t be certain.
I looked around for obvious signs and as I rolled over in bed I discovered that Francine was gone?
The phone continued ringing – I answered. It was David Kambe.
‘Good morning – is this Andy?’
‘Yes.’ ‘David?’
‘Did I wake you?’ He asked.
‘Yeah kind of, what time is it?’
‘It’s 7:00am.’ He said.
I heard a knock at the door - ‘Hold on a minute David, there’s someone at the door.’ It was Francine. She smiled coyly and simply walked past and said ‘bonjour – mon ami.’
‘C’mon, we have to meet David, we don’t have much time.’ I urged.
As one of only a few Caucasian guests, anonymity would prove to be more difficult than I had imagined.
I spotted our driver Simon at the front doors with a man fitting David’s physical description. I introduced myself and once seated I let Francine know I had made contact with the mark.
David revealed to us that a meeting with “Sheikh Ahmed” would not be scheduled for the next few days. Allegedly he was in Tanzania.
In conversation, I learned that Sheikh Ahmed is the son of a former Zairian government Minister. Ahmed’s father I discovered had been assassinated in a coup in 1993 and as the eldest son according to Muslim tradition - he assumes responsibility for the family’s affairs. The Ahmed’s owned gold and diamonds mines and were allegedly, one of the wealthiest families in Africa. We exchanged contact information.
Francine I discovered intended on brokering the sale of a hotel located in Niagara Falls on the Canadian side.
It was valued at over USD$10,000,000.00 and buying the hotel gave the Ahmed’s a unique opportunity to move money out of Africa where it would be safe from war and strife - while providing Francine a financial vehicle to buy her way out of the sex trade in the way of a hefty commission if she could pull it off.
On the topic of money I had asked David about exchanging funds from US Dollars into Kenyan Schillings. Simon recommended staying away from banks if we wanted the best exchange on our money. Simon insisted that he knew someone who could facilitate an exchange if we kept quiet about it. The ‘black market’ for foreign currency in Nairobi is rampant, in epidemic proportions.
Once the decision was made we drove down a narrow laneway and stopped short.
There were corrugated tin shacks on one side and what looked like a market stall on the other.
‘Give me the money you want exchanged,’ prompted Simon.
‘Here’s USD$300.00.’ I said. If I never saw him again – it was only $300 bucks.
As Simon disappeared down the narrow corridors of the open market I opened the window looking towards the stalls on the other side of the street. The stench was appalling. I have a weak stomach for “off” smells and started ‘dry reaching’ immediately – barely managing to keep my recently digested breakfast intact.
I was sickened to learn that it wasn’t a market stall at all, yet people picked through it confident of what they could find. Shrouded in flies, they searched through piles of rotting fish carcasses and decaying produce spoiling in the noonday Nairobi sun.
Simon returned a short while later handing me KES$21,000.00. We spent the remainder of the day shopping for local artefacts at the Westland’s Market in the outskirts of metropolitan Nairobi.
As the sun dipped below the Serengeti Plains David Kambe met us for an exotic meal at ‘Carnivore’s,’ a unique dining experience that borders the Nairobi National Park. We dined under the stars on local specialties including “crocodile” “antelope” and “zebra,” prepared on an outdoor BBQ pit.
Several days had passed before word of ‘Sheikh Ahmed’s’ impending return to Kenya and as word of his arrival reached us we were on a big game drive in a five star safari camp northwest of Nairobi in ‘Masai Mara.’ Personally, I doubted that a meeting would ever eventuate between Francine and the wealthy sheikh – but hey, I was getting paid the same money whether they met or not? I didn’t really give a shit.
After the long journey from Masai Mara back to Nairobi, It seemed the perfect time for a bit of ‘Andy time.’ I had been dying to try the hotel’s spa facility and found myself making a booking upon our arrival - anticipating what exotic remedies lay beyond their doors.
I disrobed making my way into the steam room. I couldn’t see a thing and could only make out the faint murmur of voices. It felt as though I had walked into a volcano. Thankfully I was called by an attendant moments later and left beaded in sweat. As I entered the massage room I was somewhat startled to discover a young Negro woman standing in front of me. I’m not usually shy – but I felt self-conscious for perhaps the first time in my life. I don’t know why?
‘Get undressed and lay on the table’ she ordered. I dropped my robe onto the floor and positioned myself ‘face down’ on the table. She began working a hot oily elixir into my muscles – starting with my feet she worked every muscle ending by rubbing my scalp.
When she paused sometime later I assumed that the massage had finished and I began scanning the room for my robe.
‘Roll over onto your back,’ she remarked.
I was mortified!
My instinctive thought was, ‘Please don’t get a hard-on now.’ She wasn’t really that attractive – so I didn’t really want to add insult to injury by making that ‘faux pas’ in her presence. My pulse quickened, forcing even more blood to my extremities.
As I left the spa refreshed David Kambe rang indicating a meeting with “Sheikh Ahmed” was imminent.
Simon picked us up and drove us to David’s residence. As we arrived several minutes later a large steel gate embellished in razor wire greeted us. David met us at the door. ‘What kind of place is this?’ I remember thinking to myself. ‘Barb wired gates – steel bars on the windows?’
‘Please – sit down’ David insisted. ‘Sheikh Ahmed will be here shortly.’
There was a knock at the door.
I had no pre-conceived ideas about Sheikh Ahmed. I knew from experience that everyone is affected differently by wealth and the sheikh who was capable of owning a small country was no exception.
He was tall maybe 6’4” with defined facial features. He was soft spoken and apologized profusely for his absence over the past week. Following the preliminary introductions Sheikh Ahmed introduced a young Negro man named Daniel.
‘Why is a “Chemist” here?’ I pondered. My mind raced wildly in search of a plausible answer. ‘Is there a hidden agenda?’ ‘Maybe this really is a “front” for something else?’ My instincts were pointing towards a drug deal.
Sheikh Ahmed produced some official looking papers and handed them to me; I in turn handed them to Francine.
Another knock was heard at the door! My heart pounded.
I wasn’t expecting anyone and I strained to peer through the curtains. It was dark but I was able to make out a group of men in the compound armed with AK-47 assault rifles. The signage on their vehicle was barely legible – ‘Securicor.’
“I knew Securicor.” I thought. They are a multi-national security company with a broad range of cash in transit services and offices all over the world. ‘What are they doing here?’ I thought.
As the front door was pushed open, several large Negro males entered the house.
Two brandished weapons and the other four carried two large black steel cases.
My right hand moved instinctively to the small of my back squeezing the grip of the 9mm handgun holstered there, while my finger traced the curvature of the guard – finding its way to the trigger mechanism.
Time seemed to move forward in slow motion Sheikh Ahmed produced two keys that were dangling on his gold neck chain. Walking over to the black steel cases he inserted the keys. As he raised the lid of the case, my jaw hit the floor.
Each case was filled with crisp USD$100.00 bills, bundled into $10,000.00 denominations. The cases contained over USD Ten Million dollars in ‘cash!’
Sheikh Ahmed handed several bills to Daniel who was busy measuring chemicals proportionately into a bowl.
‘Put these on,’ Daniel advised, handing us each a protective breathing apparatus.
Once each one of the bills had been soaked in the chemical solution they were dried with a clothes iron.
It was surreal.
Sheikh Ahmed began explaining Daniels actions…
‘Banks in this country are very unstable.’ He said. ‘If you have a lot of money, you never keep it in banks – they have a habit of closing unannounced, keeping everything deposited in them. I can’t risk my family’s fortune - that’s why I use Securicor’s services.’
‘Why is Daniel using a chemical?’ I asked inquisitively.
‘Each bill is marked with a ten-digit security code unique to its owner.’ ‘The code identifies who the money belongs to and it cannot be spent while the security code is intact.’ ‘Daniel has prepared a formula that dissolves the ink used in the security code but not the ink used to print the currency originally.’
I had thought perhaps the money was counterfeit but on closer inspection the bills displayed all of the known security identifiers.
‘Those are for you to keep.’ He said - handing us several pressed USD$100 bills.
‘Now,’ ‘let’s get down to business.’ ‘I have reviewed your materials Francine and I think the hotel is a good investment.’ ‘As you can see I have the money to buy it right here - this should be considered payment in full to you.’ ‘This is the way I do business!’ ‘When do you fly back to Canada?’ He queried.
‘Tomorrow night.’ Francine answered.
‘My money has to be cleaned first.’ ‘Unfortunately there is only one company that can do that amount of money - it’s in London UK.’ He turned to face David. ‘David, call them immediately and see when they are able to do it.’
‘Andy – you will fly on my private jet and accompany the money to London.’
I hesitated… ‘
I will pay your expenses.’ He said confidently. ‘I would go – but I have to return to Tanzania tomorrow to my family’s mining operations.’
What he really meant – was that he would rather have someone other than himself risk going to prison for life for illegally transporting the money out of Kenya.
You could’ve heard a pin drop as Simon drove us the short distance back to the hotel. Francine was fraught with anxiety knowing she had inadvertently involved me in something I wanted no part of.
‘Are you out of your fucking mind Francine?’ ‘Please tell me you aren’t thinking about transporting - or worse still, asking “me” to transport over $10,000,000.00 across the borders of three countries?’ ‘Do you know you could go to prison for doing that? ‘
‘I should talk to Richard – maybe he can put me in the “program?”’ She quipped.
‘You are clinically insane’ – ‘wait, you know about that?’ I asked.
‘Mais oui’ she replied coyly in her native French as if to say ‘you think you’re the only clever one around here?’
The next morning I ordered a cab and headed straight for the airport. Not only is it illegal to remove large sums of money from Kenya - it’s illegal to remove any denomination of Schillings from the country and so I ensured we exchanged all of our remaining money at the terminal gate to avoid the risk of foreign prosecution.
We had a scheduled eight-hour layover in Amsterdam and I couldn’t wait to feel ‘wheels up’ knowing that the landing gear was locked up into the fuselage as the aircraft climbed towards cruising altitude.
While in Amsterdam we decided to wile away our layover hours by taking a guided sightseeing tour of the city. The tour seemed like it was equally split between seeing windmills with their farm fresh cheeses and the red light district of the inner city.
It seemed like there were more bicycles at the Central Train Station than in all of Shanghai China? Visiting one of Holland’s ‘tea houses’ was off the menu for obvious reasons – but in wandering around the open markets I did contemplate buying a pair of wooden shoes.
During our return to the airport we were informed by the tour guide that our flights were being delayed indefinitely due to a massive explosion in Terminal 3 – that’s all she would tell us at this point.
The bus wasn’t even moving and traffic was gridlocked within a 25km radius in every direction. I didn’t even have my luggage. It had been stored in a locker in Terminal 3 before we left. Maybe it had been incinerated in the explosion?