Chapter 41 – RIDE INTO ‘DEATH’
Dodi and Princess Diana enter the Paris Ritz Hotel through the main entrance, accompanied by Diana’s personal chauffeur Philip and her two bodyguards Trevor and Kez Winfield. The head of security of the Ritz Hotel rushes out to greet them.
“Henri!” Dodi says, pointing to the princess. “We’re going up to our suite to freshen up a little. We’ll be ready within half an hour. My Babo has given you the instructions.”
Henri nods and waves to the head of reception. “Musa! Please, help Mr. Dodi and the princess.”
The head reception rushes to the elevator and presses the button. The elevator door opens and Dodi and Princess Diana step into the elevator, followed by the head receptionist. The elevator goes to the top floor of the hotel.
Henri turns to Diana’s bodyguards and her chauffeur. “You guys wanna a drink?”
“Yeah, please!” All three say almost simultaneously.
The head of security walks to a small bar next to the main entrance of the hotel. His guests follow him. Henri takes out a bottle of French cognac Courvoisier.
“Ay! Is it your birthday today?” Philip quips.
“No! Why?”
“Because you’re the biggest miser on earth,” says Trevor.
Henri pours the cognac. “Ah! This is a special case, for my best friends.”
The men take place at the bar with their drinks. Kez raises his glass. “To Mr. Dodi!”
“And his beautiful princess,” adds Trevor.
Philip corrects him. “His piece of ass”
“Our piece of ass, man!” adds Kez. Everyone laughs and downs their drinks.
The elevator door opens. The head of reception returns to his desk.
*
A gold-coloured Rolls Royce with diplomatic license plates drives up to the main entrance of the Paris Ritz Hotel. A piccolo runs out of the hotel and opens the door of the Rolls. A sturdy tall man dressed in a traditional Arab robe steps out of the limousine. He has a goatee and wears large sunglasses to prevent certain countrymen from recognizing him.
The piccolo bows to the ground. “Welcome, His Royal Highness Prince al-Bin.”
The prince nods and points to the limo. The piccolo rushes to the other side of the Rolls and opens the door. Out of the limo steps a slender woman dressed in a green traditional silk Arab burqa, leaving only her eyes visible. The piccolo again bows to the ground.
The prince strides to the main entrance of the hotel, slowly followed by his partner a few yards behind him.
*
“Philip!” says Henri, head of security, half whispering. “Listen, you and Kez go outside and sit in Dodi’s limo.”
The personal chauffeur of Dodi and Diana casts a questioning look at Diana’s bodyguards. Trevor and Kez shrug their shoulders. Philip pulls his face into a grimace. “I don’t understand! Why!”
“The paparazzi will believe that Dodi and Diana will leave the hotel there,” says the security chief of the Ritz. “We must deceive them.”
The chauffeur brushes his suggestion away. “Fuck you, man!”
The security chief frowns. “Are you nuts?”
“Order somebody else around. I’m not under your command!”
One of Diana’s bodyguards intervenes. “That’s right. Henri, why are you playing the boss?”
The head security comes closer to the trio. “It’s not my idea.”
The chauffeur lifts his head and spreads his hands. “But…!”
“The boss!”
“Mohamed?”
“Yes! I’ve told Dodi. He agrees with me.”
Dodi’s and Diana’s chauffeur frowns. “I’m going to Mr. al-Fayed and check that out myself.”
“Mr. Mohamed is sleeping. He has strictly forbidden anyone to disturb him,” says the security chief dryly.
Philip clenches his fist and with his other hand grabs the security chief by the lapels of his jacket. He waves his fist angrily in front of Henri’s nose. “Okay. I’ll check it out tomorrow. But if you lied, I’ll smash that half French face of yours.”
Henri instinctively loosens himself from Philip’s grip and takes a step back. Swiftly he reacts by also clenching his fists. “Philip! Jerks like you I can handle three in a row with my hands tied behind my back.”
Philip is about to give the security chief a bash. Henri assumes a defense posture. Trevor and Kez react quickly, gain up on Philip and throw themselves in between the quarrel makers. “Philip! Cool it man!” shouts Kez. “And you, kid,” he says, pushing the security chef aside. “Stop playing the big boss around here!”
*
The Arab prince and his partner enter the hotel. The piccolo carries two huge suitcases with great difficulty.
The quarrel makers quiet down.
The Arab walks up to the reception desk. “We have booked a suite.”
The head of reception bows. “Yes! Yes your Majesty! Your suite is next to the private suite of Mr. Mohamed al-Fayed’s son Dodi and his fiancée Princess Diana.”
The face of the Arab assumes a friendly look; he strokes his goatee. “Thank you! This is a great honour for us. Immediately after unpacking our suitcases, we would like to go out and enjoy the charms of Paris by night, naturally if this is no problem for you.”
“No! Not at all, your Royal Majesty! You can leave the hotel at any time and come back whenever you want. We are at your service 24 hours a day.”
“Thank you! How can we find our suite?”
“Your Royal Majesty, it will be my honour to personally accompany you to your suite.” The head reception points to the elevator, rushes towards it and presses the button to open the elevator door. The Arab steps in, his wife follows him. The piccolo enters the elevator last. The head reception presses the button and the elevator doors close.
*
The quarrel makers continue their fight. Trevor and Kez finally manage to push Philip back to where he was sitting. The security chief walks to the bar and helps himself to a double cognac. He sits down on a stool at the bar and finishes his drink. “That spoiled brat started it,” he shouts.
Philip races back to the security chief. “You bloody fagot,” he yells. “Who’s the spoiled brat here! I’ll break your bones!”