Giordano shook it. ‘A pleasure, as always. Don’t leave it so long next time.’
‘I won’t.’
They walked their separate ways. After a moment Victor heard Giordano call him and he turned in response.
Giordano looked serious for once. ‘Vernon, don’t stop swimming.’
Later, Victor sipped brandy in his hotel room while the voice on the other side of the world said, ‘The suite next to the Presidential was rented out by a couple of men with Belarusian IDs, but unsurprisingly those identities have turned out to be bogus. As for who they are, I haven’t got enough intel to even hazard a guess. What I can tell you is they are not Belarusians and aren’t from this side of the Atlantic. When I know more, you will. What about you, my man?’
‘What about me?’ Victor asked, as if he didn’t understand.
‘That’s a nice try, pal, but do you expect me to believe you’ve been sitting on your behind this last week? Because if you do, then you’re either seriously underestimating me or seriously overestimating your ability for BS. You kill a four-man surveillance team, you’re going to want to know who they work for. Or have you survived this long by burying your head in the sand?’
‘I’ve followed some leads,’ Victor admitted.
‘There we go,’ the control replied in a pleased tone, ‘honesty and trust and all that. So, why don’t you share those leads with me and we’ll see if we can’t get an answer to this?’ The sound of air and saliva being sucked through teeth followed.
‘Excuse me,’ the voice said, ‘steak sandwich for lunch. Happens every day.’
Victor took a breath. He wasn’t used to sharing intelligence. He wasn’t used to sharing full stop. Especially with an employer that could prove to be his worst enemy. But all he had was the name of a front company and he wasn’t going to find out more without a large investment in time. And the longer he was in the dark about who sent the surveillance team, the longer he was exposed. If they were who Victor thought they were he couldn’t afford to waste time on ignorance.
He said, ‘I’ve got a name.’
‘Which is?’
‘Lancet Incorporated. They’re based in Switzerland, and shipped some of the surveillance equipment from the US to the UK. They’re a front for someone. That’s all I know.’
‘ That’s all? There’s no need for false modesty.’
Victor sipped some brandy.
‘I’ve never heard of them,’ the control said, ‘but pretty soon I’ll know how they take their coffee.’
CHAPTER 43
Beirut, Lebanon
Ariff sighed as he left the Spanish girl’s apartment, unsatisfied and frustrated. Her Arabic vocabulary was expanding and with it she had become increasingly vocal during his recent visits. Today had reached new heights of annoyance. He would give her one last try before seeking out a new creature to take his pleasure from. If only he knew a mute.
The apartment was owned by Ariff and located on Al Hamra Street, in one of Beirut’s most cosmopolitan districts. The Egyptian arms dealer had lived in many cities across the Middle East but he was particularly fond of Beirut for the unique warmth and almost coziness of its tree-lined streets and distinct neighbourhoods. There was so much concrete in the city that on an overcast day Beirut could look dull and lifeless, but when the sun was out, which was thankfully more often than not, the city was bright and vibrant.
Ariff ignored two of his people standing as sentries on the street outside and climbed into the passenger seat of the waiting BMW. Yamout was in the driver’s seat, two more bodyguards in the back. Ever safety-conscious, Ariff had increased his security considerably after Kasakov’s attempt on Yamout’s life and the subsequent attacks across the network over the two weeks since.
The two sentries climbed into a black Range Rover parked in front of the BMW. The driver signalled to Yamout and then pulled away from the kerb. Yamout followed. Ariff closed his eyes. It was a long drive through Beirut from the Spanish girl’s apartment to his villa on Mount Lebanon.
‘Baraa,’ Yamout said.
‘I don’t want to talk, my friend,’ Ariff replied, ‘until we get back to my villa.’
Ariff could tell that Yamout wasn’t going to be satisfied with that, but the Lebanese waited a few seconds before speaking again. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, but-’
‘If you’re sorry, why disturb?’
‘I have news.’
Ariff sighed. ‘That cannot wait an hour?’
When Yamout didn’t answer, Ariff opened his eyes. Yamout was sitting very still, face pensive.
‘I thought you’d want to know straight away,’ Yamout explained. ‘The shipment of weapons for the Sudanese has been ambushed by rebels. The president is furious that his five thousand rifles are now in the hands of his enemies.’
Ariff sighed and said nothing.
‘He’ll never buy from us again now. Not ever. Kasakov must have tipped off the rebels. Baraa, we can’t go on like this.’
‘Wars are always costly.’
‘Is that all you are going to say? First Farkas is blown up and the blame is cast on us, then they come after me in Minsk, and now we lose our biggest customer in the whole of Africa. Not to mention the people who’ve disappeared, been openly butchered, or who’ve fled for their own safety. This war will cripple us before long. We must seek peace with Kasakov.’
Ariff laughed. ‘If we go begging for mercy from that Ukrainian devil, do you think he’ll call off his dogs? Don’t be stupid. He’ll smell our weakness and crush us. And I would sooner put a gun in my mouth than parley like a woman.’
‘News of our war with Kasakov has spread like a plague. No one is going to be crazy enough to deal with us and put themselves in that maniac’s crosshairs. Every day we bleed from his strikes.’
‘We will outlast him. We have numbers he does not. We have loyalty he cannot match.’
‘Yet he has wealth we can’t compete with. Wealth that can buy numbers and loyalty.’
‘But Kasakov rots as a prisoner in Russia while the whole world wants to see him in chains. I can walk where he can only dream of. I can whisper in ears that cannot hear his loudest screams. Have faith, my friend. As the sands trickle through the hourglass his resolve will surely crack. So let us maintain our own. He with the strongest will shall emerge victorious from this.’
‘What good is victory if we have no customers left? Even the ones we can safely supply are deserting us.’
‘Kasakov, using his influence,’ Ariff explained. ‘It was to be expected, my friend. He will try to weaken us in any way he can.’
‘It’s working.’
‘But not for ever,’ Ariff assured. ‘Our clients won’t stop wanting guns just because of Kasakov’s bribes or his threats not to sell them heavy armaments. In this century, wars will be fought with guerrillas, not battalions. Kasakov has more to lose than us. Our customers need rifles and bullets more than they need tanks. They will come back to us.’ Ariff looked at Yamout. ‘Be patient.’
They drove for a while. Ariff enjoyed the warm sun on his face but he couldn’t relax enough to sleep. Whatever the calm he expressed to Yamout, the conflict with Kasakov was a real concern. Yamout was stiff in his seat as he drove, his hands clamped on to the steering wheel.
Ariff yawned. ‘Since you’ve done such a superb job of destroying any chance I might have of sleeping, you may as well tell me what our people have achieved recently. Tell me of our victories against Kasakov.’
‘The plane our friends shot down in Afghanistan turned out to be an Antonov An-22. We don’t know what it
