Ariff’s vision came back slower, but a still image of the car interior — the last thing he’d seen before the explosion — overlaid everything else. He could just make out one of his attackers rushing ahead, yelling and shoving scared pedestrians out of the way. The other two had Ariff between them, holding him up with their arms under his.
They rounded a corner. He saw a van parked up ahead. The lead captor opened the vehicle’s back doors, and Ariff was shoved inside, the gunmen either side of him following.
Ariff shouted for help but a rifle butt slamming into his face broke his nose and he lost consciousness.
CHAPTER 44
Colonial Beach, Virginia, USA
Seagulls squawked overhead. Procter stood on the end of the narrow pier, wearing sunglasses, gazing eastward across the Potomac. The temperature was mild, the sky blue and cloudy. Windy. Procter’s kind of day. The beach wasn’t busy — an old guy threw sticks for his Labrador, a couple of people jogged, but the river had its fair share of water sports enthusiasts. There were fleets of sailboats and paddle-boats as far as Procter could see. Procter didn’t much like being out on the water, but he liked looking at it.
He heard the tap of footsteps on the pier boards behind him.
‘Beautiful day,’ Clarke said as he stopped alongside Procter. His tone was happily normal, no stress, no anxiety.
‘No,’ Procter disagreed, ‘it’s not. Ariff’s missing.’
Clarke stammered, ‘In what sense?’
‘In the sense that there was a shootout two days ago on a street in downtown Beirut. In broad daylight, if you can believe it. Masked gunmen disguised in burkhas ambushed Ariff’s motorcade. Used a grenade launcher to blow out the armoured glass of the bodyguards’ SUV and filled the vehicle with close to sixty rounds. Gabir Yamout and six of Ariff’s bodyguards were killed. The whole thing was over in under a minute, start to finish. Ariff was not among the dead, but a man fitting his description was seen being dragged away by the attackers.’
Clarke looked paler than usual. ‘Jesus Christ. But eye witnesses are notoriously unreliable. We can’t know for sure Ariff isn’t-’
‘That’s not all,’ Procter said, turning to face Clarke. ‘Soon after Ariff was snatched, his villa was attacked. Several more bodyguards were killed. The wife and son of Gabir Yamout were shot dead. Ariff’s own wife and his three daughters were kidnapped. A nanny hiding in a closet heard everything. Neither they nor Ariff have been heard from since.’
‘ Jesus,’ Clarke said again.
‘How the hell did Kasakov get to Ariff so damn fast?’
Clarke didn’t attempt an answer.
‘I just don’t get how he could have found Ariff in a matter of weeks. I mean, even the Agency didn’t know where Ariff was hiding out. It took us months to establish Callo as a solid link to Ariff’s organisation. Then we had to kidnap and interrogate the prick to find out what city Ariff was in. And even then we had to put bodies on the ground to establish where in Beirut Ariff actually lived. Yet Kasakov gets the same intelligence in a tenth of the time.’ He sighed, shaking his head. ‘That man is something else.’
They stared across the water for a moment. A college-age kid thrashed past on a jet ski.
‘I’m as surprised as you are,’ Clarke hesitantly began. ‘But our plan relied on the fact that Kasakov and Ariff knew enough about one another to inflict damage.’
‘To their networks,’ Procter corrected. ‘There’s no reason why Kasakov would know where Ariff, who has been under the radar for twenty years, was living. They’ve crossed paths with their businesses, but never personally. Ariff’s exact whereabouts was the one thing that Kasakov would certainly not have known before this began. But he found it out.’ Procter clicked his fingers. ‘Just like that. He may well be the devil himself.’
‘He’s just a man.’
‘Ariff will be dead by now, or wishing he was. I don’t even want to think what happened to his wife and kids.’
‘That’s not our fault,’ Clarke stated as he poked Procter in the chest. ‘Ariff put them in danger by living his life the way he did. He signed their death warrants with every rifle he sold, with every bullet fired at the innocent, with every IED that killed and maimed with explosives he supplied. He did this to them, not us.’
Procter nodded. He pushed a palm against his forehead. ‘I know, Peter. You’re right, as always. But our war is over a mere month after it began. All our work, all that careful planning to ensure Kasakov and Ariff tore each other’s empires apart, it’s all been wasted.’
Clarke looked away. ‘We haven’t yet got an accurate figure on the damage Ariff caused Kasakov’s network. But when we know, I’m sure we’ll find that it has been substantial. And remember, Ariff and Yamout are dead. Their network is leaderless and will be in disarray from the war with Kasakov. The flow of small arms has been effectively cut off.’
‘Until more dealers take over.’
‘Yes,’ Clarke agreed. ‘But even if we’ve only hampered the flow of weapons for a few months, we might have saved dozens of lives. Maybe more. And it’s not just Americans who will be saved. Think of all the death squads and terrorists across the world who won’t be getting guns, ammunition and explosives.’
Procter let out a growling sigh. ‘But this thing should have lasted months, maybe even years. Ariff and Kasakov should have pummelled each other down until there was nothing left of either of them.’
‘There was always the chance this would end sooner than we wanted, even if we didn’t believe it could be this early. No plan ever works perfectly.’ Clarke patted Procter on the shoulder. ‘Take comfort that it hasn’t blown up in our faces. And we’ve done so much good, Roland. We really have.’
Procter smirked. ‘You say that like you’re trying to convince yourself more than me.’
Clarke stared at Procter. ‘None of us can change the world, Roland. But we have made it a little more palatable. If only for a time.’
‘I’ll send Tesseract to get rid of Kasakov to bring things to a close. With luck, his lieutenants will fight for control over the empire and leave it fractured and weaker. And talking of Tesseract, we have another problem you need to be aware of.’
‘Yes?’ Clarke asked, warily.
Procter said, ‘Regarding the four civilians Tesseract killed in Minsk who turned out to be someone’s surveillance team. Well, he came up with a name: Lancet Incorporated. I did some digging, and it turns out that they’re a Swiss company that specialise in shipping goods that have been traded via under-the-table deals.’
‘For who?’
‘Us,’ Procter answered. ‘You and me. Not specifically the CIA or the Pentagon, but for the good old US of A.’
Clarke said nothing.
‘Lancet ship all kinds of things from the Eastern Seaboard across the Atlantic. Things like state-of-the-art surveillance cameras. Things like Hellfire missiles.’
‘To who?’ Clarke asked, eyes widening.
‘The kind of people who worship on a Saturday.’
It took Clarke a second to process Procter’s words. ‘The Israelis?’
Procter nodded.
Clarke said, ‘If Lancet are a stepping stones between America and Israel, then that surveillance team must have been-’
‘There’s no “must have been” about it. That’s exactly who they were. Tesseract only tangled with four, but in total there were five Mossad agents running a surveillance op on Yamout. They were part of an ongoing initiative to keep tabs on Ariff’s organisation. It’s simple, but very smart. They find out who Ariff and Yamout supply with guns, and if those customers turn out to be enemies of Israel then they receive a nice little visit from a team of Kidon assassins or one of the aforementioned Hellfires. These watchers also act as babysitters to make sure Ariff and Yamout stay vertical. The Israelis see it as a case of “better the devil you know”. Whoever kidnapped Ariff must be really slick to do so under Mossad’s nose.’
