“No wonder he was short on cash when we got to the York,” Sam said. “But he had already mentioned the date earlier that night, at the Alpine bar. That’s when he called it the day of reckoning.”
“So he knew it was important, but perhaps not why. Or not
Patel shook his head.
“I took it to work with me the next afternoon. Mr. Hatcher was supposed to come pick it up. But when I reached my locker, the bouncer from the earlier shift told me a policeman was waiting for me at the rope. When I looked through the door I saw he was one of the men from the photos.”
“Lieutenant Assad?” Sharaf said.
“Yes. I knew I was in trouble, so I left by the back. There was a police van with four more men in the main drive, so I crossed the hotel grounds to the beach and walked a mile along the water before cutting back to a bus stop on the main road. When I got home my family said the police had been there as well. That is when I came here, with Khalifa’s help.”
“Did you bring the recorder with you?”
Patel eyed them carefully. Sam held his breath.
“It is hidden,” Patel said. “It is what cost me my job. And if you want it, you must pay the other five hundred dollars that was promised.”
Patel folded his arms to indicate that his offer was final. Sharaf glanced at Sam.
“I’ve got a few hundred dirhams,” Sam said, “but that’s about it.”
“Nonsense. We’re not paying this little crook.”
Sharaf stood suddenly, then caught himself, swaying as he had before, which only served to make him angrier. Steadying himself, he pointed a finger at Patel.
“Here is how it will work,” he said evenly. Patel sat impassively, arms folded. “You will bring us the tape, here and now. In exchange, I will not tell Lieutenant Assad where you’ve gone. That is even more valuable than five hundred dollars, don’t you think?”
Patel unlocked his arms and lashed out.
“But you promised Khalifa!”
“Yes. But I, too, am a policeman.” Sharaf flashed his ID and flipped open his cell phone. “And with a single call, sir, I can summon an entire squadron to this doorstep within five minutes. So you will retrieve the recorder or else I will phone my colleagues. It is your choice.”
Sharaf began punching in numbers, each beep sounding like a tiny alarm bell.
“Stop!” Patel rose from his chair. “All right, you will have it, then! I will get it for you now!”
“We will accompany you.”
Patel flung up his hands in exasperation.
“As you wish, jackals!”
It was in the next room, stored behind a baseboard panel, which Patel loosened with a table knife. He sulkily handed it over.
Sharaf studied the buttons a moment, then pressed play. There was a rustling sound, then the clicking of footsteps, followed by a jarring thump as a woman’s voice said in English, “Some refreshments for you. And your drinks, of course.”
There were three light thunks on the table. Ice clinked in a glass as someone took a thirsty first sip.
“Thank you,” a man said in English.
“Hal Liffey,” Sam said. The mere sound of his voice made him angry.
The footsteps of the waitress receded, and Liffey got down to business.
“Two items, gentlemen. And I’d appreciate if both were reported promptly and precisely to your superiors. The first and most important is that our corporate sponsor informs me that the details are complete for the first major transaction, set for four-fourteen. No more dry runs, this one’s for real. Ready for the particulars?”
There was a pause, followed by a muffled sound of movement and a few stray beeps.
“I don’t believe it,” Sam said. “They’re getting out their BlackBerrys.”
Liffey spoke clearly and slowly enough for everyone to log the details. He said exactly what Patel had repeated in his recitation:
“Payload of fifty, I-M-O, nine-zero-one-six-seven-four-two. Jebel Ali terminal two, gate six, lot seventeen, row four. Should I repeat that?”
Two muffled voices answered, “No,” then Liffey spoke again.
“More people are coming into the bar. British, I think. Perhaps we should conduct the remainder of our business in Russian. Partly, of course, in deference to the man who helped bring us together. A toast, then, to the Tsar.”
There was a clink of glasses. The next voice was an outburst of Russian from one of the others. Sharaf checked his watch, switched off the recorder, and popped it into his pants pocket.
“We will listen to the rest later, when I have time to translate. For now we’re due at the Beacon of Light, where, if my guess is correct, we’ll find out more about their payload.”
