sometime tomorrow night. I don’t know yet where the collections are going to happen, or precisely when, but I’m told there are going to be three of them; one a day, starting Friday. I’ve got another source meet tonight, and hopefully I’ll get the collection addresses then.”
Lotfi was silent for a moment, digesting this information. Finally, he spoke. “Dock, Nick.” He smiled. “You dock a boat.”
I smiled.
“Dock, okay. I’ll try to remember that one.”
“And the French don’t have marinas,” Hubba-Hubba added. “They have ports.”
Chapter 17
I watched the two of them drop enough sugar cubes into their cups to make their spoons stand up. I decided to treat myself to one. Then I pulled out the camera from my bag, together with the postcards and maps I’d gotten from the newsstands, and a couple of sets of wires. I nodded at Hubba-Hubba. “Okay, smartass, let’s see if you can spark up Auntie’s TV….”
He stood up and pressed the On button. After a minute or so there was an electronic squelch and a picture appeared: some high-octane Italian quiz show with everyone’s arms flying everywhere. They looked as though they’d be getting their stuff off any minute. I went around the back and rigged up the connecting wires so we could have a good look at the pictures I’d taken, instead of having to crowd around the digital display on the back of my camera like teenage boys with a copy of Penthouse.
I took another sip of coffee as I marshaled my thoughts. “Okay. These are orders for the stakeout of Beaulieu-sur-Mer, and the take of the collectors from the target boat, the Ninth of May, to the hawalladas, then the hawalladas’ lift and drop-off. We’ll just call the marina BSM from now on, okay?”
They both nodded, probably pleased to be spared my bad pronunciation. Their French, of course, was perfect.
I held out my now-empty cup to Hubba-Hubba, who was already doing refills. “Okay, then, the ground…” I fiddled with the buttons on the back of the camera to bring up one of the pictures of the marina. “BSM — I know you’ve been there, but I’m going to give these orders as if you haven’t so we all know where we stand.” I explained the layout of the town, the main coast road, train line, station, bus stops, and phone booth.
Lotfi got out his prayer beads and started to feed them, one by one, between his right thumb and forefinger. It sounded like the ticking of a clock.
“Before I carry on,” I took a breath, “the source is the man we left behind in Algeria, the runner from the house. The Greaseball.”
They exchanged glances and their faces fell.
“That’s obviously why no one else in the house was to be touched.” I paused, knowing very well what was going through their minds. “I thought you should know, that’s all.”
It felt good wiping some of his slime off me, spreading the shit around a little.
The two of them looked at each other again and I could sense they, too, felt contaminated.
“As I said, I don’t know the locations or timings of these collections, but I have another Greaseball meet tonight, so hopefully we’ll know then.
“Okay, let’s have a look at the target area in detail — the marina, the port, whatever you want to call it.” I threw a glance at Lotfi. He managed a smile as I flashed up the entrance sign, and showed them the pictures I’d taken of the way that the piers, the shops, and the OP were positioned. “It will make more sense when you go down there to see it again for yourselves. Any questions?”
They had none. Or maybe, as they studied the postcards and maps, sitting on plastic sheeting and trying to pick up the small coffee cups with rubber-gloved fingers, they had other things on their mind, apart from Lotfi’s shower cap.
“Okay, situation so far: the Ninth of May is coming in tomorrow night, Thursday. All I know about it is it’s a white pleasure boat, quite large.
“There will probably be three of them on board; one will always stay on the boat, while the other two collect. They’re planning one collection a day for three days, starting Friday, and aiming to leave for Algeria with the money on Sunday sometime after the last collection. So, we should be getting out of here by Monday, and by then Friday’s hawallada should already have had everything he knows dragged out of him. By the time we’re flying into the sunset Monday night, the first of the ASUs could already be having their doors kicked in by the FBI as they sit down to watch Jerry Springer.”
Lotfi lifted his head toward heaven. “In’sha’allah.”
I knew what it meant, and smiled. “If God wills it.”
Lotfi came down from the sky and looked at me as if I should be replying, so I dusted off some lousy Arabic. “As-salaam alaykum.”
I wasn’t too sure I’d used the right reply, but it got me a smile and a “Wa alaykum as-salaam” in return as he looked over to Hubba-Hubba. I turned to him and caught him smiling back.
“Hey, I think my Arabic’s getting pretty good, these days. What do you reckon?”
Hubba-Hubba gave a slow nod. “It’s better than your English.”
They laughed and took sips of coffee as I joined them, thinking they were probably right. I got back to the orders before they took me down even more. “The collectors will use public transport — trains and buses. Possibly taxis, but unlikely. Any questions?” I looked at each of them in turn, but they stayed silent. “Okay then, enemy forces — as normal, everyone and everything. During my recce today, the police came into the marina with dogs for what looked like a drugs search. It wasn’t targeted at specific boats, but it’s something we should be aware of.
“Friendly forces — basically, that’s us. There’s probably just a handful of people on board the warship who know what’s happening, but you know they won’t help us. If we’re in the shit, don’t expect any help.”
They gave each other a knowing nod.
“The mission.” I paused. “The mission is in two parts. One, identify the hawalladas and deliver them to the DOP. Two, ensure the money never makes it to Algeria.” The mission is always repeated so there is no doubt, even though I kept having the feeling that these two were way ahead of me. “The mission. One, identify the hawalladas and deliver them to the drop-off point. Two, ensure the money never makes it to Algeria.”
I knew by the look on Lotfi’s face that I’d messed up.
“What’s wrong?”
“Hawallada. Not hawallada s. It is uncountable, both singular and plural — there is no s.”
Hubba-Hubba nodded his agreement.
“Hawallada it is. But I get to keep parked and marina, right?”
They thought that was a reasonable trade.
“Okay, then, let’s have a look at how we’re going to do it.” I looked them both in the eye: fun time had ended, and they understood. “I see this happening in five phases. Phase one, the OP on the Ninth of May. Two, placing the device. Three, taking the collectors to the hawallada. Four, the hit and drop-off at the DOP. Finally, phase five, preparing for the next day. Any questions?”
I paused for a few seconds to let that sink in. They drank a little more coffee.
“Phase one — the OP.” Hubba-Hubba refilled as Lotfi got back to work on his beads. I showed them the pictures of where my car would be parked on the road behind the hedge. They would find somewhere within comms (communications) distance when they did their own recces tomorrow. “I want you, Lotfi, to get in position on the town side of the marina. Check out the closing times of those stores.”
He nodded.
“Hubba-Hubba, I want you to check out the other side’s timings and find a lie-up position toward Monaco. I’ll need the store closing times when we meet tomorrow for the confirmation orders.”
It had been more important for me to find an OP position than spend time in the target area looking at store signs.
I went through how I saw the OP being checked out tomorrow night and, of course, what we were going to
