He carefully untwisted the cylinder and pulled it apart at the center. The inside was packed with eight pounds of the mustard-colored high explosive, with just enough space in the center for the pager and initiation circuit, which were glued onto a rectangle torn from a cornflakes box. The pager was glued facedown, so that with the back cover removed, the two AA batteries and the rest of the workings were exposed. He laid the opened device back on the blanket.
The sweet, almost sickly candy assortment smell of the HE hit my nostrils. “Where did you make it?”
Hubba-Hubba moved his head back to try to avoid the smell. “In a motel, just off the autoroute. People only stay for the night and move on, so it was a good choice. It only took me two hours to make, but the rest of the night to get the smell out of the room!”
His smile didn’t last long. “Nick…the source, Greaseball. I don’t like it, why are we using such a man? Afterward maybe we should—”
“Time to stop thinking about that, mate. I feel the same way, but the sad fact is, he’s worth more alive than dead. Just think of the int he’s given us so far. He’s the one who’s getting us to the hawallada. And that’s what we’re here for, aren’t we?”
He looked down at the equipment, his eyes scanning each item on the blanket as he nodded in grudging agreement.
“Listen — assholes like that? It’s not worth getting worked up about. I’m sure when he’s no longer any use he’ll be history. There’ll be quite a line.”
Hubba-Hubba’s brow creased. “Do you have children, Nick?”
I dodged the question. “I understand, believe me. His day will come.” I pointed at the pager with a plastic- covered finger. “Come on, take me through this thing.”
He explained that the power to initiate the device would be generated when the bleeper notified the owner he had a message, hopefully from us. “This pager either bleeps or vibrates, depending on the user’s choice. I have diverted the notification power by rewiring it, so that when it receives our call the power is sent to the detonator instead of making the thing beep or vibrate.”
It didn’t have to be a pager; anything that generated enough power to initiate the detonator could have been used. Psions or Palm Pilots do the job, especially if you know the exact date and time you want the device to initiate — someone making a speech next month, say, or even next year. All you have to do is set the alarm on the schedule program for the time and day, place the device, leave it, and when the notification sparks up, boooom, as Lotfi would say.
I could see the two thin wires coming out of the end of the pager, one disappearing into the PE where the det was buried. The other was glued along the top jaw of the wooden clothespin, which was, in turn, glued down next to the pager. I knew what it was doing there but waited for Hubba-Hubba to explain. It was his fireworks party.
“Four kilos is a lot of high explosive, Nick, but it is not going to turn the boat into a Hollywood fireball — unless you can locate it to ignite the fuel, of course.”
He was right. It would all depend on where I could place the thing.
“The clothespin, Nick, that’s the circuit breaker, your safety catch. To stop you going bang.”
I couldn’t help but smile at his understatement as I checked the two AA batteries. Between the nipple of the top battery and its connection in the pager was a sliver of clear plastic cut from the pager’s packaging, in case someone called a wrong number while I had this thing stuck under my sweatshirt. It would stay there until just before I went to place the device. I wouldn’t want to waste time opening the cylinder and messing about with pieces of plastic when I got on the boat: I’d want to just get on board and get this thing hidden and armed as quickly as possible.
Hubba-Hubba picked up a splinter of wood and used it to trace the circuit, following the det wire glued along the top of the clothespin and tucked under the top jaw.
“I wrapped the wires around the thumbtacks and soldered them. It is an excellent connection.”
The wire leading from the thumbtack in the lower jaw disappeared into the PE.
For the time being, these two tacks were separated by another piece of plastic, to which Hubba-Hubba had fastened the other end of the fishing line. He let me admire the circuit for a few more seconds. “It is good, yes?”
I nodded. “Did you sand the tack-heads?”
He raised his hands in a gesture of disbelief. “But of course! As I said, it is an excellent connection. Before moving to the boat, you take out the battery breaker and close the device, okay? After checking this safety catch is in place, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Then, once you have placed the device, gently pull on the fishing line. Once the tack-heads make contact, the circuit will be complete and it is time for you to leave the boat with quick feet!”
Any one of us three could shove our phone card into a call box, call the pager number, then tap in ten digits. Once contact had been made, we’d get “Message bien recu,” which I supposed was the French for “Bang.” And that would be that; the boat, the people, the money, gone. I only hoped I’d be the one in the phone booth outside the marina by the bus stop, watching the boat leave. I’d detonate as soon as the Ninth of May was safely in open water and, with any luck, some of the millions would be washed ashore at my feet.
There was one question we didn’t yet know the answer to: how far out to sea would the pager initiate?
Hubba-Hubba gave his handiwork one more check. “It is all yours now.”
I twisted the cylinder back together as carefully as he’d undone it, and left it on the blanket. Upstairs, Lotfi was still praying at warp speed. Hubba-Hubba leaned down to put the device back in line and I checked the rest of the equipment.
“Still warding off that evil eye thing?” I nodded at the pendant, which was swinging by his chin: the small, beaded hand with an unblinking blue eye in its palm.
“Of course. I’ve had it since I was a baby. In Egypt, many children have charms pinned to their coats as protection. You see, Westerners think nothing of saying about a child, ‘Hasn’t he grown?’ or ‘Isn’t he looking so healthy?’ But these things are taboo where we come from. That is because the evil eye could make the child sick. That is why we only give compliments related to character, things you cannot easily measure, and even then only in a way that shows there is no malice or envy intended.”
“So the evil eye can’t hear, right?”
“Something like that. For instance, someone might see me driving later tonight and feel envious, and if they had the evil eye they could cause me to crash, maybe even die. But this,” he tapped his chest, “this has stopped such things happening to me for over thirty years. You should get one. In this world, they are more practical, perhaps, than that….” He looked upward as the sound of Lotfi’s prayers drilled their way through the floor.
I stood up. “On this job,” I said, dusting myself off, “I reckon we can use all the help we can get.”
Lotfi was just dotting the i’ s and crossing the t’ s with God as I got my duffel bag and Hubba-Hubba went to the door to check the spyhole. I heard a bolt being drawn back as I pulled off my gloves and stuffed them into my bag. “Right, I’ll see you later.”
Hubba-Hubba nodded “Au revoir” before checking the spyhole once more. He gave me a thumbs-up, and I walked out into the darkness. I heard a dog barking off a balcony somewhere.
I retraced my earlier route, with the bag back over my left shoulder and my right free for the Browning. There were no streetlamps, and the only light came from the windows above me. Behind them, adults and kids hollered at each other, music blared, more dogs barked.
I got to the door of the last block of apartments, but made no attempt to stop and look out. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. I walked straight out, keeping my head down and my eyes up as I hit the key fob and the Megane’s indicators flickered. I locked myself in and drove off immediately, as you would in this part of town.
Two consecutive right turns got me back onto the main road. I wasn’t worried about antisurveillance yet as they wouldn’t be following me around here. They’d wait at the exits from the project.
Once on the main road, I kept my speed normal and drove into the city center, heading for the coast and the Promenade des Anglais. There was still plenty to do. I needed to get something to eat, get back to Greaseball, and with luck, get the addresses, then go and see exactly where they were.
I saw the bright yellow lights of a Shell gas station as I approached the city center, and drove up to the pump. Whenever there is an opportunity to fill up, no matter how little fuel is needed, it must be taken. Watching
