zipped up, then checked the Browning yet again to make sure it was good and secure. I walked casually but with purpose, a boat-owner going back to his pride and joy. I wasn’t looking around me because there was no need: Lotfi and Hubba-Hubba were covering me, and if there was a problem, I’d soon know about it in my left ear.
I spotted Lotfi’s Ford Focus nose-parked in a line of cars facing pier nine. I caught a glimpse of his face, illuminated by a flickering marina light, as I turned toward Ninth of May, then my brain started to shrink and focus completely on the target and surrounding area.
Light spilled out around the sides of cabin blinds to my left, and I heard the sound of German TV and real- time laughter once more.
I was no more than a few yards away from the target when a vehicle approached from the Nice end of the main road. But it wasn’t coming my way. Its engine noise dwindled and its lights faded as it headed on toward Monaco. I checked the device yet again, then the Browning and fanny pack, and risked one good look around me before crouching down behind the boat’s utility stand. The meters ticked away like the crickets in Algeria.
All the blinds were still down, and I couldn’t see a single light. It looked as if the Romeos had turned in.
It’s pointless sitting around once you’re on target — you’re there, so you might as well just get on with it. Sitting on the edge of the pier, my hands gripping the base of the utility stand, I stretched my right foot across to the small fiberglass diving platform that overhung the propellers. My toes just made contact and I dug them in to get a decent purchase. I let go of the utility stand and extended my body like a circus gymnast, slowly pushing myself off the pier and transferring my weight onto the ledge. Every muscle screamed with the effort of controlling my movements so precisely that I didn’t slip or bang into anything. The boat was large enough to absorb my weight; it wasn’t going to start rocking just because I was messing around on the back end. The only thing I was worried about, apart from one of the Romeos suddenly deciding to take a breath of fresh air, was the noise the device or the Browning would make if they dropped into the water or clattered onto the deck.
I breathed through my mouth, because my nose was starting to block up again, and heaved myself onto the ledge. I hooked my little finger into the earpiece and pulled it away from my head, blocking the outlet in case one of the boys started to jabber on the radio. I needed both ears from now on. My throat was dry, but I wasn’t going to do anything to moisten it just yet. It was more important to listen for a while.
There was no sound at all coming from this boat, apart from the gentle lapping of water against its sides. I could still hear the Germans’ muted laughter. I replaced the earphone and raised my head, inch by inch, until I could see over the back of the boat. The patio doors were just a few feet away.
It’s basic fieldcraft never to look over something if you can avoid it; always around or, even better, through. You should never cut a straight line, like the top of a wall, or the skyline, or the side of a boat. The human eye is quick to detect broken symmetry. My hands gripped the fiberglass as I raised my head, painfully slowly, hoping that the movement was disguised against the background of divots and the raised gangway. There was nothing: it was still clear.
I checked the device, Browning, and fanny pack one more time, then got slowly and deliberately to my feet, lifted my right leg over the back of the boat and tested the ribbed decking with my toes to make sure I wasn’t about to step on something like a glass or a plate. I put the rest of my foot down, gradually shifting my weight until my left leg was able to follow. I took my time, concentrating on the job at hand, not worrying about being seen through the patio doors. If I had been, I’d know about it soon enough. Better to spend time and effort on the job than worry about what might happen if things went wrong. If they did, that was when I’d start to panic.
Moving to the right of the patio area, I eased myself up onto the right-hand walkway that led around toward the front of the boat, and to the ladder that would take me over the cabin and onto the upper deck. I was concentrating so hard that the rustle of my gloves sounded to me like a bush being shaken. I reached the ladder and placed my right foot on the first of the three rungs, applying pressure very slowly on the aluminum. The cabin window was no more than six inches to my right. I didn’t want to use the handrail, to avoid strain on the rivets.
There was a metallic creak as I lifted my left foot onto the next rung. My mouth was open so I could control the sound of my breathing; my eyes were straining to make sure I didn’t bump into anything. I kept moving, slowly and deliberately, all the time checking that the fanny pack, device, and weapon weren’t going to bounce onto the deck.
I eased my weight onto the third rung, then got my hand on the fiberglass deck and heaved myself upward.
I found myself on all fours, on the top deck, as two vehicles came from the direction of Monaco and lit up the main road, then vanished into the town. I got slowly to my feet, so there’d only be two points of contact above the sleeping people. It took me six slow, deliberate steps to reach the seats. Once there, I lowered myself onto my knees, and tried to find out how the covers were held down. There was a Velcro fastening down along the sides. Undoing that would be a big no-no, this close to the enemy.
I heard the sound of sliding doors, a burst of laughter, then German voices.
Lotfi got on the net. “Foxtrots! We got foxtrots.”
I couldn’t do anything but hug the deck, then inch my way, on my stomach, toward the protection of the seats forward of the driving console. I ended up over a sort of sunroof, a clear sheet of Plexiglas that would have looked directly down into the cabin if it wasn’t for the blinds.
I rested my face on the Plexiglas and tried not to think about what would happen if the blind was opened. I heard the doors slide shut, and the sound of footsteps on the pier behind me. Then came the whimper of a dog, followed by a sharp, Germanic rebuke from its owner.
There was nothing I could do but wait where I was for the all-clear from Lotfi. I stuck my free ear to the Plexiglas to check for noises from below. There were none, and it was still dark on the other side of the blind.
I lay perfectly still, mouth open, breath condensing on the Plexi. Car doors slammed and engines fired up in the parking lot.
I stayed where I was, nothing moving but my eyeballs and the dribble spilling from the corner of my mouth, as I watched the vehicles leave in the direction of Nice.
I got a low whisper from Lotfi. “All clear.”
I didn’t double-click him in response: that would just create movement and noise. He’d see me move soon anyway. There was still no sound from below, but I wanted to get off this sunroof. Having nothing more than a sheet of clear plastic and a venetian blind between me and a bunch of al-Qaeda was not my idea of fun.
I began to raise myself on my toes and the heels of my hands.
“More foxtrots, more foxtrots!”
I couldn’t see what he was going on about, but that didn’t matter. I flattened myself once more. Then I could hear mumbling from somewhere along the pier. It sounded like more German.
“Two bodies on deck, smoking.”
I reached down slowly for my Sony.
Click, click.
We’d have to wait this one out. There was nothing I could do now but hope I wasn’t seen.
I stayed exactly where I was, ears cocked, nose blocked, the left side of my face cold and wet. The mumbling was definitely German. I even got a whiff of pipe tobacco as Hubba-Hubba now got on the net. “Stand by, stand by. That’s four foxtrots toward you, L.”
I heard a double-click from Lotfi as Hubba-Hubba gave the commentary. “That’s at the first pier, still foxtrot, still straight. They must be going for pier nine. N, acknowledge.”
I double-clicked gingerly. He was right, there was nowhere else to go, apart from one of the cars.
Lotfi got on the net. “N, do you want me to stop them?”
What the fuck did he mean, stop them? Shoot them?
If they were aiming for any of the boats near me, I’d be seen. I could hear their footsteps now and the mumbles of a foreign language. They were definitely heading my way.
I reached for the Sony and clicked twice, and Hubba-Hubba came on the net immediately.
“H will stop them.”
There was a crash of breaking glass from the vicinity of the shops. A microsecond later, a high-pitched two- tone alarm split the night.
