Click, click.
I couldn’t tell him right now, but they were also young, maybe in their early thirties, with short, well-groomed hair, white shirts, ties, and black shoes. The shorter one, maybe five-seven, five-eight, had straight hair and a rounded, overfed face. In his left hand he was carrying a Slazenger tennis bag, with a racket in the outside pocket. The toweling around the racket handle was faded and worn. They’d thought about aging their collection gear, to make it look as normal as possible. They looked just like bankers off to the tennis club. It looked as if Greaseball’s int was going to prove good: they would blend in perfectly in Monaco.
The second one was hands-free and taller, maybe six foot, quite lean, with wiry hair brushed back off his forehead, a very neat mustache, and a pair of aviator-style sunglasses. The Saddam look was obviously in this year.
I heard a vehicle drive into the parking space behind me, and a second later Hubba-Hubba got on the net. “H is static behind you, N, and has the trigger on the main road. I can give direction once they are on the main road. N, acknowledge.”
Click, click.
As planned, Hubba-Hubba was coming in closer on the stand-by. That way, we’d have another person who could take the Romeos once they were out on the main, just in case I couldn’t get out of the OP and do it myself.
The two collectors disappeared by the promenade as Lotfi piped up. “N, are they still in the port?”
Click, click.
“Can you see them?”
Hubba-Hubba cut in when I hadn’t replied after five seconds. “H still has the trigger on the main.”
I waited for another thirty seconds, more than enough time for them to get halfway up the steps, if that was the direction they were headed. But there was a no-show as I still smelled Mr. McGregor’s cigarette on the breeze. I got up slowly on my hands and knees and gathered all my gear into the towel, including my little plastic wrap package and the bottle of piss. Only after crawling to the exit point along the hedge did I risk getting on the net. My voice wavered as I tried to suck in air and move at the same time. “Okay, okay. They’re both Arab, dark suits, white shirts, ties. The smaller one, Romeo One, is carrying a blue tennis bag, Slazenger. Romeo Two is taller, slimmer; sunglasses and mustache. H, acknowledge.”
Click, click.
“Is it clear? I’m coming out.”
There was a pause.
Click, click.
I stood up, jumped over the hedge. Hubba-Hubba had parked his Scudo on my side of the Megane, so he was shielded but could still look through my window to keep the trigger.
His window was half down, and he had his eyes on the exit. I walked up and made a show of checking my watch. “The station, mate. Get to the train station and be careful, keep an eye out for that van.”
He nodded, fired the ignition. “Don’t worry. Remember, Lotfi brings God with us.” He gave me a gleaming smile as he reversed back into the road. I dumped the gear into the Megane trunk, took over the trigger, and prepared for the take. It was good to know that God was still on our team. We needed all the help we could get.
I closed the trunk as Hubba-Hubba came back on the net, in a calm, low voice. “Stand by, stand by. Romeo One and Two foxtrot, approaching the main from the entry road, about ten short.”
I looked down the road and saw the Scudo just starting to move uphill past the marina entrance.
“L, standing by.”
I gave my acknowledgment. Click, click. Bending down to check out a wheel on the side of the car away from the marina exit, I peeled the insulation tape off my ear and waited for them to appear on the main road. Then I checked my Browning and fanny pack while I pretended to inspect the tire tread, with both eyes on the marina exit.
Out they came. “Stand by, stand by. N has Romeo One and Two. At the main. Wait — that’s them now, left, toward the town. L, acknowledge.”
Click, click.
“H?”
There was nothing.
Lotfi came up: “H, they’re foxtrot, toward the town.”
There was a moment’s delay before Lotfi came back to me: “H acknowledged and everything looks okay. No Combi.”
I double-clicked. H was too far away from me, probably already at the station, but still within range of Lotfi, who was receiving both of us.
I let the Romeos settle down, and watched as they walked away from me, up the hill toward the bus stop. They both looked a little jumpy. Maybe they’d had too much coffee this morning. Romeo One kept changing hands on the bag and Two kept looking around him, not realizing he could do that by just moving his eyes.
I got on the net. “That’s approaching the bus stop on the left. Wait, wait. That’s at the bus stop, still straight.”
“L, roger that. That’s straight at the bus stop. H, acknowledge.”
One moved the bag over his right shoulder and glanced back. I doubted that he could see the woods for the trees, though: his nerves seemed to be taking over. I started to follow. “That’s N foxtrot and still has Romeo One and Two on the left and still straight, toward the town. They look aware, be careful. L, relay to H.”
I got two clicks before listening to a one-way conversation as Lotfi passed on the information.
If they’d stopped at the bus shelter, taking them toward Nice, I’d have gotten on at the stop before and Lotfi would have kept the trigger. If they were going toward Monaco and crossed the road to the other stop, Lotfi would have done the same and kept the trigger.
The trick was for each of us to know exactly where the Romeos were and what they were up to, so we could either jump ahead or hold back, and take these two without them ever seeing us. The more exposure we had to them, the more chance we had of getting compromised. We needed to be out of their vision at all times, because the mind stores everything. If they saw one of us today and thought nothing of it, maybe they’d make the connection tomorrow. One of us had to have eyes on the Romeos as much as possible, with the other two satelliting them, always out of sight, always backing the man who was taking, always being aware of the third party.
I lost them now and again as the road wound its way up to the high ground and into the town. But Lotfi had them in sight. “That’s Romeo One and Two, now passing me, still straight.”
I double-clicked, not knowing if Hubba-Hubba had done the same.
I checked that my Browning was in position, and felt the fanny pack to make sure the insulin case was still inside — even though I knew it wouldn’t have unzipped the bag by itself and jumped out. I fished the Medic Alert out of my jeans and put it onto my left wrist to announce that I was diabetic and really needed to carry this stuff around with me.
As I got to the high ground, I caught sight of Lotfi’s Focus tucked away well inside the parking lot. The Romeos were still ahead, partly shielded by the traffic. “N has, N has Romeo One and Two. Still foxtrot on the left about five-zero short of the station option. H acknowledge.” I smiled away to myself, as if I was talking to my girlfriend on my cell phone.
Click, click.
“L?”
Click, click.
There was an intersection right farther up, where the station road ran down onto the main road. A set of lights controlled the traffic.
The patisseries, newsstands, and cafes were open for business. People were in line for a lunchtime pastry to go with their coffee taken at one of the outside tables.
“N still has, N still has foxtrot on the left, halfway to the station option. Do not acknowledge.”
I wanted them to listen, to cut down on time on the air, so I could just concentrate on the take.
“That’s approaching. Wait, wait…”
