on, let’s go, let’s go!”
The Focus revved up and we screamed away from the curb as I tried to catch my breath.
I shoved the cell phone with the OP gear into the towel, wiping the mud and blood from my hands as I did so.
“The boat — it’s gone. At least, I think so. I only got to check two piers. The van, it was definitely the police. I’ve been stopped by them.”
They didn’t look at all happy.
“It’s okay, I think they just want to know what the boat is up to. The guy who owns it is a drug smuggler, small-time, that’s all.”
I finished wiping my hands as the Focus hit the first of the hairpin turns, and stuck the corner of the towel on the split in my forehead, just inside my hairline.
Hubba-Hubba’s mind was already jumping ahead. “The device…if they are on their way to Algeria, we must stop it now.”
“It’s an option. We could make the call, if it’s still in range. But we’ve got other things to consider first. It could have moved to a marina along the coast, so the Romeos can still make their collections. As far as they’re concerned, yesterday was a success.”
Lotfi shifted down to get up the incline.
“Look. Maybe the alarm and the police scared them last night. Maybe Greaseball is wrong and they move each day…maybe it is still down there….”
I had regained my breath now. Letting go of my head, I fished inside the towel and brought out some water to finish cleaning my hands and face as well as getting some down my throat. “Maybe they’ve spotted us and moved, hoping to shake us off for the next two collections. Maybe they’ve even prepared an ambush in case we find them again.”
I much preferred the first two possibilities. Lotfi’s face was set in a frown as he concentrated on the road. “If we call in the device now, we might stop them getting to Algeria. But what if they’re still here? Not only do we fuck up the mission, we might kill real people, and that’s something we’re here to stop. So, I reckon, forget about the police, forget about the boat missing. These things can be dealt with. We’re here for the hawallada, remember? One down, two to go.”
I leaned back in the seat. “Look, we are in the shit, and right now checking the marinas seems the best way of getting out of it. What do you think?”
It was pointless me telling them what I wanted to happen. Playing the dictator always leads to a gang fuck. You’ve got to bring people along with you. They looked at each other, mumbling away in Arabic, then both nodded.
“I have already been to the bins and got more information about the guy I saw with Greaseball on Wednesday night and on board last night. The Ninth of May belongs to him. He’s a small-time dealer and another pedophile. Him and Greaseball are mates.”
I could hear heavy, angry breathing from both of them.
“I know how you feel, but we have to forget about that and get on with the job. Remember what we’re here for. We’ve got to find the boat. If we have that, we have hawallada. We have to keep focused.”
I let it sink in, which gave me time to think. There wasn’t really a plan: it was just a matter of getting out there and finding the boat. If not, we were going to have to stake out both Nice and Cannes tomorrow, and hope they came to us.
“Okay, we have to check every marina in our areas. I’m going to see what Greaseball knows. We’ll meet at six A.M. in the parking area Hubba-Hubba uses to cover me at the DOP. I want to get together while it’s still dark, so if we’ve found the boat again, we can get an OP in to trigger the Romeos before first light.”
They nodded.
“If anybody doesn’t make it to the meeting place, for whatever reason, the other two must carry on with the job.”
I continued my quick change-of-plan briefing as it bubbled up in my head.
“Anyone who doesn’t make the meet this morning is to stake out the Nice address. See if you can raise anybody on the net. If not, tough. We all meet up again, twelve-thirty tomorrow morning in the same parking area, whether or not we’ve dropped another hawallada off first.
“If we don’t find the boat, we’re going to have to put triggers on the Nice and Cannes addresses and hope they turn up to collect. We do that for two days, and if no luck, that’s it, we’ll have fucked up. Any questions?”
Lotfi raised his right index finger. “What if only one of us makes the meet tomorrow morning?”
My stomach rumbled. “The one who makes it has the choice. Put a trigger on the Nice addresses and carry on as before, or just can it and go home, accept the failure.”
Hubba-Hubba’s eyes scoured the coastline. “It’s got to be here, it’s got to be somewhere,” he muttered. “We can’t let the money leave.”
Lotfi babbled off in Arabic and I got just one of the words. Allah. He turned to me as Hubba-Hubba shrugged his shoulders and looked back out to sea. “I’m sorry, Nick, I forget. I was saying that he is not to worry. If God wants us to find them, we will, and he will protect us, believe me.” His eyes shone with conviction.
I hoped like hell he was right.
Chapter 40
The Focus drove around for another twenty minutes up on the high ground. At one point the autoroute was visible in the distance; white light, not too much at this time of the morning, moved in both directions.
We came back down the mountain to the cars. We had to get on with the search, and had to take the chance of getting closer once more to the marina, no matter what was happening down there now.
Lotfi shifted down again as we took a steep right-hander.
“Anyway, the Audi.” I chanced a smile in the silence. “How did it go?”
I drank some more water as Hubba-Hubba gave a grin that glowed in the light from the instrument panel. “We burnt it near the incinerator.” By the look on his face, Lotfi had enjoyed himself too. “There was another dead vehicle already burning there, so we just joined the party.”
The main road was clear and we parked where we had started. As I gathered up my towel, the smell hit them. Lotfi quickly opened the door to get out. Hubba-Hubba thought it was funny but got out all the same, for health and safety reasons. He turned back and whispered, “Is that, how do you say, a ‘silent but deadly’?”
I got out of the car on Lotfi’s side. As he locked up he muttered, “He really has been watching too much BB and Blockhead.”
Hubba-Hubba shook his head slowly. “Butthead — Beavis and Butthead.”
I checked traser and it was three-fourteen as I drove through Cannes, stopping two or three times after turning a corner to see who followed. Just short of Greaseball’s apartment off Boulevard Carnot, I turned three sides of a square, but nobody came with me. Finally, I parked about half a mile from his flat and walked in.
I pressed the buzzer for about two minutes and eventually got a groggy, crackly answer. I knew exactly how he felt. “Comment?”
“It’s me. I want to talk to you. Open up.”
He was confused. “Who? Who’s me?”
“Somebody you met in Algeria, remember?”
There was a pause. “What?” He coughed. “What do you want?”
“Open up and you’ll find out.”
The speaker went dead and was replaced by the high-pitched buzz of the electric latch. I moved toward the stairs, taking my time to minimize the squeaking of my Timberlands on the fake marble, and didn’t push the light switch to help me up the stairs. The Browning came out and I pulled back the hammer to full cock and pushed the safety catch up with my thumb, ready to take it off at a moment’s notice as I slowly climbed.
Standing in the stairwell on the fourth floor, I listened with my right ear at the doorway out into the hall, my mouth open to lessen the noise of me catching my breath. There was nothing. I moved into the hallway with the
