The stores were all selling pots and pans, kitchen garbage cans, and bundles of brightly colored plastic coat hangers, and the Romeos mingled well with the early shoppers who’d just stocked up on toilet cleaner and garbage bags.
The net burst into life. “That’s H turning onto the boulevard. Radio check, radio check.”
It was a relief to hear his voice. I hit the pressle on my Sony. “N has Romeo One and Romeo Two on the right on the boulevard. They’re at the Cafe Noir, on the right. H, acknowledge.” Just as I released the pressle, I saw his Scudo pass me.
“H has, H has. I’m going for the trigger.”
I double-clicked him as I continued taking the Romeos. Both of them were checking store numbers to the right and left of them. We came to a small street market selling fruit and veggies, and the Romeos disappeared now and again between bins of apples and melons.
I gave a running commentary for Hubba-Hubba and also, I hoped, for Lotfi, who at some stage was going to rejoin the net and would need to get up to speed on the situation. “N still has Romeo One and Romeo Two. On the right at the fruit market, still straight, toward the store. H, acknowledge.”
Click, click.
Ten seconds later he came back on the air. “That’s H static, thirty yards past the store on the right. The target is a fabric store, one old man, Arab, white shirt, buttoned up, no tie. That’s H foxtrot.”
I double-clicked him. The Romeos had stopped at a small intersection and were still checking numbers. Romeo One scanned the crowd of shoppers as Hubba-Hubba came back up on the net.
“H has the trigger. N, acknowledge.”
Great news. “Roger that. Romeo One, Romeo Two, still on the right, approaching the end of the market. Can you after the market?”
There was a gap while Hubba-Hubba worked it out.
Click, click.
“Roger that. That’s ten short, still on the right.”
I shut up now and waited for Hubba-Hubba to see them. They passed the last stall and had gone no more than three or four paces before he was back. “H has Romeo One, Romeo Two.”
Now I could drop back a little and let Hubba-Hubba take them into the shop. “That’s now fifty short, still on the right.”
I could still see the Romeos, but the fact that Hubba-Hubba had the trigger gave me the freedom to think about what I was going to do next. I just hoped that Lotfi got here soon.
“That’s twenty-five short, still on the right, checking numbers. They’re slowing down, they’re slowing down.”
I kept my head low as I listened, pretending to window-shop as the world passed by. There was no need to look directly at the targets. I was being told what was going on, and it would be a nightmare if we had eye-to- eye.
“That’s approaching the target. Wait, wait. That’s at the target, going complete…that’s complete the target. They’re talking to the white shirt. Wait, wait.” The cry of a baby and a flood of female Arabic burst over the net. I heard their chatter get weaker: he was walking away from it. “H is foxtrot, I can’t hold the trigger, I can’t hold the trigger.”
I quickened my pace.
“Roger that. N going for the trigger. You take the rear, acknowledge.”
Click, click.
As I got nearer I could see what the problem was. Hubba-Hubba was crossing from left to right over the road just past the target: he’d been lurking in a doorway, which two headscarfed women with long coats and a stroller were trying to get through.
He reached the intersection, which was two storefronts to the left of the target, and disappeared. His route would take him around to the rear of the stores and the wide alleyway.
Security was now definitely being sacrificed for efficiency as I stopped to have a look at the display outside a hardware shop. Ladders on the sidewalk leaned against the wall, and brooms and brushes sprouted between the rungs. No matter; at least I could see the store. “N has the trigger.”
Click, click.
I could also see the conversation that was happening between the unknown in the white shirt and Romeo One and Romeo Two. When that finished, they started to walk toward the rear of the dimly lit store. I had to take off my glasses so I could see inside clearly. It looked almost empty, with not much more stock than a few rolls of multicolored fabric lining the walls. They passed a long glass counter with lengths of cut material all over the place, then another man emerged from the rear internal door with a group who’d been standing in the shadows.
“Stand by, stand by. Unknowns on target.”
Then I realized they weren’t unknown. It was the man with the goatee I’d seen get out of the Lexus on Wednesday night in Juan-les-Pins, and go into the Fiancee of the Desert. His smaller, bald-headed driver was standing to his right, still looking bored.
Goatee leaned forward and spoke into Romeo Two’s ear without any greeting. I got back on the net. “That’s a possible Romeo Three. Tall, Arab, black on jeans, and goatee beard, with three or four unknowns.”
There was a little more movement in the gloom. My view was abruptly blocked as a truck rumbled between us. By the time it had passed, everybody was starting to pile back through the internal door.
“They’re heading to the back of the store,” I said. “That’s all three Romeos unsighted, could be coming your way. H, acknowledge.”
“Nearly there, I’m nearly there. Wait out.”
It had to be the hawallada. They were whispering the password.
I moved away from the hardware store. It was pointless being exposed to the white shirt, who had now returned to the glass counter. I could still keep the trigger from a distance. I turned back the way I’d come, making sure I could still see the place.
“Hello, this is L. Radio check, radio check.”
Relief wasn’t the word for it as I felt for the pressle and stopped by the door of an apartment, behind a newsstand. “N has the trigger on the shop. Where are you?”
“Approaching the target from the main.”
“Roger that. Wait.”
I kept my eyes on the store as a group of teenagers in the world’s baggiest jeans ambled past with Walkmans in their ears and cigarettes in their hands. It gave me time to think before I hit my pressle.
“L, sit rep. I have the trigger front. Romeo One and Romeo Two are complete the shop with a possible Romeo Three. Arab, tall, black on blue and a goatee. H is foxtrot and getting the trigger rear. Go static and stay complete in case Romeo Three goes mobile. L, acknowledge.”
Click, click.
As soon as that finished, Hubba-Hubba came on the net. “H has the trigger.” I heard him trying to control his breathing so he could be heard clearly.
“N, acknowledge. N, acknowledge.”
Click, click.
“That’s L static. First intersection past the market and can take in all directions. N, acknowledge.”
Click, click.
I guessed he was at the intersection facing the boulevard now, to be able to do that, so he could come onto the avenue and turn left, right, in all directions.
Hubba-Hubba started to give plate checks in case any of the vehicles behind the store went mobile with the possible hawallada. “White Mercedes van, Zulu Tango one-five-six-seven. Large scrape on the left-hand side. Blue Lexus, Alpha Yankee Tango one-three. Highly polished.”
I was right, it was him.
“Stand by, stand by — movement by the vehicles.”
The net stayed open for a few seconds and I could hear Hubba-Hubba’s labored breathing and the rustle of his clothes before it went dead. There was a long pause and I could feel my heart go up a gear as I waited for the next stand-by to say vehicles had gone mobile. Lotfi would be doing the same, and his engine would be running in
