‘From where?’
‘From out there on the sea. They set out in little boats and wait to be rescued. The Angelo comes along, picks them up and brings them here. I don’t like it. We don’t like it. There are too many. They’re leeches. They’re coming to steal our jobs and to rape our women.’
‘I see.’ Holm peered down into his coffee cup. All of a sudden the drink tasted bitter. ‘Where is she now, the Angelo?’
‘Out there somewhere. She came in last week. You should have seen them. The women with their heads covered, the men with that look in their eyes. They’re not clean, I can smell them from here, I wish—’
Holm didn’t wait to hear what Luigi wished for. He took out the coins again and threw several onto the counter. As he reached the door Luigi had switched to Italian and Holm didn’t have to hear any more.
As he walked back to the car he recalled the stories he’d read about refugees crossing the Med. They attempted the journey in small rubber boats that were entirely unsuited to an open sea voyage. With fifty or a hundred people in each craft they were often found in a pitiless state. If, that is, they were found at all. The boats easily capsized and over the last few years thousands of refugees had drowned.
He reached the car and leaned in the passenger window. Javed had reclined the front seat and lay dozing.
‘Wake up,’ Holm said. ‘Get out that app of yours that tracks nautical traffic and see where our missing vessel is. She’s called the Angelo del Mediterraneo.’
‘Huh?’ Javed blinked and screwed his eyes up for a second. He put the seat back upright and looked past Holm and pointed to the dock. ‘No need, boss.’
Holm turned round. A huge white motor boat loomed at the end of the slip, deck lights ablaze, crew members at the rails. She eased forward, water churning around her. On the dockside several port workers appeared and ropes were thrown from the boat and made fast. A gangway was towed into position and crew members began to come ashore. As they did there was a splash of blue light as three police cars approached along the dock. The vehicles stopped and police officers and customs officials got out. To one side there was a small temporary building and the customs officers disappeared inside. Then the passengers began to disembark, some helped because they could barely walk, one carried on a stretcher, a woman with a baby which Holm reckoned could only be a couple of days old.
‘Look at the state of them,’ Javed said. ‘They’re half dead.’
Aside from the medical emergency on the stretcher, the others were shepherded into a long line and, one by one, taken into the makeshift customs checkpoint.
‘Your theory’s pretty much out the window,’ Javed said. ‘There’s no smuggling going on here, is there?’
‘No.’ Holm wondered how he would explain the situation to the Spider. He’d intended to tell her their search for Nazi memorabilia had chanced on a terrorist smuggling operation. To come back with absolutely nothing was asking for trouble, and to say she wouldn’t be happy was a vast underestimation of her probable mood when she discovered they’d been on a wild goose chase.
‘You can’t win them all, boss.’ Javed smiled. ‘And at least we get to have a decent Italian meal tonight.’
‘Bollocks,’ Holm said.
The clock on the wall ticked slowly towards ten. Each minute dragged and yet the time slipped away all too quickly. On the terrace the party guests conversed as if they were in a silent movie, but there were no subtitles and Silva could only imagine the words as she hunched over one of the spotting scopes.
I haven’t seen you for ages, Karen. How’s life?
Good but hectic. So much to do before the end of the year.
Like killing journalists so they don’t ruin your chances of getting elected?
Oh, gosh! That was nothing, a minor hiccup, soon dealt with. Another drink?
‘Rebecca?’ Itchy nodded at the clock. ‘Five to. We should get ready.’
Silva nodded and moved to the rifle and eased herself down to the floor. She flexed her fingers and wrapped her hands round the weapon. She began breathing in and out slowly, relaxing herself, and making a rhythm she could work between. She would fire just after an exhale, when her chest had stopped moving and her body still had high oxygen levels.
‘No rush,’ Itchy said. ‘Once the display starts you’ll have ten minutes, so take your time getting comfortable.’
Silva lowered her head to the sight and peered through. Karen Hope stood to one side of the terrace with her brother slightly in front of her. The old man with the glasses hovered near a stone wall at the edge, while a teenage girl filmed the action on the water with a phone. Then a man stepped over to Karen. He wore a red and white checked headcloth and had a thick moustache. Alongside him stood a woman in her mid-thirties and a young girl of nineteen or twenty. Both wore loose hijabs, but the younger woman kept her eyes down, demure, subservient.
‘It’s Jawad al Haddad.’ Gavin strode across to the monitor and peered at the screen. ‘We weren’t expecting him.’
‘Does it change anything?’ Silva said.
‘No.’
‘Who are the women?’
‘His wives, Lashirah and Deema.’
‘Wives?’
‘Lashirah is a minor member of the royal family, a real princess. Deema – the young girl – is Haddad’s brother’s wife. The brother died and, as is the custom, Haddad stepped in.’
‘I bet he did.’
‘Here we go,’ Itchy said as a whoosh came from out on the water. A firework climbed into the sky, a solitary missile leaving behind a white trail and bursting into a succession of stars, each of the stars themselves exploding until the sky was filled with glittering flame. The display had begun.
Other people moved out onto the terrace.
