Once they’d negotiated passport control, they hired a car and drove the short distance down the coast to their destination. Holm had been rather pleased with himself in that he’d managed to book a couple of rooms in a hotel on the seafront using a TripAdvisor app on his phone.
‘A couple of rooms?’ Javed said. ‘That’s our cover blown.’
Al Hammamet sat some twenty miles south of Tunis on a curve of sandy coastline. A jumble of white buildings surrounded a marina complex, and away from the coast the land stretched away, pan flat. There were hotels and plazas and, despite the terror attacks, a good smattering of tourists.
They checked in to the hotel and Javed opened his marine traffic app. The Angelo was three quarters of the way across the Med from Naples and looked as if it would arrive at some point in the evening.
‘Let’s take a recce,’ Holm said. ‘And get something to eat.’
‘Maybe a club later?’ Javed said. He puckered his lips and kissed the air. ‘Just to embellish our cover story?’
‘Fuck off.’
They strolled towards the marina area, past restaurants where staff attempted to entice them in.
‘How the hell can a boat as big as the Angelo fit in here?’ Holm said. As they approached the marina he could see an array of small yachts, but nothing approaching the size of the Angelo.
‘There.’ Javed pointed beyond the masts to where a breakwater provided protection from the open sea. Several large motor cruisers were berthed on the marina side. ‘Those probably belong to some of the guests coming to the fundraiser.’
Holm turned his head. South of the marina a swathe of beach ran down the coast as far as the eye could see. Hotels lined the waterfront for a mile or so. A quiet and secluded spot for smuggling it was not. Plus they’d seen a good number of soldiers patrolling the streets, presumably there to reassure the tourists.
‘This is too public,’ Holm said. ‘How are they going to get the weapons ashore?’
‘Marine parts, remember?’ Javed gestured across to where a large white van had parked near one of the cruisers. ‘These boats require all manner of servicing. A few crates offloaded won’t seem suspicious.’
‘Let’s pray you’re right.’
They went for a stroll down the strip. Holm ducked into a minimarket and purchased a couple of bottles of water and some snacks in case they needed them later. The light eased away as dusk fell and the resort was transformed. Coloured lights flickered on and strobes flashed from several bars. There was a heavy thump thump thump of a bassline as an eager DJ began to play tunes to lure customers into his establishment. When they returned to the marina the place was lit up like a Christmas tree, and several of the motor cruisers had underwater lights that illuminated the water surrounding them. There were dozens of soldiers, and several police officers had set up a checkpoint at the entrance. On the far side of the marina a large white boat was making sternway into an alongside berth. Crew in smart uniforms threw ropes and marina staff made the craft secure.
‘We’re on,’ Holm said. ‘The Angelo.’
He found a restaurant which offered a good view of the Angelo while Javed fetched the car and parked it close by. Holm ordered food and drinks, and when Javed returned he pushed a Coke over to him.
‘Now we wait,’ he said.
‘I don’t think so, boss.’ Javed took a quick sip of his drink and nodded towards the Angelo. ‘Look, action.’
A series of deck lights had come on and the white van they’d seen earlier had pulled up close by. A derrick on the quayside swung its arm over the boat and hoisted a large wooden crate from the deck.
‘The weapons,’ Holm said. He began to rise. They needed to get to the car. ‘Now all we have to do is follow them to Taher.’
‘Hang on.’ Javed’s gaze went to a smart yellow SUV parked alongside the van. ‘There’s something else happening.’
An electric passerelle slid out from the side of the boat; in the shadows Holm could see a woman waiting on the deck as a member of the crew carried two bags down the passerelle and loaded them into the back of the SUV.
‘That’s…’ Holm could hardly believe his eyes. He blinked, wondering if he needed glasses. Before he could speak the woman had walked down the passerelle and moved across to the car. One of the crew opened the door for her and she got in. The vehicle slipped away down the quayside, the white van following close behind. ‘I wasn’t expecting her to be mixed up in this.’
‘Who, boss?’ Javed said. ‘I didn’t see.’
‘Karen Hope,’ Holm said, grabbing a handful of banknotes from his pocket and shoving them on the table. ‘Brandon Hope’s sister and the next president of the United States of America.’
The yellow SUV cruised out of the marina gate with the van behind. Holm and Javed raced for their car and followed at a distance.
‘What the hell is she doing here?’ Holm said as they cruised down the main strip.
‘Brandon’s hosting a charity event, remember?’ Javed nodded forward. ‘Having his sister come along would certainly encourage guests to part with their cash. He’s probably sold the seats at her table. Ten K to share a Pot Noodle with a future president.’
‘But she’s no longer at the charity event. She’s in a convoy with a van containing a stack of smuggled weapons. Explain that, Farakh.’
‘Perhaps she doesn’t know what’s in the crate.’
‘Of course she doesn’t know what’s in the crate.’
They were leaving al Hammamet now, passing the last of the hotels on their right. Holm concentrated on following at a
