Beirut - An Explosive Thriller (27 page)

Lynch nodded.
‘Thank you, Mr Scerri. Thank you very much.’

His boots
skittered on the tiled steps down to the nondescript car Tomasi had
lent him. The customs guy, Duggan, had said Elli Hoffmann was
kidnapped by Meier, that he thought she may be on the boat. The
boat was here in Malta, Freij was here and now Elli Hoffmann was
here. Everything converges on Valetta, Lynch thought as he sped
through the country roads. Meier must be here, too. If he had
kidnapped Elli, he must be with her now. The thought of catching
Michel Freij tied up with a kidnapped girl, a murderer and a boat
full of nuclear warheads brought Lynch great and savage
joy.

Lynch called
Paul Tomasi. ‘Paul? Gerald. Okay, Scerri’s been in contact with the
Hoffmann girl. She’s at the Excelsior.’

Tomasi’s
voice was incredulous. ‘She’s supposed to be on the damn yacht.
What’s she doing at the Excelsior? This all gets more insane by the
minute. We have one of the crew in custody. He just walked off the
yacht this morning, shortly after she docked. The watchers tracked
him for a while then picked him up when he was well clear. He
didn’t seem to know where the hell he was going. Or at least, he
wasn’t saying.’

Lynch shifted
the mobile against his ear as he negotiated a turn in the winding
coast road. ‘What does he know?’

‘
Whatever it
is, he’s not telling. He’s crying for a lawyer and much as I’d like
to, I can’t torture the bastard.’

‘
I’ll be
there as soon as I can. Can you put the Excelsior under
observation?’

‘
We’ll have
the place locked down within thirty minutes. We’re holding the crew
member here at Floriana. You want to come here or meet at the
hotel?’

Lynch thought
fast. ‘I’ll come to you. There’s something odd about an
international weapons smuggler wandering off his ship for tea in
Valetta. I’ll call you when I get lost.’

Tomasi
laughed easily. ‘Sure enough.’

There was a
small gap between the piles of books and papers on the table next
to Joseph Scerri’s armchair and it was here he carefully placed his
cup of tea, giving himself up to the chair’s embrace with a sigh.
Living in a fine, scholarly solitude, he resented journalists who
weren’t journalists. Sighing, he picked his gold-rimmed glasses up
from the tatty cloth and settled them on his nose, peering at the
text in his hand until it came into focus. He settled back, licking
his finger to turn the dry paper, the muted clock marking insistent
seconds. The sunbeam falling across the top of the chair warmed him
and the paper fell as he dozed. The sound of the kitchen door
closing woke him and he sat up, blinking and peering to bring the
room into focus. The blur in front of him resolved into a
man.

Scerri
frowned. ‘Oh. It’s you.’

Peter Meier
smiled. ‘Good morning, Herr Scerri. I trust you are
well.’

Scerri
nodded. ‘As can be expected. What brings you here?’

Meier stepped
forwards. ‘Oh, just tidying up a few loose ends. You took a
telephone call this morning.’

Puzzled,
Scerri was querulous. ‘Yes, from Elli Hoffmann. She is here in
Valetta.’

‘
Staying
where, precisely?’

‘
The
Excelsior, room 255. I told the journalist that.’

Meier
stilled, poised with his hand in his jacket. ‘What
journalist?’

‘
Jones was
his name. Peter Jones. He was looking for Elli. ‘What happened to
Hoffmann, Meier?’

Meier’s face
was grim as he withdrew his hand. ‘Never you mind.’

The bullet
punched through the back of the armchair, blowing out a cloud of
kapok and cloth tatters. Scerri’s hand spasmed, his cold tea
splashing upwards, papers tumbling to the floor. The impact pushed
him back deep into the chair and his body bounced
slackly.

Meier turned
away. The kitchen door opened and closed again, a slight coolness
in the air.

A band of
steel tightened around Scerri’s chest and stopped his breath. He
tasted blood, but felt no pain as the dark sleep crept up on him.
He fought against it, scrabbling for his pen, his hand shaking as
the strength ebbed from his fingers.

Breathing in
the iron tang of his own blood, Joseph Scerri cried out to his
beloved Fran in exultation. He let the sleep overwhelm him and take
him to her.

Tomasi strode
up waving a sheaf of papers as Lynch was getting out of the car
outside police headquarters in Floriana. ‘We’ve got Scerri’s call
records. One incoming call from a roaming mobile this morning. He’s
placed a number of calls to Albania in the past ten days as well.
We’re trying to get a trace on the numbers from the Albanians. You
ready to have a chat with sailor boy? Name’s Magdy Boutros. Sounds
Lebanese, right? He’s being smart and we can’t get a thing out of
him. He keeps insisting on a lawyer. We thought you might be able
to help. The one thing we know is that he walked off the
Arabian Princess
and
seemed to be very glad to leave the boat behind him.’

‘
Sure. What
about the girl?’

‘
In her room.
Checked in early this morning and hasn’t moved since according to
the staff. We’ve got a surveillance team on the hotel. I’ve
instructed them to observe and report, no intervention. They’re
plugged into the hotel’s CCTV system.’

Tomasi led
the way from the spring sunshine and into the shade of the police
station. ‘I’ve asked Gabe Lentini to come over from the barracks
and join us. He’s very keen to find out more about the layout of
the boat and Boutros should be able to help. Ah, here he is. I was
just explaining to Gerald your interest in our friend from the
boat.’

Lentini fell
in with them. ‘Sure. Logically the ordnance is stored in the pool
area, but we can’t be sure. It complicates the action. And I don’t
like assumptions.’

Lynch stopped
dead in the corridor. ‘Ordnance?’

‘
Yes, the
guns these guys are smuggling,’ Lentini piped.

It never
failed to anger him, this insistence on putting brave men’s lives
at risk for dumb lies. Lynch’s career was crammed with incidents
where the men on the ground were misled as to the true aims and
goals of operations, the real risk of the actions they were asked
to undertake.
Secrecy be
fucked
, he thought.

‘
Gabe, the
Arabian Princess
is believed by my masters to be carrying two
stolen one hundred kiloton Soviet nuclear warheads. If they were
triggered, Malta would be a new Atlantis. You need to be taking
radiation precautions.’

Lentini
turned to Paul Tomasi, who had placed a hand against the wall for
support, his face a picture of amazement. Tomasi held up his hand
to ward off Lentini’s questions. ‘Gerald, are you fucking us around
here?’

Lynch
frowned. ‘No, Paul. I’m not. That’s the payload they’re tracking
this boat for, not a few guns. Your best bet would be to pass a
Geiger counter over that poor fucker in your cells, not a lie
detector.’

Lentini’s
high voice was furious. ‘This is unacceptable. We were going in
with no knowledge of this.’

Lynch
forestalled him. ‘Look, just kit your guys up properly now you
know. I didn’t tell you, right? There’s a lot riding on how you do
this tonight. I don’t know why they haven’t told you guys the whole
truth, but I do know they were very keen indeed to keep this from
going public. Like I said, just make sure your guys are well
equipped. And don’t tell anyone I told you.’

Lentini
stared at Lynch for a few long seconds, then nodded slowly. ‘Sure.
Thanks.’

They reached
the door of the interview room, a police constable standing by.
Tomasi signalled for him to open the door and let Lynch enter
first. The small room was bare, two cheap plastic chairs either
side of a wooden table. The strip lights hummed, casting a pallid
light over the gloss-painted walls and grey floor.

Boutros was
sitting hunched on one of the plastic chairs. He wore a t-shirt, a
leather jacket slung over the back of his chair. His back
straightened up as they entered, a look of forlorn hope on his
swarthy, drawn face.

Lynch pulled
up the plastic chair facing Boutros. Tomasi and Lentini took up
positions behind him. Boutros’ eyes darted between the three of
them. His knuckles were white, the muscles on his forearm
knotted.

Lynch smiled,
his voice factual and a little bored. ‘You are Magdy Boutros, a
member of the crew of the
Arabian
Princess
. Am I correct?’

‘
I want a
lawyer.’

Lynch’s tone
didn’t change. He leaned back. ‘You are being held in Maltese
police headquarters in Floriana. The gentlemen behind me represent
the Maltese police and special forces. I am an officer in British
intelligence and I will beat the living shit out of you if you do
not cooperate fully and immediately because I do not have the
luxury of time. Do you understand me?’

Boutros
scanned Lynch’s face, his eyes again darting to Tomasi and Lentini,
both silent against the wall. He swallowed. ‘Yes.’

‘
You are, I
understand, a Lebanese national. Is that correct?’

‘
Yes.’

‘
How old are
you, Magdy?’

‘
Thirty-two.’

Lynch
scrutinised Boutros’ face as he responded, noting the direction of
the man’s eyes as he answered.

‘
When did you
leave Beirut?’

‘
I moved to
Munich four years ago.’

‘
Really?
Why?’

‘
A girl, a
German girl. We were going to settle down.’

‘
The
Arabian Princess
is a fifty-metre Luxe Marine superyacht that
sailed from Hamburg just over two weeks ago. Is that
correct?’

‘
Yes. Yes, it
is.’

‘
Do you like
sailing?’

The question
disconcerted Boutros. He thought for a second. ‘Yes.’

Lynch had it
now. Eyes left for recall, right for invention. The behavioural
pattern in all of us that betrays our lies in the hands of trained
interrogators.

‘
Where did
you join the yacht, Magdy? In Hamburg, the Czech Republic, or
Bremerhaven?’

Either
Boutros was a brilliant actor or he was genuinely puzzled. ‘Czech
Republic?’

‘
Never mind. Do you know what cargo the
Arabian Princess
is
carrying?’

Boutros shook
his head, ‘No cargo. Just ...’

‘
Just what,
Magdy?’

Boutros took
a deep breath. ‘Just a girl.’

‘
Just a girl.
Elli Hoffmann.’

Boutros
shifted in his chair, his eyes wary. ‘Yes. Elli
Hoffmann.’

Lynch leaned
forward, his voice still measured. ‘Has Michel Freij visited the
boat?’

Boutros shook
his head. ‘Don’t know any Michel Freij.’

‘
Tall man,
Lebanese. Oiled-back hair, goatee beard.’

‘
No. I left
anyway, soon as I could.’

‘
Why did you
leave the boat, Magdy?’

Boutros was
sweating. ‘To help Elli. They hired me to sedate her and make sure
she was looked after. Gonsalves tried to rape her and it was too
much. I helped her escape. He wanted her killed.’

‘
Gonsalves?’

‘
The captain of the
Princess
. Joel Gonsalves. He’s a
Portugese.’

‘
Do you know
where Elli Hoffmann is now, Magdy?’

Boutros
stared at Lynch, sweat beading his forehead. His mouth tightened in
resolve. Lynch whipped his hand across the table, the stinging
flat-palmed blow to Boutros’ cheek unseated him. Lentini moved
fast, picking Boutros up and pinning him against the wall. A fast,
economical punch to the stomach forced a cry from Boutros’ throat.
Lentini picked him up and pushed him back onto the plastic seat
Lynch had righted. Boutros sobbed.

‘
I told you.’
Lynch shot a cuff. ‘We haven’t got time to mess around, Magdy.
Where’s Elli Hoffman?’

Boutros’ eyes
were on his clasped hands. ‘At the Excelsior, waiting for me. She
had a contact here, a guy that knew her father.’

‘
Joseph
Scerri.’

Boutros
nodded.

‘
Where is
Peter Meier? Is he with Elli?’

‘
Elli’s
alone. I don’t know any Peter Meier.’

‘
Have you
looked in the pool area of the boat, Magdy?’

‘
No.’ Boutros
glanced at Lentini and Tomasi before his eyes returned to Lynch.
‘What’s in there?’

‘
Is there any
other area of the ship that is blocked off or being used as a
storage space?’

Boutros wiped
perspiration from his forehead, his hand shaking. ‘No. There are
cabins that aren’t being used, we’re on a skeleton crew, but we
haven’t been told we can’t go anywhere.’