Beirut - An Explosive Thriller (38 page)

‘
You have
often referred to a Lebanon that can defend herself against
outsiders. How will you achieve this?’

Freij sat
back in the chrome and leather studio chair, throwing his arms out
expansively. ‘The key is strength as a nation. We are not a
football for others to kick around. The key to a strong Lebanon is
a strong deterrent to others. We must have a strong police, a
strong civil defence so we have the rule of law in our country. At
the same time, hand in hand with this, we must have a deterrent
against others who choose to make incursions into our airspace and
onto our land. Once we have that deterrent in place, and our
enemies accept we can and will use this deterrent, we can focus on
rebuilding our nation together as one people. We can focus on our
future. We need to secure our outside so we can focus our efforts
on ourselves, on our nation. One nation.’

‘
Shit,’ said
Lynch.

Tina adjusted
her clipboard, leaning forward for the killer question. ‘You have
said that Lebanon must work with America and the United Nations.
How can you reconcile that with a policy of military aggressiveness
in the region?’

Freij’s
features relaxed into a picture of reasonableness. He leaned
forwards, his hand outstretched, palm up and fingers curled. ‘I do
not talk of aggression, but of deterrence. What purpose would
aggression serve? It is aggression that has done this to Lebanon,
brought her low. Now we will bring her high, but not through
aggression, but by asserting our right to sit at the table with
other nations, to take our rightful place as a leader in the region
and the world.’

‘
If you are
successful in your bid for the presidency, does any ambition remain
for you, Mr Freij?’

‘
My ambition is for Lebanon. Winning the popular vote and
gaining the presidency through a parliamentary vote is only the
start for my ambition, because it will mark the start,
insh’Allah
, of a new era
for our country. One of hope, togetherness and prosperity for all
people born in Lebanon. One people.’

Tina laid her
clipboard flat on her knees, slapping the pen down on top of it
with a satisfied air.

‘
Michel
Freij, head of the One Lebanon Party, thank you.’

Lynch
snatched the remote and snapped the television off. ‘Fuck, are you
seriously telling me anyone buys that schtick?’

Nathalie
rose, rubbing her back. ‘Of course. They love him. He is a hero in
the Palestinian camps because he offers them nationality, passports
in place of travel documents. They are treated as second-class
citizens and now he is offering Lebanon to them on a plate. The
Christians love him because he is such a strong figure. His father
was a hero in the civil war and Michel has carried on with
brilliance. Some even credit him with an informal leadership of the
big Maronite families. The Shia love him because of Selim. He has
built schools, workshops and factories employing thousands of
Druze. He’s almost a hero in areas of the Chouf. He is a very
powerful man. And he does truly appeal to them all.’

She walked
into the kitchen. Lynch threw down the remote and pushed himself
out of the sofa, walking towards the drinks cabinet. He poured a
whisky.

‘
Really,
Lynch, it is only four o’clock.’

He turned,
the tumbler in his hand and his finger pointing at her. ‘Did I ever
tell you what to do with your life?’ She halted, the apple she had
taken held halfway up to her mouth. He dropped his gaze to the
glass and breathed deeply. ‘Ah, look. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to
snap, I—’

‘
No, you’re right. It’s none of my business if you want to be
drunk all the time. It must be a secret British intelligence
strategy, this drinking. You are
very
good at it. Here, let me
try.’

Grabbing a
bottle, Nathalie poured a stiff measure of whisky into a tumbler.
‘Not the blue teardrop one, right?’ She knocked it back.
‘
Bon
. So now am I
more
intelligent,
Lynch?’ She glared at him, the glass held almost sideways in
her hand.

He stepped
towards her. ‘Look—’

She raised
her face, her eyes flashing defiance. Her pouting lips full and her
black hair shining as it tumbled against her cheek, her warning
gesture too late as he moved into her and put his hand on her lower
back, pulled her to him and kissed her, tasting the whisky from her
open mouth. Her hand was behind his neck, the tumbler spinning in
the air as their bodies coalesced and she met his tongue with
hers.

The glass
smashed, unheeded.

They lay
together in the darkness, the sheets on the floor and their bodies
cool. Lynch broke the long silence.

‘
I’m going up
there.’

‘
Deir
Na’ee?’

‘
Yes.’

‘
When did you
decide this?’

‘
Just now.
Lying here, thinking.’

‘
So you don’t
think about making love?’

‘
Yes. No.
Well. You drift, no?’

She laughed,
her breath on his ear. ‘Yes, you drift.’ She ran her fingers across
the hairs on his chest. ‘Why?’

‘
Why do I
want to go up there?’

She moved
onto her elbow, reaching to pull his chin to face her. ‘Obviously,
you irritant.’

‘
I want to
get a GPS marker for that shed, the one where they’re storing the
transporters, but I want to try and see what the hell it is they’ve
got going on up there. I want to have a look around. You know, take
a walk.’

‘
Lynch, that
is insanely dangerous.’

‘
We don’t
know what’s up there, do we? I think it’s time we did.’

She felt his
nipple stiffen under her fingertip. ‘Can we plan this
properly?’

‘
Sure,’ he
said, sliding his hand down her back. ‘No rush, like.’

THIRTY

Peter Meier
gazed over the wooden railing, the sea breeze whipping his hair. He
sipped from the mug of coffee, putting it down to light one of
Gonsalves’ cigarettes. He pointed to a thin blue line on the
horizon.

‘
Where’s
that?’ His English was faintly accented, his voice deep and
commanding.

Gonsalves
flicked the base of the soft pack and shook a cigarette free for
himself. ‘Zakynthos, boss. Greece.’ He lit it, his signet rings
clinking against the glittering gold lighter. ‘We’ve made good
time.’

They had left
the storm far behind, the early morning sky clear and warming from
grey dawn to the cobalt blue of a warm Mediterranean spring day.
Meier smiled, drawing on his cigarette and reflecting on the sense
of freedom and space the open sea brings to a man who has faced an
impossible and deadly challenge and won. Hoffmann’s blundering
stupidity had come close to wrecking everything Meier had built so
carefully, his stupid mad bitch of a daughter running around and
telling her wild stories. Meier was amazed she hadn’t gone to the
newspapers, but grateful she had chosen to go to ground in Malta.
He had enjoyed killing her, which perturbed him a little. Meier had
no issues with death as an operational necessity, but didn’t
approve of killing for pleasure.

A cloud
descended on Meier’s sunny outlook. He shook his head and stubbed
out the cigarette in the ashtray Gonsalves kept on the bridge.
Michel Freij hated smoking and this was, technically at least, now
his boat. Meier clapped Gonsalves on the shoulder, letting his hand
stay there and weigh down on the man. ‘You did well to find that
mobile in Malta, Joel. It let us tie up those loose ends nicely.’
Meier’s voice didn’t miss a beat or change in pitch. ‘Why didn’t
you kill her when I told you to?’

Meier kneaded
Gonsalves’ shoulder gently. He felt the man’s muscles stiffen.
Gonsalves’ forehead was damp. ‘I thought I had, boss. Boutros, the
guy I described to you, was supposed to take care of it. But he
helped her get away instead.’

‘
You want to
be careful, making mistakes like that, Joel. You could get hurt.
Worse than the nasty bruise you have on your face.’ Meier watched
Gonsalves swallow, the puncture wounds from Elli’s fork still livid
scars on his cheek. Later, he thought. There was time to take it
out on Gonsalves later. For now, Meier had a more pressing problem
on his hands. ‘How is Mister Freij enjoying the
stateroom?’

Gonsalves’
voice betrayed his fear and relief at the change of subject. ‘No
complaints, boss. Guess he’ll be having breakfast now, one of the
crew woke him up almost an hour ago.’ Gonsalves flicked a switch on
the small black panel beneath the screen to his side, a view of the
dining saloon showing a slim figure standing by the sideboard.
‘Yup. Breakfast.’

Meier peered
at the screen. ‘Arrogant pig. Right, I’m going down. How long until
we get to the island?’

‘
We should be
there this time tomorrow. I’m trying to stick to the busiest
shipping lanes, change our course a little bit in case we’re being
tracked but still behave like a regular old gin palace.’

‘
Talking of
which, where are Meshkallah’s girls?’

Gonsalves
grinned. ‘On the sun deck already, boss. They’re real
babes.’

‘
Hands off,
Gonsalves. They’re for the pleasure of my client.’

Gonsalves’
face was a picture of innocence. ‘You know you can trust me, boss.
Besides, I’m not sure that’s where your client’s tastes lie, if
you—’

‘
Shut up,
Gonsalves. Drive the damn boat.’

Gonsalves met
Meier’s eyes for a second but there was something animal there and
he dropped his gaze. ‘Boss.’

Meier turned
and left the wheelhouse, taking the spiral staircase down to the
dining saloon, his face genial as he spied Michel Freij sitting at
the great twelve-seater maple and walnut table, a collection of
plates spread in front of him. A uniformed crew member poured
coffee, one of four Albanian waiting staff they had taken on in
Vlorë. Meier saw no reason why he shouldn’t make his customer
comfortable while they handed over the boat and its
cargo.

‘
Michel,
Michel. How good to see you.’ Meier pulled up a chair, flinging his
arm out to encompass the saloon. ‘Is she not beautiful in the
daylight?’

Freij dabbed
at his lips. He chewed at some length as Meier waited. He
swallowed, bestowing a thin smile on Meier that didn’t reach his
watchful eyes. ‘When do we reach Anhydrous?’

Meier
signalled for coffee. ‘Tomorrow morning. All that remains is to sit
back and enjoy this beautiful craft and the company on
board.’

Freij scanned
the dishes in front of him, taking a piece of flat bread, scooping
up a piece of herbed cheese and pinching an olive to make a little
parcel. He stared at Meier. ‘We are carrying two tactical nuclear
warheads, Meier. We hold the future of a nation on this ship. This
isn’t a pleasure cruise.’ He popped the parcel in his mouth, wiping
his hands on the napkin. Chewing, Freij regarded Meier.

‘
But of
course.’ Meier smiled as he reflected on his newfound pleasure, the
contemplation of an act of murder. He rolled it around in his mind
as one would a fine brandy in the mouth.

Meier stood
in the wheelhouse next to Gonsalves and watched the dusty light
brown soil and green clumps of scrubby vegetation on the island as
it slid past. Dressed in white trousers and a polo shirt, Meier
wore a pair of binoculars around his neck. Gonsalves turned the
wheel as they rounded the headland, taking them closer in. Michel
Freij’s sure, light-footed step came up the stairs to the
wheelhouse.

‘
There we go
boss,’ said Gonsalves, pointing as a large white building came into
view.

Meier brought
the binoculars to his eyes and scanned it. ‘Good God.’

‘
Ah, so you
like our little holiday home?’ Freij smiled tightly.

Meier let the
binoculars fall. ‘This belongs to you?’

‘
Welcome to
The Near East Institute for Oceanographic Research.’ Freij bowed
slightly. ‘It was built as a hotel but we took the site over and
extended it. As you can see, we have made a number of additions to
the original building.’

Trees
surrounded the hotel building, a green lawn stretched down to the
white, sandy beach. To its side was a large concrete structure that
looked like an aircraft hangar, its sea-doors open.

Freij smiled,
his disdainful demeanour infuriating Meier, who hid his intense
dislike behind a smiling mask.

‘
This is the
island of Anhydrous. It is, as you will deduce from the name,
waterless. We lease it from the government of Thira, who are most
accommodating in many ways. The lack of water was the eventual
downfall of the hotel project. The developers lacked vision and
purpose. We funded a proper hydrographic survey and brought up the
water that had been there all along. We have a Jordanian team that
specialises in such technologies.’

Meier bowed
slightly. ‘You are most astute.’