Liberation Day (17 page)

He nodded.

“Hubba-Hubba, I want you to check out the other side’s timings and find a lie-up position toward Monaco. I’ll need the store closing times when we meet tomorrow for the confirmation orders.”

It had been more important for me to find an OP position than spend time in the target area looking at store signs.

I went through how I saw the OP being checked out tomorrow night and, of course, what we were going to do if anything went wrong. “Questions?”

I took a couple of sips of coffee as Lotfi’s beads clicked away in his hand and Hubba-Hubba’s cup made gentle contact with the table. They both shook their heads.

“Phase two—placing the device on the boat. I’m probably going to have to approach it from under the pier, or just walk straight on, but I won’t decide until I know exactly what the boat looks like, and where it’s going to be parked. If I can’t get it in place tomorrow night, I’ll keep trying until I do.”

I nodded at Hubba-Hubba. “You need to run me through the device after this.”

Lotfi grimaced. “You are a very brave man, Nick. Do you really think it was a good idea for him to play with explosives? He can only just tie his shoelaces. Even that I had to teach him.” He slapped Hubba-Hubba across the back of the head.
“Boooom.”

“Okay, then, phase three—taking the collectors, who we will call Romeo One and Two, to the
hawallada
. Nothing should happen until about six
A.M.
Friday at the earliest. There aren’t that many buses or trains until around that time anyway. If the Romeos are moving around they’ll want to use pedestrian traffic as cover, and before six it’s going to be a bit thin on the ground.”

I told them how we were going to take the Romeos, by bus, train, and taxi, even a rental car in case Greaseball was wrong. Hubba-Hubba checked the coffeepot as I continued. “As I said before, it’s unlikely they’ll use taxis, so we need to make sure we know the drill for getting a bus or a train. Make sure you’ve got the right change. Find out how you get a ticket, and how it all works down here.”

They looked disappointed, but then I realized it was because the coffee had run out.

“No matter how we take the Romeos, at least one of us has to be there when they meet up with the
hawallada
. Otherwise there’s going to be no lift, and we fail. Any questions?

“Okay, then, let’s have a look at how we’re going to carry out the lift. We don’t know what languages they speak, if they’re young or old, or where we’re going to be able to do it. It will be think-on-our-feet time. If there is only one of us in a position to hit the
hawallada,
it’s going to be tough. And remember, even after the drug injection they could be kicking about for another couple of minutes.”

We all gave this some thought.

A car horn honked and was joined by several others. The noise got louder as the vehicles came up the road toward us.

We jumped to our feet, unpeeling ourselves from the plastic. I immediately started to erase the pictures from the camera. “What the hell’s that?”

Lotfi gathered up our coffee things and moved with them down into the escape. Hubba-Hubba was at the shutters as I went to the back of the TV and pulled out the wires. He raised his gloved hand. “It’s okay, it’s okay…Calm.”

Lotfi came back into the room and I went with him to the window. A parade of six- or seven-year-old Mercedes and Renaults was moving slowly along the road, decorated with ribbons and bouquets. Lotfi laughed. “A wedding.”

I couldn’t see a bride or groom, but felt glad that somebody in this shit-hole was having a good time.

We got back to business on the couch. “Once the
hawallada
is in the DOP, the ready-for-pickup marker is put in place—are we okay with that?” There was more nodding. Hubba-Hubba sat back into the plastic, spreading it over the back of the couch. Lotfi just played with his beads.

“Good. Phase five. Once the first
hawallada
is left at the DOP, we split up, refuel, feed our faces, and get back in position to wait for the next collection. The timings will depend on when we get the
hawallada
to the DOP. We should try to do it as soon as it’s dark, so we have more time to prepare for the next day. But who knows? We could spend all night trying to lift him, and if we don’t succeed, I’ll decide whether we stay with him on day two, or go and get the trigger on the boat and take the Romeos to the second
hawallada
. That way, at least we have two IDs instead of just one. Questions?”

They shook their heads.

“Okay, then, support. Radios?” I pointed at Hubba-Hubba.

“Yes, I have laid everything out for you to check, and I now have more batteries. More batteries than I’m shaking a stick at.”

Lotfi laughed. “More batteries than you can shake a stick at…” He turned to me, his eyebrow raised. “You see, Nick? This boy needs help.”

I gestured at Hubba-Hubba. “Thanks, mate. I’ll go down and do a final check of the gear after this. In the meantime, do you both remember the phone number? I’ll start—zero four.”

Hubba-Hubba went, “Ninety-three, forty-five.” Lotfi picked it up for the four numbers after that.

“Great. Phone cards?” I reached into my fanny pack and pulled out my wallet and phone card, and they produced theirs. The phone booths here worked on cards that you could buy anywhere, and ours were all worth a hundred francs.

“Okay, last thing, insulin pens?”

Hubba-Hubba nodded. “Downstairs.”

“Good. After we’ve finished here, I want you two to go and do your recces of BSM. Hubba-Hubba, make sure you finish by ten tomorrow morning. Lotfi, you go between eleven-thirty and one-thirty, because I want us all clear of the area before the boat comes in. We will meet back here tomorrow at nineteen hundred unless you hear from me online before sixteen, telling you otherwise. Can you make e-mail at that time of day?”

They nodded. Lotfi piped up. “I will pray before leaving. It could be the last time for a few days, or forever. Who knows these things but God?”

I watched him shove the coffee table to the side of the couch while Hubba-Hubba went into the kitchen to start on the cleanup.

I leaned against the wall while he prepared himself, watching as he took off his sneakers. “Ramadan started on the sixteenth of November, right? So how come you’re working, eating, and drinking—I thought someone like you would have stopped by now.”

He placed his sneakers neatly beside him. “To a Muslim, saving life is mandatory. If he or she does not have strength to do so without food, then it is mandatory to break the fast. Saving life, that is what we are doing, no? Do you think Muslim doctors stop work?”

It made sense to me. “If they did, most of the hospitals across Europe would close down.”

He started to adjust his shower cap.

“By the way, I read that article in the
Tribune
you told me about. I didn’t realize the Virgin Mary gets more mentions in the Qur’an than she does in the Bible.”

He tucked in two rogue strands of hair. “Jesus is also revered in the Qur’an.”

“I’ve never really had much time for him. I could never be bothered to get out of bed on Sundays.”

He rewarded my glibness with a quiet smile. “So what gives you conviction, morals, fulfills your life?”

I hated being asked questions by people who were so squared away. “I guess I just get by day to day, you know how it is.”

“No, I don’t know. That’s a sad thing, Nick. I feel sorry for you. There is so much you have missed.” He gave me a stare so penetrating that I found myself looking away, checking on Hubba-Hubba behind me. “It must be painful being so empty inside…”

“I like to keep things simple, just seems better that way.” I was starting to wish I hadn’t opened my mouth.

“Simplicity is good, Nick. Emptiness is not.” His expression softened again. “But there is always time to learn, time to fill yourself. You know, both the Bible and the Qur’an trace a common lineage back to Abraham and Adam. There really is a lot we all can learn from them. Maybe you should read them one day, they have made many people whole.”

I smiled. He smiled back, knowing there was more chance of me being struck by lightning.

He turned his back to me so that he was facing east, in the direction of the TV. As he went down on his knees, I couldn’t resist asking, “Is that why the world’s so full of justice, mercy, and compassion?”

“I see you took your time reading that article, didn’t you?”

He didn’t look back, but I could see the fuzzy reflection of his face in the TV screen. “Justice, mercy, and compassion, that would be perfect, don’t you think? But when I think of people like the ASUs in America, who use my religion as a vehicle for their own selfish anger, I see no justice, and find it difficult to feel mercy and compassion. But God has helped me overcome these things. You see, these people, these ASUs, they call themselves Muslims. But they are not truly so. In associating their acts with the will of God, they are guilty of
shirk
. This is the most unforgivable sin. So it is my duty as a true Muslim, someone who really has submitted himself to God, to send those who are sinning in his name before his angels, for their book of destiny to be weighed.”

I thought he and George should get together one day over coffee. They’d have plenty to talk about.

“At this time, God will decide what becomes of them. He decides everything, all our destinies.”

“That’s Kismet, right?”

He turned back toward me as a car with a iffy exhaust rattled past the window. “What do you know of Kismet, Nick?”

“Not much.” I grinned. “I saw the film when I was a kid. Loads of your mates flying around on magic carpets, that sort of stuff.”

“You make jokes to cover up so many things, don’t you?”

I shrugged, fighting back another stupid remark.

“Kismet, justice, mercy, and compassion. You have been studying a little bit more than that article since we last spoke, haven’t you? Here is something else for you to think about.” He turned back to the TV, sat on his heels, and rocked slightly from side to side to adjust himself. He looked completely ridiculous in his shower cap, but spoke with such dignity I found myself hanging on his every word. “In Sura 28:88, the Qur’an says: ‘And cry not unto any other god along with Allah. There is no god save Him.’

“Now where have we heard these words before? We sound the same, and we are the same, in so many ways, except that the Bible has stories about our God written by many people, sometimes hundreds of years after the event, while the Qur’an holds God’s very words, spoken directly to the Prophet.

“That’s why one in five people on the planet is a Muslim, Nick. We feel closer to God.”

I shifted myself away from the wall. “Well, ask him to keep an eye on us over the weekend, will you? We might need a hand.”

“Of course. But you know true believers are always triumphant over nonbelievers, in the end. Maybe you will be able to put a good word in yourself, one day.”

18

I
went into the kitchen. Hubba-Hubba was rubber-glove deep in dishwashing suds as he cleaned the coffee things.

“See you down there.”

He nodded as he tackled a stubborn coffee stain. His aunt would have been proud of him. The sounds of Lotfi at prayer floated in from the living room as I lifted the trapdoor and went down the wooden ladder into the musty coolness of the cellar. It wasn’t that big, maybe three yards by three, but high enough to stand up in. In the far corner was a coarse green blanket laid out with all our equipment in very straight lines.

Hubba-Hubba really did like order. Squared up with the edge of the blanket were our radios, binoculars, and the drug packs we’d need to subdue the
hawallada
.

I knelt in the dust of the stone floor and checked the radios first. They were small yellow Sony walkie-talkies, the sort of things designed for parents to keep track of their kids on ski trips or in the mall. We had two each, one on our bodies, one as a backup in the trunk of each car. If there was a drama with anyone’s radio, they could either get their own spare or go to another vehicle, take the key hidden behind the rear license plate, and help themselves to a replacement.

The Sonys only had a communications distance of about a mile and a half, virtually line of sight. It would have been better to have a longer-distance set in case we got split up during the follow, but at least it meant we couldn’t be listened to out of that range. Taped to the bottom of each were eight AA batteries: two batches of standby power. Attached to a plug was a cell phone, hands-free with a plastic earclip. The jack was taped firmly in place so it didn’t fall out when someone was sending, because Murphy’s Law dictated that that was exactly when it would get pulled out, and we’d be in loud time, treating the world to a running commentary on what we were up to.

The row of three rectangular gray plastic cases, each about seven inches long and three wide, contained enough anesthetic to send an elephant to sleep. They were disguised as diabetics’ insulin kits. I opened one to check the thin green autopen, sunk into its hard plastic recess. It was already loaded with a needle and cartridge. Also embedded into the plastic were another three needles that simply clicked onto the bottom of the pen, and another three cartridges. Once you had it against the target’s skin, you pressed the trigger, and the spring inside would shoot the needle forward and inject the drug, which in this case wasn’t insulin but ketamine. Alongside them was a card holding six diaper pins, with big pink plastic caps. The
hawallada
wouldn’t be too worried about the color: the pins were to prevent their tongues falling down their throats and choking them. Depressed ventilation was a side effect of this stuff, so their airway had to be kept clear at all times.

I started to check the other two insulin kits, making sure that each also contained a scratched and worn steel Medic Alert bracelet as cover, warning anyone who was interested enough to check that we were, strangely, all diabetic.