“Of course not. I wish to purchase the freedom of two of the passengers.”
Looking at his face, she knew the right course was to stop. Let this newly nervous man make the running. Stonewall, be a typical Lebanese client, give nothing, say less.
What she actually did was lean forward to rest her arms on his desk and talk too quickly. “Look, Chafiq, we’ve been friends since God made Ararat; I’m going to come clean with you, all right?”
He waved the fingers of his right hand, not lifting it from the desk’s leather inlay.
“She’s got my great-grandson, Robbie. And Colin, the father. I want them out.”
“And you think I can help? My dear madame, while I find it flattering that you should—”
“Chafiq, Chafiq!” She rapped the desk with her knuckles. “Excuse me; over here, hello, it’s Celestine. I don’t just think you can help, I know you can. You are a power broker of supreme importance in the region.”
Her flattery served to diminish his fear a little. She watched him puff and swell and she thought, Men, what would we do without them? How could anything be arranged without men?
“You know these people inside out, Chafiq. They’ll talk to you, even when they won’t talk to anyone else. Now, these Iranians the Iraqis are holding … can we buy them off? Find out whether money can fix this thing and, if so, how much is needed, because I’ll pay cash within the hour.”
He made her wait a long time for his reply. Her head felt light; a curious spasm of nausea shook its way through her lower abdomen. She would have liked to ask for a glass of water, but she had asked for enough already today; and besides, she knew that water alone could not cure what was wrong with her. The human heart, how weak it was. In how many ways was it weak.
“It is … well, let me say just this. It is not, I think, utterly impossible.” Again, that ambivalent wave of the fingers, still anchored to the desk. He was scared, yes, but another factor had begun to operate beneath the fear. Chafiq could sense a lurking advantage.
“You think something could be done?” Exultation ballooned inside her.
“Look,” he said, suddenly every bit the confidential banker: hands folded, body leaning forward, head slightly tilted; what a man of affairs, she thought. “Look. This hijack, it’s really no more than an Iranian-backed piece of troublemaking, mm?”
She nodded eagerly. She would have nodded in the same way if he’d asked her to roll up her skirts and show him her bottom.
“So who needs Iran, when the chips are down?” His face clouded. “Of course, there may be … other considerations.”
“Such as?”
“We don’t know what Leila knows, do we? But we have to assume she’s found out about Robbie and the father being on board. I mean, they’re two days into the operation.”
“The operation?”
“Yes.”
“You mean the hijack?”
“Yes.”
No, she thought. No.
“You think she won’t release Robbie?”
“I think, my dear, we can only ask, eh?” He patted the edge of his desk with his palms and stood up. “No, no, stay there, please!”
When he disappeared behind her back she was too busy with unpleasant speculations to consider what he might be up to. Chief among her worries was how much Hakkim really knew about this hijack. Azizza had half overheard a telephone conversation that might mean something or nothing. But if he was actively involved …
Her fears for Robbie had been temporarily overshadowed by the pressures of dealing with Hakkim. Now that she was alone again, however, her nightmare vision of the boy’s fate came back with a vengeance. It would be sweltering on the plane, and although there had been rumors of allowing supplies to be brought in, so far they amounted to nothing more than that: rumors. Lack of food, lack, dear God, of water….
“And now, my very dear Celestine …” Hakkim’s rusty voice came from over by the door. She half turned in her chair, but its high back prevented her from seeing him at once.
“… we can ask someone in the know, and he will tell us the situation.”
He sounded so pleased with himself it did not occur to her he might have betrayed his old friend and client; she lived in a world where such things happened, but almost exclusively to others. So when she rose and turned to find her son, Feisal, just a few paces away from her it came like a blow to the solar plexus.
She should have listened to Azizza. Hakkim and her son had never been close in the past, but now the banker stood with one hand on Feisal’s shoulder, indicating allegiance as clearly as any medieval knight who sported his lady’s favor. He was no longer smiling.
“You’ve been out of circulation for a long time,” he said. His voice was still jovial, although she listened in vain for any hint of apology. “I have more pressing contemporary obligations.”
But Feisal said nothing at all, not even when four thugs came running through the double doors to surround his own mother.
21 JULY: NIGHT: BAHRAIN
Every time Andrew Nunn put down the phone it rang again immediately; he scarcely had a moment to write up his notes before being obliged to strike off at a tangent from the direction of a moment ago. This went on until around eleven-thirty when the phone at last fell quiet, making him wonder if the instrument had broken under strain; he ordered dinner from room service more as a check than from hunger. Dinner came and still the phone just sat there, brooding and quiet; so he just sat there too, eating in silence, glad of a respite from interruptions and the sound of his own voice.
Tomorrow would be worse, because they were coming to install more phones. He would have staff to help out, but the next twenty-four hours were going to be unadulterated murder.
The moment he’d finished his meal he undressed, for sleep would be in short supply from now on. But even as he lay down and prepared to switch out the bedside light he paused, irresolute, and looked again at the phone.
That afternoon he’d been given an annotated copy of the plane’s passenger list. Leila Hanifs ex-husband and their son were aboard NQ 033 when it took off from Bahrain. Now the question which taxed Nunn was this: Did she know they’d be passengers when she commandeered the flight?
Was that why she’d commandeered it?
Such a ridiculous notion, but it steadfastly refused to budge from his mind.
Without quite knowing why or how, he found himself dialing the number of the house in St. John’s Wood. He hesitated over the final digit. If she wasn’t in, if she sounded breathless, what would he assume, how would he feel, could he take it? Oh, balls. His forefinger stabbed down hard on the button.
Anne-Marie answered very quickly.
“Darling,” he murmured. “How’s tricks, hmm?”
“Dodo, is that you?”
After a slight pause she laughed, and something frisked in the pit of Nunn’s stomach. Living most of the year in Jak, he didn’t hear women’s laughter too often. Not unless he paid for it, anyway.
“I mean, Dodo, where are you?”
He told her.
“Bahrain? Good grief, why?”
He skirted round that one rather neatly, he thought.
“Well, don’t get bitten by sand flies.” Another of her merry laughs, another pause. “Rather sad, you being so near and yet so far. I suppose there’s no chance of a quick trip to London?”
Gosh, he thought; but perhaps she was between boyfriends at the moment and felt lonely. “Not in the foreseeable future.”
“Pity.” The line resonated silence. “I miss you, Dodo.”
That stumped him. Anne-Marie hadn’t said such a thing for ages. Nor had he, for that matter. A chap just didn’t, really. And yet…
“Me too,” he said awkwardly, because a bod couldn’t very well let his wife down just when she was making efforts to build the jolly old bridge. Although that didn’t explain why he suddenly took it upon himself to add, “I miss you a lot, actually. Heck of a lot. Listen, my dear, I want to
ask you something.”
“Fire away.”
“How’s Michael?” Michael was their son.
“Fine. Great. I’ll give him your love, shall I?”
“You do that. Actually it’s Michael I’m calling about, in a way.”
“I don’t understand.”
“If Michael … if our son were in any kind of trouble, say he was kidnapped or went missing or something …”
“What on earth? Dodo, are you there?”
“Yes. Look, suppose Mike took a header of some kind … how far would you be prepared to go to bail him out?”
A long pause. Then she said, “You phoned to ask me that?”
“Partly.”
“What a waste of money.”
“Mm? Why?”
“I mean, the answer’s so obvious. I’d go all the way to hell to refuel and then on from there. Dodo, are you all right?”
He chuckled. “As much as ever, Annie.”
Silence. Nunn couldn’t think how to end this call. He’d initiated it; now he must terminate it, but there weren’t any words to say what was in his heart so he simply said, “Take care of yourself, old thing, got to go now.”
“You too, Dodo.”
She did not want him to put down the phone. He hesitated. They both did. She was the one who finally severed the connection. Nunn replaced the receiver on its rest. He did so with unwonted reluctance.
The phone rang.
“Yes?”
Now the line had a funny sound to it: ultra-long-distance, bad satellite. A very faint voice was saying, “Mumble mumble Kroll Associates mumble.”
Nunn sat bolt upright in bed, all tiredness gone. “Put him through.”
“Andrew?”
“Jerry! Have you got it?”
“Some of it. Do you have a pen?”
“Shoot.”
The man at the other end of this very far-off connection dictated first a phone number, then a list of dates, times, and places. By the time he’d finished, Andrew Nunn knew the details of Halib Hanif’s movements over the previous seven days, culminating in a flight to Aden twelve hours before.
“You get all that, Andy?”
“Every precious word. Have you tested his Beirut phone number, the one you just gave me?”
“Yes, but nobody answers.”
“Ah. And the old woman, Feisal’s mother?”
“Celestine Hanif. We had a couple of numbers for her, but neither of them works. Tech. malfunc., according to records. Do you want me to follow it up?”
“No. She’s too old to be part of this; she can’t help. Feisal?”
“No information at this time. We’re still working on him.”
“Jerry, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.” A weary grunt echoed down the line. “Forget it. ‘Night.”
As Nunn put down the phone he felt elated. He’d called in a favor and been repaid a hundredfold. When you borrowed money, the longer the debt was left outstanding the greater the interest, but favors weren’t often like that; favors shrank with time.
Nunn had done something for Jerry Raban ten years ago, when the American was a lowly FBI narcotics agent. As a result of the information Nunn presented him with then, he became a not so lowly narcotics agent on his way to the top. Which he never reached, however, because the world’s foremost investigation agency poached him, and ever since then Andrew Nunn had been awaiting the right moment to dip into Kroll’s files for free.
He was plodding through his notes of Halib Hanif’s movements when that damn phone rang again. He picked it up and heard a voice say, “Andrew, how are you? Halib Hanif.”
Nunn was speechless for a moment. Only a moment; then he said, “My dear chap, what an incredibly nice surprise.”
Halib laughed. “We should meet, tonight, I’m afraid. A car’ll be at the back of the hotel, kitchen entrance, in five minutes.”
“Then I hope your driver doesn’t mind waiting, dear friend, because I shall take at least ten to dress.”
In fact he took fifteen, deliberately slowing down in order to think.
He was pleased that things were on the move; even more pleased to be in contact with Halib so quickly, because it seemed obvious to him that if Leila were running the hijack her brother was likely to be the one to oversee negotiations. And yet, and yet… Halib had not expressly forbidden him to confide in others, but Andrew knew that if he turned up with an entourage this rendezvous would dissolve into the desert air like the proverbial mirage. So he must go to the meeting alone. If things became unpleasant that would be strictly his funeral, in metaphor if not in truth.
The car was waiting, as Halib had said it would be. The streetlights thinned out, buildings became fewer, then they were driving through a broad gateway and he could see nothing in the darkness. At last the chauffeur pulled up and glanced over his shoulder with a mute indication that Nunn should get out.
On his right, a grove of palm trees; left of him, stone steps led down to a pool, its water glinting in the moonlight.
“The Virgin’s Pool,” said a voice from beneath the palms. Nunn slowly turned on his heel. “An appropriate name for such sweet water, don’t you think?”
Halib Hanif was approaching with both hands outstretched, teeth agleam in the unnatural, dreamy light of a crescent moon. The two men kissed on the cheek and stood back, holding each other by the elbows.
“So happy they chose you,” Halib murmured.
“Been a long time, sayid; thought you must have gone to grace paradise.”
“I had to drop out of circulation for a while, that’s all. As you see, I am well, by the grace of Allah!”
“The Compassionate, the Merciful, blessed be His name and the name of the Prophet.”
Halib laughed aloud. “I’d forgotten how good it was to be with you,” he said. “My father sends you his greetings.”
Andrew had met Halib before, Feisal never. Something to do with insuring a cargo of silver for air freighting to Manila, ages ago: satisfying deals, followed by a certain amount of cavorting aboard a yacht that rejoiced in the unlikely name of Bordella, as he recalled. Unimportant; what mattered was that they had a hook on which to hang their dealings.
“And I send mine to him. And to your worthy sister.”
“Ooh.” Halib dropped Andrew’s arms, affecting disappointment. “So swiftly to business?”
“For so the season bids us be.”
Halib shrugged. “Let’s walk awhile. It’s quiet, we can see the stars.”
They began to stroll around the curved perimeter of the pool.
“I must confess,” Andrew began, “I too am glad to find that it’s you. It could have been Ahmad Jabril, and I’m frightened to be in the same room as that man.”
“As I am of Hawari. I know, it’s terrible. Every little hoodlum’s in this business now.”
It was true, thought Nunn; only the Syrians preserved a fragile link with the ancient Assassin ideology; all the rest were paid hit men.
“There’s too much spare capacity,” Halib was explaining, “too many passionate young souls wanting to fight for something. The poor F’listins …”
“Such a catastrophe,” Nunn murmured dutifully.
“But look here, Andrew, do you know what it is we want?”
“Half a dozen prisoners for Iran, I was told.”
“Ah, thank goodness.” Halib sounded genuinely relieved. “I was afraid that some of your colleagues might have picked up the wrong nuances.”
“About …?”
“About Leila. You know, of course you do, that her son is on the plane?”
“Yes.”
“But it’s not what you think.”
“And what do I think, dear sayid?”
“That this is pleasure, not business; whereas in fact it’s business pure and simple. Father and I have done a deal with Teheran. Leila, she—well, yes, she has a sideline going. She wants her child back and we have said, ‘Okay. Take him. But'"—Here he stopped, turned
to Nunn, and laid both hands on his lapels—'"Let us do the business first.’ That’s why I wanted us to meet here, face-to-face, to make the position clear.”
Nunn stood in silence for a moment, thinking over what he’d just been told, delving beneath Halib’s words for their true meaning.
“Did she agree?” he said at last.
“Of course.”
“Did she agree?” Nunn repeated.
“Ah! My friend.” Halib heaved a great sigh, releasing his hold on the Englishman’s lapels. “I told my father, I said, ‘Now that Mr. Nunn is on the case we shall have no problems.’ How wrong I was! Andrew sees everything right down to its heart.”
Nunn waited silently for this effusive storm to blow itself out.
“The fact is,” Halib said, once more resuming his walk along the margin of the pool, “Leila has become some-what—mm, what’s the word?—-temperamental. Yes. After New York. You knew about New York?”
“I remember hearing something about her trying to … there was an ambassador of a certain place, some people wished there to be a vacancy in that office.”
“But did not see their wish granted. Yes. Since then she has been less stable than before.”
“Stable…. You are afraid that this hijack may disintegrate?”
“Unless things move rapidly.”
A loose cannon, Andrew was thinking; God help those poor passengers….
“She will be looking for a rapid conclusion to the hijack. And I was afraid that you, Shehabi, the others—that you might not appreciate her position. Hence this meeting.”
He’s scared, Nunn thought. He’s not in control and it frightens him. She could blow the lot up tomorrow, that’s the message. Or maybe just bugger off with her son, leaving Halib to head up the complaints department when Teheran comes calling to find out what went wrong. Great God, what a mess!
Not only is Halib scared, he is holding something back.
“Thank you,” Nunn said at last. “Is there anything else we need to discuss at the present time?”
“I think not. But impress upon them, Andrew, impress upon them fully, that this matter is urgent.”
It must be, Nunn thought, for Halib to come here in mid-crisis. What is he holding back, what does he want to conceal, why does he want to conceal it? “I will do that, yes,” he said. “You will understand, however, that I myself have no authority to commit the principals.”
Blood Rules Page 19