‘Xavier saw Abbas talking to Bijan in a car in Mougins yesterday. I think they’re planning something.’
Peele seemed surprised that Kite should know this.
‘We saw it. The Falcons have had Bijan’s car for twenty-four hours. Abbas has sold out Eskandarian to the exiles.’
‘Jesus Christ.’
‘Smile, Lockie. Smile.’
Peele turned away from the pétanque court and began walking in the direction of the pool. Kite realised that their faces could now only be seen by someone on the access road. The villa was directly behind them.
‘Abbas thinks you’re sympathetic to Bijan. If he’s been off with you, that may explain it. They discussed using you as a conduit to Eskandarian, but now the landscape has changed.’
‘What do you mean?’ Kite was trying to fathom why Abbas had betrayed Ali.
‘If they can’t get to Eskandarian in the open, their backup plan is to hit the house. Abbas will make himself scarce, Bijan and his merry men will come up the drive. They’ll likely shoot Eskandarian in cold blood, wherever he happens to be.’
‘Jesus.’
‘Yes, he’ll need some divine intervention.’
Kite was astonished by Peele’s sangfroid. They turned towards the pool. Martha and Jacqui were sunbathing on loungers, listening to ‘Every Time You Go Away’ on the ghetto blaster. Peele had his arm around Kite and suddenly stepped back, saying: ‘You’re joking? That’s not possible! He really said that?’ with an accompanying laugh. It was like watching a film with the dialogue dubbed into the wrong scene. Kite saw that he was supposed to play along, so he said: ‘Seriously. I’m not joking!’ and grinned for the benefit of anyone who might be watching. Peele continued, sotto voce.
‘There’s something else, Lockie. Luc is not who you think he is.’
Kite struggled to maintain a poker face. The remark winded him, both because Peele had delivered it with such apparent thoughtlessness and because it spelled doom for Xavier.
‘What do you mean?’
‘French liaison is all over him. Your lunch guest Paul doesn’t work in the film industry. He’s DGSI. Befriended Luc in Paris over a year ago, suspecting that he was breaking Iranian sanctions. Pretended to be a scriptwriter, went whoring with him in Paris. Luc thinks he’s the best thing since sliced baguette. Keep smiling.’
Kite did so. He wished that he had a cigarette to smoke so that his gestures and attitudes might appear more natural.
‘He was arguing with Ali last night,’ he said. ‘They had a big row.’
‘We know.’ Peele turned towards the access road. ‘Got the whole thing. Eskandarian has been working with Luc for most of the decade, importing dual-use components for military technology that explicitly break the sanctions. Now that Rafsanjani is in place, he wants to bring that relationship to an end. Ali is forward-looking, more angel than devil. Wants to help bring Iran in from the cold, engage with the western powers, change the economic dynamic, move away from the mad mullahs into a period of relative normality. Was decent enough to come to France and tell Luc all this in person, but Bonnard hasn’t reacted well. He was making a lot of money from their tidy arrangement and expecting to make a lot more. In April last year, shortly after the Halabja attack, Eskandarian and Luc discussed obtaining banned nerve agents so that Iran had some sort of answer to Saddam Hussein if he – or any other entity – launched further chemical strikes. All that’s been consigned to the dustbin. Eskandarian is cleaning up his act. He knows that Iran is now self-sufficient in all the lovely things Luc used to arrange to have smuggled across the border with Turkey. What we’re still trying to find out – and what we can’t get from the Frogs – is whether Luc is in league with Abbas and the exiles.’
Kite could not have been more shocked if Peele had told him that Xavier’s father was secretly working for BOX 88. Once again, Peele had to tell him to temper his reaction. Kite forced a smile onto his face but felt that he was grinding his teeth into a rictus.
‘I took a few photographs in Ali’s office yesterday. Letters. Documents. I was going to bring the roll of film to you this morning, but at the last minute Luc decided to join me on my run.’
Peele looked momentarily concerned. ‘He did? Why?’
Kite shrugged. ‘You saw my note? Forman and Berberian are mentioned in the correspondence.’
Peele nodded. They turned back towards the pétanque court.
‘We’re looking at the possibility that Eskandarian has been set up as a patsy. The more we look at Abbas, the more we see of Lockerbie. Too early to say, but your photographs will doubtless prove very useful.’ He put his arm across Kite’s back. ‘Whatever happens, we can step across the New York visit and shut down the threat to the subway. Well done.’
Kite absorbed the compliment, smiled naturally for the first time in several minutes, and sensed an opportunity to get some answers.
‘Why did you have to steal Martha’s photographs?’
Peele’s mask dropped.
‘Is that all you’re worried about?’
Kite felt his disappointment as a personal snub and reframed the question.
‘I’m just curious,’ he said. ‘What did she take that you needed? Pictures of Luc and Abbas?’
‘We didn’t steal the bag.’ Peele’s reply was emphatic. He nodded his head and grinned enthusiastically. It was like talking to a manic life-sized doll. ‘Bijan was on the bike that passed you last night. He wanted the photographs so that the exiles can find their way around the house when they come for Eskandarian.’
‘Can’t you stop them?’
‘It doesn’t work like that.’ Peele pointed into the distance, presumably to make it look as though they were discussing some aspect of the Provencal countryside. ‘BOX are not supposed to be here, remember?’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
Kite pictured a bloodbath at the villa in which Martha and Xavier would be collateral damage. It had to be stopped. Surely BOX 88 had the power to apprehend Abbas and Bijan?
‘Don’t worry,’ Peele reassured him. They were now twenty metres from the pool; when they turned around, Jacqui looked up to acknowledge them, pressing stop on the ghetto blaster after the first few bars of a Paul Young song she didn’t like. ‘The Frogs are taking this from us. You’ll all be protected.’
‘Are they going to arrest Abbas?’
‘Don’t worry about it. Your work is done. There’s nothing left for you to do. You can stand down and feel very, very proud of what you’ve achieved. We wouldn’t know half of this, and certainly wouldn’t be able to plan for it, had it not been for your contribution.’
Of all things at that moment, Kite thought about his A-level results, and the absurdity of everyone in the house celebrating the fact that he and Xavier had managed two As and a B. There had been chilled champagne and speeches at lunch. Peele had toasted ‘the boys’, describing them as ‘the best of Alford’ and joked that their ‘B’ grades would haunt them for the rest of their lives. How could he have been so calm, so blasé, knowing that at any moment there might be an attempt on Eskandarian’s life?
‘What are you planning?’ he asked.
‘Above your pay grade, I’m afraid,’ Peele replied. ‘Better that you don’t know.’
They were almost back at the pool. Kite stopped walking.
‘How did you know about Paul so quickly?’ he asked.
Peele laughed again and threw his head back, almost to the point that Kite thought he was overplaying it. ‘As you know, we’ve been working on Luc and Eskandarian for several months. Paul popped up in research a few weeks ago.’
‘So you’ve always been suspicious of Luc? You just decided not to tell me?’
‘Are you happy for your friend’s father to be selling chemical weapons to the government in Tehran? To be passing Ali Eskandarian into the hands of an exile group so that he can continue to make money while Iran reverts to the Stone Age?’
Kite didn’t know how to answer. All
he was sure of was that Luc was corrupt. He wanted him to stop doing what he was doing so that Xavier could find faith in his father again. He didn’t want Luc going to prison or the Bonnard name dragged through the mud.
‘Xavier suspects that his dad is up to something,’ he said.
‘I’m not surprised.’ Peele sounded glib. ‘He’s been around his father. He’s probably picked up the scent of what’s going on.’
Kite was trying to imagine how Xavier could have worked out the nature of Luc’s arrangement with Eskandarian. Perhaps he didn’t know the details; perhaps he knew a lot more than he was letting on.
‘Have you passed on what you know about Luc to the French police?’ Jacqui had put a new album in the ghetto blaster. The music smothered Kite’s question. He felt suffocated, as though Peele and Strawson had taken advantage of his youth and inexperience to damage Luc. He could tell from Peele’s reaction that BOX 88 had indeed been in contact with the French authorities. Peele made no attempt to conceal this.
‘Don’t be concerned,’ he said.
‘Of course I’m concerned. He’s going to go to prison, isn’t he?’
‘Not necessarily.’
‘Hey!’
It was Xavier, walking towards them wearing sunglasses and a smile. He was carrying a bottle of Kronenbourg without an apparent care in the world. Kite wished that he could say something. He could not remember why he had put the needs of BOX 88 ahead of Xavier’s. To his despair, but not to his surprise, Peele instantly dropped back into the role of the cheerful, avuncular schoolmaster. They resumed a dismal small talk, Xavier completely unaware of Kite’s despondency, Peele complaining about the quality of the food at Alford. They made their way back to the house.
‘So your father tells me Ali is buying dinner for everyone in Vence this evening?’
It was the first Kite had heard of it. They were standing underneath the lime tree. Martha glided past wearing a towel and a pair of flip-flops, saying she was heading upstairs for a shower.
‘Yeah,’ Xavier replied. ‘You coming?’
‘Sadly not. I’ll be looking after Charlotte.’ Charlotte was the phantom girlfriend with oyster poisoning. Peele talked about her with expert conviction. ‘But I know the restaurant. You’ll eat very well. Has Ali arranged a table outside?’
‘Dunno,’ Xavier replied.
Kite realised why Peele was so interested. There was a risk of the exiles targeting the restaurant.
‘Well, do have fun,’ he said. ‘It’s been such a lovely surprise seeing you both. I’ve got to be getting back. I’ll pop in and say goodbye to your parents.’
As soon as Peele had driven off, Kite went for a swim in an effort to clear his head. Xavier had brought the backgammon board down to the pool and was playing with Jacqui. Eskandarian had not been seen since lunch. Kite assumed that he was still in his office.
He walked back through the garden on his own, entering the house via the terrace. Earlier in the holiday Rosamund had complained about people walking through the sitting room with wet feet. Kite had left a pair of espadrilles by the door and put them on. He was conscious that his swimming trunks were wet and might drip onto the floor. He picked up a towel from the table and wrapped it around his waist.
Luc came out of his office. All of the relaxed ebullience he had displayed with Peele had vanished. He looked drained of energy and intensely angry.
‘Can I speak to you, please?’ he said.
It took Kite a moment to realise what Luc was holding in his hand. It was the Gameboy.
51
Luc was holding the device as if it was a dead rat. Before he could finish saying: ‘What was this doing in my office?’ Kite jumped into a lie.
‘You found it!’ he exclaimed, striding confidently across the sitting room, beaming with relief. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for that. Where was it?’
‘Behind a piece of furniture in my office. I was looking for the book for Mr Peele. What was it doing in there, Lockie?’
Luc’s tone of voice was indisputably suspicious. He knew that a device of this kind could be used as a microphone. Kite saw that he was afraid.
‘I’ve no idea,’ he replied. ‘It’s not even working, is it? I smashed the screen but was going to get it repaired—’
There was a look of concentrated animosity on Luc’s face.
‘How did you smash it? When?’
Kite tried to look baffled by the line of questioning, even though he knew exactly what Luc was trying to establish.
‘Just before I came to your house in London. Literally dropped it on the floor as I was heading out the door.’
Xavier’s father turned and walked back into the office. Kite had no choice other than to follow him. As soon as they were inside, Luc closed the door, sealing him in.
‘So why did you not leave it behind?’
Kite shrugged and screwed up his face, as if Luc was asking ridiculous questions to which he had no plausible answers.
‘I don’t understand,’ he said. He was so anxious it was as though someone was pulling at the skin on his chest. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I’m worried that this should not have been in my office. Why were you playing with it?’
‘I wasn’t.’ They find a microphone, you didn’t put it there. They search your room, somebody planted whatever they found. Never confess. Never break cover. ‘I told you. It’s broken. I think the power comes on, but you can’t see any of the games.’
‘So who took it?’
‘Who took what? The Nintendo? I don’t know. What’s the matter? You seem really angry.’
Luc took a step towards him, teeth bared, as if he was about to strike. The loss of self-control was startling. At first Kite thought that he was watching a man unravel; then he realised that for the first time he was seeing Luc Bonnard for who he really was.
‘I am not angry, Lockie. I am just concerned. I’m trying to find out the truth.’
‘The truth about what?’
‘Who put this in my office?’
Kite felt that he had no alternative other than to repeat what he had already said. He had to try to sow doubt in Luc’s mind.
‘I have no idea. I’ve been using Xav’s Gameboy out here. Maybe José moved mine when we were playing hide-and-seek. It was on my chest of drawers until a couple of days ago.’
Never embellish the lie. Make it short and sweet and get out fast. Kite knew that he must not show that he understood the nature of Luc’s concern. It would never have occurred to a normal eighteen-year-old that a Nintendo Gameboy could be converted into a tentacle nor that Luc would be worried about surveillance.
‘José was in your room?’
Kite took a chance and said: ‘Yeah.’
‘And he took this downstairs?’ Luc again held up the console like some kind of diseased animal. Kite shrugged his shoulders as if to say: ‘How should I know?’
‘It never worked?’ he asked. ‘You never played with it out here?’
‘No,’ Kite replied. ‘Just used Xav’s.’
Luc put the Gameboy down. Kite had the feeling that he was pulling clear of danger. He had brazened things out. Perhaps Xavier’s father was starting to think that it was Abbas or Eskandarian who had planted the Gameboy. Then he walked over to his desk, opened a drawer and took out a screwdriver.
‘Let us take a look, shall we?’
Kite’s chest contracted. He thought of countless confrontations in the study of Lionel Jones-Lewis, his housemaster sadistically meting out yet another punishment to Kite for some minor infringement of the school rules. This was a different order of seriousness. If Luc opened the Gameboy, found the microphone and transmitter and showed them to Abbas or Eskandarian, he was finished.
‘You’re going to open it up?’ he asked, trying to sound bewildered. ‘Why?’
Luc ignored him. He tried to remove a screw in the casing. It was harder than he had anticipated. Xavier’s father was a corporate animal of the boardroom a
nd airport lounge, not a handyman. When the screw failed to move, he tried to prise the plastic apart.
‘What are you worried about?’ Kite asked because it was essential to keep playing the innocent. A new tactic presented itself. ‘You don’t have to get it fixed for me!’ he said. ‘I can do it when I get back to London.’
‘Not for that,’ Luc replied contemptuously. ‘Not to get it fixed.’
Again Kite was forced to say: ‘Why then? What are you doing?’
‘You know what I’m doing, Lockie.’
Luc flashed Kite a pitiless stare, as if to say: I know who you are. I know that you have betrayed me. There was a sudden noise in the sitting room, a door banging shut. Kite prayed that nobody would come into the study. To be accused of planting a bug in front of Xavier or Martha would sow a suspicion which he would never shake off.
‘Merde!’ Luc swore as the screwdriver persistently slipped off the surface of the plastic. To Kite’s horror, he saw that Luc fully intended to smash the Gameboy on the side of the table. Just then, there was a knock on the door. Eskandarian walked in. When he saw Kite and Luc standing together, Luc’s face flushed with anger, he frowned.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked.
Kite knew that he was finished. The Gameboy would be opened up, the transmitter and microphone exposed. Yet to his astonishment, Luc set the device to one side, conjured an innocent, welcoming smile, and lied through his teeth.
‘Ali! Poor Lockie. His Gameboy isn’t working. We were just trying to fix it.’
At first Kite didn’t understand why Luc hadn’t come clean. Surely both men were vulnerable to the risk from surveillance? Then he put two and two together. By failing to uncover the Gameboy, Luc had exposed Eskandarian to risk. No matter that Luc was intending to cast his so-called friend aside in pursuit of greater profits; he had to continue to pretend that he had his best interests at heart.
‘Oh,’ said Eskandarian. It was obvious that he knew he was being palmed off. ‘Rosamund is looking for you. I think she wants to leave soon. Maybe I can take a look at the toy if you both want to change for the restaurant?’
Box 88 : A Novel (2020) Page 40