“I am here to see Mademoiselle Brigitte Friang,” said Coyle.
“You are American?” said Saadi.
“Yeah. Accent gives me away every time.”
“Your name, Monsieur?” said Saadi picking up the phone.
“Tom Coyle. But don’t call her. I want it to be a surprise.”
“I see,” said Saadi placing the phone back in its cradle and sliding his hand over the pistol.
“Her message service didn’t know her room number, just the hotel name,” said Coyle.
As Saadi raised the pistol, Ludmila appeared at the top of the stairs on the first floor. Saadi stopped and reconsidered. An American will die in the blast and cause an international incident. An embarrassment for France, thought Saadi. That is better. “Room 306, Monsieur Coyle,” said Saadi with a smile.
“Thanks,” said Coyle as he moved to the elevator. He entered the elevator, closed the iron fence and pressed the third floor. The elevator shaft was enclosed in decorative wrought iron painted black.
Ludmila walked down the stairs to the lobby and approached Saadi. “Is everything as expected?” said Saadi.
Ludmila nodded.
“Good. Wait for me outside,” said Saadi.
Ludmila exited the hotel through the front door. Saadi placed a newspaper over his pistol and walked across the lobby to the front door. He waited. He knew the blast would not enter the lobby and that he was safe. He wanted to ensure that the journalist’s and now the American’s assassination was successful.
There was a knock at the door. Brigitte moved to answer it. She opened the door two inches and peered out to see Coyle. She flung the door open and hugged him. “Well I’m glad to see you too,” said Coyle with Brigitte’s arms wrapped around his neck.
“Where have you been? I tried calling.”
“I got your message after I landed. I tried to call you. Your message service told me you were here. I thought I’d surprise you.”
“Well, it worked.”
“I can see that.”
“Come in. I just opened a bottle of wine.”
“I am starving. Let’s go grab something to eat.”
“We French do not grab something to eat.”
“Okay, fine. I will take you to dinner.”
“I can’t, Tom. I’m a mess. I was just going to take a bath.”
“Come on. You look great and smell better.”
“All right. At least let me fix my hair.”
“Put it up in a bun. That’s faster.”
“You’re impossible.”
“No. I’m hungry. Like lion hungry if you know what I mean.”
“Okay. I get it. Two shakes and I’ll be ready,” said Brigitte shaking her hips as she disappeared into the bathroom.
“Oh, I like that two shakes part.”
Ludmila stood outside the hotel and kept watch. She looked at her wristwatch, nervous. It was time. She moved back inside to warn Saadi. He waved her off and stared at the third floor landing. Ludmila went back outside. Saadi heard the faint sound of door closing, laughter and two voices a man’s and a woman’s.
Coyle and Brigitte walked down the hallway from her room toward the elevator. Coyle pulled open the iron fence and they entered. He pressed the button for the ground floor. The elevator moved downward.
Saadi watched the elevator from the lobby. He could not see who was inside. Not yet. As the elevator moved past the second floor the angle changed and the occupants became more visible. He saw the faces of Coyle and Brigitte. His expression sharpened and he dropped the newspaper covering his pistol. The Webley was a large caliber revolver that kicked like a mule. He took aim at Brigitte and fired three times.
The bullets hit the wrought iron that surrounded the elevator shaft and sent sparks into the elevator. Coyle knew immediately what was happening and pulled Brigitte to the floor. He lay next to her, putting his body between her and the gunman.
The bomb in Brigitte’s room detonated and the building shook violently. The explosion ripped the front door to her room off its hinges and hurled it into the hallway. A ball of fire traveled down both directions of the hallway. The fire burst through the wrought iron surrounding the elevator shaft. The oil that lubricated the elevator cables caught fire and raced upward until it engulfed both cables inside the shaft.
The elevator continued downward. Coyle realized that they were headed for the ground floor and would be at the mercy of the gunman when they arrived. He reached up and hit the emergency stop button. The elevator jolted to a stop as it approached the first floor landing.
Saadi moved toward the stairway. If he could climb higher he could get a better angle and kill the journalist and the American. His mission could still succeed. Ludmila ran through the front door and said, “The police are coming. We have to go now.”
Saadi was not afraid of the police. He was prepared to die for his cause but he also knew that if he survived he would be able to kill many more French men and women. He fired at the elevator until his pistol clicked empty. He turned and ran out the front door with Ludmila.
Coyle did not see the gunman disappear but he could see the cables holding the elevator were on fire. He wasn’t sure what would happen. They were made of steel but even steel behaved strangely when super-heated. He could hear the cables groan.
At the top of the elevator shaft one of the cables was anchored with an eye-hook attached to a steel girder. The eye-hook was a loop at the end of cable secured by several U-bolt vises. The fire heated the U-bolts and the vises expanded, loosening their grip on the cable. The cable slipped inside the vises but caught before slipping all the way out.
Coyle and Brigitte felt the elevator drop and stop. “That can’t be good,” said Coyle.
Coyle kicked at the iron gate blocking the elevator’s doorway. It didn’t budge. He kept kicking. Brigitte looked out over the edge of the elevator into the lobby below and saw that it was empty. “I think he’s gone,” said Brigitte.
“Let’s hope so,” said Coyle giving the gate an extra hard kick.
The gate flung open. Coyle grabbed Brigitte.
The cable slipped through the U-bolts and off the girder. It dropped down the shaft like a snake coiling back to strike.
The elevator was in free fall. Coyle and Brigitte leapt out of the doorway onto the first floor landing as the elevator sped downward. Any part of their bodies still in the elevator would have been sheared off by the sheer weight of the elevator as the top of the doorway passed the first floor.
The elevator did not stop in the lobby but continue to fall, crashing into the bottom of the shaft in the basement of the hotel.
The hotel’s hallway and stairway filled up with guests confused and panicked. Smoke billowed upward. Fireman rushed into the lobby. Coyle and Brigitte pushed past them and out into the street. They could hear more sirens approaching.
Outside the hotel Coyle and Brigitte looked around. They didn’t know what the gunman looked like. They didn’t know whom they could trust. “It could have been the woman that brought the ice that planted the bomb,” said Brigitte.
“Do you remember what she looked like?” said Coyle.
“Yes. I think so.”
“You should give the police a description. It may help.”
“Yes. Of course. Right after I write my story.”
“You really think that’s a smart idea?”
“Are you kidding? It’s a brilliant idea. I’m featured in my own exclusive. It will sell a hundred thousand magazines.”
At the end of the corner, Saadi and Ludmila watched Coyle and Brigitte. Saadi cursed as he broke open his revolver and reloaded. Ludmila could see that he was frustrated. “Shoot them,” said Ludmila.
“No. There are too many witnesses and the police are already on their way,” said Saadi as he slipped his pistol under his belt in the back of his pants.
“Shoot them now. It is Allah’s will.”
“I said no. We should go.”
Ludmila grabbed Saadi and kissed him deeply. He was surprised. Algerians did not usually display affection in public. Ludmila released him and turned away. She marched down the street toward Brigitte and Coyle. Saadi saw his pistol in Ludmila’s hand. “Ludmila, no,” said Saadi.
It was too late. Ludmila had made up her mind. She would carry out Allah’s will. As she closed the distance between herself and her prey she raised the revolver. It was heavier than the pistol Saadi had used to teach the sirens how to shoot. It was difficult to aim. She focused on Brigitte. She was the real prize and would be the first to be killed. Ludmila fired. The revolver kicked hard almost knocking itself free from her hand.
The bullet whizzed by Brigitte’s head. Coyle turned around to see Ludmila advancing with the pistol. Coyle grabbed Brigitte and pulled her off the street where there was no cover. The terrified hotel guests scattered every which way, creating confusion.
Ludmila decided to use two hands to steady her aim. She fired two more rounds as she moved forward.
Both rounds missed Brigitte and Coyle but one hit a woman wearing a hotel bathrobe, killing her. Saadi had taught her the importance of counting the rounds fired. Three out of six, she thought.
Coyle pulled Brigitte behind a newsstand to one side of the hotel. He had no weapon. Nothing to defend Brigitte from the approaching assassin. He felt helpless.
Ludmila was frustrated and decided she needed to get close so she would not miss again. She moved toward to the newsstand. Under the elevated legs of the newsstand she could see a glimpse of the legs of two people hiding. She moved around the edge of the stand and leveled her pistol.
Coyle was there holding a bundle of newspapers. He threw them at Ludmila. She fired. The bullet buried itself into the newspapers. The bundle hit Ludmila, knocking her backwards. “Run,” said Coyle to Brigitte.
Ludmila landed on the asphalt and the gun bounced from her hand and skidded across the street.
Coyle saw the gun and ran for it.
Ludmila saw Coyle. The gun was on the street behind her but Coyle had the momentum and would reach it before her. She flung her leg out, tripping him. He fell to the street. She scrambled to her feet and ran for the pistol. Coyle regained his feet and ran after her.
Ludmila reached the pistol first and picked it up with one hand. She swung it around toward Coyle and fired a shot wildly without aiming. The bullet sailed between Coyle’s arm and chest. He grabbed her hand holding the pistol before she could fire again. She raked her fingernails across his face. He screamed in pain but held on. She kneed him in the groin with everything she had. He recoiled to grab his crotch, releasing her hand. Coyle bend over in pain. Ludmila kicked him in the head knocking him unconscious.
Ludmila swung the gun around using both her hands and took aim at Brigitte still standing by the newsstand. “Drop your weapon,” said a man’s voice from behind her.
Ludmila turned to see a police officer standing by his motorcycle aiming his pistol at her. She swung the pistol toward him and fired. He fired at the same time. The officer was hit in the face by her bullet and fell backward. He would survive but would have a terrible scar on his cheek.
Ludmila was hit in the shoulder. The bullet’s impact swung her around but she held on to the pistol. Blood poured out of the wound. She raised the pistol with her good arm and took aim at Brigitte. She didn’t fire. Instead she walked forward until the barrel of the gun was just a foot from Brigitte’s face. Brigitte spit at Ludmila and said, “Terrorist bitch.” Ludmila smiled and wiped the spit from her face and said, “Imperialist whore.”
Coyle regained consciousness and struggled to his feet. He turned to see Ludmila and Brigitte. He ran wildly toward them but it was too far and too late.
Ludmila squeezed the trigger and released the hammer. The revolver clicked empty as the hammer struck an already used cartridge. Ludmila had lost count in the excitement.
Coyle tackled her from behind and they fell to the sidewalk. Ludmila released the pistol from her hand. She twisted and turned against Coyle lying on top of her with his full body weight. She refused to give up and continued to fight like a wildcat.
Brigitte picked up the pistol and swung the steel butt of the weapon into the side of Ludmila’s head, knocking her unconscious.
It was over. Ludmila would be arrested and turned over to French Army intelligence. Aussaresses would cut off all her hair before the interrogation began. There was no escape for Ludmila.
Saadi watched from a distance. He considered running to Ludmila’s aid and saving her from the pain of what he knew would be her fate. But Saadi knew that Allah had weightier matters that would need tending to and he was an obedient soldier. He turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd of onlookers. The last of his three sirens was gone.
NINETEEN
Bella, flanked by four FLN bodyguards, walked through the stadium tunnel. Both the French and the MNA had raised the bounty on Bella’s head and there had been multiple attempts to collect it. All had failed. The tunnel was swarming with futbol fans like bees going in and out of their hive. It was hard to tell between friend and foe even though he considered this friendly territory.
Bella and his bodyguards entered the stadium. The crowd cheered. The home team goalie had deflected a shot at the net. Futbol was the one thing in Algiers that seemed to have no politics behind it. Appearances were deceiving. He studied his ticket and looked for his seat. He spotted Saadi and Si Larbi sitting together about halfway up in the pied-noir section. The seats around them were occupied by more FLN bodyguards. Bella wondered why the seats were in the pied-noir area of the stadium but decided now was not the time to scold Saadi. It was a simple mistake and Saadi had a lot on his mind.
Bella climbed the stair and took his seat between the two soldiers. They watched for several minutes in silence. It’s nice, thought Bella. Getting together like this and watching a game. It had been a long time since he had done anything that remotely resembled fun. He imagined it was the same for Saadi and Si Larbi. He took a moment to consider his words and said, “I am sorry for your loss.”
“Our loss,” said Saadi.
“They were very brave.”
“Yes, but impatient. They did not listen. Too young, I think,” said Saadi.
“Too pretty, I think,” said Si Larbi. “The pretty ones are overconfident. Find some ugly ones next time. They’ll do fine.”
Saadi turned and grabbed Si Larbi by the shirt and said, “Shut the fuck up, boy. Nobody asked you.”
“Remove your hands or lose them, Baker,” said Si Larbi.
“Knock it off, both of you,” said Bella. “You’re drawing attention.”
Saadi released Si Larbi and smiled as he straightened Si Larbi’s shirt.
“How long will it take you before you are ready again?” said Bella.
“I’m ready now,” said Saadi.
“No. I don’t want you delivering packages. It’s too risky.”
“As you say then. It will take weeks, maybe a month to find and train new girls.”
“All right. One month. Si Larbi, what about you and your men?”
“The French have taken their toll. I have more wounded and missing than soldiers available to fight. Their helicopters are maddening. They drop troops wherever they want whenever they want. We’re lucky to escape.”
“I though the idea was to fight, not escape,” said Saadi.
“Like you said, Baker… shut the fuck up.”
“Neither of you is being productive,” said Bella growing angry. “I would just let you kill one another but I don’t have the time to find your replacements. Now, answer my question, Si Larbi. How long before you and your men are ready to strike again?”
“It depends on the French. If we can get some time to reorganize without being attacked… maybe three weeks.”
“You will have your time.”
“How?”
“A distraction.”
“By whom? You?”
�
�No. Not me. A friend.”
Si Larbi and Saadi exchanged a look. Why was Bella being so mysterious with them? Had they lost his trust? “Have faith. Help is on the way,” said Bella. “Si Larbi, I want your forces ready to move at a moment’s notice once you’ve reorganized.”
“Move where?”
“Just have them ready. The council has decided a change in strategy is in order.”
Si Larbi nodded.
“We must go. There is much to do,” said Bella.
“Wait just a moment,” said Saadi pulling an English-style picnic basket from under his seat.
“What’s that?” said Si Larbi.
“A message from the fallen,” said Saadi pulling a pair pliers from his shirt pocket.
Saadi opened the bag. Inside were three metal tea biscuit boxes stacked one on top another. He opened the lid on the top box and crimped the English pencil detonator with the pliers until he felt the glass acetone vial inside crack. He closed the lid and pushed the bag back under the seat. “Can we go now?” said Bella.
“That would be a good idea,” said Saadi.
They and their bodyguards left the stadium just as the referee blew his whistle to signal the end of the match. The home team had won. The fans stood and cheered.
The explosion killed fifty-two and seriously wounded over two hundred more. Most of the fallen were pied-noir. Some were Algerian. One of the home team forwards that was signing autographs would lose his leg to shrapnel wounds. The FLN considered it a victory.
It was a cloudless morning in Paris. Brigitte and Coyle sat enjoying their coffee and croissants on the patio of a café near her apartment. It had been three weeks and no bombings anywhere in Paris. There had been a bombing in an Algerian futbol stadium but that seemed a world away. Coyle was happy to see Brigitte smile and even laugh at one of his jokes. She seemed relaxed which was unusual for Brigitte. “I’m taking the day off,” said Brigitte.
Café Wars Page 23