Liberation Day

Chapter 17

I watched the two of them drop enough sugar cubes into their cups to make their spoons stand up. I decided to treat myself to one. Then I pulled out the camera from my bag, together with the postcards and maps I’d gotten from the newsstands, and a couple of sets of wires. I nodded at Hubba-Hubba. “Okay, smartass, let’s see if you can spark up Auntie’s TV….”

He stood up and pressed the On button. After a minute or so there was an electronic squelch and a picture appeared: some high-octane Italian quiz show with everyone’s arms flying everywhere. They looked as though they’d be getting their stuff off any minute. I went around the back and rigged up the connecting wires so we could have a good look at the pictures I’d taken, instead of having to crowd around the digital display on the back of my camera like teenage boys with a copy of Penthouse.

I took another sip of coffee as I marshaled my thoughts. “Okay. These are orders for the stakeout of Beaulieu-sur-Mer, and the take of the collectors from the target boat, the Ninth of May, to the hawalladas, then the hawalladas’ lift and drop-off. We’ll just call the marina BSM from now on, okay?”

They both nodded, probably pleased to be spared my bad pronunciation. Their French, of course, was perfect.

I held out my now-empty cup to Hubba-Hubba, who was already doing refills. “Okay, then, the ground…” I fiddled with the buttons on the back of the camera to bring up one of the pictures of the marina. “BSM — I know you’ve been there, but I’m going to give these orders as if you haven’t so we all know where we stand.” I explained the layout of the town, the main coast road, train line, station, bus stops, and phone booth.

Lotfi got out his prayer beads and started to feed them, one by one, between his right thumb and forefinger. It sounded like the ticking of a clock.

“Before I carry on,” I took a breath, “the source is the man we left behind in Algeria, the runner from the house. The Greaseball.”

They exchanged glances and their faces fell.

“That’s obviously why no one else in the house was to be touched.” I paused, knowing very well what was going through their minds. “I thought you should know, that’s all.”

It felt good wiping some of his slime off me, spreading the shit around a little.

The two of them looked at each other again and I could sense they, too, felt contaminated.

“As I said, I don’t know the locations or timings of these collections, but I have another Greaseball meet tonight, so hopefully we’ll know then.

“Okay, let’s have a look at the target area in detail — the marina, the port, whatever you want to call it.” I threw a glance at Lotfi. He managed a smile as I flashed up the entrance sign, and showed them the pictures I’d taken of the way that the piers, the shops, and the OP were positioned. “It will make more sense when you go down there to see it again for yourselves. Any questions?”

They had none. Or maybe, as they studied the postcards and maps, sitting on plastic sheeting and trying to pick up the small coffee cups with rubber-gloved fingers, they had other things on their mind, apart from Lotfi’s shower cap.

“Okay, situation so far: the Ninth of May is coming in tomorrow night, Thursday. All I know about it is it’s a white pleasure boat, quite large.

“There will probably be three of them on board; one will always stay on the boat, while the other two collect. They’re planning one collection a day for three days, starting Friday, and aiming to leave for Algeria with the money on Sunday sometime after the last collection. So, we should be getting out of here by Monday, and by then Friday’s hawallada should already have had everything he knows dragged out of him. By the time we’re flying into the sunset Monday night, the first of the ASUs could already be having their doors kicked in by the FBI as they sit down to watch Jerry Springer.”

Lotfi lifted his head toward heaven. “In’sha’allah.”

I knew what it meant, and smiled. “If God wills it.”

Lotfi came down from the sky and looked at me as if I should be replying, so I dusted off some lousy Arabic. “As-salaam alaykum.”

I wasn’t too sure I’d used the right reply, but it got me a smile and a “Wa alaykum as-salaam” in return as he looked over to Hubba-Hubba. I turned to him and caught him smiling back.

“Hey, I think my Arabic’s getting pretty good, these days. What do you reckon?”

Hubba-Hubba gave a slow nod. “It’s better than your English.”

They laughed and took sips of coffee as I joined them, thinking they were probably right. I got back to the orders before they took me down even more. “The collectors will use public transport — trains and buses. Possibly taxis, but unlikely. Any questions?” I looked at each of them in turn, but they stayed silent. “Okay then, enemy forces — as normal, everyone and everything. During my recce today, the police came into the marina with dogs for what looked like a drugs search. It wasn’t targeted at specific boats, but it’s something we should be aware of.

“Friendly forces — basically, that’s us. There’s probably just a handful of people on board the warship who know what’s happening, but you know they won’t help us. If we’re in the shit, don’t expect any help.”

They gave each other a knowing nod.

“The mission.” I paused. “The mission is in two parts. One, identify the hawalladas and deliver them to the DOP. Two, ensure the money never makes it to Algeria.” The mission is always repeated so there is no doubt, even though I kept having the feeling that these two were way ahead of me. “The mission. One, identify the hawalladas and deliver them to the drop-off point. Two, ensure the money never makes it to Algeria.”

I knew by the look on Lotfi’s face that I’d messed up.

“What’s wrong?”

“Hawallada. Not hawallada s. It is uncountable, both singular and plural — there is no s.”

Hubba-Hubba nodded his agreement.

“Hawallada it is. But I get to keep parked and marina, right?”

They thought that was a reasonable trade.

“Okay, then, let’s have a look at how we’re going to do it.” I looked them both in the eye: fun time had ended, and they understood. “I see this happening in five phases. Phase one, the OP on the Ninth of May. Two, placing the device. Three, taking the collectors to the hawallada. Four, the hit and drop-off at the DOP. Finally, phase five, preparing for the next day. Any questions?”

I paused for a few seconds to let that sink in. They drank a little more coffee.

“Phase one — the OP.” Hubba-Hubba refilled as Lotfi got back to work on his beads. I showed them the pictures of where my car would be parked on the road behind the hedge. They would find somewhere within comms (communications) distance when they did their own recces tomorrow. “I want you, Lotfi, to get in position on the town side of the marina. Check out the closing times of those stores.”

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.”