Deaken’s War

21

Grearson stood self-consciously before the telephone kiosk, aware from Deaken’s experience that the conversations were conducted under observation and wondering where the man was. Activity swirled around him, on the jetties and in the harbour, people at play in the sunshine. It increased the discomfort; for one of the few times he could recall, Grearson felt overdressed in a business suit. It wasn’t the thought of being watched, not entirely; any more than it was wearing a suit while everyone else wore the bare minimum. It was the thought of what was going to happen in a few minutes. Another negotiation, and nothing to bargain with. The lawyer knew Azziz was unimpressed by the concessions he had had to make in Greece. Azziz’s judgement-“the cost is too great”-had sounded ominous to a man who had sacrificed a corporate career to work exclusively for one employer, was fifty years old, and knew it would be a bastard trying to earn a quarter of what he pulled in now if Azziz fired him. Which he might. Grearson was frightened of losing it all, the luxury of an always available helicopter and hotel, and an airline staff on permanent, personal standby. And that wasn’t counting the other privileges, like the penthouse in New York and the yacht here in the Mediterranean. Not just the yacht. The women too. Carole was a very desirable new addition, the best there had ever been. Grearson stirred, excited by the thought of her. He had never known anyone screw like her; she was fabulous.

Grearson entered the phone booth and fixed the recorder, gazing around again in a fresh surge of discomfort. The suit was definitely wrong in this heat. The whole thing was wrong-a stupid, melodramatic charade. He attached the recorder, ensured it was properly connected, then stared blankly at the receiver, waiting. It sounded precisely on time. Grearson depressed the record button and lifted the telephone delicately between his extended thumb and finger.

“So you’re the other lawyer,” said the voice.

“And you’re Underberg.”

“Yes.”

“Deaken’s gone to Africa, as you instructed. He’s going to make sure the ship comes back.”

“The instructions were clear enough the first time round.”

“It was a mistake.”

“If my people make a mistake, your boy dies,” said Underberg. “You’d better hope we’re more careful than you are.”

“We have to talk to Tewfik,” said Grearson.

“I’ve already been through this with Deaken.”

“The yacht has every sort of communication device.” said the lawyer. “We can manage any sort of linkup that you want.”

“The answer’s no,” said Underberg.

“There won’t be any trickery,” said Grearson. “Mr Azziz just wants to hear his voice… make sure he’s okay.”

“I’ve told you he’s okay.”

“We want to hear it from him.”

“Get that ship back and you can hear it soon enough.”

“That’s going to take days,” said Grearson. “It’s been more than a week already.”

“It would have been over by now if you’d done what you were told.”

“We’ve admitted the mistake,” said Grearson. “Let’s start from a new base.” The American was sweating, the receiver slippery beneath his fingers. This wasn’t going any better than Greece.

“There was only one base. You screwed it up.”

“We want proof the boy is okay.” At least, decided Grearson, he was controlling his voice better than Deaken; he was surprised at his need for comparison.

“I told Deaken in the last conversation the sort of proof you’d get if you didn’t follow our instructions.”

Grearson swallowed, feeling a sudden chill, despite the ovenlike heat of the kiosk. “If Mr Azziz receives any part of his son’s body, he’ll know he’s dead,” he said. “He’ll know the negotiations are over.”

It was a desperate gamble, more desperate than he realized as he spoke the words. From the other end of the line there was a silence which seemed to go on and on. Grearson clamped his lips between his teeth, physically biting back the anxiety to know if he was still connected.

“The first will come from the girl,” said Underberg at last.

A concession! Grearson recognized it at once, snatching at the advantage. “We’ve no interest whatsoever in the woman,” he said. “She’s Deaken’s pressure, not ours. You can do what you like with her.”

“You’re bluffing,” said Underberg. He was at the window gazing down at the indistinct figure enclosed in the kiosk, knowing he had been unexpectedly outmanoeuvred.

“I’ve admitted an error on our part,” said Grearson, savouring his new-found strength. “And told you there won’t be another. We’re doing exactly what you asked and in return we want proof that the boy is all right. I repeat, as far as Mr Azziz is concerned, Tewfik will be dead the moment we receive part of his body.”

“Do you want to put that to the test?” demanded Underberg.

“Do you?” said Grearson.

There was another long silence. Then Underberg said, “No telephone linkup; we won’t be tricked.”

“Proof,” insisted Grearson.

“When I get confirmation that the Bellicose is returning.”

Grearson recognized the further concession. “Levcos will have a position by tonight,” he said. “So will Lloyds. Tomorrow at the latest.”

“We’ll talk about it during the next contact,” said Underberg.

Grearson had listened several times to all the earlier recordings and detected the change in the man’s voice between the previous conversations and this one: Underberg was anxious for the first time to conclude a conversation. “When will that be?” he said.

“Two days.”

“Why not tomorrow?”

“Two days,” repeated Underberg. “I want the ship more than halfway back by then.”

“The boy’s not to be harmed,” said Grearson.

“Make sure the ship’s on the proper course.”

Grearson decided it was degenerating into something like a schoolboy shouting match. And he didn’t want that.

He put the telephone down.

The lawyer’s hand was shaking and he was soaked with sweat. He wasn’t quite sure what he had achieved. Remembering the observation, he unclipped the recorder, moved purposefully from the kiosk, and strode directly to the tender, looking neither left nor right. He retained this pose of indifference when he got aboard, remaining conspicuously in view against the midships cabin and gazing out over the stern, towards the Scheherazade. Carole, who had come ashore with him, smiled from inside the tiny cabin and Grearson smiled back. Christ, he thought, I hope I’ve got it right.

High above, Underberg stood rigidly at the hotel window, hands white with anger gripped by his side. He had been beaten, outbluffed and outmanoeuvred. During all the rehearsals and preparation, this sort of opposition hadn’t been allowed for. A sudden nervousness shivered through him. It was fortunate he had taken such elaborate precautions.

The boy insisted he felt well enough to exercise in the garden but he returned to the cottage within minutes, coming unsteadily to the table at which Karen was already sitting. He eased himself gratefully into a seat and Karen saw that he was shaking with the effort. The squat guard, Greening, who had escorted Tewfik remained for a few moments at the door and then went outside again.

“You all right?” she said.

“Just weak, that’s all.” For once there wasn’t the usual embarrassment. Instead he looked around to ensure they weren’t being overheard and then said, “And I want them to think I’m worse than I am.”

Karen had looked with him towards the door, impatient for Levy’s return; he had said he would only be away for an hour and it had already been almost twice as long as that.

“We’re definitely farther south,” continued Tewfik. “I can tell by the temperature and the things that are growing in the garden.”

“Yes,” she said. “I suppose we are.” She wasn’t interested where they were, only that she could stay here and that it wouldn’t end quickly.

“Have you heard anything… something that might give us an idea where this is?”

“No,” said Karen. “Nothing.”

“It’ll still be France,” he said. “They wouldn’t have risked a border crossing. And beyond central France, I guess. There’s quite a lot of pine and fir around. Have you noticed that?”

“No,” replied Karen honestly. “I haven’t.”

Tewfik was too involved in his own thoughts to notice her lack of interest. “I tested them today,” he said. “They don’t think there’s any risk.”

“Risk?”

“Of my getting away. They still think I’m ill.” He smiled at her encouragingly. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t go without you.”