Time of the Assassins

FOUR

Sabrina paused outside the door, knocked, and entered. The man behind the desk was in his early forties with a dark, swarthy complexion and a thick black moustache which arched over the corners of his mouth. He looked up from the document he was reading and his eyes lingered on her body before he sat back and raised his eyebrows quizzically, waiting for her to speak.

'Are you Captain Farouk?' she asked.

'That's what it says,' he replied in faultless English, gesturing to the nameplate on his desk.

'If you read Arabic,' Sabrina replied with a smile. 'I spoke to you earlier on the phone — '

'Ah, yes,' Farouk cut in and glanced down at the notepad in front of him. 'Miss Cassidy, not so?'

'Sabrina Cassidy,' she replied, using the name on her UN AGO passport.

'Please, won't you sit down, Miss Cassidy?' Farouk said, indicating the wooden chair in front of his desk.

'Thank you,' she said and sat down.

'Is this your first time in Beirut?'

'Yes,' she replied truthfully. 'I didn't know where to begin looking for Mike so I called the police and they put me on to you. They said you were in charge of the investigation.' She feigned nervousness by fidgeting with the handbag in her lap. 'But what investigation? What's happened?'

Farouk raised his hand to silence her. 'There's a warrant out for the arrest of Michael Green.'

The name on one of the passports Graham had drawn from UN AGO stores in New York. She sat forward. 'On what charge?'

'Murder.'

She slumped back in the chair. 'Oh, my God. Murder? I don't believe it. Sure, Mike's a bit of a rebel but he'd never kill anybody.'

Farouk uncapped his pen and pulled the notepad towards him. 'I'd like to ask you a few questions, Miss Cassidy?'

'Yes, of course,' she replied, continuing to feign nervousness. 'Anything.'

'You said on the phone that he'd called you in New York. What exactly did he say?'

'All he said was that he was in trouble and that he needed some money to get out of the country. Then the line went dead.'

'Do you know why he was here?'

'The first I knew he was in Beirut was when he rang me.' She sighed deeply. 'Mike's a loner. It's not the first time he's gone off by himself.'

'And he owns a company in New York?' Farouk said, consulting his notes again.

'Whitaker Haulage,' she added. 'He's the boss.'

'Yes, I know. We found some business cards in his hotel room.' Farouk tapped thoughtfully on the notepad. 'And his fellow directors don't mind him just going off by himself without letting them know where he is? What if something were to happen to the company?'

'They're used to his erratic behaviour by now. And anyway, he pays their salaries. What can they say?'

'Did he have any friends that you knew of in Beirut?'

She shook her head. 'None that he ever mentioned.'

'Russell Laidlaw?'

She pretended to think for a moment. Then she shook her head again. 'No, I can't say the name means anything to me. Is that the man who was murdered?'

'No,' Farouk replied. 'He was the last person to see your boyfriend here in Beirut. He used to be in the Special Forces in America, the Delta unit.'

'Are you suggesting that Mike was once a member of Delta?' She shook her head in disbelief. 'I don't believe it. Not for one minute.'

'I'm not suggesting anything, Miss Cassidy. It's just strange that Laidlaw was with Delta and the murdered man, Barak, was an informer for Delta here in Beirut. Delta seems to be the common denominator, doesn't it?'

'Haven't you asked this man Laidlaw about Mike?'

'He claims to have met him for the first time at the Windorah; it's a bar frequented mainly by foreigners. The owner's borne out his story. So I'm back to square one.'

'Can't you ask Delta?'

'I already have. They say no Michael Green has ever been with them. And it took a lot of persuasion for them to just admit that.'

'How do you know Mike was involved? Did someone see him?'

'His fingerprints were on the murder weapon. I checked with Interpol and they confirmed they were his prints.'

'Interpol?' she replied with surprise. 'You mean he had a criminal record?'

'No, but the New York police had his prints on file.'

The N YPD had Graham's fingerprints on file. They had all U N A C O operatives' fingerprints on file. It was a precaution in case any of them were injured, or killed, and weren't carrying any formal identification. But Michael Green? Then it hit her. Why hadn't she thought of it when Kolchinsky briefed them? UN AGO must have given the NYPD permission to release the prints under Graham's assumed name. But why? It made no sense. They had set up their own operative. She wanted some answers and she was determined to get them when she next spoke to Kolchinsky.

'Is something wrong, Miss Cassidy?' Farouk said, noticing her frown.

She cursed herself silently for letting her guard drop. 'Sorry, I was just surprised that the New York police had his fingerprints on file. I never realized he had a criminal record.'

'He was once convicted of a drink-driving offence.'

'I didn't know that,' she said then sat forward, her eyes burrowing into Farouk. 'I still don't believe Mike killed this man. It's not in his character.'

'Well, unless he turns himself in we have to assume that he is the killer. And the longer he remains on the run, the worse it will become for him.'

'I think he's being held against his will somewhere,' she said.

'Perhaps he's already fled the country. InterpoPs been alerted.'

'How could he have fled the country without any money?' She shook her head. 'No, it all points to him being held against his will somewhere. Mike never travels without cash and credit cards. So why call me unless he had lost them? Or had them stolen?'

'You really believe he's innocent, don't you?'

'Yes, I do.' She got to her feet. 'Is there anything I can do to help him?'

'It's a police matter now, Miss Cassidy.' Farouk capped his pen and pointed it at her. 'If he should contact you, tell him to call me. It would be in his best interests.'

'I doubt he will call me,' she said with a dejected shrug. 'He doesn't even know I'm here.'

Farouk got to his feet and came round the desk to shake her hand. 'Thank you for your time,Miss Cassidy.'

She nodded and walked to the door.

'Oh, Miss Cassidy?' Farouk waited until she turned to look at him. 'If you're caught trying to help him escape you'll be charged with aiding and abetting a wanted criminal. Bear it in mind.'

'Sure,' she replied and closed the door behind her.

Laidlaw had been detained by the police only hours after Barak's murder and although they had interrogated him at regular intervals every four hours, trying to break him down, he had managed to stick to his story. He had met Graham, or Green as he had referred to him throughout the interrogation, for the first time at the Windorah. They had talked for a while then he had given Green a lift back to his hotel. He had never seen him again after that. He knew no-one had seen him at Barak's house otherwise he'd have been charged straight away.

He had been finally released after thirty-six hours. He had tried to sleep when he got home but to no avail. The voice haunted him: the voice of the policeman, Farouk. But he had never seen Farouk's face. He had asked the questions at every interrogation but always from behind the sanctuary of a powerful table lamp. Why hadn't he shown his face? Laidlaw had racked his brains over and over but he couldn't place the name. So why had he been so secretive? Laidlaw knew he could be overreacting from lack of sleep — it could have been a plan to try and break him down: a voice, no face. But still it troubled him. Who was Farouk?

He punched the pillow angrily. Forget Farouk. Just get some sleep. But he couldn't. That monotonous, grinding voice was in his head and he couldn't get rid of it. He kicked the sheet off and swung his legs onto the floor. Pushing the hair from his face he looked at the bedside clock. It had been five hours since he'd got home, and he hadn't slept in that time. All because of that damn voice. He stifled a yawn then stood up and went into the kitchen. He opened the freezer and helped himself to a cold beer and the last of the chicken drumsticks from the packet he had bought earlier in the week. He tossed the empty packet onto the overflowing bin in the corner of the room and sat down at the table. Just as he was about to open the beer the doorbell rang. He shook his head in despair then got to his feet and went to open the door.

'Russell Laidlaw?'

'That's right,' Laidlaw muttered. 'You're not a reporter, are you?'

'My name's Sabrina Cassidy, I'm a friend of Mike's.'

'Mike?'

'Mike Graham,' Sabrina retorted with a hint of irritation in her voice. 'We need to talk.'

'Look, come back later. I'm absolutely exhausted. I've been in police custody for the last thirty-six hours. And it's all thanks to your friend Mike.'

'I think he's in trouble,' she said. 'Please, we need to talk.'

Laidlaw rubbed his eyes wearily then pulled open the door. 'What the hell. I couldn't sleep anyway.'

'Thanks,' she said and stepped inside.

'You'll have to forgive the mess,' Laidlaw said, closing the door. 'I'm not very domesticated.'

She followed him into the kitchen and sat down in the chair offered to her.

'You want a beer?' he asked.

'Coffee, if you've got it.'

'Somewhere,' he replied and switched the kettle on before rummaging through the drawers. He found the coffee jar and put a heaped spoonful into the only clean mug he could find. 'You say you're a friend of Mike's. You work with him?'

'That's right,' she replied.

Laidlaw opened the beer and drank a mouthful.

'And you're out here to find him? Well, I wish you luck.'

'You saw him, didn't you?'

'I met him, yes-at the Windorah; it's a bar in town. We talked a bit then I gave him a lift back to his hotel. I never saw him after that.'

Sabrina exhaled deeply. 'How can I convince you I'm on the level?'

Laidlaw filled the cup with hot water then placed it on the table in front of her. He put the milk bottle beside the cup. 'Help yourself. Look, Miss Cassidy, I met your friend — '

'Spare me the act,' she cut in angrily. 'You served in Delta together. It was on an operation in Libya that his family was kidnapped by Arab terrorists to try and force him to countermand the order to attack. The two men behind the kidnapping were Salim Al-Makesh and Jean-Jacques Bernard. Al-Makesh was killed by the Israelis. Bernard was thought to have been killed in a car-bomb attack a year and a half ago. Mike obviously found out Bernard was alive and came out here to get him. You were his contact. That's all we know. I've been sent here to find out what really happened and get him back to the States.'

Laidlaw pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down. 'Carrie gave Mike a watch as a Christmas present. What make was it?'

'Piaget. Gold-plated. And it was a birthday present. Satisfied?'

Laidlaw nodded. 'Satisfied. Who's this "we" you mentioned?'

'I can't tell you, I'm afraid.'

'Undercover work in other words?'

'Something like that,' she replied.

'Are you his partner?'

She nodded. 'Did you tip him off about Bernard?'

'Yeah. I saw Bernard outside the American University Hospital. I knew Mike would want to know.'

'And where did this Barak fit into the picture?'

'Barak had been a Delta contact for years. If anybody could find Bernard, then he could. Until Mike put a bullet in his back.'

'Mike didn't kill him, you know that,' she retorted sharply.

'All I know is that when I reached the house Barak was dead. Then I saw Barak's car being driven away at high speed. And Mike had gone. Put two and two together.'

'It has to be a set-up. Why kill the one man capable of leading him to Bernard? It makes no sense.'

'I wasn't there when he went into the house. He insisted on that. I don't know what they discussed.'

'Only Mike knows that. That's why we have to find him.'

'Not "we". You can count me out. I put myself on the line for him once already and look where it got me: thirty-six hours in jail; Interrogations every four hours. No, Miss Cassidy, if you want to find Mike, you find him by yourself.'

'I don't know my way around Beirut.'

'So get a guide. There's plenty of them. And they don't cost much.'

'If it's money — '

'Don't insult me, Miss Cassidy,' Laidlaw snapped sharply.

She raised a hand in apology. 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I need your help, Mr Laidlaw. And so does Mike. If the police get to him first, he'll be put away for life.'

'And what if he did kill Barak? What if he is guilty? You're going to help a killer flee justice.'

'I don't know how well you know Mike. I think I know him pretty well. He's a damn good professional and he wouldn't jeopardize his career by putting a bullet in the back of some two-bit informer.'

'Mike's changed,' Laidlaw answered, staring at the beer can he was turning on the table. 'I noticed that the moment we met. He used to be the most stable guy I ever knew. Nothing ever riled him. But that was before he lost his family. Now he's bitter, unpredictable: I'd even say psychotic. I don't go along with your assessment, Miss Cassidy. I think he was more than capable of shooting Barak in the back. Especially if you consider he was on the trail of the man he believes had his family abducted and almost certainly murdered. No, I don't want any more to do with Mike. He's trouble.'

Sabrina pushed her chair back and stood up, her eyes blazing. 'At least Mike hasn't run away from his past. What about you? Hiding away in this squalor, trying to forget what happened in Honduras.' She noticed the surprise in his eyes. 'Oh, I know all about you, Mr Laidlaw. I read your file on the plane. I know why you left Delta. I don't think you're in any position to pass judgement on someone like Mike.'

'Just get out,' Laidlaw hissed between clenched teeth.

'My pleasure,' she retorted then walked to the door where she paused to look back at him. 'And don't forget, you were the one who contacted Mike in the first place. It's thanks to you that he's in this mess right now. Think about that when you open your next beer.'

Laidlaw sunk his face into his hands. A moment later the front door slammed shut. He suddenly grabbed the beer can and hurled it against the wall then upturned the table, sending it crashing against the cooker. He checked himself as he was about to kick the chair out of the way then walked slowly to the bedroom and slumped onto the bed. He put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. Within minutes he was asleep. It proved to be a disturbed, restless sleep.

'You look like death,' Dave Jenkins said when Laidlaw arrived at the Windorah that evening.

'I feel like it,' Laidlaw retorted, climbing onto one of the bar stools. 'A beer, Dave.'

'Comin' up,' Jenkins replied, uncapping a Budweiser and placing it on the counter in front of Laidlaw. 'Where were you last night? I was thinking about sending out the cavalry to look for you if you hadn't shown up tonight.'

'It's nice to be missed,' Laidlaw muttered then took a drink of beer.

'So where were you last night?'

Laidlaw shrugged. 'I didn't fancy coming in. Is that such a crime?'

'If it affects my profits, yes,' Jenkins said with a grin then pushed a coaster across to Laidlaw. 'What do you think of the design? A batch of them came in this morning.'

'What?' Laidlaw replied in amazement.

'Just look at the design.' Jenkins picked up another four and handed them out to the other customers sitting at the counter.

Laidlaw glanced at it, turned it over, and was about to discard it when he saw the handwritten note scrawled across it. He looked up but Jenkins was busy discussing the logo with one of the other customers. He read the note: Go upstairs to Room 4. Knock twice. Pause. Knock twice more.

'Interesting, isn't it?' Jenkins said, deftly taking the coaster from Laidlaw's hand and discarding it unobtrusively in the bin under the counter. 'But then I'm biased anyway.'

Laidlaw took another mouthful of beer then got to his feet and walked to the stairs at the end of the room. He paused, his hand on the banister. What the hell was going on? He sighed deeply then mounted the stairs and looked around him slowly. The Windorah had been a small family hotel before Jenkins bought it seven years earlier. The ten rooms were all situated on the first floor. Jenkins had decided to concentrate on the bar and closed the rooms. He converted the first two into toilets and the others were only used for customers, invariably foreign journalists who were too drunk to drive home. He never charged for the rooms and the journalists repayed him by keeping their custom at the bar.

Laidlaw stopped outside Room 4, glanced round to see that nobody was about, then knocked twice. He paused momentarily then knocked twice more. A bolt was drawn back from inside then the door opened fractionally before a hand reached out and hauled him into the room. The door closed behind him immediately.

'Mike?' Laidlaw said in amazement as Graham bolted the door.

'You took your time! Where the hell were you last night?'

'Being interrogated on a murder charge,' Laidlaw snapped back. 'Thirty-six hours without any sleep. And all thanks to you. You've got some explaining to do.'

Graham walked to the unmade bed and sat down. '1.didn't kill Barak.'

'So where were you when I got to the house? And who drove off in Barak's Peugeot?'

Graham rubbed his unshaven face and looked up at Laidlaw. 'All I know is that when I entered the house someone coshed me. When I woke up I was in some back alley. I still don't know where it was. And my Beretta was gone.'

'The police have got it,' Laidlaw said coldly. 'It was the gun that killed Barak.'

'I know,' Graham retorted. 'Why the hell do you think I've been holed up here since yesterday? When I saw my picture on the front page of the local newspaper I knew it meant trouble.'

'So why did you come here?'

'I went to your house first but the cops were watching it. I also saw them putting a tap on your phone. That's why I couldn't call you. Then I thought of Dave. He's the only other guy I could trust here.'

Laidlaw moved to the window and tweaked the edge of the curtains. The police car that had followed him to the Windorah was still parked across the road.

'Were you followed here?' Graham asked.

'Yeah,' Laidlaw replied, letting the curtain fall back into place. 'But that was to be expected. Jeez, I still don't know what to make of your story. It doesn't make sense. If Bernard did kill Barak, why not kill you as well? What would he have to gain by setting you up?'

'That question's been going round in my head ever since I woke up in that alley.'

'And?'

'And nothing,' Graham replied. 'Like you said, it makes no sense. I'm still a threat to him alive.'

'What if Bernard wasn't behind it?'

'It has to be Bernard. Hell, I wish I knew why though.'

Laidlaw looked down at Graham. 'The cops aren't the only ones on your tail. Your partner's in town.'

Graham's eyes narrowed suspiciously. 'My partner?'

'Calls herself Sabrina Cassidy. Looks like a model out of one of those Coke ads, only better.'

Graham smiled faintly. 'That's her. When did she get in?'

'Dunno. We didn't exactly hit it off.'

'I know what you mean. I didn't get on with her either when we started working together. We'd fight like cat and dog. Hell, we still have our spats. But she's still a damn good professional all the same.'

'She thinks a lot of you, you know. I made the mistake of criticizing you and she came down on me like a ton of bricks.'

'She's very maternal. It can be a pain in the ass at times.'

'Is that what you call it?' Laidlaw replied, an eyebrow raised quizzically.

There were two knocks on the door before Graham could muster a reply. A pause then another two knocks.

'That's Dave,' Graham said. 'He said he'd be up. I'll get him to find out where Sabrina's staying.'

Graham unlocked the door. Jenkins entered, followed by two Arabs in jeans and open-necked shirts. Both were armed with Russian Makarova pistols.

'I'm sorry, Mike,' Jenkins said, giving Graham a despairing look. 'They caught me unawares. They were in the opposite room.'

'Shut up!' one of the Arabs snapped in a thick English accent. 'You are Mike Graham?'

Graham nodded slowly. 'Who are you? Bernard's goons?'

'Captain Farouk want to see you,' the Arab replied.

'That's the bastard who interrogated me,' Laidlaw hissed.

'If you not come, the girl will die.' The Arab took a passport from his pocket and tossed it on the bed. 'Captain Farouk say you look. He serious.'

Graham picked up the passport and looked at

Laidlaw. 'It's Sabrina's.' He turned on the English-speaking Arab. 'If you or this Farouk have touched her I'll tear you apart with my bare hands.'

The Arab's face remained motionless. 'You come. All of you.'

'Farouk wants me, let the others go,' Graham said.

'If you not come, the girl will die.'

'It's like talking to a robot,' Graham hissed then glanced at Jenkins and Laidlaw. 'We're going to have to do as he says. I'm sorry.'

'What about the bar?' Jenkins asked.

'The bar closed.'

'Closed?' Jenkins replied indignantly.

'It has been closed. We go out the back door. And if you are thinking about trying to fight us — '

'Yeah, we know,' Graham cut in angrily.

'The girl will die,' the Arab concluded.

Jenkins led the way down the stairs into the now empty bar room. He opened the hatchway at the end of the counter then turned to the English-speaking Arab. 'Can I at least lock up?'

The Arab nodded then ordered his accomplice to go with Jenkins. When they returned Jenkins again led the way out into the side alley behind the bar. A black van was parked by the door. Jenkins locked the door, pocketed the keys, then his hands were tied behind his back before he was bundled into the back of the van after Graham and Laidlaw. The doors were closed, enveloping them in darkness, and locked from the outside. The two Arabs then climbed into the front and moments later the van spluttered into life and turned out of the alley.

'Mike, can you reach into my jacket pocket?' Jenkins said, nudging Graham with his elbow.

'What the hell for?'

'My keys,' Jenkins replied. 'There's a Swiss Army knife on the keyring. That's why I insisted on locking the bar. We can cut ourselves free.'

'Good thinking, Dave, but we can't risk it.'

'What do you mean?' Jenkins replied. 'If we can cut ourselves free we can jump those two when they open the doors again. Three against two. We'd have a good chance of overpowering them.'

'If we could be sure it would only be the two of them. What if there are others waiting for us when we do reach our destination?'

'It's worth a try, surely?' Jenkins retorted.

'It's not just that. We don't know where Sabrina is. Even if we did manage to overpower them we could be putting her life in danger. I won't take that risk.'

'Great, so we're just going,to sit here like trussed up chickens — '

'If you quit whining, Dave, I could tell you what I've got in mind.'

'That's gratitude for you. Who took you in — '

'Dave, shut up,' Laidlaw snapped then turned to Graham beside him. 'Well, what's the plan?'

'We loosen our ropes. Then, once we know Sabrina's safe we can make our move. It's a long shot, I know, but there isn't much else we can do under the circumstances.'

'I had the same idea,' Laidlaw said. 'Let's just hope Cheech and Chong up front aren't telepathic.'

'We've got to chance it,' Graham replied grimly.

They set about loosening the ropes just enough for them to be able to reach the knot once Graham gave the signal. Their only concern was that, in the darkness, one, or more, of the ropes had been loosened too much and it would be noticed when they emerged from the back of the van. All they could do was wait.

Twenty minutes later the van came to a halt, but the engine was kept running. They heard one of the Arabs get out and moments later a metal gate was opened and the van drove forward a few feet before stopping again, presumably to pick up the Arab. They drove another couple of hundred yards before the van came to a halt and the engine was switched off. This time both Arabs got out and the back doors were unlocked.

The English-speaking Arab ordered them to get out. Jenkins scrambled out first, followed by Graham and Laidlaw. They looked around. They were in an illuminated yard lined with a row of six red and black pantechnicons. Graham couldn't understand the writing across the side of the nearest one. It was in Arabic. The Arabs spoke briefly together then the English-speaking one stepped back, his Makarova trained on the three men. His colleague walked behind Jenkins and tugged at the rope binding his wrists. He cursed angrily and immediately tightened it. Graham and Laidlaw remained motionless, not daring to look at each other. Laidlaw was spun round and the Arab checked his rope then he was pushed aside and Graham subjected to the same treatment. The Arab shook.his head at his colleague.

'Inside,' the English-speaking Arab ordered, gesturing with the pistol to the door behind him.

Graham and Laidlaw exchanged relieved glances then followed Jenkins into the white-walled corridor. They were led to a metal door. The English-speaking Arab pulled it open and indicated for them to enter. They found themselves in a cavernous room lined with scarred wooden workbenches and rows of metal hooks hanging from the ceiling. They were all on runners and could be manoeuvred the length of the room. It was spotlessly clean. The second Arab walked to a door and disappeared inside. Moments later the door opened and he emerged with Sabrina. Her hands were bound behind her back but she was otherwise unhurt. He pushed her onto a chair by the door. Graham took a step towards her but the English-speaking Arab levelled the pistol menacingly at him and ordered him to remain where he was.

'You OK?' Graham called out.

'I'm fine. I didn't realize Farouk…' she trailed off when she saw Graham and Laidlaw both look past her, their eyes riveted on the man who had appeared in the doorway.

'Good to see you again, Mr Graham. It's been a long time.'

Sabrina looked from Farouk to Graham, a puzzled frown on her face. 'You know Farouk?'

'Farouk?' Graham snorted contemptuously. 'That's Salim Al-Makesh.'

'What?' Sabrina replied in amazement. 'But he was killed by Israeli commandos in Damascus.'

'That's obviously what they wanted us to believe,' Graham said without taking his eyes of Al-Makesh.

'Which only leaves one logical explanation. You're working for the Israelis now, aren't you?'

Al-Makesh stepped away from the door, his hands dug into his trouser pockets. He nodded. 'It was either that or be killed. It was a question of survival.'

'Now it makes sense,' Laidlaw said, nodding to himself. 'I couldn't understand why you never showed yourself when you were interrogating me. You knew I'd recognize you straight away.'

'I wasn't sure whether you would or not,' Al-Makesh replied. 'I have changed my appearance considerably since I was with the Black June but it seems I made the right decision after all.'

'Who killed Barak?' Graham demanded. 'You or Bernard?'

'Bernard. I had nothing to do with it,' Al-Makesh said. 'When Barak told him you were in Beirut — '

'Barak worked for him?' Graham interceded.

'Barak worked for anyone who paid him,' Al-Makesh replied with a dismissive shrug. 'But he had started to drink heavily in recent months and Bernard felt he had become a liability. So when he heard you were in town he hit on a plan to get rid of both of you. He'd kill Barak and set you up as the fall guy -1 believe that's the term you Americans use. He would knock you out when you went to the house, kill Barak, then dump you in an alley near the Cola Roundabout in western Beirut. All I had to do was go there and arrest you. But when I got there, you'd gone.'

'Why didn't Bernard just kill me when he had the chance?' Graham asked.

'And have UNACO crawling all over Beirut?' Al-

Makesh smiled when Graham looked at him in surprise. 'I have my sources, just like you. But if you were arrested for murder they would have to be very careful not to blow their cover. Any sort of publicity could have splashed UNACO across the front page of every newspaper in the world.'

'I would have recognized you the moment I saw you,' Graham said.

'Who would have believed you? The Israeli Mossad would have confirmed that I'd been killed in Damascus. I have a watertight cover for all those years I was with the Black June. The authorities would think you'd finally cracked under the pressure of what had happened to your family. You'd probably have ended up in an asylum.'

'I could have backed him up,' Laidlaw said.

'My superiors would have dismissed Graham's allegations about my past as the ramblings of a broken man. But if you'd also been able to identify me then they would certainly have initiated an investigation. For that reason you would have had to be silenced once Graham was in custody. An accident. But when Bernard's plan backfired I needed you alive in case you could lead me to Graham. Which, as it turned out, you did.'

'Were the CIA in on this?' Sabrina asked.

'No,' Al-Makesh replied bluntly. 'And neither were the Mossad.'

'The CIA?' Graham asked, staring at Sabrina. 'What the hell have they got to do with this?'

'Bernard works for them,' she told him.

'What?' Graham snarled.

'She's right,' Al-Makesh said then gestured around him. 'This all belongs to Bernard. It's a meat-processing plant, paid for with money from a CIA slush fund. He's now a legitimate businessman.'

'And how did the Israelis get you into the police?' Sabrina asked.

'I was a policeman for twelve years in Jordan before I joined the Black June. It wasn't difficult for me to fit in here. So not only am I in a job I know, I'm also in a position to pass vital information back to the Israelis. It's the perfect cover.'

'And now you're going to kill us to protect your cover,' Laidlaw concluded.

'You know too much.'

'Kill us and UN AGO will be crawling all over Beirut,' Sabrina warned him.

Til have to take that risk. But even if they do come they still won't find any bodies. There's a beef shipment due out tomorrow destined for Syria. You'll be going with it.' Al-Makesh pointed to a wooden container in the corner of the room. 'Your bodies will be put in there. The container will then be sealed and loaded onto one of the trucks in the morning. Then, once over the border, it will conveniently disappear. Who knows how long it will take before it's discovered?'

'All neatly worked out,' Graham said facetiously. 'You two must be very proud of yourselves.'

'This is all my idea. Bernard doesn't even know you're here. We have an arrangement. I use this place if I need to get rid of someone. The blood gets washed away in the morning so there's no evidence to suggest a crime ever took place. And his foreman makes sure the containers are loaded onto the trucks and dumped over the border. No questions asked. All very amicable.' Al-Makesh looked at the English-speaking Arab standing beside Graham. 'Samir, you know what to do.'

Graham had managed to untie his hands soon after entering the room and lashed out at Samir, catching him on the side of the face with his fist, rocking him back against the wall. The Makarova fell to the floor. Laidlaw, who had also managed to untie his hands, tackled the second Arab. Graham picked up the Makarova and shot the second Arab as he turned his pistol on Laidlaw. Laidlaw's hand was on his Pzzo automatic but he knew he couldn't fire it, no matter how hard he tried. Samir grabbed Graham from behind as Al-Makesh unholstered his Beretta. Graham broke the hold and swivelled Samir round as Al-Makesh fired. The bullet took Samir in the chest. Sabrina leaped from her chair and shoulder-charged Al-Makesh before he could fire again. His gun clattered noisily to the floor. Graham swung the Makarova on Al-Makesh who was still reaching for the Beretta. All the hate welled up inside him as he thought of Carrie and Mikey. He squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. The pistol had jammed.

'Shoot him!' Graham screamed at Laidlaw who was staring at the pistol in his hand. 'Russ, shoot him!'

Al-Makesh's fingers curled around the Beretta. Sabrina lunged at him. He swung the gun on her. She kicked out, catching him on the wrist. The bullet was deflected harmlessly into the ceiling. Graham tore

Laidlaw's Pzzo automatic from his hand and shot Al-Makesh through the head. He was dead before his body hit the floor.

Graham swung round to Laidlaw and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. 'What the hell were you playing at? Christ, Russ, he was about to kill us and you're standing there admiring the damn gun. What's your problem?'

Sabrina was quick to intervene and nudged Graham with her elbow. 'Mike, untie me.'

Graham shoved Laidlaw away from him then turned to Sabrina and untied her hands.

'Who's the other guy?' she asked, massaging her wrists.

'Dave Jenkins, he runs the Windorah, it's a bar in the city. He's been hiding me for the last couple of days.'

Jenkins waited until Laidlaw had untied his hands then approached Graham who introduced him to Sabrina. 'Mike, you deliberately loosened my ropes more than you needed to. Why?'

'You're not a soldier, Dave. I didn't want to get you involved in the fighting. Also, it was a psychological move. I knew the goon would automatically check to see if our ropes were as loose as yours. That's how we were able to deceive him.' Graham looked angrily at Laidlaw. 'I should have left your ropes loose as well.'

'You've got every right to be mad at me, Mike. I know I should have told you but…' he trailed off with a shrug and stared dejectedly at his feet.

'Told me what?' Graham demanded. 'That you've become some kind of born-again pacifist?'

'Can we discuss this later?' Sabrina said, stepping between them. 'We've got to get out of here. What if someone heard the shots?'

'Al-Makesh would have taken care of that,' Graham said. 'He would hardly have wanted anyone alerting the authorities, would he?'

'I guess not,' Sabrina replied then gestured towards the bodies. 'What about them?'

'They take our places when the meat shipment leaves for Syria tomorrow,' Graham answered.

'What if they check the container?' Jenkins asked.

'They won't if it's sealed. They'll just assume it's us. Come on, let's get them in the container.'

They carried the bodies in silence across the room and dumped them into the wooden container. Graham then nailed on the lid.

'Can we get out of here now?'

'Sure, Dave,' Graham answered with a reassuring smile.

'We've got to talk,' Sabrina said to Graham. 'Alone.'

'Come back to the Windorah,'Jenkins offered. 'You can talk there in private.'

'Yeah, we'll take you up on that, Dave,' Graham said then suddenly looked despairingly at the sealed container. 'Oh God, the keys for the van…'

'Are here,' Sabrina said, jangling them behind Graham. 'Well, someone had to be alert.'

'What would I do without you?' Graham replied facetiously.

'What indeed?' she answered with a questioning glance in his direction before walking to the door.

Jenkins unlocked one of the bedrooms when they got back to the Windorah and switched on the light after he had crossed to the window to draw the curtains. 'Anyone thirsty?'

'I'd love a coffee,' Sabrina said, sinking into the armchair beside the window.

'Make that two,' Graham added.

'Russell?'

'Beer please, Dave,' Laidlaw replied.

Jenkins left the room.

'You want me to leave as well?' Laidlaw asked.

'Not until you've told me what the hell happened to make you trigger shy.' Graham sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at Laidlaw. 'Well?'

Laidlaw's eyes flickered towards Sabrina. She knew. She'd read his dossier. He pulled up the wooden chair from beside the bed and sat down. 'Last year we went into Honduras to help the government troops suppress an attempted coup d'etat by Communist-backed rebels. We'd been there about a week when we got news that the rebel leader and his council would be holding a meeting at a farmhouse on the outskirts of Choluteca — it's a town in the south of the country: rebel territory. We were asked to infiltrate the area and retrieve as many documents as we could from the farmhouse. But no prisoners. Why, I don't know. But those were our orders. Six of us went in. There wasn't a single guard on duty when we got there. That should have alerted us. But, as I said, we had our orders. We launched our offensive just as the meeting was supposed to have started. Three of us went in the front, the other three through the back. We'd been told which room would be used for the meeting so we didn't have to search the whole building. We threw stun grenades into the room then went in firing.' He shifted uncomfortably on the chair and wiped a bead of sweat that ran down the side of his face. 'There were no rebels there. Just four missionaries and thirty-five kids. None of the kids were over ten. Orphans of the war. It only took us a few seconds to realize the mistake but by then twenty-eight kids and three of the missionaries were either dead or dying. Two of the kids and the fourth missionary died later in hospital. Five kids survived. Five out of thirty-five. The rebels blamed the massacre on the government troops and the government blamed it on the rebels. It became just another story from Central America. Nobody took much notice.'

He rubbed his hands over his face. 'The six of us were immediately flown back to the States to undergo psychiatric treatment. I was the worst affected. I couldn't touch a gun. Christ, I even broke out into a sweat if I saw one on TV. The other guys responded to treatment. I didn't. After six months the psychiatrists gave up on me. So I was retired. It was another six months before I was able to pick up a gun again. But I still couldn't touch the trigger. I wanted to shoot that bastard tonight, Mike. My brain told me to pull the trigger but my finger wouldn't respond. I know I should have told you earlier but I reasoned that if I did you wouldn't want me along; and you needed a guide. You wouldn't have lasted five minutes if you'd gone after Bernard by yourself. They protect their own around here.'

'Yeah, I know.' Graham stood up and patted Laidlaw on the shoulder. 'I'm sorry, buddy. I only wish you'd told me this earlier. Like when we first met. It would have saved a lot of unnecessary antagonism.'

'I realize that now,' Laidlaw replied with a shrug. 'But like I said, I didn't think you'd want me along.'

'I wouldn't have let you off that easily,' Graham said with a half-smile.

The door opened and Jenkins entered carrying a tray. He placed it on the bedside table.

Laidlaw took a beer, drank a mouthful, then looked at Graham. 'You guys want us to leave?'

Sabrina nodded. 'Please. Mike and I need to talk.'

'Sure,' Laidlaw said then followed Jenkins to the door.

Graham closed the door behind them then turned back to Sabrina. 'You're here to take me back, aren't you?'

'Yes.'

'Then you're wasting your time. I came out here to find Bernard and that's what I intend to do.'

She sat down then outlined the case to him, careful not to leave anything out.

'So what you're saying is that Bernard's the only person who knows when the hit on Mobuto's going to take place?' Graham concluded once she had finished speaking.

She nodded. 'And if you put a bullet into him before he can pass the information on to Bailey then Mobuto's as good as dead. It would almost certainly mean the return of a dictatorship to Zimbala; and the reinstatement of the Security Police. Could you live with that on your conscience for the rest of your life?'

Graham rubbed his hands over his face then stared thoughtfully at the carpet for some time before finally looking up at Sabrina again. Til make a deal with you.'

'A deal?' she replied with a frown.

'You help me find Bernard — '

'Forget it!' she cut in sharply.

'Hear me out, Sabrina. If you help me find Bernard I'll wait until he's tipped off Bailey before I kill him. If you refuse then I'll go after him regardless of what happens to Mobuto. Could you live with that on your conscience for the rest of your life?'

'I don't believe what I'm hearing,' she replied. 'What the hell's the matter with you, Mike? This isn't some game show where you barter with another contestant for the big prize. We're talking about a man's life here. We're talking about the future of a country.'

'If Bernard gets away after tipping off Bailey he's certain to be given a new identity by the CIA. He could go anywhere he wanted and I'd never find him again. Never.'

'Let it go, Mike. This vendetta's going to destroy you. You didn't kill Barak; I can vouch for that when we get back to the States. You'll catch hell for coming out here but that will be the end of it. But if you kill Bernard you'll be thrown out of UN A CO. You could even be indicted for murder. Is that what 700 want?'

'I want Bernard, that's what I want. And if they throw me out…' he trailed off with a shrug. 'Those are my terms, Sabrina. Take them or leave them.'

'You do what you want, Mike,' she snapped then got to her feet and strode to the door. 'I've tried to reason with you. I should have known better. I'm going to call Sergei and tell him what's happened.'

Graham grabbed her arm as she opened the door. 'Help me, Sabrina. Please. I don't want anything to happen to Mobuto. But I have to go after Bernard, don't you see that? I owe it to Carrie and Mikey. I owe it to them.'

She pulled her arm free and walked to the booth, lifting the receiver off the wall. She could hear Jenkins and Laidlaw talking in the bar room below her. At least they were occupied. She dialled the unlisted number, identified herself to Sarah at UNACO headquarters, and gave her the number of the phone to call back. She replaced the receiver and tapped her fingers on the dog-eared directory as she waited for it to ring. Graham appeared at the door. She glanced at him but before he could speak the phone rang. She picked up the receiver and had to identify herself again before she was patched through to Kolchinsky.

'Sabrina?'

'Speaking,' she replied.

'You just caught me. I was on my way home. Any news of Michael?'

She looked across at Graham, her mind still in turmoil over his ultimatum. She knew if she helped him she would be reprimanded, perhaps even suspended. But if she refused, Mobuto's life would certainly be at risk. She had to make a choice. Then she thought of the picture Graham always carried in his wallet of Carrie and Mikey. What price justice if Bernard were allowed to go free?

'Sabrina, are you still there?' Kolchinsky barked, interrupting her thoughts.

'Sorry, Sergei, it's a bad line,' she lied.

'It's very clear this end. I asked if there was any news of Michael?'

'No, not yet. Why was he set up?'

'What?' Kolchinsky replied in surprise.

'You know exactly what I'm talking about, Sergei. I spoke to the policeman in charge of the case this afternoon. He said the N YPD identified Mike by his prints. But they only know him as Graham. He travelled under the name of Green. How could they have matched the prints unless UN AGO authorized it?'

'We had no choice,' Kolchinsky said at length. 'If the Beirut police had continued to probe who knows what they might have uncovered? We had to protect the organization.'

'And what if Mike gets arrested? Will UN AGO leave him to rot in some Beirut jail to protect themselves?'

'He brought this on himself. It was an unauthorized mission.' Kolchinsky sighed deeply. 'No, we wouldn't leave him in some Beirut jail. We'd get him out. Somehow. But don't let it come to that, Sabrina. Find him and bring him back.'

'That's easier said than done. All my enquiries have drawn a blank so far.'

'I suggest a change in tactics. He's after Bernard, right? If you find Bernard first you won't have to chase after him any more. He'll come to you. And then you can intercept him before he can get to Bernard.'

'And how do you suggest I find Bernard? According to Bailey's dossier, his bodyguards are Hezbollah fundamentalists. They're hardly going to take very kindly to a woman poking her nose into their affairs, are they?'

'They only act as his bodyguards in the Lebanon. He flew out of Beirut last night, destination Habane. He used the name Alain Devereux.'

'Zimbala? Why?'

'I don't know. Bailey told me this morning. And he only found out from one of his operatives who had seen Bernard at Beirut Airport last night.'

'So he still hasn't contacted Bailey about the hit?'

'Not a word. This is a critical stage of the operation, Sabrina. That's why you've got to stop Michael from getting to Bernard.'

'I'll get the next flight out to Habane,' she assured him. 'Who's my contact in Zimbala?'

'We don't have anyone in Zimbala. Bailey offered to get one of his men at the embassy to liaise with you but I decided against it. I don't want the CIA interfering in our business. What they will do is leave an envelope for you in one of the lockers at the airport. It'll contain your hotel reservation, money, maps of the city — the usual. I've also asked them to leave a Beretta there for you. The key will be at the information desk. But apart from that, you're on your own.'

'It won't be the first time,' she muttered.

'Call me when you get there. I hope to have more on Bernard by then.'

'How's the Colonel?'

'He's fine. I saw him this morning.'

'Send him my regards when you next see him, will you?'

'Of course. And Sabrina, be careful.'

'You can count on it.' She replaced the receiver and looked round at Graham who was hovering at the door. 'Bernard left for Zimbala last night.'

'I got the gist of the conversation. Why the sudden change of heart? You were determined to spill the works when you went to the phone.'

'What good would it have done telling Sergei I'd found you? You wouldn't have come back with me anyway. Then I'd have had to chase after you wherever you went. It would have been like something out of the Keystone Cops. At least this way I know where you are. And I know Bernard will be able to tip off Bailey before you get to him.' She gave him a wry smile. 'Well, that's what I'll say in my defence when I get back. I don't think it'll save me from suspension though.'

'Why should you be suspended? It's not as if I gave you much choice. You did what you thought was best under the circumstances. The Colonel can't fault you for that. And what was all that about sending him your regards? Is he ill?'

'I haven't told you, have I? With all this going on, it completely slipped my mind.'

'Told me what?'

They returned to the room where she explained about Philpott's heart attack and his subsequent convalescence at the Bellevue Hospital where he would remain for the next few days.

'He can be a cantankerous old fossil at times but I hope this isn't going to force him to retire. The place wouldn't be the same without him.'

'It's up to his doctor to decide if he'll be fit enough to return to work. But the signs are encouraging by all accounts.' She gestured to the door. 'Well, I'd better get back to the hotel and pack.'

'How will I know where you're staying once you reach Zimbala? You're sure to get there first.'

'We don't need to travel separately. U N A C O don't have anyone in Zimbala so word can't get back to Sergei that we're working together.'

'But word can get back to Bernard. Remember, he doesn't know what happened at the factory tonight. As far as he's concerned, I'm still a threat to him. And that means he's sure to have people at the airport ready to intercept me the moment I arrive there.'

'What about me? If Al-Makesh knew we were with UN A C O, then Bernard's sure to know it as well. And for all he knows, we could be working together to track him down.'

Graham shook his head. 'He'll know the real reason why you're in Beirut.'

'How? Sergei said Bernard hasn't been in touch with Bailey for days, certainly not since C.W. and I were assigned to the case.'

'Because Al-Makesh knew why you were in Beirut. All Bailey had to do was tell the Mossad why you were here and they would have got Al-Makesh to pass the information on to Bernard. How else do you think Al-Makesh knew we were from UN A CO? Not from some informer on the street corner. From the Mossad.' Graham sat on the bed and looked up at her. 'Bernard will make sure you're given a free hand wherever you go. You're his guardian angel-the one person keeping me away from him. No, don't worry, you'll be perfectly safe in Zimbala.'

'How are you going to get there?'

'I don't know yet. My best bet would probably be to fly into one of the neighbouring states and sneak over the border at night. Which brings us back to my original question. How will I know where to contact you?'

'I'll have the use of a locker at the airport…' she trailed off with a despondent sigh. 'Sorry, I forget. You can't go near the airport.'

'Leave it there. I'll sort something out.'

'What name will you be using?'

He thought for a moment. 'Well, I can't use Michael Green any more. I'll use the Miles Grant passport.'

'OK, I'll leave the key for the locker at the information counter.' She glanced at her watch. 'As I said, I'd better get back to the hotel. I still have to make all the necessary travel arrangements before I go to bed.'

'See you in Zimbala.'

She walked to the door then paused to look back suspiciously at him. 'I've put my neck on the block for you, Mike. Don't jump the gun and go after Bernard by yourself.' no

'As if I would,' he replied, his hands held out in a gesture of mock innocence. His face suddenly became serious. 'We made a deal. I'll stick to it.'

'Sure,' she replied with a quick smile then left the room.

He returned to his room and pulled his holdall out from under the bed. He could hear Sabrina in the bar below talking to the two men. Then silence. He turned his attention to rounding up his clothes and packing them in the holdall.

'Knock, knock,' Laidlaw said from the open doorway behind him.

'Come in, Russ,' Graham said without looking round.

'So, you're off on your travels again. Where to now, or can't you say?'

'You know the drill,' Graham said.

'You're going after Bernard, aren't you?'

Graham zipped up his toilet bag and put it in the holdall. 'Perhaps.'

'You need an extra pair of hands?'

Graham looked round sharply and was about to shake his head when he paused to weigh up the pros and cons of the situation. He was going into the unknown. Alone. Hell, he didn't even know where he was going. He could use someone with Laidlaw's experience. He couldn't speak any foreign languages. He knew Laidlaw spoke French, one of the main languages of Zimbala. But he was now officially working on UN AGO time. And Laidlaw was an outsider, an outsider who couldn't even be relied upon to fire a gun in a crisis. Some decision. in

'What do you know about Zimbala?'

'Small country in Africa. Borders Chad and Niger. It used to be a dictatorship — '

'OK,' Graham cut in, holding up his hands to silence Laidlaw. 'I've got to rendezvous with Sabrina in Zimbala. She's flying there. I can't risk that. Bernard's sure to have his spies out looking for me. I'm going to have to fly to either Chad or Niger and slip over the border by car. But I don't speak French or Arabic so I'm going to stick out like the proverbial sore thumb. And that means attracting unnecessary attention that could get back to Bernard.'

'And you want me to get you into Zimbala.'

'You speak French.'

'And Arabic,' Laidlaw added then smiled wryly. 'It'll be like old times.'

'All I want you to do is get me to Habane. That's where I'm meeting Sabrina. Then I'll cut you loose.' Graham immediately saw the disappointment in Laidlaw's eyes. 'What if we're caught in a firefight when we find Bernard? You'd only be a liability. I don't want your death on my conscience, Russ. We've been through too much together.'

Laidlaw nodded, his face grim. 'I hear what you're saying, Mike. I'll get you to Habane.'

'Thanks,' Graham said.

'Come on, we'll sort out the flight arrangements downstairs.' Laidlaw walked to the door then looked round at Graham, a faint smile touching the corners of his lips. 'It won't be the first time I've had to come to your rescue and haul your ass out of trouble.'

'Like hell,' Graham replied good-humouredly then picked up his holdall and followed Laidlaw into the corridor, closing the door behind him.