Whiplash

51

Danny’s intervention as Kirk meant he wasn’t available to fix the jacket.

“You have to figure it out,” Nuri told Hera when they met around the corner from the hotel. “I’m not mechanical.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” asked Hera. But she took the sewing kit from him.

The first task was to match the button. Even with a dozen choices, there was no perfect match; the closest in size was a little off in color, and vice versa.

“Take the right size. He’ll feel it as he closes his jacket,” said Nuri. “But he won’t look at it.”

“So you want me to do it but you’re the expert?”

“It’s just how I button my buttons.” He demonstrated, miming the action on his sweater.

Danny had hollowed out the back of all the buttons while they were waiting, and lining up the bug was not difficult at all. Pushing the thread through wasn’t easy at first — she didn’t have a thimble. Nor was she sure exactly how she was going to tie it off at the end. She guessed that she was supposed to use a special knot, but looking at the other buttons gave no clue as to how it might be tied.

“You better hurry,” said Nuri. “I don’t think we should leave Danny in there with Tarid too long.”

“He can take care of himself,” said Hera. “I’m going as fast as I can.”

“How did you find me?” demanded Tarid as they sat down in the restaurant.

“It wasn’t an accident,” said Danny. He leaned closer as the waiter approached. “I am a Libyan businessman. I buy and sell apricots. And I don’t speak Farsi.”

Tarid frowned. There’d be no need to use the cover story here; no one cared. The waiter asked what they would have. Tarid said he would have some tea. Danny ordered a coffee, using perfect Farsi.

He was a difficult one to figure out, thought Tarid. Clearly, the research Aberhadji had done did not go far enough. The man must have connections, probably to the Russians, though nothing could be ruled out, even the CIA.

But the CIA connection was unlikely. This man was too good to be an American spy.

“What is it you really want?” Tarid asked.

Danny shook his head. “English. No accidents. There are gossips and spies everywhere. Especially in Tehran.”

“English will make us more suspicious,” said Tarid, still in Farsi.

“They’ll see I’m black and know I’m a foreigner.”

Tarid conceded the point, switching to English. “Were you the one who told the Sudanese army we were meeting?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m wondering who tipped them off myself. When I find out, he is a dead man.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“Of course not.”

Danny spotted the waiter and stopped talking. The man put their food down on the table, then retreated.

“I want to supply arms to the people in Africa who need them,” said Danny. “I want to start in the Sudan and branch out. You have connections with people who pay. We can work together. There are people with good connections who help me. No one would do poorly, yourself included.”

The suggestion pushed Tarid back in his seat. Was that what this was all about? Had Aberhadji arranged to test him?

Of course. How else would he have been able to follow him to Iran?

Everything had been a test — Aberhadji must have heard something on his visit, and decided to send Kirk. No wonder he vouched for him — Kirk was his agent.

“Out,” said Tarid, his voice soft but harsh. “Out.”

“What?”

“Out. I’m not taking any bribe. Out. Out!”

Hera appeared at the door, the repaired — and bugged — jacket in her hand. Danny saw her out of the corner of his eye.

“I am not going to be bribed,” said Tarid. “Go quietly, or I will have you arrested.”

“I think you have the wrong idea.”

Tarid reached to his pocket for his phone. “Should I call the police?”

Danny rose. “Call this number if you change your mind,” he said, writing down a safe satellite phone number that would be forwarded to his own. “Say nothing. I’ll contact you.”

“Out,” insisted Tarid.

“I’m gone. I’m gone.”

Danny tossed a bill on the table, then left. He passed Hera at the door but ignored her.

Tarid took the card with the phone number and started to rip it up, then stopped halfway, realizing it might be of use. He paid the bill without using Danny’s rials. He stalked from the table, heading for the door. Hera held the coat up.

“Are you part of this?” Tarid asked.

“Of what?” she said.

He grabbed the coat, started to put it on, then stopped and examined it carefully, half suspecting there would be a bomb or perhaps a needle stuck with poison. When he didn’t find any, he jammed his right hand through the arm, pulling it on.

“I have no time for you,” he told Hera. Then he strode out of the restaurant.

“And I don’t have time for you, either, asshole,” she muttered under her breath.