Brothers In Arms (32 page)

“They would have their command and control in that van,” the woman said, turning and smiling brightly at her companion as though she was delighted with his company.

“Yes. That makes four vehicles counting the van, and seven streetwalkers.”

“Those last two in the formation, I think they are fighters.”

“Yes, or reserve walkers.”

Across the street, a man with the paper folded up was reading the sports results beneath a street lamp. He cursed loudly, then crumpled up the paper and tossed it into the trash bin outside the closed storefront he stood outside of. He took out a pack of cigarettes, lit the last one, and tossed the crumpled pack underhanded to the trash bin, then began to stroll along, seemingly concentrated on his cigarette. He walked a little more quickly, coming up behind the two young and muscular men in dark leather jackets who walked in front of them.

“Hey!” he called in Greek. “What time do you have?”

The two men looked over their shoulder at him and said nothing.

“Hey!” the man said. “Didn’t you hear me? What time do you have?”

One of the men shrugged and held his hands up. The smoking man switched to English and said in a thick accent, “Sorry, do you have time?”

The other man glanced at a thick watch on his wrist and held it out so the smoking man could see it.

“Thank you,” the smoking man said, studying the watch. “You are American?”

“Yes,” the younger of the two men said.

“Welcome to my country!” the Greek man said.

“Thank you,” the younger man said. “Good night.”

“Why hurry?” the Greek man said.

“We have to meet someone,” the other man said.

The two younger men picked up their pace, leaving the Greek behind.
He watched them go, slowed his own pace, and noticed how the leather jackets they wore bulged just behind each one’s right hip slightly when they walked.

They were gunfighters and the bulge was their hidden pistol.

The Greek recognized a fighter when he saw one. After all, he was one himself, and he had killed Americans before.

“He’s not running any counter moves at all,” Hans said. “He appears nervous, but he’s not taking any action to counter it. Why?”

“Why is right,” Charley said. “If he thought he was under surveillance, he might try some countersurveillance moves. Or maybe he’s just playing it as cool as he can right now to see what happens.”

“There’s something not right about this,” Dale said. “He’s no operator, but first he’s trying some moves and now he’s not. What does he know that we don’t?”

Hans said, “It may be that he’s convinced himself there’s no surveillance. Or he’s nervous about something entirely unrelated. Maybe his dinner didn’t agree with him, or there’s something else on his mind. We don’t know. Right now we have him where we want him and that should be enough. Let’s stop second-guessing ourselves and take advantage of the fact that we have him.”

“Hans is right,” Charley said. “Let’s just chill, Dale.”

“I want this guy,” Dale said. “I want to sweat him till his brains run.”

“We all do,” Charley said. “Cultivate patience.”

Ahmad bin Faisal was settling into an easy rhythm. The fact that he hadn’t seen anyone following him and that there were other people on the street gave him comfort. His stride began to lengthen, and he lit another cigarette, pausing for a good long moment to give people time to fix on him. He began to nod a simple greeting to the people who passed him on the street, each hurrying to enjoy the nightlife that Greeks lived for. For a moment he thought about going to a
club, but his instructions from Christou had been clear: go back on the direct route to his hotel and stay there for the night and wait to be contacted by Christou’s people.

So he stayed on the street, didn’t look over his shoulder or around nervously anymore.

“He’s settling down,” the woman said to her partner.

“He’s not used to this sort of thing.”

“Who is he?”

“Al-Bashir.”

“And he’s not used to this?”

“He’s higher up. Finance and support.”

“Ah. That makes sense. That’s why the pay is so good.”

“He’s bringing us a gift in more than one way,” her partner said. Her hands were tucked into the crook of his arm and they continued strolling along, chatting like any of the other couple on the street. “This is an opportunity to strike.”

“It may be. Costas closed in on their streetfighters just a while ago. They may be Americans, CIA. If so, it will be a good opportunity.”

“They are very good. We’ll have to be careful.”

The two of them looked around and laughed.

“He’s almost to the hotel,” Dale said. “No brush passes, no contacts, no countersurveillance . . . he’s been squeaky clean.”

“Yes,” Hans said. “But that makes sense. He’s not a street operator; if he’s going to meet with someone they will give him directions and a place and a route to walk; they’d be providing security for the meet. The logical place would be some sort of contact at his hotel giving him further instructions.”

“You got a crew in there already, right?” Charley said.

“Of course,” Hans said. “We have a room there adjoining his and we have a penetration for video and sound. The hardest part is
keeping a presence in the lobby; the tourist police are everywhere down there.”

“Do you have a connection with the police department?” Charley asked.

“Yes, but we’re staying at arm’s length due to the nature of this job.”

“Makes sense,” Charley said.

The terrorist couple followed slowly behind and watched bin Faisal go into the hotel via the front main entrance. They strolled along and went into the hotel, going directly to the lobby bar where they sat at the end of the bar and ordered aperitifs. The woman crossed her legs and dangled one foot impudently while she toyed with her drink. From her vantage point she could see into the lobby. Two tourist police, in plainclothes uniforms of leather bomber jackets, sweatshirts, and American Levis and combat boots, stood hulking near the entrance of the bar, looking out into the lobby. She paid close attention to the other people in the bar and outside in the lobby, lingering in the comfortable lounge chairs and sofas set tastefully among end tables in the lobby.

“How is your drink?” she asked her partner.

“Fine.”

“I saw two in the lobby,” she said.

“Yes, I saw them.” “There are more. When there’s two, there’s more.”

“We have enough to proceed. Finish your drink.”

The woman downed her drink, then set the empty glass down and stood. “Shall we go?” she said.

Her male partner finished his own drink and set the glass down on the bar and signaled for his bill. He paid it from a roll of bills in his pocket, then set the change down on the bar and led his partner out, holding her arm. The two of them went out the front main entrance and took a cab from the taxi stand in front of the hotel. The man gave directions to the driver, who accelerated off into the traffic
quickly. After a few blocks, the man said to the driver, “Here, this will be fine,” and the driver pulled over.

“For your trouble,” the man said, adding a few bills to the small fare.

“Thank you,” said the driver. He pulled away, hitting his fare light as he did.

The couple stood beneath a streetlight and looked around them. No surveillance on them, and they would have been very surprised if there was. After all, they were street operators working an active operation, and they were sure that they hadn’t been made by the surveillance team working Ahmad bin Faisal. They walked a short distance down the block and then crossed the street where a sedan idled beneath a street lamp. The woman tapped on the rear trunk lid as they came abreast of the vehicle and the three occupants looked round at them. The man and the woman squeezed in beside the woman in the backseat.

“Do we have a count?” said the driver.

“Yes.”

“Americans?”

“We couldn’t tell,” the second woman said.

“I could,” said the older Greek named Costas. “They are definitely American. Very professional, better than the local CIA, who are very good. They are running an operation against an Al-Bashir financier. That’s who they were following tonight.”

“Do we have enough for our report?” the driver said.

“Oh, yes,” Costas said. “I think we have an opportunity too good to miss here.”