Ultimatum (16 page)

‘It is fortunate,’ concluded the Prime Minister, ‘That the media are revealing a concensus for settlement in the general direction suggested by the President, though they can have no knowledge yet of his views.

‘I would like now to throw this matter open for discussion and suggest that before we adjourn this evening we agree on a form of words for a resolution to be submitted to the Cabinet at its meeting tonight.’

There were murmurs of approval. The Prime Minister sat down and with frowning concentration lit his pipe.

Up on the lay-by underneath the pines at Baabda the man in the telephone department van was listening by earphone to transmissions from the Busch-mikes in the Miramar
apartment
. With the telephone handsets on their cradles the microphones transmitted conversation and other sounds in the hall and master bedroom. Once a handset was lifted to make or receive a call the bug on that phone transmitted the subsequent conversation. Though he was now listening to the receiver directly, this in no way interfered with the recorder in the dash-recess which taped everything
transmitted
by the Busch-mikes.

Soon after she’d parked the Alfa he heard the sound of a door opening, followed by a conversation in the hall. It was the Arab servant telling her of the visit of the man from the telephone department.

‘That’s good, Fouad,’ she said and sounded pleased. She gave instructions about the evening meal, he heard footsteps, then the working of a door lock and the mike in the master bedroom took over. After that sounds of movement about the room, the slamming and banging of cupboard doors and drawers. Later she must have switched on the radio and tuned to a pop programme from Paris. The guitars and pop stars were still throbbing and sobbing when just before six the phone rang in the bedroom. She gave her number and a man’s voice answered, ‘Hullo, Georgie.’

She said, ‘Oh, Mahmoud. How marvellous. I prayed it was you.’

‘Can I come at ten tonight?’

‘Of course, darling. Can’t you make it earlier?’

‘Impossible,’ he said.

‘You’ll have dinner with me?’

‘No. There won’t be time. I’ll have something before I come. Listen. I’m expecting a call at ten-thirty.’

‘That’s okay, Mahmoud.’

‘Will anyone else be there?’

‘No.’ She laughed. ‘Do you think I have another lover?’

‘I mean friends – not that.’ He was brusque.

‘No one, darling. Just me and you. How are you?’

‘No time now. We’ll talk tonight. ’Bye.’

The man in the van heard the click of the handset
returning
to its cradle. Once again the sounds of movement in the bedroom came through on the earphone. ‘Ten o’clock,’ he said to himself. ‘Another three and a half hours.’ He started the engine, switched on the lights, backed out of the lay-by and drove down the hill towards Beirut. He’d had no difficulty in recognizing Ka’ed’s voice. He’d taped it once before and played it back several times.

At a quarter-to-ten he drove the van up the hill to Baabda for the third time that day. It was a night of no moon, the sky bright with stars. He turned into the lay-by under the pines. Three cars were already there. It was, he knew, a favourite place for lovers. He parked well clear of the other cars, turned off the lights, switched on the radio and recorder and connected the earphone. He heard her voice in the hall. She was saying goodnight to Fouad.

At ten o’clock he saw the lights of a car coming up the hill to Baabda. It swung left into the Miramar driveway, disappearing into the parking space below the building. Not long afterwards the ring of a doorbell, the sound of footsteps, a door opening and shutting, came through on the earphone. Then her voice, low, emotional. ‘This is lovely, Mahmoud. The last two days have gone so slowly. Why did you not come?’

‘You know why. It’s not easy for me, Georgie.’

There was a long silence. He imagined them embracing.

‘Where is Fouad?’

‘Gone already,’ she said.

Silence. Then his voice again. ‘There’s half an hour before the call.’

‘What do you want to do?’

‘You know.’

‘Mahmoud, darling.’ She laughed. ‘Is there time before the call?’

He said, ‘At least we can wait in comfort.’

He heard their footsteps along the marble floor of the hall, then silence. Next the sound of the master bedroom door shutting.

For the next twenty minutes the mixture of sound and speech which came to him left no doubt what was happening and he felt curiously uncomfortable listening to something so intimate. He was no stranger to bugging but he was not a voyeur and this man and woman were in love.

Later he knew they must be lying in each other’s arms for they were talking in low voices as lovers do of their thoughts and hopes for each other and a shared future.

For him all sentiment went with the sharp ring of the telephone. He jerked forward, hand cupped over the
earphone
, listening intently.

It was the call from Damascus.

There were no formal greetings, no names mentioned. They exchanged numbers. He knew that the number Ka’ed had given was not the number of the Miramar apartment. Then, after a moment of bewilderment, he realized it
was
, but in reverse. Presumably the caller had done the same thing with the Damascus number. This, then, was their
security
check. Simple enough, he thought, if only done once.

DAMASCUS VOICE
: I’ve just had a report about the
consignment
. Market reaction seems good on the whole. Moving towards acceptance in spite of some criticism of prices, particularly from our competitors.

KA’ED
: We get the same impression here. I am very pleased.

DAMASCUS VOICE
: The premises were inspected this afternoon. They had a quick look round. Quite thorough, I believe. All was well.

KA’ED
: That’s interesting. In fact it’s excellent. Very good indeed.

(There was a longish pause).

DAMASCUS VOICE
: Are you still there?

KA’ED
: Yes. I must think about this. Just a moment.

(Another pause, longer this time).

KA’ED
: Listen. We can bring forward the delivery now. Tell him to make it noon tomorrow. During normal working hours. Got that?

DAMASCUS VOICE
: Yes. I will let him know. Noon tomorrow.

KA’ED
: Yes. Twenty-four hours before the sale.

DAMASCUS VOICE
: Is that all?

KA’ED
: Yes. That’s all.

DAMASCUS VOICE
: Okay then.

The man in the van heard the receiver being replaced, then her anxious voice. ‘Is everything all right, Mahmoud?’

‘Yes. It goes well. You know what?’

‘What’s that?’

‘The premises were searched this afternoon. There was no trouble.’

‘Isn’t that marvellous. Did you expect that?’

‘No. I didn’t. Not at all. But it’s marvellous. We can bring forward the delivery now. It was to be four hours before the sale. This is much safer. Gives us a margin in case of snags. But imagine that. It must be a thorough search. It’s a huge city.’

‘I know. But it’s the sort of area on which they’d
concentrate
.’

‘Yes. In the centre, more or less.’

‘So it’s noon tomorrow?’

‘Yes. Twenty-four hours before the sale.’

‘I heard you say that. Was the line from Damascus good?’

‘Of course. Why not? It’s not far.’

‘I know. But there was a man from the telephone
department
here today fixing it.’

There was a long pause, sounds of movement on the bed, a muffled cry or laughter, he didn’t know which, before
Ka’ed said, ‘Is that so. Had it been giving trouble?’

‘No. The telephone man said it was at the exchange end. Relays sticking or something. Apparently a number of people in the Baabda area are affected …’

‘Oh, I see,’ Ka’ed interrupted. ‘Hope he’s fixed it.’

The bed creaked, he heard the pad of bare feet, a door handle turning, a lavatory cistern gushing, door movement again. Then a scraping followed by a long silence. Seven minutes went by and he assumed they were in the bathroom. The mike in the hall took over. They were coming down the stairs talking and laughing, but they were too far from the mike for him to hear what they said.

They reached the hall and Ka’ed said, ‘Play it now, Georgie. We’ve another hour to go.’

Shortly afterwards came the opening movement of Dvorak’s Serenade for Strings. A minute or so passed then, against the background of cellos and violins, came the distant hum of voices. He realized they were from the living room, too far away for him to hear what they were saying.

But he’d got what he wanted. Methodically he wound the earphone lead round his fingers, pulled it from the socket, slipped it into his overalls. He opened the dash-recess, switched off the recorder, removed the cassette, put it in another pocket. He turned off the radio, started the engine, switched on the lights and backed out of the lay-by. A couple in a car caught in his headlights ducked suddenly. He turned the van and drove down the road. As he passed the Miramar, a car came down the driveway. It stopped to let him pass, its headlights full on, then turned into the roadway and followed. It hung on to the van so he increased speed. The car behind did so too, and he slowed down to let it overtake. As it passed a man in the front passenger seat leant out, shouted, and waved him to stop. He braked hard as if obeying the signal, then, as the car pulled in ahead of him, swung the van clear and banged down the accelerator.

There was a side road a few hundred metres ahead. He skidded into it, accelerating out of the turn. In the rear-view
mirror he saw the lights of the pursuing car come round the corner.

In the master bedroom in the Miramar things had happened which the Busch-mikes couldn’t transmit.

After the Damascus call, when Georgette told Ka’ed ‘There was a man from the telephone department here today fixing it’, he’d rolled sideways towards the phone, a hand over her mouth, his free hand signalling silence. He leant over, took the message pad and pencil from the bedside table, and wrote:
probably
bugged.
He showed the pad to her, pointing to the phone.

Then in a normal voice he said, ‘Is that so. Had it been giving trouble?’

She began to explain, but before she could finish Ka’ed interrupted with, ‘Oh, I see.’ As he said it he took her by the hand, pulled her off the bed, led her into the bathroom. He shut the door and they stood there naked, looking at each other – she puzzled and frightened, Ka’ed still holding a finger to his lips for silence. He pushed the cistern knob and while it was flushing whispered, ‘Probably bugs in the phones.’ She saw from the wild look in his eyes that he sensed danger. ‘I’ll go and check. You stay here.’

He went to the bedroom and, keeping the telephone cradle depressed, gently unscrewed the Bakelite cover of the mouthpiece. For a moment he stared at the tiny Busch-mike then, without disturbing it, screwed back the cover,
replacing
the handset on its cradle.

Back in the bathroom he whispered, ‘It
is
bugged. Phone in the hall too, I expect.’ He thought of the Damascus call. ‘The bastard,’ he muttered. ‘The cunning bastard.’ He took her arm. ‘Listen. We’ve got to be quick.’ He was pulling on socks, trousers and shirt. ‘In a moment we’ll go
downstairs
. Don’t talk as we pass through the bedroom. He’ll hear the doors and know we’ve gone. As we reach the bottom of the stairs you tell me you bought a marvellous LP today. I’ll say, “Play it now, Georgie. We’ve another
hour to go”. You go into the lounge and put on any good LP. I’ll go out at the back, down the fire escape to the garage. Hussein is waiting for me in the Mercedes. If those bugs are being listened to it’ll be by someone in a car a couple of hundred metres from here. The only safe place for that is the lay-by immediately above us. I’ll take the Mercedes up there right away. Hussein with me.’ He slipped on his shoes. ‘Come on. Quick. You don’t need clothes.’ They went back to the bedroom, opened the door and made their way down the stairs, talking and laughing as they went.

The road he’d taken wound through an area of private houses and occasional apartment blocks spread about the slopes of the hill. It led eventually to Khaldeh Airport and the sea. He drove furiously, tyres screaming, the small van leaping and bouncing over undulations. But it was no match for the car behind. Slowly but surely the headlights came closer and he knew that short of an accident it would not be long before he was overtaken.

With one hand he felt under the driving seat for the Sony. His fingers touched the shoulder-strap and he pulled the small two-way radio clear and laid it on the seat.

The lights of the pursuing car were no more than a hundred metres behind as he slowed for a bend, took it fast, the van lurching on to the offside wheels, bumping back on to all four as he corrected the skid and accelerated away.

The two cars roared down the slope of the hill, the road levelling off and turning to the west. They were clear of the houses now. He could see the lights of Khaldeh Airport ahead.

There was a sharp noise like dry wood breaking.
Fragments
of glass struck the back of his neck and road noises suddenly increased. In the driving-mirror he saw the starred holes in the small rear window and hunched lower in the seat. The other car was closing rapidly, now no more than thirty metres behind. Watching the driving-mirror he saw the big car pull out and overtake. There was the slap of more
bullets striking the van and he braked violently. The pursuing car shot past and he heard the screech of tyres as it braked.

He stopped the van, leapt out, clutching the Sony, and ran down the road away from the car ahead. It was backing down the road now, faster than he could run. Before the backing lights came close enough to illuminate him he dropped into a roadside ditch. As he pulled out the Sony’s telescopic aerial, he heard the slamming of car doors and the sound of men running. He took the cassette from his pocket and hurled it into the darkness, into a field away from the road. Holding the transmitter close to his mouth he called ‘Juri – Juri – Juri,’ and waited desperately for a reply.

The sound of pounding feet came closer, stopped and he could hear men breathing in the darkness. He took the Beretta from the shoulder-holster. If they used a torch he’d have a target. They must have known that, too, for they were searching in darkness, moving slowly, quietly, taking no chances. He turned down the volume control on the Sony, held the set close to his ear. But there was nothing. He pressed the speak-button again, held the mike close. ‘Juri – Juri – Juri.’ It was almost a whisper, hoarse with anxiety.