The Blockade Runners

by Peter Vollmer

  ‘God, I hope Seymour gives me the bloody money back. That was a fortune! And, I’ve got no fuckin’ chits from them,’ he muttered, sticking his wallet back into his pocket.

  George wasn’t listening, he was too excited. He knew that somehow this woman was involved with Tusk. They were together as they had been in London, but MI6 had not then realised that they were a couple. He picked up the phone and dialled Seymour. The housekeeper answered. When she refused to call him to the phone, saying he was still sleeping, he started shouting, demanding to speak to him immediately. A short while later Seymour came onto the line.

  He was furious.

  ‘Berkeley, this better be good! Are you bloody insane? Just look at the time.’

  ‘Sir, just let me get to the point,’ he said, unable to contain his excitement. ‘That woman I saw at the hotel was at the same hotel in London with Tusk, the Belleclaire Hotel. I suddenly remembered, that’s where I saw her. I’m absolutely certain.’

  ‘What? Are you sure? That can’t be a coincidence?’

  ‘Absolutely not!’

  ‘Okay, just stay there. I’ll get back to you in a few minutes. Make sure that Denton gets dressed.’

  The three men met at their usual morning haunt, a bistro on the beach road overlooking the sea. The place was renowned for the excellent English breakfasts it served.

  The previous night’s revelry had taken its toll. Seymour merely picked at his breakfast but was already on his second cup of tea.

  ‘That bastard. If we don’t stop him this time, we all land up in the back room doing filing for the rest of our careers. So, anything we come up with had better be good.,’ he muttered sourly.

  ‘It’s her, I’ll stake my reputation on it,’ George said, repeating himself for the third time.

  ‘Okay, we can’t cock this up. None of us is to go near to the Meridian. We’ll get one of our local chaps, somebody who looks and acts like and Arab. May be our local boys can arrange to get somebody attached to the hotel staff or something. I’m going to give that a try. A few photographs of the couple would be a good idea, just in case he has altered his appearance.’

  ‘She’s altered hers,’ George said.

  ‘Correct, then he probably has done the same,’ Denton said.

  ‘All right, agreed. I’ll get in touch with the local boys and arrange something. I’ll keep you informed.’

  CHAPTER 34

  She stared at her reflection in the mirror, aware of David on the bed behind her reading a magazine. He was dressed in shorts and a loose top, his feet bare.

  ‘Listen, my dear, two men have been making enquiries.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  She saw him discard the magazine, now staring intently at her reflection in the mirror. She still wore her bikini.

  ‘Who’s being making enquiries? About us?’

  ‘Well I presume so. I spoke to Jamal, the concierge. I slipped him twenty. He told me that two men asked to see the register. That was roundabout the same time that I saw two men at the pool bar speaking English. I’m sure they’re the same.’

  ‘That’s bad,’ he said quietly, shocked. He couldn’t believe it. Somehow, they must have gotten lucky, but he could not imagine how.

  ‘Actually, I don’t think they know anything. Apparently, they merely glanced at the register, it was too complex. They needed more time to study it. The guy never even spent more than fifteen seconds studying it. They can’t possibly know that we’re here.’

  He had to agree. How could they possibly know? He had been extremely careful and made a point of not revealing himself.

  The small white bikini was getting to him. It was a tease. It accentuated her every curve, the swell of her breasts and roundness of her derrière. He felt the exhilarating feeling of an arousal. She watched him in the mirror aware of what was happening to him. She felt her own arousal and she shuddered as her need washed over her. He saw the expression on her face change. He knew the new expression, it told him that she was focused inward, taken over by what was happening inside her, concentrating so that she was near oblivious of what was happening around her.

  ‘Come here,’ he whispered in a husky voice.

  She slid off the stool and knelt over him on the bed, kissing him softly on the lips, her mouth playing over his. He stretched up and undid her bikini, freeing her breasts. They kissed, their tongues exploring each other. She lowered her chest, her breasts brushing his face. He took a now-erect nipple into his mouth and rolled his teeth over it. She moaned.

  They made passionate love, until she dug her nails into his back emitting a low keen of pleasure and he exploded inside her.

  She stirred beside him. He woke. It was still daylight, just after midday. A cool breeze wafted in through the balcony sliding doors from the sea. She opened her eyes and smiled at him, then put her arms round his neck and said, ‘I love you. ‘

  He responded by kissing her.

  ‘A swim sounds like a good idea.’

  She agreed.

  CHAPTER 35

  Working through the embassy and their many informants, they eventually found an undercover candidate who suited their needs perfectly. The man, Baqil Habib, was a young man in his twenties who spoke a little German, which qualified him well for a job at the Meridian. In Lebanese society, friends help friends and Baqil eventually found himself a job as a waiter at the hotel. Fortunately, he had waited on tables before in restaurants in the city, which qualified him well for the job. Seymour made certain that the undercover man knew what was expected of him. He had to focus on the woman and establish who her partner was. They issued him a cigarette lighter, which housed a miniature camera. The lighter was functional. They asked that he try to photograph Tusk.

  For two days, Baqil waited on tables not once seeing the woman. He had been told that he would immediately recognise her, the blonde hair and her stunning beauty. During the next two days, she never entered the dining room.

  It was particularly hot on the third day. Many of the Germans who were not working congregated at the pool. The poolside bar was hard pressed to serve that many people, the catering manager assigning Baqil and another to assist. The bar was busy, the work uncomfortable in the heat, the two men wearing black trousers and white shirts, the sun beating down relentlessly.

  Baqil kept a lookout for the woman and when he saw her there was no mistaking her. Her beauty was truly profound. She had removed a loose white blouse and, after placing a large bath towel on a deck chair, she lay down on her back to catch the full sun. He walked over to her and asked whether there was anything, he could get her. She asked for a large ice-cold Diablo Monte, a refreshing sweet mint drink, an excellent thirst-quencher. He brought this to her, she scribbling a signature on the tab and writing down the room number. He memorised the number, Room 542. This was on the fifth floor.

  He was entitled to a smoke break of ten minutes every two hours. During his next break, from a public phone in the foyer he dialled the number he had memorised. Seymour answered. The conversation was brief, Baqil merely conveying the room number.

  His duties in the dining room enabled him to be acquainted with a few of the other waiters. On enquiry, it soon emerged that the occupants of Room 542 never visited the dining rooms but, invariably, had all meals brought to the room.

  They still had to identify Tusk. Seymour seethed with impatience, afraid that Tusk could just take off again leaving the trail cold. Through London he learnt that, during the period that it was thought that large transfers were made to Lebanon, a large transfer, eleven million dollars exactly, had been paid in New York from the Irving Trust Company to the New York branch of the Byblos Bank S. P. L. This payment was not accompanied by any instructions. This meant nothing as Byblos would already have instructions as to what was to happen on receipt of the transfer. British Intelligence had no means of penetrating the bank’s security. However, the other large amounts transferred during the period in question were clear-cut. The transferee, d
rawee bank, and ultimate recipient were clearly stated. It seemed unlikely that any of these related to the helicopter deal. Seymour was reasonably certain that if Tusk could be stopped, this would impede payment, enabling them to deal with this at a later stage. Clearly, it was imperative to concentrate on Tusk.

  CHAPTER 36

  David had replaced the rented American sedan with a two-door sports car, a white Mercedes Benz 190 SL, not a particularly fast car, but capable of a hundred miles an hour and possessed of excellent handling characteristics. This he kept parked in a public parking garage a half-mile away. This enabled them to leave the hotel through a rear entrance, their movements not recorded in the foyer. Most evenings they would dine out at unobtrusive restaurants.

  He glanced around the restaurant, his hand rubbing the week-old stubble of a beard he was growing. She hated it but he argued that it enabled him to blend in, the Lebanese men prone to beards or only shaving once a week.

  ‘God, sweetheart, I’m bored, impatient and uneasy. Dammit, I can’t do this anymore. We’ve got to pay these people and get out of here,’ he said, both irritated and agitated, continuously fidgeting.

  She sipped her glass of wine and wiped her lips with the napkin. ‘David, you can’t do that.’ She only used his name when trying to make a point. ‘Don’t think they haven’t checked on the banks. That’s the first thing the Stasi would have done if in the same position. I’m sure MI6 has excellent connections in Beirut. They probably could call on the CIA to help. You have to wait. A month or two will make no difference to the helicopter shipment.’

  At eleven that night, they took a long detour back to the hotel, driving slowly along the coastal road, the top down, the wind in their faces. It would have been an idyllic holiday were it not for the constant fear of being discovered. Every second day they would hear from Hiram, these messages cryptic and always the same: just wait.

  The next morning, he rose early and showered. Just before eight, there was a knock on the door. He looked through the peephole and saw a waiter with a trolley; the man was dressed in black pants and starched white linen jacket, the morning uniform. He could see no one else but then the field of vision was very narrow. He placed the SIG automatic on the table next to the door in easy reach should he need it. He opened the door just a crack. There was nobody else to be seen in the passageway. He let the man roll the trolley into the room.

  ‘Where is Izaak?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s his day off,’ the new man replied.

  The man was in his twenties, a typical Lebanese with a swarthy complexion and curly hair. David indicated that he should put the breakfast on the small dining table in the room. David watched him. Suddenly there was a thump as something fell to the carpet.

  ‘Sorry,’ the waiter said, ‘My lighter fell out of my pocket.’ He smiled obsequiously and retrieved it from the floor.

  David merely nodded and when the man finished laying the table, he opened the door for him giving him a Lebanese hundred-pound note as he exited.

  CHAPTER 37

  It was not the best photograph but it certainly would do. It was Tusk. They were jubilant – they had found him at last. Seymour was insistent that they take action immediately, afraid that Tusk could suddenly disappear, but this was Denton’s territory and it required his expertise.

  ‘We’ve got to get you into the hotel. I suppose you could just walk in. But how are going to get him to open the door?’ Seymour asked.

  ‘We get our waiter to go up to the room with you right behind him. He gets Tusk to open up and you step in,’ George said to Denton.

  ‘Forget it. He’s too wary and as you’ve just heard, he’s armed. The waiter saw the automatic on the table. What about her, she’s probably also armed. You don’t think he had her accompany him just for fun, do you?’

  Seymour smiled. ‘Well, isn’t that just dandy? Now what?’

  ‘We have to create a diversion, something that will force him to leave the suite. I think I know just how to do it,’ Denton said.

  Denton never failed to amaze Seymour. The man treated an assassination like any other job: it was work. No doubt, the government paid him handsomely for its dirty work. The man seemed to have no conscience at all. He had never married. Either he spent his off time in his Bayswater flat, its appearance from outside belying the lavish interior, or he was at his local gym pumping iron or instructing others in the art of kung fu. Seymour thought it extraordinary that the man’s taste in music was inclined towards the classical. Girl friends he did not have, but did occasionally indulge in the one-night stand. He apparently avoided attachments. A definite loner and deadly dangerous.

  CHAPTER 38

  The loud, strident ringing of a bell awakened him. He was baffled, not knowing what it meant. A small red flashing light affixed to the wall near the ceiling above the door drew his attention. He groped for the bedside lamp switch. With the light on, he saw a small board with ‘FIRE’ written on it, which was attached below the light.

  ‘Christ! Gisela, wake up. We’ve got a fire,’ he shouted, jumping out of bed and starting to put his clothes on. She was already out of bed, squeezing into a pair of jeans.

  Suddenly there was a pounding on the door and somebody in the passageway shouted, ‘Fire, fire! Get out!’

  He knew where the fire escape was, his usual exit route from the hotel. He looked up at the ceiling and saw the automatic sprinkler heads. These had not yet been activated. The fire could not be nearby.

  ‘Have you got your gun?’ he asked Gisela.

  For a second she just stared at him and then removed it from her bedside table. He shoved his own SIG into his belt. A bullet was in the chamber, the gun cocked, the safety on.

  At that moment, the room was plunged into darkness. God, he thought, the power’s gone.

  ‘Just stay close behind me,’ he said, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Being on the fifth floor and free from prying eyes, they left the curtains open to allow the fresh air in. The moonlight from a half-moon was sufficient for him to make out everything in the room. Again, there was a banging on the door, the gap at the bottom revealing a flash of light obviously from a torch. The light then disappeared. He pulled the automatic from his waist and unlocked the door slowly turning the handle, ready to slam it shut at the first sign of danger. There was nothing. An acrid smoke smell assaulted his nostrils. With his free hand, he groped for her hand. When he touched her fingers, they closed over his. He turned left and slowly moved down the passage towards the first escape door at the end, discernible in the dim light from the moonlight streaming through the window at the end. The other occupants seemed to have already fled the building. He didn’t know where the fire was. He wondered how serious it was, there not as much smoke as he expected.

  As they approached the door, he pulled her forward and pushed her to the front. She opened the door and stepped through, the stairs illuminated by little red emergency lights fitted to the floor against the wall of the stairwell. They made no sound, the floor thickly carpeted. In the corridor, next to the fire escape door, was another door which led to the floor’s linen cupboards where the house cleaners kept their equipment. The door was slightly ajar, which escaped his notice. He stepped past the door, automatic held at the ready. Gisela was already on the fire escape steps.

  For a brief instant in the moonlight from the window, he caught a silver flash just ahead of his face, jerking his hand up to protect himself. The steel piano wire loop had passed over his head and, as his assailant pulled the handles to close the loop, the wire caught on the bottom of the automatic, which was now pointing towards the roof. The man’s strength was incredible, the automatic being pulled against his throat, the only thing preventing his carotid artery from being severed. He pushed his gun hand forward with all his strength, feeling the wire cut into the sides of his neck, just able to breathe. He tried to shout but could only manage a low short croak. His attacker was immensely strong, stubbornly resisting his attempts to free himself
. It would be over in seconds. With his free arm, he flayed around, his hand closing over something attached to the wall. He immediately recalled what it was having seen it virtually every day. It was a fire axe clamped to the wall next to the door. He managed to grab the handle and work it loose. He realised that he was close to losing consciousness. The man had planted his feet on the outside of each of David’s shoulders, pulling David up in his attempts to close the steel noose. He swung the axe at the man’s foot, the blade cutting into the shoe just above the man’s toes. There was a loud howl of agony, his assailant’s grip loosening. He pushed his gun hand forward with the last vestiges of strength. Again he swung the axe, again making contact with the man’s foot, this followed by another scream, the noose loosening further. He managed to push the wire entirely away and up, swinging it back over his head. He swung round staggering back, seeing his assailant for the first time.

  He saw the automatic in the man’s hand, a silencer screwed to the front of the barrel. He realised that the man would shoot before he could level his own gun. At this range, at just a few feet, he was a dead man. Something roared next to his ear nearly deafening him. The man staggered back clutching his abdomen, the automatic falling from his fingers bouncing on the carpeted floor. Again a gun roared, the bullet knocking him to the floor. He saw Gisela standing at the top of the landing a foot or two from him, the revolver still in her outstretched arm, her eyes wide and a wild look on her face.

  CHAPTER 39

  George, standing behind Denton in the linen room, realised that something had gone wrong. The struggle should have been over yet this man still fought on. He could not pass, Denton’s huge bulk blocked the doorway. They had decided to avoid the use of guns, if possible. That didn’t matter anymore. He would shoot if he could get a shot in.