by Andy McNab
There was no way I was going to walk into their car, in case we met in the aisle. One of them might be heading for the toilet, or simply moving away from where they’d gotten on, as I would in their position, to try to avoid surveillance.
I sat and watched the sea, and kept an eye on the vehicles we were overtaking on the road. With luck, Lotfi would be approaching the tunnels just short of Monaco.
As we neared Monaco, gracious old buildings with wooden shutters and ugly new ones blocked my view of the sea. Then we entered the tunnel that took us deep into the mountains. The train rattled on for a few minutes in darkness before emerging into the brilliant light of an immense underground station. The place looked like something out of a James Bond film, a huge stainless-steel and marble cavern.
The train slowed and a few people got up from their seats and gathered their bags and briefcases. I stayed put, looking out at the station. The platforms were clean and the marble highly polished; even the light fixtures looked like they came from Ikea.
Train doors opened, and people dressed for work rubbed shoulders with Japanese tourists sporting their Monaco Grand Prix sweatshirts and Cannes baseball caps as they got out onto the platform and headed toward the front of the train. I, too, stepped out and followed the herd, the brim of my cap well down as I checked around me.
I spotted them up ahead. Romeo Two still had his sunglasses on, and One had the bag over his shoulder. I got my shades out and put them on my nose as well. Maybe sixty or seventy yards ahead of me were sets of escalators that led up to a bridge. The herd was moving up them and left, across the tracks, to the ticketing hall. I caught another glimpse of the Romeos doing the same. Romeo Two took off his glasses as they crossed, looking at everything but hopefully seeing nothing, as smooth announcements floated over the loudspeaker system, and giant flat-screen TVs flashed train information.
We came into the ticketing hall: more acres of stainless steel and polished marble, still underground. All around me shoes squeaked and high heels clicked, to the accompaniment of coffee machines hissing and people jabbering to each other over espressos. The crowd was waiting for one of the many elevators to take them up to ground level. I didn’t want to join them, no matter how big a crowd the elevators could accommodate.
With my left hand holding down the fanny pack and the pistol grip of the Browning, I pounded up the steel stairs, turning back on myself every tenth step or so. It was farther than I’d expected, and I was starting to get out of breath. It hit me that I’d made a mistake: my chances of getting up there before the two collectors were slim. I could have gone faster if I’d held the handrail, but I didn’t want to leave any sign. I pumped my arms back and forth, and kept going for it.
At last I saw daylight above me. Three more flights and I was at ground level. I saw the four silver doors for the elevators and a small group of people waiting. I walked into the entrance hall gulping in air, trying to calm myself down as the back of my neck started to sweat. The glass and steel frontage of the small hallway looked out on a bus shelter on my side of a busy road. I could see we were high above the principality, as I was looking out onto the Mediterranean, but there was no port. It must have been below somewhere.
The breeze blew in from the sea as I headed for the bus stop. My eyes darted about, looking for the Romeos. They should be going left, to the de la Scala.
I saw them then, at a corner about fifteen yards away to my left. Romeo Two was checking a small map as One looked about nervously and got involved in a pack of Marlboros. I kept my back to them now, and walked directly to the bus stop, hitting my pressle. “Hello, hello, is anyone there? This is N, anyone there?”
There was nothing. I gave it just under a minute, then spun around to face the road, hoping to see them in my peripheral vision. They were walking down the hill toward the casino and the general area of the Palais. I set off behind them, and immediately spotted two CCTV cameras. I hated this place: it was like an extra-large, extra-rich version of the the Osbournes’ house.
I crossed to the right-hand side of the road, hoping to avoid them; the port was about three hundred feet below me. Huge gray clouds hung above us, cutting the tops off the mountains.
Hordes of trucks and motorbikes screamed up and down a road that had probably been built in the early 1900s for the odd Bentley or two.
The more we descended to the middle ground of the casino area, the taller the bank buildings became around us. Houses that had once been grand private residences were now plastered with brass plates. I could almost smell the big money deals going down behind their heavily blinded windows.
The Romeos consulted the map again before continuing on past the shiny Rolls-Royces, Jags, and Minis lined up in the British Motor Showrooms, as One dragged on his Marlboro, sending smoke up above him before it got taken by the wind. If they were heading for the de la Scala, they’d have to cross over soon and turn off to the right. I stopped, stepped into the doorway of a bookshop, and got very interested in a French cookbook with a picture of a big pastry on its cover.
They crossed. I hit my pressle again, smiling away like an idiot chatting on his cell phone. “Hello, hello, anybody there?”
They must be heading for the de la Scala. They were now on my side of the road and walking down Avenue Saint-Michel. I knew that because it was engraved expensively on a slab of stone just above my head, like all the street names here.
They committed to the right-hand bend of the avenue just fifty yards down the hill and became unsighted to me. Dead ahead of them now, about two hundred yards away, beyond manicured lawns, fountains, and frost-protected rubber plant things, was the casino and its Legoland policemen. But they still had about another fifty yards until the end of Avenue Saint-Michel, where once more they had a choice of direction.
I got on the net again as I started to follow. “Hello, hello, hello. Anyone there?” Still nothing.
33
I didn’t want to stay behind them because I wasn’t being proactive. If I was going to be the only member of the team on the ground with the Romeos, I really needed to be doing Lotfi’s job now, waiting for them in the de la Scala for the meet with the hawallada. But that meant jumping ahead, and if they went somewhere else once they got to the end of the avenue I’d be in the shit.
I carried on down Saint-Michel and talked to my imaginary girlfriend with a big smiley voice. “Hello, hello, this is N.” Still nothing. Maybe they were caught in the traffic; maybe Lotfi was here but down in the parking garage. Whatever was going on, I had to make a decision.
I turned onto some steps that went directly downhill, to cut off the bend that they’d followed toward the casino. The steps led to an apartment building on the steep side of the road, and were well worn, which I hoped was going to prove it was a short cut.
I hurtled down them, past exotic plants and boring gray concrete blocks on each side of me, keeping my left hand on the fanny pack and Browning and checking traser, as if I were late for an appointment, until I reached the road below. The casino was to my half-left about a hundred and fifty yards away. Legoland policemen kept people moving so the Ferraris and Rolls-Royces had somewhere to park. The manicured lawns were being pampered by the sprinklers; directly left along the road, just under a hundred yards, was the intersection with the avenue. I turned right, not checking anywhere because the Romeos could already be at the intersection and heading my way. I continued to play looking at my watch as I hurried past fur-coated women and expensive stores.
By the time I rounded the corner to the de la Scala square, my neck was not just damp but drenched with sweat. There was no sign of Lotfi anywhere on the grass, listening to my follow so he could decide when the time was right to go into the mall and get a trigger on the meet. The only people in sight were the orange-jumpsuited, tree-cutting crew, having a coffee break on a bench. I tried again on the radio, but there was nothing. I’d just have to get on with it: I might be the only one here.
I started toward the glass
doors of the mall, taking deep breaths to reoxygenate myself, pushed through with my shoulder as I wiped the sweat with my shirt cuffs, and headed straight for the café, past the reception and the Roman marble entrance. The same immaculately dressed dark-haired woman was operating the desk, and still gabbing on the phone. The same sort of people were at the café, too, talking discreetly into cell phones or reading papers. Some did both. I pulled up a chair to the rear of the outside tables and by the left-hand corner of the mall, so I was facing the reception but could also cover the exit by the dry-cleaner’s.
I started to worry a little as I flattened my wet hair on the back of my head. What if the Romeos had gone elsewhere? Hell, I was committed now. I’d just have to wait and see.
The waiter who took my coffee order was more interested in watching a woman crossing her stockinged legs at one of the other tables than he was in my sweaty face. I took off my glasses and just hoped that one of the other two was nearly here. I needed some backup desperately.
My crème turned up with a cookie and a small paper napkin between the cup and saucer to take the spills. I handed the guy a fifty-franc note, not wanting to wait for a bill later. I needed to be able to jump up and go, without being chased myself for doing a running off. The change emerged from his money-bag and smacked down on the table just as Lotfi burst onto the net. He was out of breath and, by the sound of it, on foot and moving fast. “Anyone, anyone, stand by, stand by. Anyone there? Stand by, stand by. They are in the square, Romeo One and Two in the square approaching the mall.”
I reached into my jacket as I took a sip from the napkin-wrapped cup.
The snarl of a chainsaw gave me a clue to his location. “That’s complete the building now, they’re inside.”
Click, click.
There was relief on the air. “Is that N?”
Click, click.
“Are you inside?”
Click, click.
“Okay, I’ll stay outside, I’ll stay outside.”
Click, click.
The Romeos appeared at the end of the hallway and looked around, getting their bearings: they obviously hadn’t been here before. They eventually walked up to the reception area and studied the board. They stood for ten or fifteen seconds before their eyes seemed to lock on to the address they wanted: Office 617, the Monaco Training Consultancy.
I took another sip of coffee and watched between the heads of two women who were babbling in Italian in front of me, smoking themselves and anyone nearby into an early grave. Romeo Two had his shades back on now. He took a pen from his inside pocket and used it to press the buzzer; I bet he’d used his shoulders to get through the door as well.
What now? What was I going to do if I was locked outside while they got directions from the receptionist?
Romeo Two bent down and I watched him say a few words into a speaker by the buzzers—maybe a confirmation statement. Whatever it was, he was a happy man as he stood upright and gave Romeo One, who didn’t look too certain about things, a reassuring nod.
They waited, not going into the Roman entrance just to their left, and then I realized why. I needn’t have worried. There were cameras behind the receptionist’s desk, and she would know what office they’d gone into. So they waited, admiring the Persian rugs in the store opposite, perhaps wondering, like I had, why people would pay so much just for something to stand on. Their moms could probably knock one off in a couple of weeks.
Lotfi came back on the air; the chainsaw fired up behind him, before turning into a high-pitched whine as it bit into a tree. “N, radio check.” He sounded anxious, not knowing what was going on inside and needing some reassurance.
I double-clicked him as the reception doors opened and out came a tall, dark-skinned man with black hair, graying at the temples in a way that made him look quite distinguished. He was about six foot and slim, not Arab, maybe Turkish, maybe Afghan. They didn’t shake hands. He wore an expensive-looking navy suit, black loafers, and a dazzling white shirt, buttoned all the way up, no tie. Maybe, like many people, he refused to wear one because it was a symbol of the West. Or maybe he was a fashion victim. I’d get the boys on the warship to ask him later.
They finished exchanging half a dozen very serious-looking words and all three started to walk back out of the door of the mall they’d come in through. I warned Lotfi. Click, click. Click, click.
Lotfi was straight back. “Coming out?”
Click, click.
“Same doors?”
Click, click.
They disappeared from sight and, no more than three seconds later, the net burst into life once more. “L has Romeos One, Two, and Three. They’ve gone right, your right as you exit. Toward the rear of the building.”
I got up from the table and double-clicked him as I wiped the mug, keeping the napkin with me. As Lotfi carried on the commentary with the chainsaw in the background, I shoved the napkin into my jacket pocket, where it joined the muffin wrapper and plastic coffee cup. “That’s Romeos One, Two, and now Three, foxtrot on the right, still on the right-hand side. About halfway toward the rear. They’re not talking. Romeo One is still aware, they have quick feet.”
I pushed my way through the glass doors into the cacophony of traffic and chainsaw. I didn’t bother to look for Lotfi. I knew he was there somewhere.
“Do you want me to stay here?”
I double-clicked him as I turned right, and followed on the same side of the road, putting my shades back on.
34
T hey were now about two-thirds of the way down the narrow road leading to the service area at the rear of the building, still not talking, but at least Romeo One wasn’t looking around anymore. He still had the bag over his shoulder and hung back slightly because there wasn’t enough room for three abreast on the sidewalk. They’d chosen a good route, avoiding cameras; the only bits of people control were the two-foot-high steel barriers stopping people parking on the curb. By Monaco standards, it was all quite relaxed.
They turned right at the corner and disappeared from view. I quickened my pace to get eyes on in case they disappeared completely through a door. I hit the pressle. “That’s all three Romeos right, to the rear, temporary unsighted.”
I got two clicks from Lotfi; I didn’t know if he could see and it didn’t really matter, so long as he knew what was going on. There was also a possibility that Hubba-Hubba could receive but not send as he made his way to us.
Reaching the corner, I crossed the road and began to hear what sounded like a supermarket cart roundup. Steel containers on wheels were being shunted backward and forward from a truck backed into the post office loading bay. Once I was on the far sidewalk I turned right, just in time to see the three of them passing through a steel door next to a garage shutter alongside the loading bay.
My mind raced as the door closed. It must be the exchange—unless this was a parking lot and they were about to leave. “L…Hello, L.” It was hard to keep my happy smiley face as I chatted on my hands-free. “Are you near your car?”
“Yes, in the parking lot, in the parking lot.”
“Okay, mate, go complete…and static outside the parking lot. All three Romeos are unsighted in a garage, I have the trigger. You’ve got to be quick in case they go mobile. Remember your third party.”
I got two clicks as I passed the post office van and the mail-cart pushers, then an anxious voice. “Hello, N, hello, L? Radio check, radio check.”
At last, Hubba-Hubba.
I hit the pressle. “This is N. L’s here too. Where are you?”
“Near the casino, I’m near the casino, I’m nearly there.”
“Roger that. That’s Romeo One, Two, and now Three unsighted at the back of the building in the last shuttered garage before you get to the post office loading bay. I have the trigger, acknowledge.”
Click, click.
“Okay, stay complete and cover the square, able to take in all directions. L is going complete now. I’ll trigger them away if they
go mobile.”
Click, click.
“L, where are you?”
No reply: he was probably down in the parking lot.
“That’s H static on the square. Can take in all directions. N, acknowledge.”
Click, click.
Seconds later Lotfi came back on the net, and I could hear the Focus engine closing down in the background. “Hello, N, hello, N. That’s L static on the parking lot road, covering away from the square.”
“Roger that, L. Stay where you are. H is here, and is covering the square and can take in all directions. N still has the trigger, no change. L, acknowledge.”
Click, click.
By now I was at the mall entrance near the dry-cleaner’s and there was a loud hiss of steam from a pressing machine. “L, I want you to describe Romeo Three to H. Acknowledge.”
Click, click.
There was nothing else I could do now but keep the trigger on the shutter and listen while Lotfi told Hubba-Hubba what our new best friend looked like.
I watched the letters and packages being taken backward and forward in the carts. Keeping the trigger was so important that I’d have to risk exposing myself out here in full view of the postal workers, and so close to the women in the cleaner’s, but thankfully out of sight of the camera on the corner of the building.
I leaned against the wall and checked traser. I wasn’t interested in the time, just in making it look as if I had a reason to be there. There was another loud hiss of steam from the pressing shop, and then a small group of people came out of the exit. I had to brass it out. Security was definitely getting sacrificed for efficiency.
A couple of minutes later there was movement.
“Stand by, stand by, Romeo One and Two foxtrot. Wait…that’s Romeo One and Two both carrying bags. Wait…” I started to smile, as though I was listening to a good story on the cell phone. “That’s both Romeos now foxtrot right, toward me. Romeo Three still unsighted. He must still be inside. I have to move. Wait out.”
