Time of the Assassins u-6

by Alastair Macneill

  'Russell Laidlaw?'

  'That's right,' Laidlaw muttered. 'You're not a reporter, are you?'

  'My name's Sabrina Cassidy, I'm a friend of Mike's.'

  'Mike?'

  'Mike Graham,' Sabrina retorted with a hint of irritation in her voice. 'We need to talk.'

  'Look, come back later. I'm absolutely exhausted. I've been in police custody for the last thirty-six hours. And it's all thanks to your friend Mike.'

  'I think he's in trouble,' she said. 'Please, we need to talk.'

  Laidlaw rubbed his eyes wearily then pulled open the door. 'What the hell. I couldn't sleep anyway.'

  'Thanks,' she said and stepped inside.

  'You'll have to forgive the mess,' Laidlaw said, closing the door. 'I'm not very domesticated.'

  She followed him into the kitchen and sat down in the chair offered to her.

  'You want a beer?' he asked.

  'Coffee, if you've got it.'

  'Somewhere,' he replied and switched the kettle on before rummaging through the drawers. He found the coffee jar and put a heaped spoonful into the only clean mug he could find. 'You say you're a friend of Mike's. You work with him?'

  'That's right,' she replied.

  Laidlaw opened the beer and drank a mouthful.

  'And you're out here to find him? Well, I wish you luck.'

  'You saw him, didn't you?'

  'I met him, yes-at the Windorah; it's a bar in town. We talked a bit then I gave him a lift back to his hotel. I never saw him after that.'

  Sabrina exhaled deeply. 'How can I convince you I'm on the level?'

  Laidlaw filled the cup with hot water then placed it on the table in front of her. He put the milk bottle beside the cup. 'Help yourself. Look, Miss Cassidy, I met your friend — '

  'Spare me the act,' she cut in angrily. 'You served in Delta together. It was on an operation in Libya that his family was kidnapped by Arab terrorists to try and force him to countermand the order to attack. The two men behind the kidnapping were Salim Al-Makesh and Jean-Jacques Bernard. Al-Makesh was killed by the Israelis. Bernard was thought to have been killed in a car-bomb attack a year and a half ago. Mike obviously found out Bernard was alive and came out here to get him. You were his contact. That's all we know. I've been sent here to find out what really happened and get him back to the States.'

  Laidlaw pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down. 'Carrie gave Mike a watch as a Christmas present. What make was it?'

  'Piaget. Gold-plated. And it was a birthday present. Satisfied?'

  Laidlaw nodded. 'Satisfied. Who's this "we" you mentioned?'

  'I can't tell you, I'm afraid.'

  'Undercover work in other words?'

  'Something like that,' she replied.

  'Are you his partner?'

  She nodded. 'Did you tip him off about Bernard?'

  'Yeah. I saw Bernard outside the American University Hospital. I knew Mike would want to know.'

  'And where did this Barak fit into the picture?'

  'Barak had been a Delta contact for years. If anybody could find Bernard, then he could. Until Mike put a bullet in his back.'

  'Mike didn't kill him, you know that,' she retorted sharply.

  'All I know is that when I reached the house Barak was dead. Then I saw Barak's car being driven away at high speed. And Mike had gone. Put two and two together.'

  'It has to be a set-up. Why kill the one man capable of leading him to Bernard? It makes no sense.'

  'I wasn't there when he went into the house. He insisted on that. I don't know what they discussed.'

  'Only Mike knows that. That's why we have to find him.'

  'Not "we". You can count me out. I put myself on the line for him once already and look where it got me: thirty-six hours in jail; Interrogations every four hours. No, Miss Cassidy, if you want to find Mike, you find him by yourself.'

  'I don't know my way around Beirut.'

  'So get a guide. There's plenty of them. And they don't cost much.'

  'If it's money — '

  'Don't insult me, Miss Cassidy,' Laidlaw snapped sharply.

  She raised a hand in apology. 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I need your help, Mr Laidlaw. And so does Mike. If the police get to him first, he'll be put away for life.'

  'And what if he did kill Barak? What if he is guilty? You're going to help a killer flee justice.'

  'I don't know how well you know Mike. I think I know him pretty well. He's a damn good professional and he wouldn't jeopardize his career by putting a bullet in the back of some two-bit informer.'

  'Mike's changed,' Laidlaw answered, staring at the beer can he was turning on the table. 'I noticed that the moment we met. He used to be the most stable guy I ever knew. Nothing ever riled him. But that was before he lost his family. Now he's bitter, unpredictable: I'd even say psychotic. I don't go along with your assessment, Miss Cassidy. I think he was more than capable of shooting Barak in the back. Especially if you consider he was on the trail of the man he believes had his family abducted and almost certainly murdered. No, I don't want any more to do with Mike. He's trouble.'

  Sabrina pushed her chair back and stood up, her eyes blazing. 'At least Mike hasn't run away from his past. What about you? Hiding away in this squalor, trying to forget what happened in Honduras.' She noticed the surprise in his eyes. 'Oh, I know all about you, Mr Laidlaw. I read your file on the plane. I know why you left Delta. I don't think you're in any position to pass judgement on someone like Mike.'

  'Just get out,' Laidlaw hissed between clenched teeth.

  'My pleasure,' she retorted then walked to the door where she paused to look back at him. 'And don't forget, you were the one who contacted Mike in the first place. It's thanks to you that he's in this mess right now. Think about that when you open your next beer.'

  Laidlaw sunk his face into his hands. A moment later the front door slammed shut. He suddenly grabbed the beer can and hurled it against the wall then upturned the table, sending it crashing against the cooker. He checked himself as he was about to kick the chair out of the way then walked slowly to the bedroom and slumped onto the bed. He put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. Within minutes he was asleep. It proved to be a disturbed, restless sleep.

  'You look like death,' Dave Jenkins said when Laidlaw arrived at the Windorah that evening.

  'I feel like it,' Laidlaw retorted, climbing onto one of the bar stools. 'A beer, Dave.'

  'Comin' up,' Jenkins replied, uncapping a Budweiser and placing it on the counter in front of Laidlaw. 'Where were you last night? I was thinking about sending out the cavalry to look for you if you hadn't shown up tonight.'

  'It's nice to be missed,' Laidlaw muttered then took a drink of beer.

  'So where were you last night?'

  Laidlaw shrugged. 'I didn't fancy coming in. Is that such a crime?'

  'If it affects my profits, yes,' Jenkins said with a grin then pushed a coaster across to Laidlaw. 'What do you think of the design? A batch of them came in this morning.'

  'What?' Laidlaw replied in amazement.

  'Just look at the design.' Jenkins picked up another four and handed them out to the other customers sitting at the counter.

  Laidlaw glanced at it, turned it over, and was about to discard it when he saw the handwritten note scrawled across it. He looked up but Jenkins was busy discussing the logo with one of the other customers. He read the note: Go upstairs to Room 4. Knock twice. Pause. Knock twice more.

  'Interesting, isn't it?' Jenkins said, deftly taking the coaster from Laidlaw's hand and discarding it unobtrusively in the bin under the counter. 'But then I'm biased anyway.'

  Laidlaw took another mouthful of beer then got to his feet and walked to the stairs at the end of the room. He paused, his hand on the banister. What the hell was going on? He sighed deeply then mounted the stairs and looked around him slowly. The Windorah had been a small family hotel before Jenkins bought it seven years earlier. The ten rooms
were all situated on the first floor. Jenkins had decided to concentrate on the bar and closed the rooms. He converted the first two into toilets and the others were only used for customers, invariably foreign journalists who were too drunk to drive home. He never charged for the rooms and the journalists repayed him by keeping their custom at the bar.

  Laidlaw stopped outside Room 4, glanced round to see that nobody was about, then knocked twice. He paused momentarily then knocked twice more. A bolt was drawn back from inside then the door opened fractionally before a hand reached out and hauled him into the room. The door closed behind him immediately.

  'Mike?' Laidlaw said in amazement as Graham bolted the door.

  'You took your time! Where the hell were you last night?'

  'Being interrogated on a murder charge,' Laidlaw snapped back. 'Thirty-six hours without any sleep. And all thanks to you. You've got some explaining to do.'

  Graham walked to the unmade bed and sat down. '1.didn't kill Barak.'

  'So where were you when I got to the house? And who drove off in Barak's Peugeot?'

  Graham rubbed his unshaven face and looked up at Laidlaw. 'All I know is that when I entered the house someone coshed me. When I woke up I was in some back alley. I still don't know where it was. And my Beretta was gone.'

  'The police have got it,' Laidlaw said coldly. 'It was the gun that killed Barak.'

  'I know,' Graham retorted. 'Why the hell do you think I've been holed up here since yesterday? When I saw my picture on the front page of the local newspaper I knew it meant trouble.'

  'So why did you come here?'

  'I went to your house first but the cops were watching it. I also saw them putting a tap on your phone. That's why I couldn't call you. Then I thought of Dave. He's the only other guy I could trust here.'

  Laidlaw moved to the window and tweaked the edge of the curtains. The police car that had followed him to the Windorah was still parked across the road.

  'Were you followed here?' Graham asked.

  'Yeah,' Laidlaw replied, letting the curtain fall back into place. 'But that was to be expected. Jeez, I still don't know what to make of your story. It doesn't make sense. If Bernard did kill Barak, why not kill you as well? What would he have to gain by setting you up?'

  'That question's been going round in my head ever since I woke up in that alley.'

  'And?'

  'And nothing,' Graham replied. 'Like you said, it makes no sense. I'm still a threat to him alive.'

  'What if Bernard wasn't behind it?'

  'It has to be Bernard. Hell, I wish I knew why though.'

  Laidlaw looked down at Graham. 'The cops aren't the only ones on your tail. Your partner's in town.'

  Graham's eyes narrowed suspiciously. 'My partner?'

  'Calls herself Sabrina Cassidy. Looks like a model out of one of those Coke ads, only better.'

  Graham smiled faintly. 'That's her. When did she get in?'

  'Dunno. We didn't exactly hit it off.'

  'I know what you mean. I didn't get on with her either when we started working together. We'd fight like cat and dog. Hell, we still have our spats. But she's still a damn good professional all the same.'

  'She thinks a lot of you, you know. I made the mistake of criticizing you and she came down on me like a ton of bricks.'

  'She's very maternal. It can be a pain in the ass at times.'

  'Is that what you call it?' Laidlaw replied, an eyebrow raised quizzically.

  There were two knocks on the door before Graham could muster a reply. A pause then another two knocks.

  'That's Dave,' Graham said. 'He said he'd be up. I'll get him to find out where Sabrina's staying.'

  Graham unlocked the door. Jenkins entered, followed by two Arabs in jeans and open-necked shirts. Both were armed with Russian Makarova pistols.

  'I'm sorry, Mike,' Jenkins said, giving Graham a despairing look. 'They caught me unawares. They were in the opposite room.'

  'Shut up!' one of the Arabs snapped in a thick English accent. 'You are Mike Graham?'

  Graham nodded slowly. 'Who are you? Bernard's goons?'

  'Captain Farouk want to see you,' the Arab replied.

  'That's the bastard who interrogated me,' Laidlaw hissed.

  'If you not come, the girl will die.' The Arab took a passport from his pocket and tossed it on the bed. 'Captain Farouk say you look. He serious.'

  Graham picked up the passport and looked at

  Laidlaw. 'It's Sabrina's.' He turned on the English-speaking Arab. 'If you or this Farouk have touched her I'll tear you apart with my bare hands.'

  The Arab's face remained motionless. 'You come. All of you.'

  'Farouk wants me, let the others go,' Graham said.

  'If you not come, the girl will die.'

  'It's like talking to a robot,' Graham hissed then glanced at Jenkins and Laidlaw. 'We're going to have to do as he says. I'm sorry.'

  'What about the bar?' Jenkins asked.

  'The bar closed.'

  'Closed?' Jenkins replied indignantly.

  'It has been closed. We go out the back door. And if you are thinking about trying to fight us — '

  'Yeah, we know,' Graham cut in angrily.

  'The girl will die,' the Arab concluded.

  Jenkins led the way down the stairs into the now empty bar room. He opened the hatchway at the end of the counter then turned to the English-speaking Arab. 'Can I at least lock up?'

  The Arab nodded then ordered his accomplice to go with Jenkins. When they returned Jenkins again led the way out into the side alley behind the bar. A black van was parked by the door. Jenkins locked the door, pocketed the keys, then his hands were tied behind his back before he was bundled into the back of the van after Graham and Laidlaw. The doors were closed, enveloping them in darkness, and locked from the outside. The two Arabs then climbed into the front and moments later the van spluttered into life and turned out of the alley.

  'Mike, can you reach into my jacket pocket?' Jenkins said, nudging Graham with his elbow.

  'What the hell for?'

  'My keys,' Jenkins replied. 'There's a Swiss Army knife on the keyring. That's why I insisted on locking the bar. We can cut ourselves free.'

  'Good thinking, Dave, but we can't risk it.'

  'What do you mean?' Jenkins replied. 'If we can cut ourselves free we can jump those two when they open the doors again. Three against two. We'd have a good chance of overpowering them.'

  'If we could be sure it would only be the two of them. What if there are others waiting for us when we do reach our destination?'

  'It's worth a try, surely?' Jenkins retorted.

  'It's not just that. We don't know where Sabrina is. Even if we did manage to overpower them we could be putting her life in danger. I won't take that risk.'

  'Great, so we're just going,to sit here like trussed up chickens — '

  'If you quit whining, Dave, I could tell you what I've got in mind.'

  'That's gratitude for you. Who took you in — '

  'Dave, shut up,' Laidlaw snapped then turned to Graham beside him. 'Well, what's the plan?'

  'We loosen our ropes. Then, once we know Sabrina's safe we can make our move. It's a long shot, I know, but there isn't much else we can do under the circumstances.'

  'I had the same idea,' Laidlaw said. 'Let's just hope Cheech and Chong up front aren't telepathic.'

  'We've got to chance it,' Graham replied grimly.

  They set about loosening the ropes just enough for them to be able to reach the knot once Graham gave the signal. Their only concern was that, in the darkness, one, or more, of the ropes had been loosened too much and it would be noticed when they emerged from the back of the van. All they could do was wait.

  Twenty minutes later the van came to a halt, but the engine was kept running. They heard one of the Arabs get out and moments later a metal gate was opened and the van drove forward a few feet before stopping again, presumably to pick up the Arab. They drove another co
uple of hundred yards before the van came to a halt and the engine was switched off. This time both Arabs got out and the back doors were unlocked.

  The English-speaking Arab ordered them to get out. Jenkins scrambled out first, followed by Graham and Laidlaw. They looked around. They were in an illuminated yard lined with a row of six red and black pantechnicons. Graham couldn't understand the writing across the side of the nearest one. It was in Arabic. The Arabs spoke briefly together then the English-speaking one stepped back, his Makarova trained on the three men. His colleague walked behind Jenkins and tugged at the rope binding his wrists. He cursed angrily and immediately tightened it. Graham and Laidlaw remained motionless, not daring to look at each other. Laidlaw was spun round and the Arab checked his rope then he was pushed aside and Graham subjected to the same treatment. The Arab shook.his head at his colleague.

  'Inside,' the English-speaking Arab ordered, gesturing with the pistol to the door behind him.

  Graham and Laidlaw exchanged relieved glances then followed Jenkins into the white-walled corridor. They were led to a metal door. The English-speaking Arab pulled it open and indicated for them to enter. They found themselves in a cavernous room lined with scarred wooden workbenches and rows of metal hooks hanging from the ceiling. They were all on runners and could be manoeuvred the length of the room. It was spotlessly clean. The second Arab walked to a door and disappeared inside. Moments later the door opened and he emerged with Sabrina. Her hands were bound behind her back but she was otherwise unhurt. He pushed her onto a chair by the door. Graham took a step towards her but the English-speaking Arab levelled the pistol menacingly at him and ordered him to remain where he was.

  'You OK?' Graham called out.

  'I'm fine. I didn't realize Farouk…' she trailed off when she saw Graham and Laidlaw both look past her, their eyes riveted on the man who had appeared in the doorway.

  'Good to see you again, Mr Graham. It's been a long time.'

  Sabrina looked from Farouk to Graham, a puzzled frown on her face. 'You know Farouk?'