‘Won’t it be guarded?’ Marzuq asked.
‘There will be security. You will deal with it.’
‘So we will spray it in ourselves?’ Basim’s face showed he realised the implications.
‘Would you hesitate to do so?’ Hassan asked kindly.
‘No.’
‘Marzuq?’
‘No. But I am concerned that there might be separate systems for different parts of the building.’
Hassan nodded. ‘I have just come from talking with a man who knows about such things. He assures me that unless sections of the building are physically sealed off, once the virus is released it will quickly spread through the entire parliament.’ He smiled warmly. ‘And I have been assured that there is no filtering system that can hinder the virus.’
‘So everyone in the building will die?’ Basim’s voice was full of awe, his eyes glazed.
‘If you can empty even two canisters each into the system, everyone will die.’
Hassan checked his watch. ‘Now I must go back to my hotel. I leave on a plane in the morning.’ He got to his feet and added, ‘I envy you both. For this action you will receive limitless blessings. Insh’allah.’
‘Insh’allah.‘
It was a decent walk back to the Park Grand Hotel, but after being cramped up in the aircraft for so long, and with the prospect of another flight in the morning, he felt like the exercise. The light rain earlier in the day had cleared and though it was still cloudy the night was pleasantly cool. As Hassan al-Mahdi set out towards the city, his mind was firmly on the two young men he had left behind. He knew there was no way they could avoid contamination, but, he consoled himself, there is no battle without casualties — and anyway, it was what they desired. Mulling over the day’s events, he failed to notice two men get out of a car at the end of Arthur Street and merge into the shadows behind him.
When they arrived at the hotel they went straight up to Layla’s room and knocked on the door. There was no reply so they traipsed back down to reception and found that she had left a note for Ray, saying that she had gone out with Chloë. She had signed the note Rabia.
‘Who’s Chloë?’ Fossey asked. He was disappointed that Layla wasn’t there, but also relieved that the confrontation was postponed.
‘Chloë is a friend, one of the team on the bus,’ Ray explained.
‘I think we should go and meet our journalist,’ Karim said. ‘He’ll be wondering what the hell has happened to us.’
Ray, Karim and Fossey found David Magnus and his freelance cameraman in David’s room, making a serious dent in the mini-bar.
‘Ah, the mystery man on the plane. I thought I recognised you,’ David said as he opened the door.
Fossey looked at him blankly.
‘I was on the same flight from Brissy.’
David ushered them in and made an elaborate gesture in the direction of his friend, a pleasant-looking man in his thirties with thinning blond hair.
‘This is Michael Gesell, cameraman extraordinaire …’
Michael unwound from a chair. He was taller than Fossey, and not so much gaunt as sparse. ‘Good to meet you.’ He shook hands all round.
As the five of them settled down to business it quickly became apparent to Ray and Fossey that, while David might possess boundless enthusiasm and a boyish love of risk-taking, it was Michael who was going to hold the show together. For every potential technical problem he had an answer or a suggestion. And his advice was offered quietly, without ego. He was, Fossey thought, a really likeable bloke.
‘But can you deliver the major players?’ David asked, not for the first time. All the technical talk was fine, but he knew it was nothing without the content.
‘Patience, David,’ Karim said. ‘We already have two of them located.’
It took just over two hours to go through the details. When they were finished, Karim was confident that they would perform even better than he had anticipated. They had a chance of success. If everything else fell into place.
It was just approaching eight when Amir called. Karim shut the door behind him and ambled away down the corridor towards the lift area. ‘Yes?’
‘There was a third man,’ Amir said. ‘Older. I think it is the cell leader.’ He sounded excited. ‘Two of my men are following him and they will call me when they find out where he is going.’
‘Good. And the other two?’
‘Still inside. Are we going to pay them a visit?’
Karim thought about it. ‘Not until we sort out the other problem.’
‘Other problem?’
Karim stepped back as the lift doors opened and a middle-aged couple got out. They glanced at him suspiciously and hurried down the corridor. ‘The thing I asked you to locate,’ he said obliquely.
There was silence for a moment. ‘Oh … that. No, I’m afraid such things are beyond me. The people I spoke to thought I was mad to ask.’
Karim snorted. ‘Oh well, if worst come to worst I will have to make do. Call me if anything happens.’
He walked back to the room and knocked on the door. When David opened it Karim beckoned him out of hearing from the others.
‘You know people in Sydney?’
David looked perplexed. ‘People? Some, why? What kind of people?’
Karim lowered his voice. ‘I need to get hold of a weapon.’
David looked at him, surprised, then laughed. ‘Oh, that kind of people.’
‘You know such people?’ Karim asked, unsure why David found the request amusing.
‘Sure I know people. I’ve interviewed all kinds over the years. When do you need it?’
‘Now.’
The smile vanished from David’s face. ‘Shit, man, you’re serious?’
‘Deadly.’
‘Okay. I’ll ring around and see what I can do.’ He paused then said quietly, ‘It’ll cost.’
‘I can pay,’ Karim said.
It was an hour and a half before David returned. He casually handed a shoe box to Karim. ‘Size nine? That’s right, isn’t it?’
‘Sounds good to me.’
‘Are you two going to stop playing —’ Ray began, but Karim held his hand up for quiet. He handed the shoe box to Ray then took the mobile from his pocket and answered it.
‘You bastards drink all the beer?’ David asked, peering into the bar fridge.
‘We saved you a sandwich,’ Fossey said.
‘Humph! So that’s the way I get treated for involving myself with a bunch of renegades.’
‘Nice!’ Fossey laughed. ‘So we’re renegades now? And anyway, whatever happened to the journalistic ethic of not getting involved in the story? I thought you would want to be at arm’s length and brimming with objectivity?’
‘That’s fine for reporters.’ Michael made no attempt to hide the contempt in his voice.
‘God! Now you’ve started him,’ David groaned. ‘But he’s right. The only way to get a good story is to be in it up to your neck. I’m with Michael on this one. Fuck objectivity.’
Michael rolled his eyes. ‘I’ve seen some pricks get so self-righteous over balancing a story that they lose the plot.’
‘Yeah.’ Fossey nodded. ‘I forgot I was dealing with journalists not reporters. But how involved would you get?’
‘Totally.’
‘Even if it ruins the story?’ Ray asked.
‘Ruins? How?’
David held up his hand. ‘I’ll give you an example. I was doing a piece in Kosovo. A bunch of KLA had stormed into a Serb enclave and set the place alight. We were on the outskirts, sheltering behind a barn. When the KLA thugs left they doused this Serb guy in petrol and set fire to him. The Belgian camera crew were in on it. A good close shot and great audio. Screams, flames … you name it, they had it in the can. I took my coat off to try and put the flames out and they were enraged. To them that was getting involved in the story.’
‘Shit!’ Ray said.
‘So what would you have done?’ Fossey
asked Michael.
‘I would have done what David did … But I see it as part of the story.’
‘But what about —’ Ray began.
‘Gentlemen!’ Karim called. ‘Amir’s people have followed the third man into the city, and he is in this hotel.’
‘Jesus! Room number?’ Fossey asked. There were probably three hundred rooms in the hotel.
‘That’s the problem. We don’t have a room number or name,’ Karim said. ‘The men followed him down Park Street and reported that he went straight past reception into the lift, with a crowd. End of story. They have no idea what floor he went to.’
‘I’ll sort it,’ Ray said. ‘Fossey, grab your coat. David, have you got a tie?’
‘Sure.’
‘Give one to Fossey.’
David slid back the wardrobe door to reveal a couple of jackets and half a dozen ties. ‘Take your pick.’
Fossey was about to inspect them when Ray pushed past and took the only reasonably conservative one: royal blue, shot with flecks of red silk.
‘Put it on,’ he said and handed it to Fossey.
They came out of the lift, circled around the lobby and approached the reception desk.
‘Can I help you, gentlemen?’ The woman was very young, fresh-faced and eager to please. Her name tag announced that she was Tanya.
Ray pulled an ID card on a silver chain from his pocket and flipped it across the desk. ‘Christopher Lennox, Department of Immigration.’ He pulled the card back by the chain and pocketed it. ‘I would like to check the guest register if you please, Tanya.’ He smiled conspiratorially. ‘Don’t worry, there’s no great drama. It’s just that we believe one of your guests is an illegal.’
Tanya’s face fell. ‘Illegal? Here?’
‘I’m afraid so. They’re everywhere these days.’
The register was placed before him and Ray ran his finger slowly down the page. ‘This would be the individual, sir.’ He took a half-step to the left to allow Fossey to see where his finger was pointing.
‘That’s him, Lennox,’ Fossey said, holding down a chuckle.
Ray shut the register and handed it back. ‘Thank you, Tanya.’
They strolled out of the lobby and went straight to the lift.
‘Christopher Lennox?’ Fossey let out the laughter he’d been suppressing. ‘Where the hell did you find him?’
‘On a table in the staff canteen actually. The idiot left it there after lunch,’ Ray said. ‘Once I knew I was going to get the flick I decided that it might come in handy.’ He took it from his pocket and passed it to Fossey.
‘But it doesn’t look the least bit like you.’
‘Nobody looks at the photo. The fact you produce it is enough to intimidate most people.’
Back in the room Karim was squashing the empty shoe box into the wastepaper bin. David was sipping at a miniature bottle of scotch.
‘Well?’ Michael asked.
‘Ahmad Hammuda. Room 1810.’ Ray smiled. ‘Do you think he’d appreciate a little room service?’
‘Only needs two of us.’ Karim glanced at Fossey. ‘You want to come along?’
Fossey looked at the others. ‘Unless anyone else is keen.’
David turned to Michael. ‘How long will it take you to get your gear?’
‘A trip to Balmain and back.’
‘I think I’d rather talk with him first,’ Karim said.
‘Sure, but I’ll pick up the digital camera and keep it handy.’
David looked vaguely sour. ‘And Ray and I should do what?’
Fossey grinned. ‘Order some more food and stay sober. We have a long night in front of us.’
‘What was in the box?’ Fossey asked, as soon as they were out in the corridor.
‘A Glock 36.’ Karim shrugged. ‘It looks as though its previous owner’s idea of keeping it clean was putting it through a car wash. The rear sight is missing and I have no idea if the damned thing even works.’
‘A pistol?’ Fossey had stopped, his lips curled in disgust.
Karim turned back. ‘Listen, Fossey. These people are killers. They would slit your throat or mine without giving it a second thought. Now, if you want to walk in on people like that armed only with moral indignation, go right ahead, but I won’t be with you.’
‘It’s just … ‘ Fossey began, but couldn’t find the right words.
‘What?’ Karim’s eyes glittered. ‘So un-Australian?’ He laughed dryly. ‘Killing hundreds of people with a virus is pretty un-Australian too, isn’t it?’ He set off towards the lifts.
‘Shit,’ Fossey whispered. But he followed Karim.
There was a couple already in the lift. Fossey corrected his first impression as they stepped in separate directions to let them in: two individuals. The man was in his twenties, florid-faced, crew-cut hair and dressed in T-shirt and jeans. The woman appeared slightly older. Too much make-up to tell, Fossey thought. She was chewing gum, her fingers fiddling with the chain of a small black purse. The cloying smell of perfume was overpowering.
Karim went to punch the button for the eighteenth floor, but withdrew his hand. It was already illuminated. So was the twentieth. As the doors shut, he stepped to the back of the lift. The woman was staring at the mirrored ceiling. The man had his eyes fixed on the floor.
At the eighteenth floor, the woman stepped out of the lift ahead of them and hesitated, looking for directions. Then she saw the small plaque indicating the direction of the room numbers. She glanced over her shoulder at the two men behind her and walked quickly down the corridor to the right.
Room 1810 was also to the right, but before he took a step Fossey felt Karim’s hand on his shoulder restraining him.
‘Wait,’ Karim mouthed and kept his grip on Fossey until the woman had vanished around the corner. ‘Okay.’ He inclined his head in the direction the woman had taken.
They rounded the corner in time to see the woman pause outside a room, take the chewing gum from her mouth and stick it on the door frame. Then she knocked quietly. Immediately the door opened and she disappeared inside.
‘You think …’ Fossey began.
Karim nodded. ‘Come on.’
Along the hall he paused to glance at the room number. Two doors along, on the opposite side, was a small service galley; the door open, but the light switched off. Karim stepped inside and gestured for Fossey to follow. ‘Nobody’s likely to use this at night. We should be safe here.’
Fossey pushed the door almost shut, leaving just enough of a gap to allow them a view of 1810. ‘Well, that screws things up.’
‘No,’ Karim whispered. ‘I think it’s going to make things easier.’
He moved Fossey to one side and positioned himself by the door. Then he took the pistol from his pocket and held it by his side.
Fossey couldn’t stop himself. ‘You aren’t going to use that.’
Even in the half light, he could see Karim’s grin. ‘Mr Hammuda isn’t going to know that, is he? Actually, on second thoughts, it would probably be best out of sight.’ He pocketed the pistol again and turned his attention back to the corridor.
‘When we go in, you are Moishe. Okay? And I’m Saul.’
‘Moishe and Saul?’
‘That’s right.’
For the next fifteen minutes or so they waited in silence. Not, Fossey thought, that it was much of a silence. The hotel had noises of its own and, as his mild claustrophobia grew, so too, it seemed, did the noises. The lifts whirred and creaked, distant doors opened and shut, and even the building itself seemed to sigh and move. In the confined space of the galley every sound was amplified. Surely, he thought irrationally, anyone passing outside would hear such loud breathing or the rustle of clothing as one or other of them shifted his weight from foot to foot. Trying not to imagine what was going on in Hammuda’s room, Fossey was holding himself stiff as a tuning fork waiting to be struck.
Karim didn’t take his eye off the entrance to 1810 and the second he saw the handle b
egin to turn he was out the door and striding down the corridor. He made it with time to spare.
Fossey held his breath as the woman stepped out. She put a foot behind her to hold the door ajar as she checked the money and stuffed it in her purse. Then, before she could move forward, she saw Karim standing pressed against the wall beside the door.
She stepped sideways, shrinking against the wall, terrified. But Karim’s move was not towards her. He shot his foot out and caught the door before it closed. The woman stood stock still, her bag hugged tight to her chest, her eyes pleading with Karim not to harm her. Her mouth opened and shut but no sound came out. Then she understood his foot in the door and knew that she was not about to be the victim.
Karim brought a finger to his lips and gestured with his other hand that she should leave. For a second she remained frozen against the wall. Then, picking her gum from the door frame, she poked her pierced tongue out at him and flounced off down the corridor.
As Fossey moved to the door Karim took the gun from his pocket. He slid the safety off, pushed open the door and pointed at the light switch inside. Fossey nodded then stepped into the small entranceway.
Gun raised, Karim stepped forward. The light snapped on. ‘Room service, Mr Hammuda,’ he said loudly.
Quickly Fossey hung the Do Not Disturb card on the outside of the door and closed it.
Hammuda was blinking against the sudden light and struggling to sit up. ‘This is the wrong room …’ he protested.
‘Check his jacket, Moishe.’ The gun didn’t waver as Karim pointed at the chair by the window.
‘At least let me put some clothes on,’ the man whined.
‘No, I prefer you naked,’ Karim said coldly.
For a moment Fossey forgot he was Moishe; it felt somehow foolish. Then he went to the chair and searched the coat. In the inside pocket was a wallet and a green United Arab Emirates passport. He flipped it open. It looked freshly minted and held only six stamps other than the Australian one. Two trips in and out of the United Kingdom and one to Canada. All very respectable. The name was interesting.
The Haha Man Page 33
