Алистер Маклин - Time of the Assassins

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 couple 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 Makarov 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?’

‘Farouk?’ Graham snorted contemptuously. ‘That’s Salim Al-Makesh.’

‘What?’ Sabrina replied in amazement. ‘But he was killed by Israeli commandos in Damascus.’

‘That’s obviously what they wanted us to believe,’ Graham said without taking his eyes of Al-Makesh.

‘Which only leaves one logical explanation. You’re working for the Israelis now, aren’t you?’

Al-Makesh stepped away from the door, his hands dug into his trouser pockets. He nodded. ‘It was either that or be killed. It was a question of survival.’

‘Now it makes sense,’ Laidlaw said, nodding to himself. ‘I couldn’t understand why you never showed yourself when you were interrogating me. You knew I’d recognize you straight away.’

‘I wasn’t sure whether you would or not,’ Al-Makesh replied. ‘I have changed my appearance considerably since I was with the Black June but it seems I made the right decision after all.’

‘Who killed Barak?’ Graham demanded. ‘You or Bernard?’

‘Bernard. I had nothing to do with it,’ Al-Makesh said. ‘When Barak told him you were in Beirut–’

‘Barak worked for him?’ Graham interceded.

‘Barak worked for anyone who paid him,’ Al-Makesh replied with a dismissive shrug. ‘But he had started to drink heavily in recent months and Bernard felt he had become a liability. So when he heard you were in town he hit on a plan to get rid of both of you. He’d kill Barak and set you up as the fall guy – I believe that’s the term you Americans use. He would knock you out when you went to the house, kill Barak, then dump you in an alley near the Cola Roundabout in western Beirut. All I had to do was go there and arrest you. But when I got there, you’d gone.’