Алистер Маклин: Time of the Assassins

Graham rose to his feet and shook Laidlaw’s extended hand. The grip was still firm. He indicated the chair opposite and sat down again.

‘I’m just going to get myself a beer. I won’t be a moment,’ Laidlaw said, indicating the counter behind him.

Graham pushed his untouched bottle across the table. ‘Have this one. I don’t want it.’

Laidlaw picked up the bottle then pulled out the chair and sat down. ‘You’re looking well, Mike,’ he said at length.

‘You’re not,’ Graham replied bluntly. ‘Christ, Russ, what the hell’s happened to you?’

Laidlaw poured out his beer then sat back and exhaled deeply. ‘It’s a long story, Mike. I’ll tell you about it sometime.’ He drank a mouthful of beer then placed the glass on the table. ‘How was the flight from New York?’

‘Fine,’ Graham replied brusquely then sat forward, his arms resting on the table. ‘Have you found out any more about Bernard?’

Laidlaw shook his head. ‘Nothing came of the enquiries I made this morning. I did see him, Mike. He’s changed, though. The beard and long hair have gone. I had to take a long, hard look at him before I was sure. But it was him, I’d stake my life on it.’

‘I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe you,’ Graham replied softly. ‘So what’s our next move?’

‘Barak.’

Graham frowned. ‘Nazar Barak?’

Laidlaw nodded. ‘He’s the best informer Delta’s ever had in Beirut. I still see him about. If anyone knows where Bernard is, then it’ll be Barak.’

‘Why didn’t you speak to him this morning?’

Laidlaw drank another mouthful of beer. ‘You try pinning him down at such short notice. He’ll be at home tonight about nine. I have that from a reliable source.’

‘I’m just amazed he’s still around. I thought someone would have put a bullet in his back by now.’

‘He knows too much. And it’s all written down and stored away in some bank vault in the city.’

‘You’re joking,’ Graham muttered.

‘That’s the story he’s put around. I doubt it’s true but it’s certainly worked. Nobody’s called his bluff.’

‘Yet,’ Graham added.

Laidlaw smiled wryly then drank the remainder of the beer. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth then stood up. ‘If we get to the house early we can grab him when he arrives. It’s the only way we’ll get to talk to him tonight.’

Graham gave Jenkins a wave then followed Laidlaw out into the street.

Barak’s house turned out to be a small bungalow in West Beirut, less than a mile away from the Mar Elias Camp. It was in darkness. Laidlaw drove past it and pulled up at the end of the dirt road. He switched off the engine then reached into his pocket for his cigarettes and lit the third one since leaving the Windorah. Graham climbed from the car and instinctively ducked as a mortar exploded in the distance. When he straightened up he saw Laidlaw looking at him across the roof of the car, a faint smile on his lips.

‘You get used to it,’ Laidlaw said, closing the door behind him.

‘I don’t know how you can live here,’ Graham said then winced as another explosion rocked the night.

‘It’s become a part of me. I could never leave. You only see the negative side of Beirut on the news back home. There’s a lot more to it than that…’ Laidlaw trailed off when a car suddenly came into view at the other end of the dimly lit street.

Graham looked towards Laidlaw for confirmation that it was Barak. Laidlaw shielded his eyes against the glare of the headlights, trying to distinguish the make and colour of the car. A green Peugeot. He nodded then dropped his cigarette and ground it underfoot.

Barak parked in front of the house and climbed out of the car, locking the door behind him. He was a short, fat man in his early fifties with greasy black hair and thick pebble glasses. The passenger door opened and an ageing prostitute got out.

‘Having a party, Barak?’

Barak swung round then let out a deep sigh when Laidlaw emerged from the shadows of an oak tree on the other side of the road. ‘You startled me, Mr Laidlaw,’ he said breathlessly in English and clamped his hand over his heart as if to emphasize the point. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘We need to talk.’

‘We can talk tomorrow,’ Barak replied then glanced lasciviously at the prostitute. ‘I am busy tonight.’

‘You were busy tonight,’ Laidlaw corrected him. ‘Get rid of her.’

A look of concern crossed Barak’s face. ‘I have already paid her for tonight.’

‘You’ll be reimbursed.’

The prostitute, who didn’t speak English, demanded to know what was happening.

Barak managed to pacify her then turned back to Laidlaw. ‘She will need money for a taxi back to the city.’

‘Then give it to her,’ Laidlaw said.

‘Me?’ Barak replied in horror. ‘Why should I pay her?’

‘I’ve told you, you’ll be reimbursed,’ Laidlaw snapped angrily. ‘Now pay her and get her out of here.’

Barak pulled a roll of banknotes from his jacket pocket, reluctantly peeled off a couple and handed them to the prostitute. She snatched them from him, cursed angrily at them both, then strode off in search of a taxi.

Laidlaw waited until the prostitute was out of sight then nodded to Graham who had been standing by the tree. Barak’s eyes widened in amazement as Graham approached them. He looked at Laidlaw, searching for an answer. Laidlaw said nothing.

‘Still as tight as ever, Barak,’ Graham said, indicating the notes in Barak’s hand.

Barak instinctively stuffed them back into his pocket then rubbed his hands together nervously. ‘What are you doing back in Beirut, Mr Graham?’

‘Let’s go inside,’ Graham said, gesturing towards the house.

Barak led them up a narrow concrete path to the unpainted door and opened it. He beckoned them inside and immediately closed the door behind him. He showed them into the lounge and drew the threadbare curtains before switching on the light. The room was unpainted and the only furniture consisted of a lime green sofa, two wooden chairs and a three-legged coffee table which was propped up against the wall to prevent it from toppling over.

‘This is very irregular,’ Barak said at length. ‘I never do business at my house. You know that, Mr Laidlaw. Why did you come here? If anyone saw you–’

‘Nobody saw us,’ Graham snapped.

Barak’s eyes shifted from Laidlaw to Graham. ‘Why are you here?’

‘Bernard.’

Barak scratched his stubbled chin then sat on the edge of the sofa. ‘Jean-Jacques Bernard?’

‘Yeah.’

‘But he is dead. He died–’

‘I saw him outside the American University Hospital yesterday morning,’ Laidlaw cut in quickly. ‘He’s changed his appearance but it was Bernard.’

‘You must have been mistaken,’ Barak replied, shaking his head. ‘Bernard is dead.’

‘If Russell says he saw Bernard yesterday then that’s good enough for me,’ Graham said sharply.

Barak removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily. ‘I knew Bernard well. Do you not think I would know if he was still alive, especially if he was living here in Beirut?’

‘I didn’t say he was living here,’ Laidlaw replied. ‘He could be here on business. But it was Bernard.’

Graham took an envelope from his pocket and tossed it onto the sofa. ‘There’s five-thousand dollars there, in cash. Find Bernard and I’ll double it.’

Barak opened the envelope and fanned the banknotes with his finger. He looked across at Graham.

‘Why do you want Bernard so badly?’

‘That doesn’t concern you. Find him and you’ll get the rest of the money.’

‘Where are you staying?’ Barak asked Graham.