Adam Hall - Quiller Solitaire

'Charlie,' I said, 'the whole deal depends on the time of delivery, and that's our deadline: twenty-one fifteen hours, 19:15.'

'In Algiers.'

'In Algiers. So you'll have to cut corners, as I said. Do we want to lose a deal like this?

'No, if you put it that way.'

Cone's German was fluent and he'd heard Klaus making the deadline but he couldn't tell whether I needed delivery as fast as that for my own sake or whether I was forced to let Klaus pressure me like this because he could be sitting beside me holding a gun at my head.

In the cold night air I was beginning to sweat because all I wanted was the chance of sixty seconds on the phone with Cone in private, thirty seconds, Tell Control he's got to make the deadline with a dummy nuke and tell him that if he alerts GSG-9 or the Algerian counter-terrorist service he'll risk exposing me and blowing the mission, tell him that 2 nd for God's sake make him understand.

It was all I wanted, thirty seconds, fifteen, enough time to protect the delivery scene and make it worth my while to stay inside Nemesis and talk to these people and get it right, watching every word, every gesture, every reaction, every expression, so that they wouldn't sense a trembling on the web.

'How long,' I asked Cone, 'will it take you to make the delivery?'

'I can't say. It -'

'You've got twenty-one hours, Charlie.'

'I can only do my best.'

'Then it's got to be good enough. You want to work with me again, you'll have to meet the deadline.'

'It's very short notice -'

'Charlie, are you listening to me? Get that item delivered on time or it's the last deal we do together, are you listening?'

There was no speech-code involved but I was giving him private information. I'd started to threaten him and he'd picked up on it and started raising doubts to see what I'd do, and I'd pressured him and given him an ultimatum and the message was clear enough now: I wanted him to make the delivery for my own reasons, because if Klaus had had a gun at my head I would have started raising doubts of my own, pointing out the difficulties to him and pleading for more time.

It had been all I could do to spell things out.

'I'll get moving on it, then,' Cone said. 'Where is the point of delivery?'

I looked at Klaus. 'Where do we deliver?'

'At Dar-el-Beida.'

The airport for Algiers.

'Who will receive the goods?

'Five men will be waiting in a black Mercedes 560 SEL at the north-east corner of No. 5 Maintenance Hangar at the airport at exactly 19:15 hours tomorrow.' He checked his watch again. 'I'm giving your partner an extra two minutes, which should please him.'

'Could make all the difference,' I said.

He gave a short laugh. 'We shall get on well together. I like your sense of humour.'

'We need a name,' I told him.

'When your people approach at that time, one of I the men in the car will get out and meet them. His name is Muhammad Ibrahimi. The parole for exchange will be… would you like to suggest something?'

The parole for exchange . That was the vernacular of the intelligence field. He'd been in Stasi intelligence, then, perhaps under the control of the KGB in former East Germany.

'Mushroom,' I said.

'I like that!' The short laugh. 'Mushroom, yes. The freight will be put into the boot of the car and the cash will be handed over immediately afterwards.'

'What currency?'

'You asked for US dollars.'

'Yes.'

'Then you shall have US dollars.'

There wasn't anything else so I talked to Cone again and went over the whole thing twice and he said he'd got it. It's just a simple exchange, Charlie,' I told him. 'Nothing we haven't done a hundred times before.'

'Give it all I've got. Call you back at the same number?'

I checked with Klaus and he nodded.

'Yes,'I told Cone.

'Anything else?'

'No,' I said, 'there's nothing else,' and he rang off and I put the telephone back and Klaus snapped the driving-door open.

'So! We will go back into the house. Schwartz?'

The man's feet grated over the gravel. 'Sit in the car here and when the telephone rings call me on my pager.'

Headlights flooded the driveway as we left the Volvo, and the gates began swinging open.

'Who is that?' Klaus called out.

'His name is Khatami, mein Fuhrer . He gave the password.'

A black Porsche came into the drive and cut its lights and the gates were swung back as a man got out and came across to the house. Klaus didn't break his stride but shook the man's hand and told him to go on ahead. 'I'll be there in a moment, Bijan. The others are waiting.'

He led me into the panelled hallway and touched my arm – 'Everything looks very fine, my friend. I'm sure your associate realises that delivery has to be made on time. I could have given you a more comfortable deadline if it weren't for the fact that my operation is running to a precise schedule, and I can't afford delays.' His black eyes watched me steadily. 'The next twenty-four hours, you see, constitute a count-down.' A man was stationed near the wide carpeted staircase and Klaus called him over. 'Fogel! Show Herr Mittag to his room.' He turned away and said over his shoulder, 'You'll find everything there – toilet necessities, a choice of pyjamas, a small bar – turning round for a moment – 'Inge will entertain you if you wish – just mention it to Fogel here. We shall meet again to receive the call from your associate. I am very pleased , you know, that you have offered me this particular item at such a convenient time – I am delighted.'

His footsteps faded out along the corridor. Fogel showed me to a bedroom suite on the floor above and left me there, and I began thinking about the man who'd just arrived in the Porsche, Khatami. He hadn't been in uniform this time but I'd recognised him: he was the Iranian pilot I'd seen talking to Inge Stoph at the airport cafeteria.

Cone telephoned just after three in the morning and we went down to the Volvo.

'We can meet the deadline.'

He was in a public phone box. He'd got out of his hotel and into another one but he couldn't phone me from there and he couldn't give me his new number because he knew I wouldn't be alone. He also knew that I couldn't call him back, wouldn't know where he was, couldn't hope to reach him again.

'Good for you, Charlie,' I said, and put the phone down and watched the severed lifeline go snaking away in the dark.

The sun was a pale disc in the haze, still low above the horizon. Its light glinted on metal and glass surfaces, on the mascot of the Mercedes limousine as it swung in a half-circle by the VFW-Fokker and halted. Klaus got out first and we followed.

There were two other cars already here, with people standing near them in a group, waiting for Dieter Klaus, watching him. His bodyguards – four women and two men – closed in around him as he walked towards the plane with that implacable energy of his. There was a small dog among the people who stood waiting. The pilot came down the ramp and saluted Klaus, standing aside and waiting for him to board the company jet. Klaus spoke to him and got an answer; I didn't hear any actual words but I suppose he was asking the pilot about the weather forecast: the haze was thick towards the horizon.

I joined the group, one of the male guards walking a little way behind me: I'd been under what amounted to close escort since we'd left the house, and I didn't expect that to change. Geissler, the man who'd interrogated me in the garage, had come with us in the limousine, and went aboard the plane soon after Klaus. The rest of us were following now, and the woman in the camelhair coat gave me a flashing smile and said in English – 'Hello, I'm Helen Maitland, and this is George, my husband.'