Brian Freemantle - Deaken’s War

“Who notifies Athens of the sailing, you or the Bellicose?” said Deaken.

“Both.” Carre wasn’t prepared for this question.

“When will there be a position report?”

“Probably in twenty-four hours.” Carre didn’t seem very sure.

Everything would be all right if Azziz had instructed Athens. He had twenty-four hours, decided Deaken; maybe thirty-six, if he included the remainder of this day. Thirty-six hours to do what he should have done before, instead of slavishly attempting to follow the kidnap directions. He accepted the decision that Karen might die. But that would happen anyway if he didn’t act. Deaken was surprised at his detachment.

Azziz snapped off the recording but didn’t speak. Grearson waited opposite, trying to conceal his apprehension.

“I wanted contact,” reminded the Arab. “You didn’t get it.”

“I got concessions.” Grearson fingered his spectacles like worry beads.

“What if he doesn’t believe you and maims my son?”

Azziz was a bastard, thought Grearson. When there was conciliatory acquiescence he demanded forcefulness and when there was forcefulness he wanted subservience. “You heard the tape,” insisted Grearson. “For the first time there was a balance, something from our side.”

“But what did it achieve?”

“Maybe proof that your son is still alive,” said Grearson, wishing he could disturb Azziz’s calmness. “It’s been more than a week now.”

Azziz nodded. “It’s something I suppose,” he said. “Thank you.”

Grearson’s concern subsided and he fitted the spectacles back into place.

“Don’t you have something else to do?”

Grearson stood up. “We’re meeting in two hours.”

“Make sure they know what to do.”

He wasn’t secure, decided Grearson, not secure at all. Before he left to meet the mercenaries, he would find Carole and let her know he would be back late that evening. Christ, she was exciting!

“You did well,” said Makimber, counting out Carre’s money. “Extremely well. Thank you.”

“It wasn’t easy,” lied Carre, wanting to give the impression that he had earned his bribe.

“I’m positive it wasn’t,” said Makimber. “Sure you don’t know the reason for his asking you about notification of sailing?” It was the only thing they were still uncertain about.

Carre shook his head.

“There’s no way he could intercept the ship, now it’s sailed from here?”

“It’s fully victualled and fuelled,” said Carre. “There’s no need to make land for at least two weeks, possibly three.”

“What about changed sailing instructions from the owners?”

“I’d be telexed a copy of that, automatically, from Athens. There’s been nothing.”

“You’d tell me at once?”

“Of course.”

Makimber added another $5000 to the pile of notes. “You’ll find me grateful in the future,” he said.

Carre smiled.

“You say he seemed anxious to get away, once he knew he’d missed the ship?” repeated Makimber.

“Extremely so. He didn’t stay more than about thirty minutes, forty-five at the outside.”

“I wonder what he’ll do,” said Makimber, more a question to himself than the other man.

Evans arrived first from Clermont Ferrand, having accepted Grearson’s suggestion to take a villa on the outskirts of Marseilles, on the Aubagne road. The rest travelled individually and booked into separate hotels in the town, except for Hinkler and Bartlett, who went everywhere together and registered at the same hotel. The meeting with the American lawyer at the villa was the first time they had assembled as a group since Mulhouse.

Grearson concentrated first on money. “Same terms as last time,” he said. “Payable in any currency; I presume that will be dollars.”

There were nods all round. Marinetti said, “Last time there was a bonus.”

“Which will apply again,” said Grearson. “Twenty thousand each upon successful conclusion.”

“What do we have to do?” asked Sneider.

It took Grearson almost thirty minutes to outline what Azziz wanted done. Throughout the briefing the men showed no surprise and no one interrupted. When the lawyer finished, Evans said, “Do we have the opportunity to examine the ship?”

“Today,” said Grearson. “The captain is expecting us; I said about three.”

“No need for any particular explosives,” said Marinetti.

Jones stirred, stretching his long legs. “It’ll be simple enough if they’re by themselves,” he said. “What happens if they bring the boy and the woman for exchange on the spot?”

“There’ll need to be a contingency plan,” said Grearson.

“So we’ll have to wait until we’re sure?” said Melvin.

“Unless it’s made clear in the exchange terms,” agreed Grearson. “They’ll imagine you’re crew, of course. You’ll be sailing from Marseilles.”

“What if they’re watching the port?” said Hinkler.

“They won’t be,” said Grearson. “As far as they’re concerned, the Bellicose is on its way back from Dakar for the Algiers rendezvous.”

“Wonder what they want the arms for?” said Bartlett.

“It’s immaterial,” said Grearson. “We don’t intend they should have them.”

“No idea how many there’ll be?” queried Evans.

“None,” said Grearson.

“Presumably they’ll be armed?” said Hinkler.

“Presumably,” said Grearson.

“We’ve still got some stun grenades,” said Marinetti.

“They’re not as effective outside a confined space, but they might be useful.”

“Remember that Mr Azziz wants an example made,” said Grearson. “He doesn’t want to be a victim of terrorism again.”

“Not after we’re through,” promised Evans, getting to his feet. “There’s no need for us all to go to the ship. I’ll make the reconnaissance and come back to brief the rest of you here.”

Grearson followed the former major out to the car and got in the passenger seat beside him. Evans took the car out onto the main Marseilles highway but kept in the slow lane, letting even heavy lorries pass.

“There was a differential in the bonus last time,” said Evans, intent upon the road.

“You get $30,000 against the others’ $20,000,” said Grearson. “I didn’t think you’d want me to set it out in front of everybody.”

“Thank you,” said Evans. “In Brussels you spoke of other employment.”

“Permanent protection appeal to you?”

Evans allowed himself to shrug. “Never done it,” he said. “It’s getting more and more difficult to get proper paid soldiering.”

“Why don’t we talk about it afterwards?”

Evans entered the city, turning almost immediately towards the harbour. “Isn’t there a possibility they’ll anticipate your doing something like this?” said Evans.

“As far as they’re concerned,” said Grearson, “the ship’s been at sea since this whole thing began, with no opportunity of our getting anyone aboard. It’ll be a nice surprise for them.”

They were driving parallel to the sea now. There were several French warships in the naval section, grey and pompous at anchor, with a group of corvettes trailed one behind the other like a family of ducks. Nearer, the civil docks were crowded with vessels, from coastal fishing ships to ocean freighters.

At the dock gates Grearson produced the Levcos authority and was directed on to a peripheral road inside the walled area. The Hydra Star was alongside a jetty, already loaded, so there was little stevedore activity around her. Grearson led the way aboard and was directed by the gangway crewman to an outer ladder to reach the bridge. The metal felt oiled and greasy to the touch and Grearson thought being a sailor in a ship like this would be a distinctly unpleasant way to earn a living. There must have been some communication from the deck because by the time the two men reached the bridge the Greek captain had emerged to greet them.