Mark Abernethy - Second Strike

Taking a deep breath, Mac walked across the lobby and into the restaurant, smiled at the maitre d’ and resumed his seat.

The eggs and bacon were still hot.

Freddi picked up on the fi rst ring when he redialled.

‘How are the kids?’ asked Mac.

‘They’re great – it’s their dad who get annoy.’

Mac chuckled.

‘So, where are you, McQueen?’ asked Freddi.

‘Surabaya.’

‘Just seen it on the Weather Channel – is it true, what they say?’

‘Okay, okay,’ said Mac, amused that Freddi was such a good operator. ‘A little west of there. So, mate – what’s up?’

‘Thought you might tell me.’

‘Maybe we should tell each other, eh Fred?’

‘Sure, so where are you?’ asked Freddi, not giving up.

Mac sighed. ‘On the Peninsula. But I wanted to know about the object, from the hotel?’

‘Yeah – nice call. We got a number.’

‘Anything from it?’

‘Got an interview.’

‘And?’ said Mac.

‘Going to have a look.’

‘Where?’ spat Mac, not able to hide his interest.

‘In Archipelago, yeah?’

‘ Shit, Freddi!’

‘Yeah, McQueen?’

‘Okay, I’m in Singers.’

‘Behaving yourself?’

‘Got a tail but they’re standing off.’

‘Who?’

‘Look Euro but probably Americans, judging by the girl’s make-up.’

‘What do they want?’

Mac shrugged, looked around the restaurant. ‘Beats me. So, we still chasing Hassan?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Where we going?’

‘Don’t know about we.’

‘Come on, mate. You might be interested in what I’m on to.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ said Mac, wanting to be back on the trail.

‘Guys might not want it like that.’

‘But Fred, the guys don’t know what I bring to this, right?’

‘What do you bring?’

Mac had one eye on the restaurant entrance, his mind racing. ‘Can you get me on board?’

‘I can try.’

‘Second me? You guys have done it before.’

‘Maybe, McQueen, but I don’t decide that.’

‘I know, but you can sell it.’

‘Okay – I try.’

Mac ran through the conversation with Benny but referred to Hassan as ‘our guest’ and JI as ‘the associates’. He ended with the bit about the previous transaction between the al-Qaeda account and Hassan’s account happening ten days before the Bali bombings, and the current one – only the second ever – occurring two days ago.

‘You’ve got the fi les?’ asked Freddi, now on high alert.

‘Yeah, whole hard drive of them.’

‘And you can get to them?’

‘In my pocket, Freddi.’

‘Okay,’ said Freddi, ‘hang on and I get back.’

They hung up and Mac poured more coffee. The double team hadn’t reappeared, which meant they were handing over to another crew or they were waiting outside and would simply walk up and ask to have a chat.

The phone trilled, Mac picking up before the fi rst ring had ended.

‘Can’t detour to Singapore,’ said Freddi immediately.

‘Can we meet up?’

‘About one o’clock, your time,’ said Freddi.

‘Where?’

‘The place.’

‘The place?’

‘Yeah, you know, McQueen – that place.’

Ari was waiting in the foyer of the Riau when Mac got back from meeting with Benny. He looked the same in the face but was now dressed more like a controller. But when he stood up, smiled and offered his hand, Mac saw that Ari Scharansky still had that bull neck and big arms; still a little mad, still a very dangerous individual.

‘Ari! How’s it going?’

‘Morning, McQueen,’ said Ari with a fond smile as they shook.

‘Should have shouted me breakfast, mate. Would have saved me fi fty bucks.’

Ari winced. ‘Shit! Breakfast at the Raffl es? You must have well-trained accountants in offi ce, yes?’

Mac laughed. He’d never had a single expenses claim in his career that hadn’t had at least one item queried or denied. ‘So, Ari. How did you fi nd…?’ Mac’s question petered out as his eyes took in Miss Rasmi’s front desk, with the security grille down and Closed sign on it. Shaking his head, Mac looked back at his mate from Mossad.

‘Know what the trouble is with a hotelier who can be bought off, Ari?’

Ari smirked, shook his head.

‘They can be bought off.’

Ari laughed and they wandered out into the heat of Singapore and strolled towards the bay.

Ari gave his mobile number and Mac input it into his Nokia.

They talked about Kuta, had a few laughs about the old days, and Ari admitted he was now a controller, running fi eld people. That explained Mac’s mild confusion with the tail team. They looked Euro but the woman had that Israeli habit of heavy American make-up

– the whole liquid foundation and full gloss lipstick effect.

They stopped by a fountain in the park – a good place to defeat long-range listening devices – and Ari pulled out his smokes, lit one, looking serious.

‘So, McQueen, what is happening?’

‘Great weather we’re having.’

Ari laughed, his big-boned face lighting up.

‘Mate,’ said Mac. ‘You’re after something, right?’

Ari nodded, clearly eager to get on with the job.

‘So just ask it and I’ll tell you if I can help,’ said Mac.

‘Okay – what did you think about these documents?’ asked Ari.

Mac deadpanned him.

‘You know,’ said Ari. ‘These Bennelong fi les. In iDisk.’

Mac smiled. The Israelis weren’t too bad when they got going. It’s just that they weren’t as good as Benny – didn’t know what to do with those sale documents and acquisition manifests.

‘We might have to swap some information, yeah Ari?’ said Mac, raising the expected quid pro quo at the heart of all inter-agency cooperation.

‘Sure,’ said Ari, fl icking his ciggie as he looked around for eyes. An old Chinese lady in a black tracksuit was doing tai chi poses under a tree and Ari stared at her as he torched another smoke.

‘I’ll tell you what I made of those documents, mate,’ smiled Mac.

‘But I need to know something from you that is in the past. Can’t hurt you now.’

Ari shrugged, chewed his gum. His sandy hair was still cut the way it had been in the Soviet and then Russian military. Mac had searched the fi les on Ari and found that before he moved to Israel and Mossad he had been GRU Spetsnaz – a special forces operator within the Russian military intelligence organisation. GRU Spetsnaz infi ltrated their own people into President Amin’s bodyguard before they invaded Afghanistan in 1979. GRU Spetsnaz operators were crafty, dangerous people and Mac had to remind himself of that even when Ari was horsing around.

‘Remember Kuta in ‘02, how you knew that Hassan had brought a mini-nuke to town? You were certain it had been used in the Sari Club, right?’

Ari shrugged and looked away in the international sign for yes.

Mac thought about his next question. ‘So how did you know that Hassan had a second device?’

Ari sucked on his smoke. ‘Okay, but then we talking about iDisk, yeah?’

‘Sure,’ said Mac.

‘We know the fucking Pakistanis had two mini-nuke,’ he snarled, fl icking his smoke into the fountain, ‘because maybe they are thieves, fuck their mothers.’

Mac stared at him, astonished. ‘Hassan stole two nukes from Israel?!’

Ari kicked a stone that wasn’t there.

‘Fuck’s sake, Ari,’ said Mac.

‘I know,’ sneered Ari, the smoke slowly drifting out of his mouth.

‘I am saying this same words exact.’

The Piper Navajo hugged the Malaysian coastline as they fl ew north.