Ken Follett - Triple (1991)

She could still warn Nat. Oh, God, when can I sleep? She stood up. "What are we waiting for?" They went out through the high derelict entrance. "Well take my car," Hassan told her. She thought of trying to run away from him then, but it was a foolish idea. He would let her go soon. She had done what he'd asked, hadn't she? Now he would send her home. She got into the car. 'Wait," Hassan said. He ran to Cortone's car, took out the keys, and threw them into the bushes. He got into his own car. "So the man in the motorboat can't follow," he explained. As they drove off he said, "rm disappointed in your attitude, That man was helping our enemies. You should rejoice, not weep, when an enemy dies." She covered her eyes with her hand. "He was helping his friend." Hassan patted her knee. "You've done well, I shouldn't criticize you. You got the information I wanted." She looked at him. "Did W' "Sure. That big ship we saw leaving the bay-that was the Stmmberg. I know her time of departure and her maximum speed, so now I can figure out the earliest possible moment at which she could meet up with the Coparelli. And I can have my men there a day earlier." He patted her knee again, this time letting his hand rest on her thigh. "Don't touch me," she said. He took his hand away. She closed her eyes and tried to think. She had achieved the worst possible outcome by what she had done: she had led Hassan to Sicily but shed failed to warn Nat. She must find out how to send a telegram'to a ship, and do it as soon as she and Hassan parted company. There was only one other chance-the airplane steward who had promised to call the Israeli consulate in Rome. She said, "Oh, God, I'll be glad to get back to Oxford." "Oxford?" Hassan laughed. "Not yet. You'll have to stay with me until the operation is over." She thought: Dear God, I can't stand it. "But I'm so tired," she said. "We'll rest soon. I couldn't let you go. Security, you know. Anyway, you wouldnI want to miss seeing the dead body of Nat Dickstein."

At the Alitalia desk in the airport three men approached Yasif Hassan. Two of them were young and thuggish, the third was a tall sharp-faced man in his fifties. The older man said to Hassan, "You damn fool, you deserve to be shot." Hassan looked up at him, and Suza saw naked fear in his eyes as he said, "RostovI" Suza thought: Oh God, what now? Rostov took hold of Hassan's arm. It seemed for a moment that Hassan would resist, and jerk his arm away. The two young thugs moved closer. Suza and Hassan were enclosed. Rostov led Hassan away from the ticket desk. One of the thugs took Suza's arm and they followed. They went into a quiet corner. Rostov was obviously blazing with fury but kept his voice low. "You might have blown the whole thing if you hadn't been a few minutes late." "I don't know what you mean," Hassan said desperately. "You think I don't know you've been running around the world looking for Dickstein? You think I can't have you followed just like any other bloody imbecile? I've been getting hourly reports on your movements ever since you left Cairo. And what made you think you could trust her?" He jerked a thumb at Suza. "She led me here." "Yes, but you didn't know that then." Suza stood still, silent and frightened. She was hopelessly confused. The multiple shocks of the morning-missing Nat, watching Cortone die, now this-had paralyzed her ability to think. Keeping the lies straight had been difficult enough when she had been deceiving Hassan and telling Cortone a truth that Hassan thought was a lie. Now there was this Rostov, to whom Hassan was lying, and she could not even begin to think about whether what she said to Rostov should be the truth or another, different lie. Hassan was saying, "How did you get here?" "On the Karla, of course. We were only forty or fifty miles off Sicily when I got the report that you had landed here. r also obtained permission from Cairo to order you to return there immediately and directly."

"I still think I did the right thing," said Hassan. "Get out of my sight" Hassan walked away. Suza began to follow him but Rostov said, "Not you." He took her arm and began to walk. She went with him, thinking: What do I do now? "'I know you've proved your loyalty to us, , Miss Ashford, but in the middle of a project like this we can't allow newly recruited people simply to go home. On the other hand I have no people here in Sicily other than those I need with me on the ship, so I can't have you escorted somewhere else. I'm afraid yotere going to have to come aboard the Karla with me until this business is over. I hope you don't mind. Do you know, you look exactly like your mother." They had walked out of the airport to a waiting car. Rostov opened the door for her. Now was the time she should ran: after this it might be too late. She hesitated. One of the thugs stood beside her. His jacket fell open slightly and she saw the butt of his gun. She remembered the awful bang Cortones gun had made in the ruined villa, and how she had scremed; and suddenly she was afraid to die, to become a lump of clay Me poor fat Cortone; she was terrified of that gun and that bang and the bullet entering her body, and she began to shake. "V&a is it?" Rostov said. "Al Cortone died." "We know," Rostov said. "Get in the car." Suza got in the car.

Pierre Borg drove out of Athens and parked his car at one end of a stretch of beach where occasional lovers strolled. He got out and walked along the shoreline until he met Kawash coming the other way. They stood side by side, looking out to sea, wavelets lapping sleepily at their feet. Borg could see the handsome face of the tall Arab double agent by starlight. Kawash was not his usual confident self. 'Thank you for coming," Kawash said. Borg did not know why he was being thanked. If anyone should say thank you, it was he. And then he realized that Kawash had been making precisely that point. The man did everything with subtlety, including insults. 'Me Russians suspect there is a leak out of Cairo," Kawash said. "They are playing their cards very close to their collective Communist chest, so to speak." Kawash smiled thinly. Borg did not see the joke. "Even when Yasif Hassan came back to Cairo for debriefing we didn't learn much-and I didn't get all the information Hassan gave." Borg belched loudly: he had eaten a big Greek dinner. "Don't waste time with excuses, please. Just tell me what you do know." "All right," Kawash said mildly. "Iley know that Dickstein is to steal some uranium." "You told me that last time." "I don't think they know any of the details. Their intention is to let it happen, then expose it afterward. Tbey've put a couple of ships into the Mediterranean, but they don't know where to send them." A plastic bottle floated in on the tide and landed at Borg's feet. He kicked it back into the water. "What about Suza Ashford?" "Definitely working for the Arab side. Listen. There was an argument between Rostov and Hassan. Hassan wanted to find out exactly where Dickstein was, and Rostov thought it was unnecessary." "Bad news. Go on." "Afterward Hassan went out on a limb. He got the Ashford girl to help him look for Dickstein. They went to a place called Buffalo, in the U.S., and met a gangster called Cortone who took them to Sicily. They missed Dickstein, but only just: they saw the Stromberg leave. Hassan is in considerable trouble over this. He has been ordered back to Cairo but he hasn't turned up yet." "But the girl led them to where Dickstein had been?" stftactly.vs "Jesus Christ, this is bad." Borg thought of the message that had arrived in the Rome consulate for Nat Dickstein from his "girlfriend." He told Kawash about it. "Hassan has told me everything and he and I are coming to see you." What the hell did it mean? Was it intended to warn Dickstein, or to delay him, or to confuse him? Or was it a double bluff--an attempt to make him think she was being coerced into'leading Hassan to him? "A double bluff, I should say," Kawash said. "She knew her role in this would eventually be exposed, so she tried for a Ionger lease on Dickstein's trust You won't pass the message on ... "of course not." Borg's mind turned to another tack. "If they went to Sicily they know about the Stromberg. What conclusions can they draw from that? That the Stromberg will be used in the uranium theft?" "Exactly. Now, if I were Rostov, I'd follow the Stromberg, let the hijack take place, then attack. Damn, damn, damn. I think this will have to be called off." He dug the toe of his shoe into the soft sand. "What's the situation at Qattara?" "I was saving the worse news until last. Ali tests have been completed satisfactorily. The Russians are supplying uranium. The reactor goes on stream three weeks from today." Borg stared out to sea, and he was more wretched, pessimistic and depressed than he had ever been in the whole of his unhappy life. "You know what this fucking means don't you? It means we can't call it off. It means I can't stop Dickstein. It means that Dickstein is Israers last chance." Kawash was silent. After a moment Borg looked at him. The Arab's eyes were closed. "What are you doing?" Borg said. The silence went on for a few moments. Finally Kawash opened his eyes, looked at Borg, and gave his polite little half smile. "Praying," he said.