Beirut - An Explosive Thriller (22 page)

Channing
grinned. ‘He really doesn’t like you, does he?’

Lynch was
momentarily mystified. ‘Oh, Winterton? Sure, he’s a teddy bear
under that gruff exterior. Laugh a minute when you squirt a couple
of scotches into him.’

Dubois closed
the lid of his laptop. ‘To bring you up to date, we have located
the
Arabian Princess
. We have a satellite fix on her and we have a British patrol
boat following her in long pursuit using radar. The analysts think
she will try to refuel in Malta or possibly Tripoli.’

Channing
grunted. ‘My money would have said Tripoli, but we have additional
intelligence that points to Malta. Thank God, because we’re damn
close to the Maltese and the very idea of the bloody Libs getting
hold of two hundred kilotons of mayhem makes me want to shit, to be
honest, post-Ghaddafi or not.’

Dubois raised
an eyebrow at Channing, but he had returned to his laptop, his
fingers pecking at the keyboard, leaving Dubois to continue. ‘C
Company, the Maltese special forces, are planning to take the boat
when it docks. Their unit has been strengthened by a unit from the
British Special Boat Squadron. They’re flying in now. This boat
will not leave Valetta if it docks there.’

Nathalie
crossed her arms. Lynch caught the movement in time to see her
blouse part to expose the curve of her breast as she spoke. ‘Then
it is end game, no?’

Dubois made
for the window, surveying the city below, his hands in his pockets.
‘That rather depends on you and Monsieur Lynch. We still don’t have
Peter Meier and we still have no tangible evidence against Michel
Freij and Selim Hussein.’ He turned, his face half-shadowed.
‘Unless you have something for me.’

Nathalie bit
her lip. ‘Nothing new. We have flown the team in and they are
established at the Résidence des Pins, but Falcon’s security is
highly sophisticated.’

Channing’s
head lifted. ‘Residence de what?’

‘
Résidence
des Pins,’ Lynch answered. ‘It’s the French Embassy. And no, we’ve
still got nothing on Freij beyond a dead man who was sent to kill
me.’

‘
What do you
think the president of Lebanon and the head of a successful defence
systems manufacturer would want with two nuclear warheads, Monsieur
Lynch?’

Lynch
frowned. ‘He’s not president yet. Parliament has to vote him
in.’

Dubois’ rich
voice was amused. ‘Oh, I rather think he has put it in the bag,
Monsieur Lynch. The Americans are being very nice to him. He is
very close to them. He will be interviewed by CNN, I understand.
His rally this week was widely televised. Parliament knows he
carries a populist card. He will almost certainly gain the
parliamentary vote. He has been paying all the right people very
generously indeed. His posters are all over the city. The campaign
has been extraordinarily slick and very expensive. Mark my words,
Michel Freij is the next president of Lebanon.’

‘
Close to the
Americans? His father was a major thug, Michel is no better. Why
would he be close to the Yanks?’

Dubois
allowed himself a taut smile. ‘American and Israeli interests are
closely aligned, as you well know. And so are Israel and the
Christian militia. Falcon works extensively with American
companies, Monsieur Lynch. They’re the biggest overseas contractor
to the US defence industry outside Israel. It’s a virtuous circle
of interests.’

‘
Do you know
if Freij has links to the CIA?’

Channing
stirred. ‘Why would you ask that?’

‘
Frank
Coleman was hanging around at his rally the other day, didn’t like
being seen in public.’

Dubois leaned
over and made a quick note. ‘We’ll look for it, but I would not be
surprised at some degree of contact given Freij’s involvement in
military procurement and defence.’

Lynch rubbed
his chin. He’d forgotten to shave. ‘Is this nuclear thing part of
the presidential grab? You think he’s going to pull a Geagea if he
doesn’t get the vote?’

Nathalie shot
him an irritated glance. ‘Pull a what?’

‘
A Geagea,’
Lynch grinned. ‘Sure, haven’t ye ever met a Geagea?’

Nathalie
pushed her chair back, smoothing her skirt. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t
have time for this childishness. I have work to do.’

Dubois looked
from Lynch to Nathalie. ‘It is good to see you are getting on. Sit
down, Nathalie. What did you mean, Monsieur Lynch?’

‘
Sure you
know yourself. You were here, weren’t you? Samir Geagea and Michel
Aoun held the Lebanese Parliament to ransom by surrounding it with
militia in the late eighties. Geagea the kingmaker. Isn’t that
Freij’s game? You know, vote for me or I push the
button?’

Dubois shook
his head, his face registering disbelief. ‘I cannot find that
conceivable. We are a long way from 1988. Lebanon has left that
time behind it. Nobody would be mad enough to take the country back
there, let alone use a nuclear device on their own country. No,
Monsieur Lynch, there has to be another reason Freij wants to
acquire two nuclear warheads. I need you two to work together and
find what it is. We don’t know when we stop this attempt he is
making he won’t make another one.’

‘
If the Yanks
are so fond of him, get Coleman to rein him in.’

Dubois
wheeled to face Lynch. ‘May I remind you we are not talking to “the
Yanks” right now. We are very hopeful to avoid telling them the
European Union has lost two nuclear warheads. We might have traced
the boat, but we haven’t secured it yet.’

Channing
surfaced from his laptop again, beaming at Lynch and Nathalie. The
screen cast a blue sheen over his face. ‘Need you to go to Malta,
Gerald. Your friend Mister Freij owns a nice executive jet and it
flew there this morning, apparently. Funny thing to be doing in the
middle of a race for the presidency, isn’t it? Tootling off to
Malta. At least Libya’s totally out of the picture now, so that’s
one less worry. The
Arabian
Princess
is making for Malta for sure.’
Channing closed his laptop and stood, the computer under his arm.
‘Right, must dash. Lovely to chat with you all. Come on, Gerald,
let’s get you sorted with flights and things. You’ll like Malta.
Nice weather. Food’s pants unless you know where to
eat.’

Lynch opened
the door and turned to Nathalie. ‘Coming?’

She glanced
at him in disgust. ‘No. I want to talk to my father.’

Lynch
shrugged and followed Channing, the door slamming behind
him.

Dubois
breathed deeply. Channing irritated him at times. He feared the
Englishman’s political capability, wondered at times if Channing
was goading him with his affectations. Lost in thought, he jumped
when Nathalie hit the table and cried out. She spoke in French, the
words tumbling from her.

‘
In the name
of God, he’s impossible, Papa. He spends all his time chasing
women, drinking and fighting. It’s too much. He is infuriating. He
has no ... subtlety.’

Dubois
laughed. ‘He is a man of action, Nathalie. You need a man of action
to protect you, to follow up with the physical work that is
undoubtedly going to be necessary. You need to work with him, to
incentivise and guide him. You have the background in pure
intelligence, in gathering data. Use him to help you in this, to
provide the human intelligence. You will find you need this in
Beirut. You are leading this effort, your team is here now and I
understand they are working well. Manage Lynch. This is your big
chance. Use him, Nathalie.’

‘
But he is,’ Nathalie’s fists were clenched, ‘impossible. He
takes the
servees
taxis and yet he can drive. He even has an embassy car. He
breaks every rule of cover constantly. He drinks like a fish. And
his temper ...’

Dubois
breasted the table, taking her in his arms and hugging her, his
hand stroking her back. ‘Come,
Nino
. I have too much to do for now.
Make me proud, eh?’

She nodded
into his shoulder and Dubois tried not to think of her mother, but
Beirut brought back too many memories and he had to let her go and
turn away so she wouldn’t see his tears as she left.

Dubois looked
over the city that had been his home for five years and where he
had met a proud, glorious Lebanese girl with green eyes. Gazing
over the rooftops, something cold crept over him, making him
shudder. Dubois felt the spectre of the vicious civil war that
destroyed this beautiful city and his own humanity. It was decades
ago. Surely it couldn’t happen again? Dubois realised he had voiced
the thought aloud.

Lynch was
sitting outside on the balcony smoking a cigar when Nathalie
entered the apartment. She went into the kitchen, fished out the
ice cube tray from the freezer, and filled a tumbler with ice,
taking it through to the living room where she picked up two
glasses and a bottle of Tyrconnell from the tray. She slipped
through to the balcony, placed the glasses down on the plastic
table and poured two drinks. She pushed one towards him and kept
the plain tumbler with the blue glass teardrop in its base for
herself. She quite liked it.

‘
Ice?’

Lynch stared
at the drinks and up at Nathalie. ‘Not that glass.’ He got to his
feet and held his hand out to her barely in time to stop her
flinging the drink in his face. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be
funny, but not that glass. Here, I’ll get you another
one.’

She sat,
mystified, while he took the glass away and brought her a crystal
tumbler. ‘Ice?’

She shook her
head. ‘What was this about?’

‘
Can I tell
you another day?’ Lynch implored her.

She nodded.
She opened her mouth to speak but he caught her eye, his face
solemn, holding his glass up between them pinched between his thumb
and forefinger, his other fingers held up to silence her. ‘Look, I
want to say I’m sorry. I haven’t been very considerate to you and I
think you deserve better. We have a job to do together and I
haven’t made it easy, I know. I’ll try and watch my mouth in
future.’

He seemed
sincere enough, Nathalie reflected as she looked into his eyes. And
yet she wanted to scream with frustration. She drew breath and
touched her glass to his. He smiled, the waning sun catching his
green eyes, the sudden urchin’s grin making her smile in return.
She drank to hide her confusion.
Oh,
Maman, mais il est dangereux.

‘
Peace?’

‘
Peace.’

Lynch sat
back, puffing on his cigar. She liked the smell. It reminded her of
being a child and sneaking downstairs when her parents had held
dinner parties. A car horn sounded below them in the jostling
traffic, the sun warming her back.

‘
When do you
fly to Malta?’

‘
First thing
in the morning. No private jets for me and there aren’t any direct
flights. Seven bloody hours.’

‘
Lynch, can I
ask you a question?’

His shoulders
stiffened. He tapped the cigar against the balcony railing and
nodded. ‘Sure.’

‘
Who was Paul
Stokes, exactly?’

She watched
him, his face turning away from her to look to sea, the orange glow
of the sun reflected in his eyes. He took a deep breath and turned
to face her.

‘
Paul was a
young man I met in Jordan. He was working for a government ministry
there, producing a magazine for them. I sort of hooked up with him
because my masters had an interest in the ministry’s work.’ Lynch
drew on his cigar. Nathalie waited, her eyes on Lynch’s grim face
as he gazed back to the sea.

‘
He was in love with a Jordanian girl, Aisha Dajani. Her
brother was involved in a hare-brained scheme to drain the Israeli
water supply in order to bolster Jordan’s. The Izzies wanted him
stopped and the alternative to his scheme was a nice, profitable
British consortium. So we stopped him.’ Lynch closed his eyes
briefly. ‘There was some ...’ he caught Nathalie’s eye and smiled
humourlessly. ‘Confusion. The Jordanians were too heavy-handed and
Aisha was killed. I took Paul under my wing and brought him here.
He was working for
Beirut Today
as a journalist. He did the occasional bit of
research for me on the side.’

Nathalie
watched Lynch, his eyes focused far out to sea and into the past.
She sipped her drink, the ice clinking. ‘And you were
friends.’

‘
I suppose I felt responsible for him. After all, she died
because of me, even if that wasn’t something I wanted to happen.
When we picked up the first clues Michel and his partner Selim were
fiddling around with clandestine money transfers, I sent Paul to
interview Freij and rattle his cage. They killed him.
Michel
killed him.
Worse, it was casual, like, done as a warning to me, you know? They
took a man’s life just to pass on a message. It was swatting a fly,
no more than that.’

Lynch was so
far away he had forgotten her. She sat and let him speak, the
sunlight glowing red and the shadows deepening the lines on his
face. Lynch closed his eyes for a long time. He reached to the
table and refilled their glasses.