Beirut - An Explosive Thriller (24 page)

Maalouf
smiled at Nathalie, pushing his drink on the tabletop with his
forefinger, a shy gesture for such a powerful man. ‘We have been
watching you and Mr Lynch with some interest. It is clear you are
involved in a major operation targeted against Michel Freij. Are
you not?’

Nathalie felt
her pulse rising.
Careful
girl
. She sipped her drink and met his
eyes over the brim of the glass. ‘We are.’

‘
You have
been adding significant resources to the French Embassy staff.
Given your own role within EJIC, this would lead me to believe you
are involved in an electronic surveillance or interception
operation against a Lebanese target.’

She smiled,
relaxing. ‘We are all led to belief, are we not? How much nicer to
have belief brought to us. So much more convenient.’

Maalouf
banged his glass on the table. She managed not to jump. Maalouf
lifted a finger to her. ‘Don’t be facetious. You and your British
friend are playing around in my backyard and we would have stepped
in many days ago if we did not happen to share a common
goal.’

‘
And what is
that, Monsieur?’

Maalouf
snorted. ‘Freij, of course. Michel Freij. We know what he’s doing.
And we want him stopped. We can help you.’

NINETEEN

Gonsalves had
watched with relief the lights of Gibraltar twinkling on the
horizon behind them. He was nervous about the nosy Brits and their
fast little Scimitar-class patrol boats, but the passage through
the straits the night before had been uneventful. They had
travelled in a state of blackout close to the Moroccan side, the
commercial shipping lanes interspersed between them and the Spanish
coast. As dawn broke, Gonsalves charted a course farther out to
sea. He called Martinez, the sullen Spaniard, to take the wheel.
Gonsalves was running the boat with a skeleton crew of four:
Boutros; little Panamides the silent killer from Bogota, a surly
Frenchman called Blanc who cooked like an angel and swore like a
trooper and Pedro Martinez, a wheezing, dirty old bastard with
black fingernails. Filthy as he might be, Gonsalves reflected as he
left the boat in Martinez’ hands, he knew his way around a boat.
Gonsalves turned in and had spent much of the uneventful day’s
cruise asleep, the unbroken blue brilliance of the Mediterranean
lost on him.

Now the dark
sea stretched ahead of him again, the big boat’s pale wake kissed
by the full moon. Gonsalves checked the route; they were set to
make Malta the next morning. He scooped three chunks from the ice
bucket and sloshed the last of the Macallan into the crystal
tumbler at his side. He took the big boat to fifteen knots,
enjoying the iodine night air. Gonsalves called down to Boutros on
the intercom.

‘
Come up and
take the wheel.’

He increased
the thrust and the big twin engines responded, sending a powerful
shudder through the boat to lift the prow, the wash rhythmic and
the salt of the open sea in his nostrils. He sipped his whisky and
steered the big yacht. Twenty knots and more in reserve. He
grinned. Damn, but she was a fine ship.

Gonsalves was
laughing when Boutros arrived, his puzzlement at his skipper’s mood
clear on his big face. Gonsalves moved aside. ‘Here. Take over.
Keep us at this speed. Charts are over there.’

‘
Skip.’

‘
Give me the
key to the girl’s room.’

‘
Skip?’

‘
The key to
her room. Give it to me.’

Boutros held
the wheel, grinning sycophantically. ‘But Skip...’

‘
Just do
it.’

Boutros
handed over the key. Sipping from his glass, Gonsalves held the key
in his other hand, stroking the little metal sliver between his
thumb and forefinger as he picked his way down the stairway. He
took his time, his hand sliding on the steel railing of the spiral
staircase and the icy, pale liquid warming his mouth as he took the
last turn onto the lower deck. He stopped by the guest cabin door
and inserted the key in the lock, pushing it in smoothly. His heart
hammered, his mouth dry with anticipation. He locked the door
behind him.

She was
awake, disoriented. ‘Who are you?’

He smiled at
her, placing his tumbler on the bedside table. ‘I am the captain of
this ship.’ His German didn’t even sound rusty. He exulted in his
control as he sat on the bed beside her. ‘Do you feel
better?’

Her voice was
thick. ‘Better? Better than what? I have been kidnapped. I demand
to be released.’

‘
And so you
shall be,’ Gonsalves reassured her. ‘There has been a terrible
mistake. Would you like some water?’

She studied
his face for a moment and he was careful to stay impassive and
calm. ‘Yes, yes please.’

He fetched a
glass of water from the sink in the bathroom and she took it from
him in the palms of her two hands, her extended fingers shaking as
she gulped. The Fentanyl did that, thought Gonsalves. Dry mouth or
retches.

He reached
out and touched her cheek. ‘You’re hot. Want more
water?’

She recoiled
from his touch. ‘Where are we?’

‘
At sea. It’s
okay now. You’re safe. We’ve sorted out the mix-up and we’ll get
you to land soon enough.’

‘
What
mix-up?’

‘
Your father
has done some bad things. The authorities thought you were
involved. Were you?’

‘
In the guns
thing? No. No, I wasn’t.’ She glanced wide-eyed around her. ‘Where
am I? What boat is this please?’

He was
calming, his voice gentle as he took her empty glass. ‘I think you
should get some rest now. We’re going to stop off at Gibraltar so
you can leave the boat. You should never have been here in the
first place.’

Elli lay back
against the damp pillow, smiling. ‘Thank God I’m finally safe.’ He
watched her face, serenity giving way to a troubled expression.
‘But—’

Gonsalves was
fast, his hand on her mouth and nose, blocking her from breathing
or screaming with one movement. Her face reddened as she struggled
beneath him. He slapped her across the cheek, hard, with the other
hand. He pulled the bedclothes away from her, tearing at her
pyjamas. Still groggy from the Fentanyl, she tried to fight him off
but she was too weak and Gonsalves was expert. He pinioned her arms
and punched her in the stomach, her reflex action giving him the
leverage to jam his forearm between her legs and then push his
fingers into her.

Freed of his
grip on her face, Elli Hoffmann screamed, a hoarse cry of abject
despair. He slapped her again, harder. The blow seemed to take the
fight out of her in an instant. She relaxed, moaning and stretching
out, her hands slipping under the pillow. Gonsalves, taking her
movements as a sign of submission grinned. He tore at his belt and
knelt between her parted legs in triumph. He bent to enter
her.

Surprised by
her violent movement, he caught the glitter of the fork in her
hands as she lunged for his face. He flung up his arm too late. The
fork slammed into his cheek.

Later, a
lifetime later, Elli felt as if her reason was once again going to
flee her, leaving her in the darkness, screaming for release. She
uncurled from the foetal position she had assumed when he started
kicking her. It hurt to breathe. The blood streamed down between
his hands clenched to his damaged face as he shouted and slammed
his feet into her body. It seemed as if it would never stop, but
Boutros had appeared and taken her assailant away. She couldn’t
remember how, just the blessed release of his going and the
darkness with its chattering little things screeching at her. They
always came in the darkness.

Elli Hoffmann
hobbled to the bathroom and washed, scrubbing hard to try to remove
the dirt of his blood on her skin. She cried, the hoarse sobs
breaking out of her bruised mouth as she scoured herself with the
flannel. She rubbed until her skin burned away the shame, until it
reddened to mask the contusions, blood coming to the surface with
the force of her chafing. The bathroom door burst open and she
looked up to see Boutros framed in the steam. He leapt to restrain
her.

‘
Fucking
hell. What are you doing? Are you crazy?’

She struggled
against him but he was too strong. He wrapped a towel around
her.

‘
It’s okay,
it’s okay. He’s over in the sick bay now, getting the wound seen
to.’ He took her shoulder in his big hand. His touch was cool.
‘It’s okay. It’s over now. Stop hurting yourself. It won’t happen
again.’

She regarded
him, her eyes pleading, desperate to believe in him. ‘How you know
this?’

‘
I won’t let
it.’ he said, smiling at her. ‘I’m no angel, but rape wasn’t in the
deal.’

She wrung her
hands, her confused face focused on the bulkhead. ‘What
was
in the deal,
please?’

Shaking his
head, he rose. The gentle giant looked down at her. ‘I’ll get you
some ointment. I’ll see you’re all right from now on. But stop
hurting yourself. Please?’

Elli’s weary
visage dropped. ‘Yes, okay.’

Boutros took
a deep breath, knocked and entered Gonsalves’ cabin. Gonsalves was
standing at the mirror in his bathroom, examining his wounded
cheek. Boutros stared at the plaster and the swelling around
it.

‘
Christ,
Skip.’

Gonsalves
glared at him in the mirror. ‘Never mind. I have a job needs doing.
It’s worth ten thousand US to you.’

Boutros
gulped. He had a feeling he knew what was coming next. ‘Sure. What
do you want done?’

‘
The girl,’
Gonsalves’ lips tightened. ‘I want her got rid of..’

Boutros was
very glad indeed he’d played this scenario out already in his mind.
He sat down slowly, using the table for support. He had known
Gonsalves for years, had done many small jobs for the man and knew
him to be both ruthless and violent. He had also seen Gonsalves
crossed by a woman before; had helped patch her up afterwards.
‘That’s going too far, Skip. Shit.’

Gonsalves
turned from the mirror, his face a mask of cold rage. ‘That’s why
I’m paying you ten thousand to do it. What did you think would be
worth ten thou? Clean the decking? Nip down to the store and get
some smokes?’

Boutros
glanced down at his hands.
Yallah, gently
now, Magdy, not too keen, now.
‘I don’t
know, Skip. I never did that before.’

‘
Time to grow
up then, Boutros. It couldn’t be easier, man. Give her a jab and
put her over the side. Weigh her down. Job done. But I want her off
my fucking boat. I swear to God the only reason I’m not doing it
myself is I don’t want to cover the fucking place in her
blood.’

‘
But
Martinez, the other crew ...’

‘
Will be
asleep. I’ll take the watch.’

Moving his
hand left a wet mark on the veneer table top. Boutros hesitated, an
iron tang in his mouth. ‘Twenty.’

Gonsalves
shifted his weight. Boutros managed to stop himself cowering. He
raised his eyes to meet Gonsalves’ glare, his voice strengthening
as the immediate danger passed. He licked his lip. ‘Twenty thousand
dollars.’

Gonsalves
moved to the door and pulled it open. ‘Fifteen. Now get the fuck
out of my sight before I change my mind. Midnight, I want her gone.
Nice and clean.’

Boutros
turned in the doorway, but Gonsalves was already closing the door,
forcing him to step backwards. His nose almost touching the door,
Boutros nodded to himself.

Earlier that
evening, Magdy Boutros had made a decision. Now he knew it was the
right one and he felt calm and certain, despite the sweat and his
trembling hands. He was going to save Elli Hoffmann’s
life.

Taking a
tablet chased the darkness away. Elli was grateful they had left
her handbag. Her sense of time seemed to have deserted her, day and
night flowing into each other. She watched Boutros working. She
shivered as he plunged the syringe into the last of the four vials
of Fentanyl and sucked the drug up before spraying it into the
sink.

He turned off
the tap and placed the kidney dish by her bedside. ‘Don’t be
afraid. It’s going to be okay.’

She smiled at
him. ‘I am not afraid. I am cold.’

He placed
some twists of cotton wool soaked in alcohol in the dish next to
the syringe and vials. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll try and get you new clothes
later. You ready?’

She nodded.
‘Yes. Thank you.’

He pulled at
the heavy bundle of sacking wrapped in her clothes, dragging it to
the door.

He opened the
door a crack and peered out. ‘Now.’

He dragged
the bundle behind him down the corridor, Elli followed, clutching
the greatcoat he had brought. She crept along in her bare feet. He
pushed a cabin door open to his right, pausing to hold three
fingers up to her as he heaved the bundle down the corridor towards
the aft deck and the swimming platform. She recalled his urgent
words to her.
I’ll open the door to my
cabin on the way down. It’s a two-berth, no funny business. You’re
to lock it and only open to three taps. Hear me? Three
taps.