Dirty Harry 10 - The Blood of Strangers (15 page)

After a short while, she discerned a trickle of light forming a triangular pattern on the floor. Evidently, it was coming from another room. She advanced toward it and in doing so discerned a second door, one which looked as heavy as the first. It was not locked either and she drew it open the few inches necessary for her to get a glimpse into what lay beyond.

What lay beyond was a cavernous space strewn with wooden crates and large objects concealed under wraps of canvas and cloth. But there was no question what was in those crates or under those swatches of canvas and cloth. Some of the arms were out in the open: a 20 mm cannon, a couple of machine-guns, four squat mortars, a small arsenal of M1 carbines, and four handheld Redeye missiles.

So vast was this warehouse that Ellie initially did not see the men who were gathered at the other end of it. A couple were in Western business suits, looking for all the world like middle-aged accountants, others were in camouflage uniforms and sported pinstriped keffiyahs on their heads. Except for the men in the business suits, they all carried arms. To Ellie that seemed a bit like bringing coals to Newcastle.

They were talking loudly and very fast and in at least two, possibly three different languages. Ellie assumed they were bargaining over the price of weapons, but she was so far away that she could not be sure. She wanted to tape the discussion and seeing that there was no one nearby, she risked edging the door open a bit further until she could squeeze herself in. She crouched down and began crawling toward the men.

She had all the cover she could ask for, what with all the crates and canvas-draped howitzers and recoilless guns. Gradually, the voices became more distinct, and as Ellie had a fairly good background in French, most of what was being said was comprehensible to her.

“It seems to me, Mr. Cravitch, that you have not met our specifications,” one man said.

Ellie identified the voice as Kayyim’s.

The man he’d addressed as Cravitch—one of those in business suits—was unmoved. “I admit that we could not obtain all the Belgian FN MAG’s you wanted, but we have seen to it that you have been amply compensated.”

“Amply compensated? You have given us only one hundred AKM’s . . .” a colleague of Kayyim’s protested. “We ordered three hundred.”

“But you have three hundred Chinese Type 66’s for the same price,” Cravitch countered.

“The 66’s are imitation! Three of them aren’t worth one AKM, you know that very well, Mr. Cravitch.”

“Gentlemen, I have done the best I can with what is currently in stock. To make things a little more palatable I’ve thrown in two hundred and fifty RGD anti-personnel grenades. Three hundred grams each, thirty meter range, fifteen to twenty meter fragmentation radius. I am sure your Basque friends should find them useful.”

“The arms are for Ulster,” one of Kayyim’s friends said sharply.

“Oh, yes, wrong shipping order. Yes, you’re right. The IRA. Well, they’ll blow up a British soldier every bit as well as a member of the Guardia Civil. These grenades make no fine distinctions, I’ve found.”

“You have included the RDX?”

“The
plastique?
Of course, we run a tight ship here, much as you may question my competence on occasion. Just so you won’t go away feeling angry, I will give you credit for the AKM’s and if you’d like, you can take delivery of the additional two hundred in six days’ time in San Salvador. My agent, Mr. Sayers, can be reached at the Sheraton. It is possible that I will be there myself.”

“And what, may I ask, will you be doing in San Salvador?”

“I am surprised at you, Gamal. That is of no concern to you. I have other business transactions to conduct that have nothing to do with you.”

“There is a war going on in El Salvador,” one man remarked irrelevantly.

“There’s a war going on here too. Without wars, I’d be out of business.”

Ellie raised her eyes just above the top of the massive crate.

Cravitch thrust forward a sheaf of papers and indicated that Kayyim should put his signature on the relevant forms.

Kayyim’s bodyguard, Achmed, growing bored with these negotiations, turned away from the others. By chance he caught sight of Ellie.

She’d lowered herself down almost instantaneously, and Achmed was not absolutely certain he’d seen anything: maybe just a shadow, a flickering movement, a rat scuttling among the crates in the gloom, nothing more.

But he decided that he would investigate. No one was paying any attention to him nor did he announce his suspicions. Ellie waited in the darkness, hoping that she had not been seen, but when she heard the approaching footsteps she realized her hope was forlorn.

Either she could stay where she was and pray that he overlooked her—which was possible given the sheer number of boxes and crates piled up in the area—or else she could crawl back toward the rear of the warehouse and try to leave the same way she had gotten in.

It made more sense to do the latter. On her hands and knees, she began to make her way down along the narrow paths formed by the merchandise on either side of her. She could only guess where she was headed; she thought she was getting further toward the rear, but because she could not stand erect and take her bearings, she had no way of being certain.

Achmed meanwhile did not venture too far; hearing nothing more to alarm him, he began to think he had been imagining things. He went to rejoin the others when there was a loud crash—what sounded like a great many clattering pans toppling to the floor, but was in fact, several M16’s falling from an open box that had been suddenly jarred.

This time Achmed did not wonder whether he was deceived by his imagination. Everyone else in the warehouse turned toward the sound. Without exchanging a word, they took hold of their handguns and proceeded to fan out in expectation that sooner or later they would apprehend the intruder by boxing him—or her—in.

Only Cravitch and Sayers remained where they were, certain that their business partners would deal in an appropriate manner with the spy. Cravitch said to Sayers, “We had better put someone on the back door next time. Our security is getting too lax.” But his quiet well-modulated voice betrayed not the slightest hint of any anxiety on his part.

Ellie knew that she was in trouble and that there was nothing to be gained by this tedious crawl through a maze composed of arms. She still had not been seen and though this was a temporary advantage, she capitalized on it by picking herself up off the floor and running. Only when she was on her feet again did she see that all this time she had been progressing in the wrong direction. She was further from the back of the warehouse than she was before.

They would hear her running, she knew. There were too many of them, and to get from where she was to the exit—assuming they hadn’t already blocked it—was next to impossible.

At one point, she had to break out into the open. As she did so, a man spotted her and fired. His shot missed and punctured one of the crates, causing Cravitch to cry out, “Careful, please, gentlemen! Don’t damage any of the merchandise. Otherwise, I will have to charge you.”

No one seemed to pay heed to his admonition and it appeared that in this case price was no object.

Harry was still contemplating his strategy when he heard the gunshot. It sounded much louder than it would have under ordinary circumstances with so much space inside the warehouse to amplify it.

Harry had no way of knowing what was going on inside, but that was of secondary importance. He had the diversion he needed, however it had come about.

The lone guard in front of the warehouse had heard the gunshot and, thinking that his assistance might be needed, opened the door and went in.

He was astonished to find someone coming up from behind him. But before he could turn to see who it was, Harry brought down the stock of the .38 hard against the back of his head. Not hard enough though. The guard staggered, groaning, but was only stunned. Again, Harry smashed the butt end of the .38 down. This time the guard dropped, his eyes rolling as he did so.

Having never been inside this place, and without knowing what to expect, Harry flattened himself next to the prostrate man he’d just knocked senseless. But not before he was observed by two astonished men in ties and jackets.

“Over here, Gamal!” one of them yelled before vanishing behind a wall of crates. He was followed to safety within moments by his companion.

Harry held his fire, trying to get a fix on the situation. Then he beheld Achmed, his old friend. That was all the fix on the situation he needed.

A man was waiting for Ellie. He wore a kefiiyah, brandished a Baretta, and knew exactly where she would emerge from among the boxes. She rushed right into his outstretched arms. She found herself trapped; she squirmed and fought against him, but he had a solid grip on her, and the tip of the gun stuck in the crook of her back. Actually, he seemed to be enjoying the experience for he had really not expected such a pretty woman, and like a lover, he hugged her closer, so much so that she emitted a cry of pain, soon muffled by the press of the gun against her flesh; it felt as though he were trying to stab her with the muzzle.

To his friends, he shouted something in Arabic, signaling them that he had caught the intruder and that there was nothing more to fear. He had no way of knowing there was another intruder in the front of the warehouse. He brought Ellie out into the center of the warehouse for all to see his catch, laughing with great amusement. His laugh stopped when he saw Achmed.

Achmed obviously had not expected to see Harry again. He raised his gun and sighted it as though this alone would convince him to surrender. It didn’t. Achmed called to Kayyam, who had not yet appeared, probably soliciting his opinion as to what course of action he should take. He kept his gun trained on Harry while Harry kept his gun on Achmed.

Just then Kayyim came into view and Achmed allowed his attention to wander. Harry fired his .38. Achmed leapt into the air and came down in an awkward heap, barely alive. His gun blazed but it seemed that he wasn’t really aiming it anywhere in particular.

The others wisely took refuge behind the crates just as Cravitch and Sayers had earlier.

Harry rolled over to his left, firing simultaneously, this time taking Achmed out of commission altogether. Like a prayerful supplicant, he extended his arms, then flopped over and did not move.

So as to avoid being pinned down, Harry bounded across the floor, performing elaborate choreography as he sought to elude the barrage of bullets directed against him.

Finding cover at last, he realized that he had now managed to equalize the conflict to an extent; for while he was outnumbered, there was no way that Kayyim or his allies could get to him without revealing themselves in the process.

As soon as he glanced around he saw that he had chosen a fortuitous spot in which to seek protection. Immediately to his left, was a half-open box stencilled with Cyrillic letters and a series of numbers, attesting to its Soviet origin. Inside were grenades—RDG-5 anti-personnel fragmentation grenades to be precise.

This should make things more equal, he reasoned, taking one in his hand, pulling the pin from it, and lobbing it toward the other side of the warehouse, just beyond the first row of crates where he judged his enemies to be hiding.

In response there was a savage, useless burst of gunfire, but the grenade continued to sail through the air, arching down behind the crates. A moment passed, then the entire universe seemed to explode as the detonation touched off live ammunition; it sounded something like Chinese New Year’s celebrations on Grand Avenue, only much, much louder. Everything was going up, sizzling for a second, then erupting in a convulsive roar that was accompanied by a brilliant display of fire.

Harry knew he had better get out of this place before the fire spread to something sufficiently volatile to blow the entire warehouse and all its illegal contents sky high.

He was not alone in this idea. No longer concerned about Harry, Kayyim’s party came running out, screaming in panic. One of them lurched a few steps, then collapsed, as flames lapped at his back. What happened to the two men in business suits Harry could not say, nor did he care for all this attention directed to Ellie.

Where she had come from, what she was doing here, was a complete mystery to him. But there was no mistaking her. A man in a keffiyah was dragging her to safety though if one was to judge by the gun he held to her head, safety of only a relative nature.

Harry darted out in hope of intercepting them. The flames were gathering force, leaping into the air with a great fierce crackling, singeing Harry’s hair, his eyebrows, diminishing visibility at the same time, with the warehouse rapidly becoming engulfed in smoke.

Ellie and her captor were moving too quickly for Harry to be able to accurately aim. The smoke protected him from view, which was all well and good, but it obscured his target at the same time.

He scrambled after them. Sirens shrieked in the distance. Harry had no idea what he would discover upon emerging from the warehouse, but precedent seemed to dictate that he would find a small army. Small armies in Beirut generally had the habit of shooting at him, Harry noted. And they didn’t always need to have a good reason to do so.

For a couple of minutes, he lost sight of Ellie, he lost sight of just about everyone. All he could make out were shadowy figures in the smoke and the harsh luminous light from the flames. Ammunition was still detonating with decisive pops, but so far the most combustible elements had not gone off yet. If they ever did, there’d be no doubt about the result.

At last, Harry managed to escape the warehouse. In spite of the firemen who were beginning to mobilize their hoses, he recognized that the danger had scarcely passed, not with the ever increasing likelihood that the whole warehouse would go, probably taking the neighborhood, such as it was, with it.

In all the confusion, no one remarked on Harry or threatened him as he tore through the crowd of onlookers, searching for Ellie.

Then he saw a flash of her white dress. He raced down to where the two limousines had been parked, but found only one when he got there; the other must have pulled away. He couldn’t tell who was in the second limo; he couldn’t see through the smoked glass windows.