Part 27 (1/2)

Hussein said gently, ”You are Muslim?”

”And the war stank. Allah bless Tony Blair for sending the British Army and RAF to Kosovo to save us from the Serbs.”

”It is true he did such a thing,” Khazid said. ”But what of Iraq?”

”Agreed, but life is learning to live with the good and the bad.”

”What a wise girl,” Hussein commented.

”My father was a teacher of children at the mosque in our small town. When the Serbs came, they hung him-they hung boys, too.”

All this was delivered in the most matter-of-fact way as they came to a cafe called the Belle Aurore. There was a terrace at the front with tables, waiters in white jackets, not particularly busy. The man they were seeking was at a corner table reading a copy of Paris Soir. Paris Soir. He wore a reefer coat and a seaman's cap, was perhaps sixty with a florid face and a cruel mouth. He reached out for a gla.s.s and continued to read. He wore a reefer coat and a seaman's cap, was perhaps sixty with a florid face and a cruel mouth. He reached out for a gla.s.s and continued to read.

Saida said, ”George, these gentlemen are looking for you.”

Hussein said, ”Mr. Romano, I'm Hugh Darcy.”

Romano looked him over. ”First of all, it's Commander Romano. Secondly, although I must say your Guards tie makes a brave show, it won't do, you know. You'd better sit down.”

”Why won't it do, Commander?”

”This is yesterday's paper. We always get it late in this neck of the woods. Lot of people here, though, who would run a mile and shout for the gendarmes if they knew who you are. Page four.”

Hussein sat down and stared at his photo. In that minute, everything so carefully contrived turned to ashes. Saida, reading over his shoulder, gasped.

”You are him.”

Khazid said, ”Come, brother.”

”No need to panic,” Romano said. ”It's just a question of being practical about things. Of course, the only problem is I can't contact the Broker-he contacts me. Can you get in touch with him?”

”Yes,” Hussein said.

”Excellent. This drink is marvelous. Brandy and ginger ale. Takes me back to my Navy days. You should try one.” He laughed. ”But then you can't-I was forgetting.”

”No, but Hugh Darcy could.”

”Yes, by G.o.d, you're right. You don't look like a raghead at all.” He shouted at the waiter, ”Pierre, two Horse's Necks-no, three.” He glanced up at Khazid. ”Got to play the game, eh?”

”If you say so.”

”Good boy.” Romano slapped Saida on the bottom. ”Go and get the groceries and divest yourself of those appalling jeans when you get back on board. I've told you, I like little cotton skirts so a man can have a decent feel. Nothing like it.”

The waiter had just brought the three drinks. He put them on the table and the girl picked one up and threw it in Romano's face. He wasn't in the least put out and licked his lips.

”Delicious.” He reached for a napkin and wiped his face. ”I'll have to chastise you for that, but I'll have great pleasure in taking care of it on the voyage.”

She was stunned. ”On the voyage? You'll take me?”

”England,” Romano said to Hussein. ”People are desperate to get there, especially refugees without permission. She turned up months ago with an Albanian, but when push came to shove, he dumped her on the waterfront when we left and she was still here when I returned.”

”Each time he does another English run, he promises me a trip,” she complained to him. ”I'll go for the groceries.” She paused. ”But I've hardly any money.” She shrugged and walked away.

Hussein nodded to Khazid, who went after her. Romano said, ”You don't like me very much, do you?”

”If I may borrow one of the great Humphrey Bogart's best lines: If I thought about you at all, I probably wouldn't.” He opened his flight bag, felt for the brooch in its corner and pressed the b.u.t.ton. He closed the case. ”Now we wait.”

KHAZID CAUGHT UP WITH HER. ”Don't worry, get anything you want, I'll take care of it.”

”Your friend,” she said. ”Even I have heard of him. The Hammer of G.o.d.”

”A great man and a great soldier,” Khazid said.

”And you also are a soldier in the war?”

”Of course. In Iraq, it's bad, believe me.”

”I see that on television. The Americans, the British.”

”No, it's more than that. It's a blackness, a disease that touches everyone. The brothers are killing each other, some weeks more than a thousand. Women and children die in the crossfire.”

”And how does it end?”

”Maybe never, but where are you going, the supermarket's over there?”

”Yes.”

”Carry on, I'll join you in a little while.”

They had just pa.s.sed a cutlery shop and he walked back to inspect the window full of knives of every possible description. With his French background, he was aware that the authorities were more open-minded about certain types of weapons than other countries. He entered and found a white-haired old man behind the counter.

”Monsieur, what can I show you?”

”I seek a folding knife, substantial and preferably automatic.”

Fifteen minutes later, he left after inspecting a horn-handled flick knife and a seven-inch, razor-sharp, double-edged blade that jumped eagerly to his command at the touch of his thumb.

He crossed to the supermarket and joined her. ”Have you got what you wanted?”

”Oh, yes,” he said. ”There's nothing like being prepared for anything in this life and I don't like the commander. Does that make me a bad man?”

”Anything but.”

”Good, then let's make sure you've got all your groceries.”

FOR ONCE, the Broker had been badly caught out. The unlooked-for appearance of the newspaper in the small French port with Hussein's photo was unexpected, the reaction of Commander Romano unfortunate. For the moment, he had to meet Romano's price if Hussein and Khazid were to make the next move in their progress to England. That he would be able to punish the man for his blackmail in the near future was certain. Al-Qaeda would see to that. He guaranteed the substantial additional funding Romano demanded, to be transferred to Switzerland in a matter of hours. When he was finished, he insisted on speaking to Hussein.