Liberation Day (27 page)

Lotfi: “Are they still in the marina?”

Click, click.

There was hesitation: Lotfi was trying to think of other things to ask so he and Hubba-Hubba could have a clearer picture of what was going on. But he still hadn’t asked what they looked like. Finally, he got there. “Are they Arab?”

Click, click.

I couldn’t tell him right now, but they were also young, maybe in their early thirties, with short, well-groomed hair, white shirts, ties, and black shoes. The shorter one, maybe five-seven, five-eight, had straight hair and a rounded, overfed face. In his left hand he was carrying a Slazenger tennis bag, with a racket in the outside pocket. The toweling around the racket handle was faded and worn. They’d thought about aging their collection gear, to make it look as normal as possible. They looked just like bankers off to the tennis club. It looked as if Greaseball’s int was going to prove good: they would blend in perfectly in Monaco.

The second one was hands-free and taller, maybe six foot, quite lean, with wiry hair brushed back off his forehead, a very neat mustache, and a pair of aviator-style sunglasses. The Saddam look was obviously in this year.

I heard a vehicle drive into the parking space behind me, and a second later Hubba-Hubba got on the net. “H is static behind you, N, and has the trigger on the main road. I can give direction once they are on the main road. N, acknowledge.”

Click, click.

As planned, Hubba-Hubba was coming in closer on the stand-by. That way, we’d have another person who could take the Romeos once they were out on the main, just in case I couldn’t get out of the OP and do it myself.

The two collectors disappeared by the promenade as Lotfi piped up. “N, are they still in the port?”

Click, click.

“Can you see them?”

Hubba-Hubba cut in when I hadn’t replied after five seconds. “H still has the trigger on the main.”

I waited for another thirty seconds, more than enough time for them to get halfway up the steps, if that was the direction they were headed. But there was a no-show as I still smelled Mr. McGregor’s cigarette on the breeze. I got up slowly on my hands and knees and gathered all my gear into the towel, including my little plastic wrap package and the bottle of piss. Only after crawling to the exit point along the hedge did I risk getting on the net. My voice wavered as I tried to suck in air and move at the same time. “Okay, okay. They’re both Arab, dark suits, white shirts, ties. The smaller one, Romeo One, is carrying a blue tennis bag, Slazenger. Romeo Two is taller, slimmer; sunglasses and mustache. H, acknowledge.”

Click, click.

“Is it clear? I’m coming out.”

There was a pause.

Click, click.

I stood up, jumped over the hedge. Hubba-Hubba had parked his Scudo on my side of the Mégane, so he was shielded but could still look through my window to keep the trigger.

His window was half down, and he had his eyes on the exit. I walked up and made a show of checking my watch. “The station, mate. Get to the train station and be careful, keep an eye out for that van.”

He nodded, fired the ignition. “Don’t worry. Remember, Lotfi brings God with us.” He gave me a gleaming smile as he reversed back into the road. I dumped the gear into the Mégane trunk, took over the trigger, and prepared for the take. It was good to know that God was still on our team. We needed all the help we could get.

I closed the trunk as Hubba-Hubba came back on the net, in a calm, low voice. “Stand by, stand by. Romeo One and Two foxtrot, approaching the main from the entry road, about ten short.”

I looked down the road and saw the Scudo just starting to move uphill past the marina entrance.

“L, standing by.”

I gave my acknowledgment.
Click, click.
Bending down to check out a wheel on the side of the car away from the marina exit, I peeled the insulation tape off my ear and waited for them to appear on the main road. Then I checked my Browning and fanny pack while I pretended to inspect the tire tread, with both eyes on the marina exit.

Out they came. “Stand by, stand by. N has Romeo One and Two. At the main. Wait—that’s them now, left, toward the town. L, acknowledge.”

Click, click.

“H?”

There was nothing.

Lotfi came up: “H, they’re foxtrot, toward the town.”

There was a moment’s delay before Lotfi came back to me: “H acknowledged and everything looks okay. No Combi.”

I double-clicked. H was too far away from me, probably already at the station, but still within range of Lotfi, who was receiving both of us.

I let the Romeos settle down, and watched as they walked away from me, up the hill toward the bus stop. They both looked a little jumpy. Maybe they’d had too much coffee this morning. Romeo One kept changing hands on the bag and Two kept looking around him, not realizing he could do that by just moving his eyes.

I got on the net. “That’s approaching the bus stop on the left. Wait, wait. That’s at the bus stop, still straight.”

“L, roger that. That’s straight at the bus stop. H, acknowledge.”

One moved the bag over his right shoulder and glanced back. I doubted that he could see the woods for the trees, though: his nerves seemed to be taking over. I started to follow. “That’s N foxtrot and still has Romeo One and Two on the left and still straight, toward the town. They look aware, be careful. L, relay to H.”

I got two clicks before listening to a one-way conversation as Lotfi passed on the information.

If they’d stopped at the bus shelter, taking them toward Nice, I’d have gotten on at the stop before and Lotfi would have kept the trigger. If they were going toward Monaco and crossed the road to the other stop, Lotfi would have done the same and kept the trigger.

The trick was for each of us to know exactly where the Romeos were and what they were up to, so we could either jump ahead or hold back, and take these two without them ever seeing us. The more exposure we had to them, the more chance we had of getting compromised. We needed to be out of their vision at all times, because the mind stores everything. If they saw one of us today and thought nothing of it, maybe they’d make the connection tomorrow. One of us had to have eyes on the Romeos as much as possible, with the other two satelliting them, always out of sight, always backing the man who was taking, always being aware of the third party.

I lost them now and again as the road wound its way up to the high ground and into the town. But Lotfi had them in sight. “That’s Romeo One and Two, now passing me, still straight.”

I double-clicked, not knowing if Hubba-Hubba had done the same.

I checked that my Browning was in position, and felt the fanny pack to make sure the insulin case was still inside—even though I knew it wouldn’t have unzipped the bag by itself and jumped out. I fished the Medic Alert out of my jeans and put it onto my left wrist to announce that I was diabetic and really needed to carry this stuff around with me.

As I got to the high ground, I caught sight of Lotfi’s Focus tucked away well inside the parking lot. The Romeos were still ahead, partly shielded by the traffic. “N has, N has Romeo One and Two. Still foxtrot on the left about five-zero short of the station option. H acknowledge.” I smiled away to myself, as if I was talking to my girlfriend on my cell phone.

Click, click.

“L?”

Click, click.

There was an intersection right farther up, where the station road ran down onto the main road. A set of lights controlled the traffic.

The
pâtisseries,
newsstands, and cafés were open for business. People were in line for a lunchtime pastry to go with their coffee taken at one of the outside tables.

“N still has, N still has foxtrot on the left, halfway to the station option. Do not acknowledge.”

I wanted them to listen, to cut down on time on the air, so I could just concentrate on the take.

“That’s approaching. Wait, wait…”

I stopped and looked into a store that seemed to sell just men’s socks and ties. “They’re static at the crossing, they’re at the crossing, intending the station. Wait, wait. It’s a red light, wait out.”

I released the pressle and watched through the corner of the window as I agonized over my choice of Christmas tie, Santa, or the Virgin Mary. Nobody gave Romeo One and Two a second glance, but to me they looked out of place. They weren’t talking to each other; they didn’t even look at each other.

A couple of families were also waiting to cross, with all the kids wearing Pokémon backpacks. I heard the beep of the pedestrian crossing.

“Stand by, stand by, green light on. Romeo One and Two crossing left to right, halfway.”

Once over the road they continued straight up toward the station and disappeared. “That’s them straight and toward the station, unsighted to me. H, acknowledge.”

“H has, on the right toward the station, sixty short.”

The lights at the crossing had turned red again. I joined two women and more kids with backpacks. The kids were shoving baguettes into their mouths as if they hadn’t eaten since last Tuesday. Hubba-Hubba came on the net, and for the first time I had to put my hand over the earpiece as a couple of trucks screamed past. It was a big no-no, but I didn’t have a choice.

“H still has, halfway to the station, still aware.”

The green light flashed and my new school friends and I crossed. It was a good sign that the Romeos were aware. I hoped it meant they hadn’t spotted us, rather than that they were in fact very switched on, and about to take us to an amusement park or shopping center to push us around or, even worse, take us into an ambush.

I reached the other side of the road and turned uphill, leaving Hubba-Hubba to continue the take.

“H has, still on the right, approaching the station.”

The Romeos disappeared right, into the parking area in front of the station as Hubba-Hubba continued his commentary. “That’s at the station, wait, wait…at the first set of doors. That’s now complete (inside the station) and unsighted to me. I’m going foxtrot. N, acknowledge.”

Click, click.

He would now be taking a position that would give him a view of both the platforms, so we’d know whether they were aiming for Monaco or Nice.

I spotted Hubba-Hubba’s empty Scudo van just past the entrance. He was out here somewhere, trying to get the trigger, making sure the Romeos didn’t see him or, just as important, the third party who might wonder what this weird Arab guy was up to.

The drivers at the taxi stand were still leaning against their Mercs, smoking and putting the world to rights. The multicolored flower beds nearby were still getting a good sprinkling.

Taking my time, I wandered past the first of the two glass doors, hoping to get a glimpse of the Romeos, maybe by a ticket machine or the kiosk. But there was no sign of them in this half of the foyer, and I didn’t want to walk in myself and risk being seen.

I plunked myself on the wooden bench outside, between the two sets of doors, hoping the train wasn’t due just yet. “H, can you see them?”

There was a pause. “No, just the far end of the platforms. They could still be complete.”

Click, click.

A garbage truck approached from my right, and I could hear it change gear through the radio as Hubba-Hubba spoke. He must be up there in the far parking lot. I decided I’d give it a minute or two to see if he spotted them; if not, I’d have no alternative but to go in. They should have bought a ticket by now and, with luck, would be out there on the platform.

I dug out my hundred-franc notes and stood up, making sure the zipper of my fanny pack was still shut, and the Browning was still tucked well into my jeans.

I hit the pressle.

“N is going complete the station. H, acknowledge.”

Click, click.

“L, stand by.”

Click, click.

I walked through the second set of doors by the newsstand in case they were still on the concourse, and stepped around the little rat dogs that were still guarding the newsstand. My head was down, hat on, not looking for faces, just dark suit pants. I couldn’t see the Romeos anywhere. That was good, and that was also bad.

I stopped at the coffee machine and bought myself a cappuccino, then eyed the snack machine and selected a couple of muffin-type things covered with sugary goo as the plastic cup fell into place waiting to be filled.

Hubba-Hubba came up on the net as I bent down and watched the coffee fall into the cup and pulled the muffin wrapping apart with my teeth, getting the goo on my chin. “That’s both Romeos on the platform, your side, the station-side platform.”

32

T
he dogs tied up by the newsstand gave me the evil eye as I reached inside my coat.

Click, click.

Some people bought tickets from the touch-screen machines, some headed straight through the double glass doors onto the platform, but there was no one hovering around like me, trying to shove the last of a muffin into their mouth without getting most of the topping over their front, while attempting to keep out of the Romeos’ line of sight. They were out there somewhere, on the other side of the wall the coffee machine stood against. And, so far, it looked as if they were going to Monaco. They’d have to go over a footbridge for trains to Nice, Cannes, and all stops to Marseille.

Four more people went through to the platform. They had to file between two steel posts about three feet high. There was a resounding clunk each time a ticket got fed into the slot and was validated.

The coffee machine had finished clearing its throat. I took a sip from the steaming plastic cup as I walked over to the touch-screen ticket machines, and looked out to the platforms to see if I could spot the collectors. The only people in sight were two train workers with brimmed caps and beer bellies.

I touched the screen for a one-way to Monaco, then bought another to Cannes. I didn’t know which of the three locations these people were heading for. They might even do all three today, or none of them. Perhaps they really were just meeting some of their pals for tennis.