‘What kind of weapons?’
‘Automatic rifles. In time he said they’d want more sophisticated armoury – RPGs, SAM missiles, you name it. But you have to walk before you can run, and at the moment it’s basic infantry armaments he’s looking for. Rifles, ammunition.’
‘So what was agreed?’
‘Nothing. I named a price, and he made a counter-proposal. As is usually the case, we settled somewhere in between. Then we aborted the meeting because we were being watched. The next step is for him to confirm the order – which in practice means a down payment of twenty-five per cent. Not unreasonable,’ Milraud said with a hint of pride, and Liz realised he was enjoying talking about his trade. He wouldn’t have had many opportunities to do so in recent years.
‘How is he going to contact you?’
‘If he contacts me at all, after that clumsy surveillance in Paris, it will be by email. Third party – a dummy box I’ve created. He’ll ask for a meeting, though it won’t read that way – on the surface, it will look like a misplaced request for a booking at a restaurant. The name of the restaurant will contain a link to another site – that site will contain coordinates which when I apply them to a pre-existing grid will give me the location, time and date of the meeting.’
‘You told Martin this will be in the UK.’
‘Yes. That is what the man told me in Paris before we aborted our meeting.’
‘He didn’t give you any sense of where in the UK?’
‘No.’ Milraud looked at her impatiently. ‘I have already told Martin all this.’
She ignored him. ‘When are you expecting an email?’
Milraud shrugged. ‘I am working to my client’s schedule, not my own. When it arrives, it arrives.’
Martin interjected. ‘My colleague Thibault has taken charge of his laptop and will monitor all emails.’
‘This better be right, Antoine,’ said Liz, ‘or any reassurance you have received, about how Annette will be treated will no longer be valid.’
Milraud looked at her wide-eyed. ‘Do I take it you are in charge then?’ He seemed surprised.
‘As far as you’re concerned I am.’
Milraud turned to Seurat, as if expecting him to dissent, but Seurat said simply, ‘She’s right, Antoine. She will be directing what you are to do.’
Milraud looked confused as he tried to take this in. At last he nodded again, and gave an ironic shrug. ‘I am accustomed to it. Annette wears the trousers in my family too.’
Chapter 19
‘Donation will see us this evening,’ said Miles Brookhaven, putting down the phone. ‘I told his son I was bringing a colleague from the British Embassy and he didn’t ask any questions. His son seems to be a sort of secretary for this so-called charity he runs. Well, he calls it a charity, but as far as I can see it’s a kind of private fund-raising operation. God knows what shady deals they’re doing. Anyway, we’re to go out to his farm this evening.’
‘A farm?’ Bruno Mackay raised his eyebrows. ‘How far away is it? I don’t fancy a long drive in the dark in this place. I won’t be at all popular with Geoffrey Fane if I end up as a kidnap victim.’
‘It’s not that far. About ten miles or so along a fairly decent road. It’ll be dark when we come back, but Donation seems to have some sort of security operation set up to control who goes along that road, so it should be OK.’
Bruno Mackay was sitting in Miles Brookhaven’s office in the American Embassy in Sana’a. The surveillance pictures from Paris were spread out on the table in front of them.
‘I hope it’s worth the journey,’ said Bruno. ‘I can’t imagine they’ll make much out of these photographs. I don’t know why Liz Carlyle bothered sending them. The guy looks like thousands of young men you might meet anywhere from Algiers to Afghanistan.’
‘Maybe he does, to you, but Donation or his son may recognise him – or know someone who will.’
‘Let’s hope so. Our French colleagues certainly seem to have messed up thoroughly in Paris. First they blew the surveillance and then they lost both of their targets.’
‘I don’t think it’s a complete disaster. I’ve heard from Andy Bokus that they know the European who met this guy in Paris. He’s called Milraud, a DGSE officer who left the Service and turned rogue.’
‘Oh him. The French have been looking for him for years. He stole a lot of cash and set himself up as an arms dealer. If he’s reappeared it will have set the cat among the pigeons. He used to work with Liz Carlyle’s boyfriend Martin Seurat; Seurat’s sworn to get him.’
‘Well, apparently they have got him. They pinned him down in a hotel in Berlin and they’re hoping to find out why he was meeting this guy in Paris’ – he waved at the photograph of the young Arab – ‘and what he went to Berlin for.’
Five hours later Miles Brookhaven was driving the Embassy SUV along the road through fields and small apple orchards. The sun was setting over the line of hills in a clear pink and red sky.
‘No clouds tonight, thank God,’ remarked Miles. ‘Last time I came along here there was a downpour. I couldn’t see a thing. Had to stop dead in the middle of the road.’
‘Hmm,’ said Bruno, who was sitting uneasily sideways in his seat, keeping an eye on the road behind them and looking from side to side.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Miles. ‘I’m sure it’s OK. I told you, he’s got this road monitored. It feels safe to me.’
‘Hmm,’ said Bruno again.
Miles drove on another few miles and then Bruno, who was peering out of the front windscreen, said, ‘I thought you said there were no clouds tonight. What’s that then?’ He pointed to what looked like a small black cloud low in the sky ahead of them.
‘It looks like smoke. It’s just about where Donation’s compound is. Perhaps they’re burning rubbish.’ But as they got nearer the cloud seemed to separate itself and gradually it became a moving mass of birds.
‘Vultures,’ said Bruno. ‘Something’s died.’
‘Probably a cow or a buffalo. We’ll soon find out. We’re less than a mile away from the farm now.’
As they came up to the walls of the compound, another cloud of flapping vultures rose up to join those circling in the sky. Miles turned the car to go under the arch and then slammed on the brakes.
‘My God,’ shouted Bruno. ‘What the hell’s that?’ A body clad in what had been white robes was swinging in the arch, dangling from a rope round its neck. Its face was a raw mass of bloodied flesh and its eyes had been pecked out. The legs, swinging in mid-air, ended in shiny black leather shoes.
‘It’s Donation’s son.’ Miles’s voice shook.
‘Turn round,’ yelled Bruno. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
‘Donation may be inside. He may need our help.’
‘If he’s in there,’ said Bruno, ‘he’s long past our help. Can’t you see? It’s a warning. Go on, get out or we’ll be next.’
Suddenly Miles jerked into action. With squealing tyres throwing up sand and stones he turned the car and drove off, back down the road they had come along.
Bruno was leaning forward now, holding on to the dashboard. ‘I thought you said they had security on this road.’
‘That’s what Donation told me and I believed him. I thought they knew what they were doing. It all seemed very casual but I figured they were the best judge of what was safe. I bet it’s that bloody French surveillance operation that’s blown it. The guy in Paris knew he was being followed, so he knew there’d been a leak and they’ve traced it back to Donation and his son.’