“Which one?”
“That’s not important, not for the moment,” said Grearson. “I want to be sure first.”
“Of what?”
“Your suitability.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything about you.”
The lawyer’s drink arrived. He put it before him untouched and Evans realized it wasn’t to drink, merely to entitle him to occupy the seat in the stall. Evans gave a clipped official recital of his career, as if he were reading from the formal documentation which still existed somewhere in Fort Bragg.
“Why did you leave in ‘78?” Grearson fingered his spectacles.
“I didn’t like the atmosphere,” said Evans. “Wherever I went… said who I was… I was made to feel as if I was guilty of something.”
Grearson nodded, aware of the attitude that existed in America in the immediate aftermath of the mistaken war.
“Why not a civilian job?”
“Don’t have the training,” said Evans. “I’m a soldier, that’s all I’ve ever been. Ever wanted to be.”
“What then?”
“Heard there was opportunity in Libya. Training their people… guerrillas, too, from other countries. Spent almost two years in a camp near an oasis called Kufra…” He shook his head at the memory. “Christ, what a place!”
“What was wrong with it?”
“Prayers to Mecca God knows how many times a day, political indoctrination sessions and stupid bastards shooting off guns and throwing grenades and believing they were immortal so it didn’t matter if they got hit.” Evans stopped. “No booze or women either. Like being a goddamned monk.”
Grearson analysed what the other man said before speaking. “You got anything against Arabs?” he said.
“Do you mean am I Jewish?”
“Are you?”
“No.”
“So what about Arabs?”
Evans shrugged. “Nothing wrong with Arabs,” he said. “That wasn’t what pissed me off about Libya.”
“What did then?”
“They’re crazy. They really do believe what their priests tell them, that Gaddafi is leading them into some sort of holy conflict, they can’t be killed.”
“Booze important to you?”
“Booze?” frowned the man.
“You said there wasn’t any booze. Or women.”
Evans smiled apologetically. “I don’t drink or whore any more than anyone else,” he said. “But I was there for two years!”
Grearson smiled back. “What have you done since then?”
“Nothing.”
He had been lucky first time, Grearson decided. He pushed a sealed manila envelope across the table. “There’s $1000 retainer, with another $500 for expenses.”
Evans picked the envelope up, felt it and put it into an inside pocket of his windbreaker. “What do you want?”
“You formed a deep-penetration unit in Vietnam.”
“Yes.”
“How many men?”
“It varied,” said Evans. “Usually it was six.”
“What sort of opposition could you handle?”
Evans smiled again, proudly this time. “A platoon or company any time,” he said. “Frequently happened, in fact. We were well trained.”
“Could you assemble six people?”
“How long have I got?”
“Two or three days. And I don’t want rubbish. I want men like you, only a year or two out of the services, still trained, still fit.”
“I could try.”
Grearson respected the man for avoiding the overcommitment. “I’d want to meet them when they’re assembled,” said the lawyer. “If one isn’t right then the whole thing’s off.”
“I can’t recruit unless I know what we’ve got to do.”
“Somebody’s got something belonging to us,” said Grearson. “We want it back.”
“So call the police,” said Evans.
“That’s not possible, not on this occasion.”
“What can I offer?”
“You’ll get $2000 a week, as commander. The people you recruit get $1000. All expenses, of course. If the need arises for you to be used
… if you have to go in to recover what’s ours and you do it successfully, there’ll be a $30,000 bonus for you and $20,000 for everyone else Paid in whatever currency you want, to wherever you want.”
“So we might not actually be used?”
“Not necessarily,” said Grearson. “But you still get the payment and expenses. And a severance bonus: $10,000 for you, $5000 for the others.”
Evans nodded. “The terms seem fair enough,” he said. “What happens about equipment?”
“Don’t bother about anything. Whatever you want will be provided.”
“To be effective we’ve got to train… have some idea of what the operation will be.”
“I can’t tell you that, not yet,” said the lawyer. “And I do recognize the difficulty. That’s why the people you get together have got to be already well trained; there won’t be time for much preparation.”
“I don’t like that,” said Evans.
Grearson was pleased at the professionalism. “It could be something like a surprise assault,” he said guardedly.
“Defended?”
“Probably. But you should have some element of surprise.”
“How big a building?”
“I don’t know.”
“We’ll have plans… layouts?”
“I hope so.”
“But you’re not certain?”
A waiter returned to the table inquiringly. Both men shook their heads.
“No,” said Grearson. “There’s no certainty.”
“How big is the object to be recovered?” said Evans. “I mean, will it be in a safe… under some sort of protection that we’ll have to blow?”
Grearson hesitated. “It’s not an object,” he said.
Evans did not respond for several moments. “I see,” he said.
“My client has a permanent need for protection,” said Grearson. “Particularly so after this. If everything goes as it must, then there could be permanent employment for you. And for some of the people you recruit.”
“What about limitations?” said Evans.
“Limitations?”
“When we recover…” he paused and then went on “… what it is we have to recover, are there any limitations on the force that’s got to be employed?”
“None,” said Grearson immediately. “Absolutely none.”
“And the authorities will not be involved?”
“No.”
“I don’t know your name,” said Evans. “Or how to make contact.”
“My name doesn’t matter at the moment,” said Grearson. “Let’s leave it that I am an attorney.” He passed a folded sheet of paper across the table. “There’s a name and telephone number,” he said. “They’ll have immediate contact with me. Call them when you’ve assembled your people.”
This time Evans opened the paper, noting the Paris telephone number against the address of something called the Eklon Corporation. The second place he had approached after Libya, he remembered. A nondescript set of offices on the rue Reamur; the receptionist as haughty as only the French can be, refusing to let him get past to someone in authority. He had been sure she would have thrown his details away. Azziz, he thought in complete recollection. Adnan Azziz. He felt a burn of satisfaction. This could definitely be something worthwhile.
“Is Mr Azziz personally inconvenienced?” said Evans.
This man was a good choice, decided Grearson. “Someone very close to him.”
“I understand.”
“Understand something more,” said Grearson. “There must be absolute discretion. I don’t want any of those you recruit to know anything more than the barest minimum. It would be a risk.”
“Of course,” said Evans. “You’ll have no need to worry.”
“I want professionals,” insisted Grearson. “Absolute professionals. There must be no mistakes.”
“There won’t be.”
Grearson offered his hand and received the firm handshake in return. “Why on earth have that done to a horse?” said Grearson, looking at the rigid animal.
“Everyone gets stuffed,” said Evans. “Jesus!” said the lawyer.
They crowded into the room, appearing to expect him to resist, Levy in front and three others behind. Gradually Azziz was identifying them, always careful that they would be unaware of his eavesdropping on their conversation and remarks. The big, bearded man who had wanted to involve himself in the beating was Leiberwitz; the tall, saturnine man was Kahanc-he thought the given name was Sami. The squat man, bull-shouldered and bull-necked, whom Azziz had seen smirking during the beating, was Greening.