We sat quietly, running everything through our heads, before I wound things up. “I need you both to go and check out the other two hawallada locations before getting on the ground at BSM tonight. Get down to Nice, get down to Cannes, familiarize yourselves. But leave Monaco. I think we should only be going in there when we have to.”
As I went through all the timings again, I fished around in my fanny pack and got out my phone card. They did the same. “Zero four nine three.” I pointed at Hubba-Hubba.
“Four five.”
I nodded at Lotfi, who did his part too. We went around and around with the telephone number until it was burned even deeper into everyone’s memory.
We started to play the address game, exactly the same as we’d done with the pager number. I started off with the Cannes address, stopped halfway through and handed the baton to Lotfi, who finished it off, then started on the Nice address, pointed at Hubba-Hubba, who carried on. We played the game until we heard sirens in the distance — probably a fire engine and police escort about half an hour too late to sort out the burning car or maybe one of the apartments by now.
“This is now going to be the most dangerous period for us.” I leaned forward, elbows on thighs, as the plastic crumpled and my hat bells gave a gentle ring. “Up to now we’ve sacrificed a lot of our efficiency for security. From now on it’s going to be the other way around. We’ll have radios beaming out our intentions; we’re going to have to meet up without a safe house; we’ll be on the ground, vulnerable, and open to discovery. Not only from the Romeos and the hawallada but from the police and the intelligence services as well.” I pointed to the shuttered window. “Not to mention that bunch, the third party.” The kids screamed with excitement as they taunted the fire crew. It must be tough trying to hook into a hydrant while you’re being pelted with dead pigeons. I wondered if they ever got used to it. “They’re the ones who’ll be watching every minute we’re out there. But if we’re careful, by Tuesday morning we can all be back where we belong.”
I stood up and pulled the plastic away from my jeans as static tried its hardest to keep it there. Lotfi continued to watch me. “And where do you belong, Nick? Maybe this is the biggest question.”
I somehow couldn’t shake off his gaze, even though he still looked ridiculous in his shower cap.
“I mean for all of us.” He paused, choosing his words with care. “I have been thinking about God, and hoping that he doesn’t want us to die here, because it is for my family that I do these things. I’d rather be with them when he decides it is my time. But what about you, Nick?”
Hubba-Hubba rescued me. “Take no notice. It’s been this way with him since we were children.”
I sat back down to the jingle of bells and looked at each of them in turn. “Of course — brothers. I should have realized…”
One thing I did realize was that we were moving into dangerous territory here. Standard operating procedure said that each of us should know nothing more about the others than we had to. Then I thought, fuck it. We were in dangerous territory already. “How did you both get into this, then? I mean, it’s pretty weird for a family man, isn’t it? Is it an Egyptian thing, you all stupid or something?”
Hubba-Hubba smiled. “No, I’m here to become an American. This time next month my family will be living in Denver.” He punched his brother on the arm in celebration. “Warm coats and ski lessons.”
Lotfi looked indulgently at his brother.
“What about you?” I asked him.
Lotfi slowly shook his head. “No. I’m going to stay where I am. I’m happy there, my family is happy there.” He touched Hubba-Hubba on the shoulder. “And he isn’t doing this for warm coats and skiing lessons. He is a little like you: he likes to cover hurtful things with humor.”
Hubba-Hubba’s smile evaporated. He glared at Lotfi, who just gave a reassuring nod. “You see, Nick, we have an older sister, Khalisah. When we were all children she was whipped and kicked in front of us by the fundamentalists.” He cut the air with his right hand. “Her crime against Islam? She was licking an ice-cream cone. That’s all, we were just having ice-cream.” He had the mixture of hatred and grief in his eyes that only comes from seeing your own family hurt.
Hubba-Hubba rested his elbows on his legs and shifted his gaze to the floor.
Lotfi’s face crumpled under his shower cap as he relived the experience. “The fundamentalists shouted at her, screaming that it had lewd connotations. Our twelve-year-old sister was whipped with sticks — there, in the street, in public, then kicked until she bled.” He rubbed his brother’s back between the shoulder blades. “We tried to help, but we were just small boys. We were swatted away like flies, and forced into the dust while we watched our beautiful sister beaten. She still has the scars on her face, to remind her, every day of her life. But the scars inside are worse….”
Hubba-Hubba gave a low groan, and rubbed his face with gloved hands. He was breathing hard through his fingers as Lotfi rubbed his back some more, and comforted him with a stream of soft Arabic.
I didn’t really know what to say. “I’m sorry….”
Lotfi looked up at me, acknowledging my words. “Thank you. But I know that you, too, have your sadness. We all need a reason to continue, and this is our reason for being here. We made a pact that day. We promised ourselves, and each other, that we would never again just lie there in the dust if one of us was being hurt.”
Hubba-Hubba gave himself a shake, wiping his eyes with the back of his hands, and sat up as Lotfi continued. “He will be leaving me soon for Denver. A new start for his family, and Khalisah — she is going also. But I am staying at home, at least until this evil is driven out. The fundamentalists, they are guilty of shirk — you remember what that is?”
I nodded.
“So you also remember I have a duty to perform for God?”
Lotfi fixed me again with his penetrating look. Not for the first time, he gave me the impression he could see right through me, and no amount of silly hats was going to stop him. A new start. Where had I heard that before?
Chapter 25
The fourways flashed as I hit the key fob of the Mégane and walked away from the parking space behind the OP. As I continued on down the road toward the marina entrance, I zipped up the front of my new jacket and shoved my hands into my pockets. There were several Snickers bars in each for later on, sealed in Saran wrap to cut down on noise.
A set of headlights swept the high ground ahead of me, on the other side of the marina as they left town, then cut into the night sky in the area of the parking lot where Lotfi’s Ford Focus was going to be positioned. The vehicle continued down the slope, passed the marina entrance, then came uphill toward me, still on high beam, dipping briefly as it climbed past me. It was Hubba-Hubba’s silver Fiat Scudo. He’d drawn the short straw for the sort of small van an odd-job man would use. It had a sliding side door, plus two at the rear; on my instructions he’d had to spray out the windows in the rear doors with matte black car paint, and we would have to scrape it off again before the van was returned to the rental company. We couldn’t be sure of making a definite ID on the hawallada if we encountered a group of people handing over the cash, so we might have to lift a bunch of people, bundle them into the van, and let the warship figure it out. I bet they’d be able to sort the problem out in no time at all.
I couldn’t see him behind the steering wheel because of the headlights, but I could read the first four digits of the rear plate as Hubba-Hubba went by. Tucked under that plate, as with all our vehicles, would be his spare key.