Taking the steps two at a time and making sure my brim was down low, I didn’t look at their car, but continued and entered the next one along. Taking my seat immediately to keep out of the way, I kept an eye on the tunnel just in case they’d changed their minds, or were putting in some antisurveillance. The train doors closed before it jerked forward and off we went as I tried to control my breathing. “L, we’re mobile. Go for it now, go! Acknowledge.”
Click, click.
He’d be hitting the coast road on his way to Nice, hot on the heels of Hubba-Hubba, who should have been at least a third of the way there by now.
I couldn’t see the Romeos through the glass of the connecting door this time, but I’d be able to see if they got out at one of the four or five stops on the way.
We emerged from the shade of the station building and the morning sun burnt through the glass, making me squint, even with my sunglasses and hat on. I just sat there and watched the Mediterranean go past as we traveled the twenty minutes toward Nice.
Gare Riquier wasn’t like the station at Antibes, an old building made new: it was still old, an unmanned pickup and drop-off point for commuters.
The two Romeos disembarked along with a woman in a big flowery dress, dragging a tartan shopping cart behind her. Both now with shades on, they walked out of the station and left toward the busy road, which was the main drag I’d used to get up to L’Ariane and the safe house. I followed them out. The main street was about forty yards away, and the noise of traffic was almost deafening. Trucks, cars, and motor scooters fought for space on the pavement in both directions as their exhausts hazed the air. The Romeos stopped about halfway, dug out a map from the side pocket of the bag, and got their bearings. If they were going to the target store, it would be left at the main road, straight on for about four hundred yards, then right onto Boulevard Jean XIII. I waited by a wall smothered in spray-painted graffiti in both French and Arabic. I imagined the good news was that they all fucked girls, but I couldn’t be sure.
The Romeos put away their map and turned left at the main road, under the railway bridge, before crossing over and heading north along the right-hand side of the street, maybe to keep in the shade, maybe because they should be turning right eventually anyway. Romeo One had the bag over his shoulder and was still looking like a cat on hot bricks as he checked left and right of him, still seeing nothing. They carried on past rows of low-end cafés, banks, and stores, everything that fed the east side of town, all very much the poor relations of their counterparts in Cannes or downtown Nice.
Smaller roads fed the main road from both sides and the odd tree stuck out along the sidewalk. But instead of grass around them, there was just mud and windblown McDonald’s cartons, dog shit, and cigarette butts. It was a lot easier to do the follow here than it had been in Monaco; one, because there was less CCTV to worry about, and two, because there were many more people moving around in all directions. Wherever they were heading, they were obviously late.
I tried a radio check but there was nothing from either Lotfi or Hubba-Hubba. I wasn’t expecting there to be, but it would have been nice if they’d been here somewhere to back me.
They crossed several small intersections on the right, then stopped at a larger one that had lights, waiting with the impatient herd, which was growing as vehicles hurtled past and air brakes hissed. There were a lot more brown and black faces here than in Monaco, and the two Romeos weren’t getting a second glance. They took the opportunity to check their map again, while I took particular interest in the range of mattresses in the window of a pine bed shop. They should be turning right at the next intersection, which was a crossroads, to get on to Jean XIII. From there the target store was roughly three hundred yards up the boulevard on the right.
Chapter 46
Romeo One still looked around as if he were expecting the sky to fall on his head. He lit up as Romeo Two went back to the map.
The signal turned green and they crossed. I gave another radio check before following behind. “Hello, anyone, this is N. Radio check, radio check.”
Nothing.
They turned on to Jean XIII and became temporarily unsighted. I quickened my pace and fought with the flow of pedestrian traffic to get eyes on again as French and Arabic music fought its way out of cafés and cheap clothes stores. It was risky to do so this early in the take, because of third-party awareness. No matter where you are, someone is always watching. But I had to get in there, I had to keep on top of them, being so close to the target and the hawallada, whom we still had to ID.
I started across the road at the junction with Jean XIII, taking chances with the traffic. A motor scooter had to swerve to get out of my way. The Romeos were still foxtrot toward the target, still on the right. I got to the other side, turned right, then had them once more. Being on the opposite side of the road gave me a better perspective of what they were up to than if I’d been directly behind them.
The stores were all selling pots and pans, kitchen garbage cans, and bundles of brightly colored plastic coat hangers, and the Romeos mingled well with the early shoppers who’d just stocked up on toilet cleaner and garbage bags.
The net burst into life. “That’s H turning onto the boulevard. Radio check, radio check.”
It was a relief to hear his voice. I hit the pressle on my Sony. “N has Romeo One and Romeo Two on the right on the boulevard. They’re at the Café Noir, on the right. H, acknowledge.” Just as I released the pressle, I saw his Scudo pass me.
“H has, H has. I’m going for the trigger.”
I double-clicked him as I continued taking the Romeos. Both of them were checking store numbers to the right and left of them. We came to a small street market selling fruit and veggies, and the Romeos disappeared now and again between bins of apples and melons.
I gave a running commentary for Hubba-Hubba and also, I hoped, for Lotfi, who at some stage was going to rejoin the net and would need to get up to speed on the situation. “N still has Romeo One and Romeo Two. On the right at the fruit market, still straight, toward the store. H, acknowledge.”
Click, click.
Ten seconds later he came back on the air. “That’s H static, thirty yards past the store on the right. The target is a fabric store, one old man, Arab, white shirt, buttoned up, no tie. That’s H foxtrot.”
I double-clicked him. The Romeos had stopped at a small intersection and were still checking numbers. Romeo One scanned the crowd of shoppers as Hubba-Hubba came back up on the net.
“H has the trigger. N, acknowledge.”
Great news. “Roger that. Romeo One, Romeo Two, still on the right, approaching the end of the market. Can you after the market?”
There was a gap while Hubba-Hubba worked it out.
Click, click.
“Roger that. That’s ten short, still on the right.”
I shut up now and waited for Hubba-Hubba to see them. They passed the last stall and had gone no more than three or four paces before he was back. “H has Romeo One, Romeo Two.”
Now I could drop back a little and let Hubba-Hubba take them into the shop. “That’s now fifty short, still on the right.”
I could still see the Romeos, but the fact that Hubba-Hubba had the trigger gave me the freedom to think about what I was going to do next. I just hoped that Lotfi got here soon.
“That’s twenty-five short, still on the right, checking numbers. They’re slowing down, they’re slowing down.”
I kept my head low as I listened, pretending to window-shop as the world passed by. There was no need to look directly at the targets. I was being told what was going on, and it would be a nightmare if we had eye-to-eye.