‘But Kasakov rots as a prisoner in Russia while the whole world wants to see him in chains. I can walk where he can only dream of. I can whisper in ears that cannot hear his loudest screams. Have faith, my friend. As the sands trickle through the hourglass his resolve will surely crack. So let us maintain our own. He with the strongest will shall emerge victorious from this.’
‘What good is victory if we have no customers left? Even the ones we can safely supply are deserting us.’
‘Kasakov, using his influence,’ Ariff explained. ‘It was to be expected, my friend. He will try to weaken us in any way he can.’
‘It’s working.’
‘But not for ever,’ Ariff assured. ‘Our clients won’t stop wanting guns just because of Kasakov’s bribes or his threats not to sell them heavy armaments. In this century, wars will be fought with guerrillas, not battalions. Kasakov has more to lose than us. Our customers need rifles and bullets more than they need tanks. They will come back to us.’ Ariff looked at Yamout. ‘Be patient.’
They drove for a while. Ariff enjoyed the warm sun on his face but he couldn’t relax enough to sleep. Whatever the calm he expressed to Yamout, the conflict with Kasakov was a real concern. Yamout was stiff in his seat as he drove, his hands clamped on to the steering wheel.
Ariff yawned. ‘Since you’ve done such a superb job of destroying any chance I might have of sleeping, you may as well tell me what our people have achieved recently. Tell me of our victories against Kasakov.’
‘The plane our friends shot down in Afghanistan turned out to be an Antonov An-22. We don’t know what it was carrying, but the plane alone was highly valuable. Kasakov has only three of them.’
‘Now two,’ Ariff said with a laugh. ‘You see, Gabir, Kasakov bleeds more than us. He uses those Antonovs to transport tanks and other planes. Whatever the cargo was, it will have been worth tens and tens of millions. And do you think he will risk sending another of his cargos over Afghanistan? I think not.’
Blocky seven-storey buildings overshadowed the road, which was jammed with slow-moving one-way traffic. Brightly coloured signs promoted stores lining the sidewalks. A brave guy on a scooter was defying the system by driving the wrong way between the two lanes of cars and received a chorus of horns in response.
Yamout said, ‘I’ve told you about all the attacks in Syria and Tripoli, haven’t I?’ Ariff nodded. ‘Since then we’ve managed to sabotage a deal and kill some more of his traffickers. In Tunisia this time. From what they admitted before they died, they were important members of Kasakov’s organisation.’
Ariff grinned. ‘Excellent, Gabir. Truly excellent. That Ukrainian bastard will be enraged at himself for ever believing he could move against us. Regardless of how or why this war began, it is us, not him, who are winning. Take comfort in our victories.’
Yamout nodded, sufficiently convinced by Ariff’s assurances to relax for the moment. He turned on the radio, and Arabic pop music thumped through the BMW’s speakers. Yamout tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. Ariff smiled to himself. The big man had absolutely no rhythm.
The highway took them across the city. The traffic was fast moving; experience and quick reflexes were required to keep up with the flow safely. Palm trees lined the central reservation. Ahead was a giant billboard advertising McDonald’s, complete with a huge yellow arrow pointing out which turning to take. With the world’s finest cuisine available in Lebanon, Ariff couldn’t understand why anyone would ever opt for a simple burger, but sheep always followed the shepherd.
The BMW drove Ariff through one of Beirut’s older districts and down a narrow street overlooked by grand sandstone buildings. Shining SUVs and sedans were parked along both kerbs. The space between was barely wide enough for two cars to pass each other.
The traffic stalled at the intersection some ten cars ahead. Horns were sounded. The BMW stopped behind the bodyguards’ Range Rover. Neither Ariff nor Yamout could see the cause of the hold-up, but Yamout added his own horn to the chorus.
Pedestrians used the pause in the flow of traffic to dash across the street. A small old man squeezed between Ariff’s BMW and a Toyota SUV behind while two big women covered in burkhas and veils stepped off the far kerb two cars ahead and made their way over the road. They walked slowly, awkwardly, and disappeared out of sight. Ariff shook his head. No matter how many times he witnessed such oppression, he knew he would never get used to it.
‘What a religion,’ he said to Yamout, who nodded.
The explosion was deafening.
The concussion shook Ariff’s whole body and he let out a cry of pure surprise. Yamout was just as shocked. Smoke rose from the bodyguard’s Range Rover directly in front. Ariff and Yamout looked at each other, disbelieving, confused. Scared. People on the sidewalk near the Range Rover were writhing on the ground. A woman screamed.
Gunshots.
Both men flinched at the sound. Automatic fire roaring, high cyclic rate, close by. Ariff was frozen in his seat. He didn’t know what to do. He glimpsed muzzle flashes coming from the far side of the Range Rover and realised someone was shooting at his men. He heard dull thunks as bullets slammed into the Range Rover’s armoured bodywork. Sparks flew from its sides. Stray rounds cracked the bulletproof windshield in front of Ariff’s face.
Yamout already had the transmission in reverse before Ariff could yell, ‘ Get us out of here.’
The two bodyguards behind Ariff had their Ingrams cocked and ready. The BMW travelled just a couple of feet before it struck the Toyota behind. Yamout repeatedly punched the horn but the SUV didn’t offer any more room. The thunder of automatic weapons didn’t relent. Blood splashed against the inside of the lead Range Rover’s rear window.
Ariff’s eyes went wide. ‘ Yamout… ’
A gunman appeared, moving along the centre of the road. A balaclava covered his head. In both hands he clutched an Armalite assault rifle with under-slung grenade launcher. A black burkha was draped over his shoulder like a cape. He gestured at Yamout with his weapon before firing off a burst into the air. People on the street outside were screaming and running away. Drivers and passengers fled their cars.
Yamout tried to execute a turn to get out of the line of traffic and on to the sidewalk but there was no room. The front bumper crumpled against the Range Rover. Bullets smashed against the windshield before Yamout’s head, but didn’t penetrate. He shouted an order to the two bodyguards in the back of the BMW.
The bodyguard behind Yamout flung open his door and jumped out into the road. Immediately the masked gunman opened fire. Bullets pinged off the metal and were stopped by the armoured glass.
The bodyguard fired the Ingram from the gap between the door and car. The sub-machine gun was small and boxy, seemingly unsophisticated, but its cyclic rate was twelve hundred rounds per minute. The bodyguard let off a panicked burst that emptied the magazine in a matter of seconds. Thirty bullets hit the road, Range Rover, neighbouring cars but not the gunman, who dropped to a crouch and reloaded his assault rifle.
‘ NOW, NOW,’ Yamout screamed. ‘ GET HIM NOW.’
The second bodyguard was out of his own door fast. He rushed past Ariff’s window, jumped up on to the hood of the BMW to drill the gunman before he could finish reloading. Instead the bodyguard contorted and flailed, his bullet-riddled body striking the hood and bouncing off on to the sidewalk. Blood sluiced down the BMW’s windshield.
‘ There’s another one.’
Ariff saw a second burkha-draped gunman on the other side of the Range Rover. He was kneeling down on the sidewalk, also armed with an assault rifle. The only bodyguard left alive hurriedly reloaded his Ingram. Yamout reached past Ariff and opened the glove box. He grabbed a handgun from inside.
‘ Get in the back, Baraa,’ he yelled. ‘ Close the door.’
Ariff struggled to get from the passenger seat and into the back. His heart beat frantically inside his chest. He flopped down on the back seat and stretched to grab and close the door. The bodyguard to his side squeezed off some controlled bursts. Return fire struck the BMW around him.