He looked at her in the dimness of the SUV’s interior, their eyes meeting, then holding steadily. “What exactly are we getting into here?”
“I told you about Hassan al-Saduq’s meet tonight, yes?”
He nodded.
“Well, Saduq owns a pleasure boat…a small yacht,” she said. “We have learned it is currently anchored in a Limbe marina.”
Kealey’s eyes remained locked on hers. “Is that where you intend to take him?”
“There or in the bay, however circumstances dictate,” she said. “Ultimately, it will be your call.”
“Why the hell is that?”
Abby did not so much as hesitate for an instant.
“It should be apparent, Kealey,” she said. “We’re counting on you to lead us.”
CHAPTER 15
LIMBE, CAMEROON
“Nicolas, you will please excuse my tardiness?” said Hassan al-Saduq. He sat at the table. “I trust your wait has been agreeable.”
Chewing his tomate cravettes, Nicolas Barre looked across the hotel dining room, where a sultry blond singer in a black strapless gown was accompanying her own smooth French vocals on the keys. “My men have had enough to occupy them,” he said. “Hopefully not too much for their own good.”
Saduq grinned. “I’m told boredom is a killer.”
“Perhaps,” Barre said. His eyes were on the blonde. “But I’ve no fear of losing any of them to it here at this fine establishment.”
Saduq sat at the table, his smile growing broader. Even through the melancholy piano music, his attentive ear could detect the clatter of roulette wheels in the casino across the lobby of the Hotel Bonny Bight.
Barre had reached for his wineglass and washed a mouthful of shrimp down with a gulp. “I suppose the diversions will keep my dogs from raising too much hell, since I won’t be back to rustle them together,” he said. “It would be best for the city of Limbe-most especially its innocent young women, I think-if I brought them along with me.”
Saduq laughed. “I have five wives, and not one would have even flirted with innocence if I’d caught her out of the womb,” he replied, deliberately avoiding the issue. He had not gotten as far as he had in life without being cautious, and their transaction was simply too sensitive to be conducted within range of very many eyes and ears. At his insistence, Barre would come onto the yacht alone. Barre, however, had accepted that condition only after putting forth one of his own, stipulating that he rendezvous with a motor launch approximately three kilometers offshore once their deal was cemented. His reasoning was evident enough. The meeting with the launch was insurance-if he did not show up, the sea rogues aboard would be instantly put on alert for a betrayal. And would be prepared to react in an unpretty manner.
Studying the pirate, Saduq could hardly fault him for seeking to equalize the terms of their handoff. He, too, had survived as long as he had thus far only by making wariness his close friend and ally.
Barre ate under his momentary scrutiny, digging into his meal with enthusiasm. He was a whipcord lean Somali with a deep mahogany complexion, a diamond stud in his right ear, and a black scorpion tattoo peeking over his shirt collar. “Will you be joining me, Hassan?” he said, glancing up from his dish. “The shrimp is exceptional.”
“I prefer to dine once we’ve concluded our business,” Saduq said. “But don’t rush. I would hate to see good food wasted.”
Barre took another bite of the tender shrimp, then drank more of his wine as the lounge performer continued singing, her voice sultry and wistful, the notes gliding from her baby grand piano in minor arpeggios: “Les feuilles mortes se ramassent a la pelle. Tu vois, je n’ai pas oublie. Les feuilles mortes se ramassent a la pelle. Les souvenirs et les regrets…”
“She is a strikingly beautiful woman,” Barre said. His eyes had held on her. “Do you understand French?”
Saduq gave a small shake of his head. “Barely enough to exchange pleasantries.”
“She sings of a lost lover, the passage of seasons, and lingering regret,” Barre said. “Such an emotional delivery…I wonder if she carries some personal sorrow.”
Saduq chuckled. “Would you try to make her forget it?”
“Do not laugh,” Barre said with a shrug. “I may return here some other night and introduce myself to her.”
Saduq looked at him. “Tender soul that you are, Nicolas, I have no doubt you’d be ready with a healing touch,” he said. “But I have found the best way to avoid sadness and regret is keeping my mind on one thing at a time…and for this night it is the business at hand.”
A 52-foot Ferretti with an open flybridge, broad sky lounge, and streamlined hull, the motor yacht rocked gently in the berthing area with other quayside luxury vessels, her interior and running lights on.
“There’s Saduq’s boat,” Abby said, pointing out the right side of the windshield. “The Yemaja.”
Kealey studied it from the SUV’s backseat as they approached. The name on its hull was easy to spot in the streetlights along Avenue de la Marina. A couple of dark-suited men stood near the foot of the dock, no less visible to him.
He shifted his gaze to the glass-fronted, balconied, four-story building up the harbor, its entry spilling more brightness into the night. “Is that the hotel?”
Abby nodded. “We believe our friend Hassan has a silent stake in its ownership-he isn’t hesitant to diversify his portfolio,” she said. “Still, we’ve managed to slip a casual employee onto its staff.”
Kealey grunted. A short while ago Abby’s cell phone had trilled, and when she disconnected after a brief exchange with the caller, she’d reported that Saduq had arrived at the hotel to join another man in its restaurant.
“This plant of yours…he’s sure Saduq is alone?”
“ She is, yes,” Abby said. “Or entered alone, at any rate. Danielle plays a fine piano in the dining room, has a lovely voice, and is quite observant. Unfortunately she cannot see through walls.”
Kealey thought in silence. He was willing to bet the arms broker had bodyguards with him somewhere-besides the two at the dock. And then there was the posse Abby had said accompanied Saduq’s contact. According to her information, he’d brought at least four men into the place with him, though they had vanished into the casino once he was seated at his table.
“Take it slow going past the boat,” Kealey told Steiner, leaning forward. “Or as slow as you can without being conspicuous.”
Steiner nodded behind the steering wheel and moments later was driving by the yacht. Kealey hastily counted three men moving about the deck and guessed they represented close to the Yemaja ’s entire staff. A boat that small, Kealey figured Saduq could take it out into the bay himself if he had a pilot’s license. But if he was going to hold an important meet aboard her, there would be a man at the helm, maybe a hand or two to assist him. You could probably add a galley steward to the crew list, since Saduq would be the type to like sailing in style. That would be about it.
“What’s next?” Abby asked from in front.
Kealey had been grappling with the same question. His eyes intent, he noticed a dimly lit outdoor parking lot at the end of the dock, a row of tall royal palms forming the boundary line between its far side and the hotel grounds.
“Any idea who belongs to those vehicles?” he said, nodding toward the small number in the lot.
“It is general marina parking,” Brun said across the backseat. “Also for the hotel’s staff.”
“What about its guests?” Kealey asked.
“The Bonny Bight has valets. An underground garage,” Brun said.
Kealey was noting that quite a few of the outdoor lot’s available spaces were well back in the shadows. It gave him, if not exactly an idea, then the bare seed of one. “Okay, let’s pass the hotel so I can have a look at it,” he said. And a chance to think. “Then we’ll hurry up and make some plans.”
Steiner nodded again and cruised by the front of the hotel. Outside were landscaped shrub islands and a circular drive that wound around to a separate drive adjacent to the resort-one Kealey assumed led to the underground garage. Cleverly recessed floodlights illuminated the elongated dome awning over the glass entrance doors, and a white-gloved doorman and valet stood talking behind them in the vestibule.