Time of the Assassins

Laidlaw filled the cup with hot water then placed it on the table in front of her. He put the milk bottle beside the cup. 'Help yourself. Look, Miss Cassidy, I met your friend — '

'Spare me the act,' she cut in angrily. 'You served in Delta together. It was on an operation in Libya that his family was kidnapped by Arab terrorists to try and force him to countermand the order to attack. The two men behind the kidnapping were Salim Al-Makesh and Jean-Jacques Bernard. Al-Makesh was killed by the Israelis. Bernard was thought to have been killed in a car-bomb attack a year and a half ago. Mike obviously found out Bernard was alive and came out here to get him. You were his contact. That's all we know. I've been sent here to find out what really happened and get him back to the States.'

Laidlaw pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down. 'Carrie gave Mike a watch as a Christmas present. What make was it?'

'Piaget. Gold-plated. And it was a birthday present. Satisfied?'

Laidlaw nodded. 'Satisfied. Who's this "we" you mentioned?'

'I can't tell you, I'm afraid.'

'Undercover work in other words?'

'Something like that,' she replied.

'Are you his partner?'

She nodded. 'Did you tip him off about Bernard?'

'Yeah. I saw Bernard outside the American University Hospital. I knew Mike would want to know.'

'And where did this Barak fit into the picture?'

'Barak had been a Delta contact for years. If anybody could find Bernard, then he could. Until Mike put a bullet in his back.'

'Mike didn't kill him, you know that,' she retorted sharply.

'All I know is that when I reached the house Barak was dead. Then I saw Barak's car being driven away at high speed. And Mike had gone. Put two and two together.'

'It has to be a set-up. Why kill the one man capable of leading him to Bernard? It makes no sense.'

'I wasn't there when he went into the house. He insisted on that. I don't know what they discussed.'

'Only Mike knows that. That's why we have to find him.'

'Not "we". You can count me out. I put myself on the line for him once already and look where it got me: thirty-six hours in jail; Interrogations every four hours. No, Miss Cassidy, if you want to find Mike, you find him by yourself.'

'I don't know my way around Beirut.'

'So get a guide. There's plenty of them. And they don't cost much.'

'If it's money — '

'Don't insult me, Miss Cassidy,' Laidlaw snapped sharply.

She raised a hand in apology. 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I need your help, Mr Laidlaw. And so does Mike. If the police get to him first, he'll be put away for life.'

'And what if he did kill Barak? What if he is guilty? You're going to help a killer flee justice.'

'I don't know how well you know Mike. I think I know him pretty well. He's a damn good professional and he wouldn't jeopardize his career by putting a bullet in the back of some two-bit informer.'

'Mike's changed,' Laidlaw answered, staring at the beer can he was turning on the table. 'I noticed that the moment we met. He used to be the most stable guy I ever knew. Nothing ever riled him. But that was before he lost his family. Now he's bitter, unpredictable: I'd even say psychotic. I don't go along with your assessment, Miss Cassidy. I think he was more than capable of shooting Barak in the back. Especially if you consider he was on the trail of the man he believes had his family abducted and almost certainly murdered. No, I don't want any more to do with Mike. He's trouble.'

Sabrina pushed her chair back and stood up, her eyes blazing. 'At least Mike hasn't run away from his past. What about you? Hiding away in this squalor, trying to forget what happened in Honduras.' She noticed the surprise in his eyes. 'Oh, I know all about you, Mr Laidlaw. I read your file on the plane. I know why you left Delta. I don't think you're in any position to pass judgement on someone like Mike.'

'Just get out,' Laidlaw hissed between clenched teeth.

'My pleasure,' she retorted then walked to the door where she paused to look back at him. 'And don't forget, you were the one who contacted Mike in the first place. It's thanks to you that he's in this mess right now. Think about that when you open your next beer.'

Laidlaw sunk his face into his hands. A moment later the front door slammed shut. He suddenly grabbed the beer can and hurled it against the wall then upturned the table, sending it crashing against the cooker. He checked himself as he was about to kick the chair out of the way then walked slowly to the bedroom and slumped onto the bed. He put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. Within minutes he was asleep. It proved to be a disturbed, restless sleep.

'You look like death,' Dave Jenkins said when Laidlaw arrived at the Windorah that evening.

'I feel like it,' Laidlaw retorted, climbing onto one of the bar stools. 'A beer, Dave.'

'Comin' up,' Jenkins replied, uncapping a Budweiser and placing it on the counter in front of Laidlaw. 'Where were you last night? I was thinking about sending out the cavalry to look for you if you hadn't shown up tonight.'

'It's nice to be missed,' Laidlaw muttered then took a drink of beer.

'So where were you last night?'

Laidlaw shrugged. 'I didn't fancy coming in. Is that such a crime?'

'If it affects my profits, yes,' Jenkins said with a grin then pushed a coaster across to Laidlaw. 'What do you think of the design? A batch of them came in this morning.'

'What?' Laidlaw replied in amazement.

'Just look at the design.' Jenkins picked up another four and handed them out to the other customers sitting at the counter.

Laidlaw glanced at it, turned it over, and was about to discard it when he saw the handwritten note scrawled across it. He looked up but Jenkins was busy discussing the logo with one of the other customers. He read the note: Go upstairs to Room 4. Knock twice. Pause. Knock twice more.

'Interesting, isn't it?' Jenkins said, deftly taking the coaster from Laidlaw's hand and discarding it unobtrusively in the bin under the counter. 'But then I'm biased anyway.'

Laidlaw took another mouthful of beer then got to his feet and walked to the stairs at the end of the room. He paused, his hand on the banister. What the hell was going on? He sighed deeply then mounted the stairs and looked around him slowly. The Windorah had been a small family hotel before Jenkins bought it seven years earlier. The ten rooms were all situated on the first floor. Jenkins had decided to concentrate on the bar and closed the rooms. He converted the first two into toilets and the others were only used for customers, invariably foreign journalists who were too drunk to drive home. He never charged for the rooms and the journalists repayed him by keeping their custom at the bar.

Laidlaw stopped outside Room 4, glanced round to see that nobody was about, then knocked twice. He paused momentarily then knocked twice more. A bolt was drawn back from inside then the door opened fractionally before a hand reached out and hauled him into the room. The door closed behind him immediately.

'Mike?' Laidlaw said in amazement as Graham bolted the door.

'You took your time! Where the hell were you last night?'

'Being interrogated on a murder charge,' Laidlaw snapped back. 'Thirty-six hours without any sleep. And all thanks to you. You've got some explaining to do.'

Graham walked to the unmade bed and sat down. '1.didn't kill Barak.'

'So where were you when I got to the house? And who drove off in Barak's Peugeot?'

Graham rubbed his unshaven face and looked up at Laidlaw. 'All I know is that when I entered the house someone coshed me. When I woke up I was in some back alley. I still don't know where it was. And my Beretta was gone.'

'The police have got it,' Laidlaw said coldly. 'It was the gun that killed Barak.'

'I know,' Graham retorted. 'Why the hell do you think I've been holed up here since yesterday? When I saw my picture on the front page of the local newspaper I knew it meant trouble.'