Beirut - An Explosive Thriller (12 page)

Liberec
nodded his thanks to Milena and led Lynch up to the door. ‘The
thieves used the lift, over there at the end of the corridor. We
have lorry tracks up to the exit. They did not bother to hide their
traces. They used one lorry. This has been found abandoned. The
tracks confirm it performed many trips. We think perhaps ten men or
more were involved in this. We have found no significant
fingerprints but we are still dusting. Sorry.’

Sorry for
what, thought Lynch. For the lack of prints or the certain evidence
they were now chasing the biggest shipment of illegal munitions he
had ever heard of since the Libyans had sent their heavily laden
ships across to the IRA? Sorry for the destruction these crates of
metal and plastic were going to cause when they got to the Middle
East to be lifted out by eager hands? Lynch breathed deeply as they
emerged from the bunker, clearing his head of the musty premonition
of death.

‘
What next?’
Liberec asked.

‘
Report back
to Dubois and then I have to get back to Beirut. I guess they’re
going to start looking for this boat, but the Germans are all tied
up in red tape. Me, I want to find out what the Lebanese hoods that
bought this lot from Meier and Hoffmann want to use it for. Did you
get descriptions of the boat?’

Liberec
turned. ‘Yes. They matched those you sent us from Hamburg. We even
had one witness who confirmed the name. It’s the
Arabian Princess,
surely. She must have been low in the water on the journey
back down the Elbe, though.’

‘
And she just
sailed through the border.’

‘
I’m sorry,’
said Liberec. ‘Today is my day to be sorry to you, no?’

Lynch waved
Liberec’s protestations down. ‘Sure, ye can buy me a drink to say
sorry properly when we get back to Prague.’

Liberec
surveyed the hotel reception area appreciatively as Lynch led the
way to the bar. The sumptuous art deco room buzzed to the low
chatter of well-heeled tourists preparing for their concerts and
dinners in the bustling heart of Prague. ‘This place is expensive.
They treat you well at EJIC, no?’

‘
I’m not
EJIC,’ said Lynch. ‘That whole thing’s a crock of shit as far as
I’m concerned. They can take European cooperation in intelligence
and shove it. What do you fancy?’

‘
Beer,
thanks.’

Lynch called
to the barmaid. ‘Two draught beers, please.’ He settled on the
wooden bar stool, turning to face Liberec. They were alone at the
long wooden counter, at the opposite end of the bustling service
area. The tables in the bar were packed with revellers, a
chattering throng. People bustled past on the street outside,
couples and groups looking in from the cold night air through the
bar’s wide glass frontage.

The beers
came and they clinked glasses. Lynch licked the foam from his upper
lip. ‘I’m with SIS, British intelligence. EJIC’s running this
operation, and I got caught up in it. As far as I can see, EJIC is
just more European bureaucracy getting in the way of good people’s
hard work. As usual.’

Liberec
raised his glass. ‘Amen to that. We already have liaison committees
and European intelligence coordinators on our staff. Soon they will
be running our service.’ He drank. ‘Let’s not worry about them now.
We have full hands, no? How do you get caught up in something like
this, my friend?’

‘
Dunno, you
just do. Like you say, there’s a lot of “joint European
cooperation” going on these days. I should be back in Beirut. I
just got mixed up in this end of it.’

Liberec
laughed, a short bark. ‘Get unmixed. Our people are having huge row
with the Russians already. This whole mess is toxic. That is one
hell of boat those boys are sailing around in, Gerald. Enough to
blow them to kingdom come and back again.’

Lynch ran his
finger down the frosted glass. ‘A row with the
Russians?’

‘
It is a
Russian installation. We are asking them for a full inventory.
Before, they started to cooperate, but something has changed. Now
they are denying it ever existed. It brings back some long
memories, this kind of thing. We all wish it had stayed
buried.’

They were
silenced by a group of young men who arrived and clung to the bar
nearby. Lynch shared small talk about Prague and the glories of
tourism for a few drinks more. By the time the noisy group moved
on, Liberec had introduced Lynch to Becherovka and they had started
to chase their beers with schnapps as Liberec embarked on an
alcoholic tour of Czech culture.

Lynch held
his hand up at the third shot. ‘I need to eat
something.’

‘
Good, so I order some
bramboráky
. This is good drinking
food.’

As Liberec
turned to the barmaid and negotiated in Czech, Lynch thought of
Leila and the waves along Beirut corniche, a sense of alienation
washing over him. He was feeling out of his depth, playing the
freelance plod for Dubois in a territory he knew nothing about.
Where were the specialists, he wondered. Why was this operation
being run as a one-man show? Now they knew the boat was loaded with
hundreds of rockets and cluster munitions, surely it was up to the
defence boys?

Liberec
mistook his preoccupation, gripping his elbow. ‘Gerald, you are
sad.’

Lynch drained
his glass. ‘No, not really, Branko. A passing cloud.’ He gestured
to the barmaid. ‘Two more, please.’

Lynch scanned
the room. He leant towards Liberec. ‘So when was it last in use,
this arms dump?’

Liberec
blinked, understanding dawning on his face. ‘Ah, this place. Bad
place. Long time, I think. We had Velvet Revolution in 1989, but
the Russians did not all leave until 1993. Is hard to tell. How
this guy Hoffmann ever found this is beyond us, really.’

‘
His daughter
says he found it by accident when he was a kid. He lived by the
border and must have played in the woods with his friends. It seems
odd, because that’s probably back in the seventies?’

Liberec’s
face was a picture of wonderment. ‘This is impossible. How could
they let kids into this place? No, I cannot accept this. Before
Velvet Revolution, it would have been guarded heavy.’

‘
Unless it
was abandoned and then recommissioned.’

Liberec was
silent, his hands on his head as he considered Lynch’s point. He
gazed around the bar as if searching for an answer. He pushed his
forefinger into Lynch’s chest. ‘Yes. Yes. My God. This is why the
bastards won’t tell us about the place. Because they stock it up
ready to put down the Czech independence movement – will they,
won’t they? They think doing it again to us, another invasion,
another Jan Palak. Sure, bastards. Russian tanks on the Charles
Bridge once more and we Czechs learn another lesson in how to suck
Russian dick. Thank you for stop Velvet Revolution, Commissar
bastard. Thank you for rescue this poor whore from Europe and
freedom. Hoffmann found old dump, we found new dump. Always these
bastards dump, no, Gerald? Always on us.’

Lynch slipped
off his bar stool, patting Liberec’s shoulder. ‘Toilet.’ He wove
through the increasingly busy bar.

When he
returned there was food on the counter and more beer. The potato
fritters were crisp and hot, the pickled sausage piquant. There was
cheese, too. Lynch hadn’t eaten properly since Belfast airport’s
overpriced stodge, beans and chips.

Liberec waved
his finger owlishly as Lynch ate. ‘That boat of yours, she full of
ammunition meant for Czechs, Gerald. That dump, she Russian last
gift to the Czech people, but it was lost in post.’

‘
We don’t
know for sure. It’s just something you made up.’

Liberec was
bright-eyed, gripping the bar to steady himself. ‘Consider careful
and you find is only answer. Your German loot Soviet dump was part
of a build-up against Czech independence.’ He breathed heavily,
waving his beer glass at Lynch. ‘Now we toast Czech men and women
who are still alive because the bastards not have guts to use this
weapons.’

Lynch spread
his hands. ‘But new bastards have them.’

‘
You will
find them. I trust you. Come, we drink for Czech
people!’

Liberec’s
mobile rang and he fished in his pockets for the handset, cursing
and flailing at the folds of cloth. Lynch couldn’t help grinning at
the performance.

Liberec
listened, blinked, frowned and started to interrupt. The blood
drained from his face. The mobile dropped onto the counter from his
limp hand.

‘
What the
fuck is it?’ Lynch demanded.

‘
Wait. Not in
here. We pay bill.’ Liberec called the barmaid and settled with
her. He led the way unevenly through the massed tables to the
street door. Lynch followed him, mystified. They walked together in
the cold air, the orange streetlights reflecting off the
cobbles.

Liberec held
onto Lynch’s shoulder as they made their way together up the
street, just two more drunks in Prague. Liberec’s voice slurred as
he struggled to sober up. He enunciated slowly. ‘The closed door,
remember? They have opened this door. This is store for twenty
Russian missiles, Oka missiles. Two of these have warhead you can
remove. Two, you hear? Both are remove now. They have take them.
Leave missile body, take warhead.’

Lynch
massaged his cheeks to clear his head. ‘So what? What are two more
warheads in a bunker full of them? You said already they took
hundreds of missiles.’

Liberec’s
expression was desperate as he struggled against the drink to speak
in English. ‘No, not this warhead. They are tell me that only
warhead you can remove from Oka missile like this is designation
9N63. Other warhead is fix. Only this one you can remove. This 9N63
is nuclear warhead. Czech government destroy these missile when we
part with Slovakia. But this Russian facility. Forgotten. Russia is
denying. There is now trouble between Czech Republic and Russia.
Big trouble.’

‘
And?’

Liberec’s
drink-reddened face was haggard as he turned in the street and
pinioned Lynch’s shoulders. ‘You not
understand,
Gerald? These are
nuclear
warhead they
have take. This is on your boat, these Oka warhead. Going to your
Beirut.’

My
Beirut
. Lynch struggled to grasp the
facts, trying to work out what Michel Freij would want with nuclear
warheads. ‘So how big is an Oka warhead?’

Liberec
swayed, speaking with an incredulous, open-mouthed expression. ‘How
big? Warhead only is maybe less than three metres.’

‘
No, I meant
how big in terms of power.’

Holding on to
Lynch’s shoulder, Liberec was crying. ‘Oka is tactical warhead. One
hundred kiloton. Each. You understand, Gerald? Two hundred thousand
ton of dynamite total. Dirty dynamite. Each one can destroy city.
Poison whole country. Your country.’

They’re not
headed for Ireland
flashed through Lynch’s
mind before he realised Liberec meant Lebanon.

ELEVEN

Elli woke up
in pain. Her head was fuzzy as if packed with cotton wool and her
dry taste buds felt rough. She moaned, the room’s motion powerfully
emetic. She flailed around, trying to gain some sense of where she
was. She pulled back the duvet and stumbled towards the crack of
light in the round-cornered door. It was a boat. She was on a boat.
Elli knew boats. She blinked in the unaccustomed brightness and
lunged for the toilet, where she voided her stomach in acid
heaves.

She cupped
her hands under the cold tap to drink and washed her face. Walking
unsteadily back into the cabin, she tried the door and then
hammered on it. Eventually tiring, she lowered herself onto the bed
and listened to the slow swell of the waves, dreading each descent
into the sickening troughs. She whispered his name, ‘Charles’ as a
comfort. He was supposed to protect her; she had trusted him. Yet
he hadn’t been there when she needed him, when they came for her.
It wasn’t his fault, she told herself. It wasn’t his
fault.

Dozing, Elli
was jerked awake by the snap of the door’s lock. A frowning,
thickset man in jeans and a white t-shirt filled the doorway, his
muscular arms crossed.

‘
Get
up.’

‘
Where am I?
What’s going on?’

‘
No
questions. Get up.’ His accent was foreign to Elli. Perhaps
Italian. She slid across the bed, letting her feet drop to the
floor. The man grabbed her arm, urging her. ‘Come on. You’re going
for a walk. Exercise.’

Was this the
plank or freedom? Elli tried to hold back but he was relentless and
strong. She stumbled in his grip as they marched up the corridor.
They passed a short man, a hard, incurious face that seemed to look
past her. Her captor shouldered a bulkhead door open. Elli blinked
in the warm sunlight, the salty air lashing her face. She breathed
deeply, trying to shake his grip from her upper arm.

‘
Come,
exercise,’ he growled, herding her along the walkway. The brass
railing to her right separated her from the expanse of blue-green
waves glistening into the far horizon. They promenaded along the
warm decking, Elli pausing by the elegant prow as it carved its way
through the blue-green waves. She could barely see the thin, misty
grey line of land to her left. She grasped the railing to steady
herself, her legs weak and tired. Elli took in the spaces and
shapes around her, a luxury yacht. A big one, familiar to her. It
was one of her father’s, a Luxe Marine yacht. The man waited by
her, leaving her to regain her strength. Elli pointed to the strip
of land.