The Phoenix Affair by Dave Moyer (e book reader pc TXT) 📖

deadpan voice.

“Viper” Ripley said. “Any activity on either of my north Paris taps lately, like since we last talked this morning?”

“Yes. The calls from Saudi I think you already have seen, but the cell phone gets pinged by the same guy every two hours. You want the translations, they’re pretty short, “nothing to report”, in Arabic. The last three we don’t have translated yet.”

Ripley thought a moment, doing math again. “I need the last two. Get the translators working double-time on those right now, I got a situation here. Can you give me a call when you have them?”

“Yes. Anything else?”

“Yeah. Any outgoing calls from the north Paris cell tap in the same period?”

“One, about five minutes ago, that’s in the queue. Do you want that right away as well?”

“You bet, ASAP. DDO’s priority, I’ll answer for it if I have to. Get them going, please, and call me as soon as you have them.”

“Will do.” The line went dead.

Turning to Cameron he said, “We got the cell phone and a landline on the Paris organization this morning, fruits of my labor with the little guy, Kisani, last night. Sounds like your watcher is calling the cellular line on his two hour cycle, nothing to report through translations six hours ago. My bet is his report of finding and tailing the kid is on one of the last two, probably the last one at eight reports the hotel address. Bad news is the cell up north made an outgoing call right after that report, or at least that’s my guess. We’ll know for sure when we get the translations, probably take about an hour.”

Cameron was thinking faster now. “What time did you say Jones and his buddy get to De Gaulle?”

“I figure around eleven. What are you thinking?”

“Well, I’m not sure. I’m guessing, probably same as you, that they guy up north may be arranging a hit on the hotel for later tonight. My guess is they wait until maybe two in the morning when things are really quiet, so we have some time. But I’m not sure we can wait for the cavalry, ‘cause I’m just guessing and I don’t want to be wrong. If we had to take the Pharaoh right now, do you think we could do it quiet enough, and what would we do with him?”

“We can take him anytime we like,” Ripley said, and Cameron could faintly see the lines of a smirk on his face in the dark. “But I think we can wait for the translations, an hour tops. Your Pharaoh won’t even make another phone call by that time, and I think the small hours of the morning for any hit is a safe enough bet. I think I’ve got the plan, here’s what we’ll do . . .”

*****

“Fahd, this is Paul,” he said in English. I have bad news.”

A word in Arabic that he did not know came loudly through the earpiece. Then “Shit” in English. “Paul, what now? Is it my house in Dhahran, or the boys in al-Hail?”

“No, neither. You’re blown here again. There’s a nasty looking Egyptian watching the hotel from across the street and about a hundred meters East. Probably followed Mohammed, but don’t be too hard on the boy. I assume he didn’t know . . .”

“No, he didn’t know, but I’ve already been pretty hard on him. Paul, he’s going to be a problem.”

“We’ll deal with that later. Right now I need you to get ready to move again, but we’re going to have to move light this time. With my apologies, please ask Fadia to pack very light, only what you can carry. We’ll be moving on the subway.”

“When?”

“Probably in about thirty minutes, an hour at the most. I’m booked at a number of hotels,” he chuckled briefly, “to confuse my own side, which really makes me laugh, but we’ll move you to one of those. Just for tonight. Tomorrow we’re leaving Paris, I’ll let you know where later tonight or tomorrow morning, depending on how things go. The ladies can shop when we get there to re-equip. Uncle Sam’s credit card again, my friend.”

“That won’t be necessary, Paul. I can handle it. Do we follow our plan to get into Saudi Arabia as we agreed earlier today, or has that changed?”

“No, no change, we go, just making a short detour is all. Why?”

“I need to make a couple of calls then. When do you think we will head that way?

Cameron thought for a moment. “I’d think in two days, maybe three at the most. Is that close enough to work with?”

“That’ll be fine. Let me ring off now and get things moving here, make my calls. Are you coming here?”

“Yes, when everything’s set, but I’ll call first. Don’t answer the door unless I tell you first by phone that I’m about to knock. These people are nasty, Fahd, we take no chances.”

Had he been in the hotel Cameron would have seen what Fadia saw on her husband’s face, something she had never seen before but which chilled her to the bone. It was an animal face, full of violence, the face of death that seemed to say to something she hoped was nowhere nearby “I am death, and I will come for you.” Instead they both heard Fahd say simply, “Leave some for me, Paul. I’ve had enough of being hunted, time to change roles. Call me before you come.”

“Will do, pal, will do.” They both rang off.

Cameron turned to Ripley. “I think my General is ready to kill something, and if he gets a chance anytime soon, I rather believe he’d do it just like that,” he clicked his fingers.

“I hope he doesn’t have to, Colonel. I really do, but I hope he’s ready to do it if it comes down to that. You ready to do this thing?”

“Ready Mr. Ripley,” Cameron was grinning the dangerous, reptilian grin, his eyes like ice.

“Then let’s saddle up.” Ripley got out of the car, Cameron also, and as they passed each other at the hood Cameron took the keys. Ripley looked at his watch. I’ll call you with a thirty-second warning, probably around five or six minutes after ten. Time now nine fifty-five.”

“Nine fifty-five,” Cameron looked back up from his own watch. Take care, Ripley.”

Ripley shrugged. “Big guys just fall hard.” He spun on his heel, rounded the corner and walked off East toward the hotel four blocks away, moving smooth, like a cat or like flowing water. Cameron swung behind the wheel and drove off to the end of the block, also turning East.

*****

It had been a very long day, after a long night last night. He grinned with pleasure. The memory of the Lebanese whore made him smile, but there was nothing else that would have. He’d been up late, he’d gotten up early, he’d been outside most of the day and all night, and he had no hope of reprieve before this thing was done, God willing, at around two o’clock in the morning. Salah groaned aloud. His feet hurt, his phone was nearly dead; he wished he could go home to bed. He glanced at his watch. Ten o’clock. He reached for the phone and pressed “Send” twice, the phone auto-dialing the last number.

“Oui?” It was Ibrahim.

“Allahuakhbar” Salah said. “God is most Great. Ibrahim, I have nothing new to report. The Saudi is still in the hotel, all is quiet here.”

“Excellent Salah, excellent. I have everything arranged. You will wait there until two, the rest will meet you as we agreed, and then you take them. I will talk with you again in two hours, at twelve.”

“Ibrahim, my phone is nearly dead. Perhaps I should not call again?”

“No, you must call. Save your battery now, I’ll ring off. Call me at twelve, Salah. God is Great.”

“God is great” Salah said to the dead line. He pressed “End”, looked again at the battery indicator. Only one bar. “Probably won’t last that long,” he thought, but he had to make his call again at midnight. He switched off the power to conserve what he had left and dropped the phone in his pocket

Across the street to his right he could see the hotel marquis, dimly lit, and the semi-circular pool of light that came through the lobby door. He hoped whoever was coming had some kind of plan, something better than he could think of. Walking into the lobby, shooting or roughing up the night clerk and demanding the room number, barging into the hotel room with guns blazing or knives slashing seemed to him likely to land him in a French prison. Not what he had in mind when he’d begun working with Ibrahim. A chill ran down his neck. Killing a couple of women and a small child were not really his thing, what he was used to was roughing people up a little, maybe a broken arm or leg, a nose perhaps. Salah squirmed inside his clothes, cold sweat running on his back and legs despite the chill in the night air. He shook it off, thinking “I’ll go and get a coffee and get out of this damned cold in a few minutes. This guy isn’t going out this late anyway.” He looked at his watch.

A shadow moving very fast crossed between him and the lights from the hotel, then something hit him in the solar plexus, taking his breath away. Struggling for air, he lashed out with his right fist, trying to connect with whatever, whoever, was attacking him. He missed, but his fist, arm, shoulder, all the rest of him kept going. Salah couldn’t understand it, for a moment he knew he was off balance, falling forward still just barely standing on his right foot, and then everything spun vertically and he hit the pavement, hard. There was a flash of light inside his head, then everything went dark. He could still hear, although there was a roaring in his ears, and he hurt all over. Then there was a prick, something sharp, and he was embarrassed about where it seemed to be, laying there face down on the sidewalk, but a moment later hearing, feeling, and pain disappeared into an endless, deep blackness.

Ripley worked quickly. It took three zip-ties to bind the big man’s ankles together, only one long one for the wrists behind his back. Only ten seconds had passed by the time Cameron screeched to a halt at the curb. Ripley lifted the limp figure, way too easily Cameron thought, and opening the door with one hand he wrestled the man into the back seat, having to bend his neck awkwardly to get the feet in, the knees also bent to get the door closed. But it was done, and Ripley said simply “Drive” as he slammed the passenger door.

Cameron moved out, in no hurry at all, looking both forward and in the mirror for any sign of trouble or alarm. Nothing. “Which way to your lair, my leader?” he quipped to Ripley, who gave a short reply and went silent. Cameron laughed aloud and drove into the night XII. Paris

With the slightest of bumps, the Gulfstream touched down on the runway at De Gaulle airport. Jones was already awake,