The Spoilers / Juggernaut. Desmond Bagley
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He’s pullin’ in.’
Abbot went by and rigidly prevented himself from looking sideways. He turned the corner and parked on the Corniche. ‘That was a hotel,’ he said, and pondered. He made up his mind. ‘I’m going in there. As soon as that Mercedes takes off you follow it if the man is in it. Don’t wait for me.’
‘All right,’ said Parker.
‘And, Dan; be unobtrusive.’
‘That goes for you too,’ said Parker. He watched Abbot turn the corner into the Rue Manarah and then swung the car round to where he could get a view of the hotel entrance and still be in a position to follow the Mercedes which was still parked outside. Presently Delorme and the man came out together with a page who packed a lot of luggage in the boot.
The Mercedes took off smoothly and he followed, and soon found himself going along a familiar road – past the Lebanese University and Khaldeh Airport on the way to Hammana. He was almost tempted to turn back but he went on all the way until he saw Jeanette Delorme safely home with her guest. Then he drove back to Beirut, running into heavy traffic on the way back to the hotel.
Abbot was taking it easy when Parker walked in. ‘Where the devil have you been, Dan?’
‘The traffic’s bloody awful at this time o’ day,’ said Parker irascibly. ‘She took him home an’ you know what the road out o’ town is like. She took him home – bags an’ all. Stayin’ with her as a house guest, like.’ He grinned. ‘If he disappears then you’ll know she really is a bloody spider. Did you get anythin’?’
‘I did,’ said Abbot. ‘By exerting my famous charm on a popsy in that hotel I found that he is an American, his name is John Eastman, and he flew in from Tehran yesterday. Did you hear that, Dan? Tehran. It’s the first link.’
II
It may have been the first link but it wasn’t the last because Eastman proved to be almost as inaccessible as Delorme herself. ‘A snooty lot, these heroin smugglers,’ observed Abbot. ‘They don’t mix with the common herd.’
So they applied the same technique to Eastman. It was a painfully slow task to keep him under observation and then to tag his associates and they would have given up had they not known with certainty that they were on the right track. For Abbot received a letter from Hellier who was acting as a clearing house for information.
‘Good news and bad,’ said Abbot after he had read it.
‘Let’s have the bad news first,’ said Parker. ‘I might need to be cheered up after hearin’ it.’
‘Warren has lost Speering. He disappeared into the blue in the middle of Kurdistan. It’s up to us now, Dan. I bet Nick’s climbing the wall,’ he said reflectively.
‘We’re not much forrarder,’ said Parker gloomily.
‘Oh, but we are. That’s the good news. Eastman saw Speering the day before he gave Nick the slip. That directly links Speering with Delorme. This is the first bit of concrete evidence we’ve had yet. Everything else was just one of Nick Warren’s hunches.’
Parker brightened. ‘Aye, that’s so. Well, let’s get on wi’ it.’
So they got on with it, but it was a long time before Abbot made the decision. ‘This is the man,’ he said. ‘This is where we cast our bread upon the waters and hope it’ll come back buttered on both sides.’
‘Picot?’
Picot was a long way down the line. He knew a man who knew a man who knew Eastman. He was accessible and, Abbot hoped, receptive to new ideas if they were cast his way. He was also, to a keen and observant eye, a crook, which further raised Abbot’s hopes.
‘How do we tackle him?’ asked Parker.
‘The first thing is to move into a cheaper hotel.’ He looked at Parker consideringly. ‘We’re not rolling in cash – but we’re not dead broke. We’re hungry for loot, but careful. We have something to sell and we want the best price, so we’re cagey. Got the picture?’
Parker smiled sombrely. ‘That bit about not rollin’ in cash’ll come easy to me; I’ve never had much money. How do we broach the subject to Picot?’
‘We play it by ear,’ said Abbot easily.
Picot frequented a cafe in the old town near the Port, and when Abbot and Parker strolled in the next evening he was sitting at a table reading a newspaper. Abbot selected a table just in front and to the side of him, and they sat down. Abbot wrinkled his nose as he looked at the food-spotted menu and ordered for both of them.
Parker looked about the place and said in a low voice, ‘What now?’
‘Take it easy,’ said Abbot softly. ‘Let it come naturally.’ He turned and looked at the little pile of newspapers and magazines on Picot’s table, obviously there for the use of the customers. In English, he said, ‘Excuse me, monsieur; do you mind?’
Picot looked up and nodded shortly. ‘Okay with me.’ His English was incongruously tinged with a mixed French and American accent.
Abbot took a magazine and flipped the pages idly until the waiter served them, putting down many plates, two drinks and a jug of water. Abbot poured a little water into his glass and there was a swirl of milkiness. ‘Cheers, Dan.’
Hesitantly Parker did the same, drank and spluttered. He banged down the glass. ‘What is this stuff? Cough mixture?’
‘The local white lightning – arak.’
Parker investigated his palate with his tongue. ‘I haven’t tasted anything like this since I were a boy.’ He looked surprised as he made the discovery. ‘Aniseed balls!’ He sniffed the glass. ‘It’s no drink for a grown man. Any chance of a Watney’s in here?’
Abbot grinned. ‘I doubt it. If you want beer you have a choice of Lebanese French and Lebanese German.’
‘Make it the German,’ said Parker, so Abbot ordered him a Henninger Byblos and turned back to find him regarding the contents of the plates with deep suspicion.
‘For God’s sake, stop acting like a tourist, Dan,’ he said with irritation. ‘What do you expect here – fish and chips?’
‘I like to know what I’m eatin’,’ said Parker, unmoved.
‘It’s mezza, said Abbot loudly. ‘It’s filling and it’s cheap. If you want anything better go to the Saint-Georges – but I’m not paying. I’m getting fed up with you. I have a good mind to call the whole thing off.’
Parker looked startled but subsided as Abbot winked. The beer arrived and Parker tasted it and put down the glass. ‘It’ll do, I suppose.’
Abbot said quietly, ‘Do you think you could … er … get pissed?’
Parker flicked the glass with his fingernail. ‘It ‘ud take more than this stuff. It’s like maiden’s water.’
‘But you could try, couldn’t you? You might even become indiscreet.’
‘Then buy me another,’ said Parker, and drained the glass with one mighty swallow.
Abbot made a good meal but Parker picked at his food fastidiously and drank more than was apparently good for him. His voice became louder and his words tended to slur together, and he seemed to be working up to a grievance. ‘You want to call it off – how do you suppose I feel? I get this idea – a bloody good idea – an’ what are you doin’ about it? Nothin’ but sittin’ on your upper-class bottom, that’s what.’
‘Quiet, Dan!’ urged Abbot.
‘I won’t be bloody quiet! I’m gettin’ tired o’ your snipin’, too.’ His voice took on an ugly