Under Fire: (A Dan Taylor thriller) (15 page)

Hassan Nazari stepped out the side door of the sandstone-clad building and into the shadows cast over the street by the Church of St Augustine. He glanced at his watch, shifted his briefcase from one hand to the other and forced himself to calm his breathing. His head twitched from left to right as he watched the pockets of tourists who lined the street, before he walked down the steps towards the waiting car.

His driver opened the back door of the glistening black sedan, waited until Hassan had settled himself into the cool interior, then swung the door shut, climbed into the front, and glanced in the mirror.

‘It went well?’

Hassan nodded. ‘As well as can be expected.’ He loosened his tie, undid the top button of his shirt and sighed, then flicked his hand at the driver. ‘Get moving. The sooner I get back to the villa to use a secure line, the better.’

The driver nodded, slipped the car into gear and pulled out smoothly into the traffic along Triq I’ifran. He buzzed his window up and switched on the air conditioning, instantly wiping out the smell of exhaust fumes which had threatened to permeate the vehicle.

Hassan stared out through the tinted glass, his mind racing. The truth was, it had meant to be a simple meeting of like-minded individuals. Instead, his masters had baulked at his plans, intimated it was a step too far, and reminded him of his status within their Government.

Except that it was too late to stop.
 
He pursed his lips. Perhaps then, let it play out. Show them he was right, and reap their praise later.

He smiled, relaxing into the leather upholstery, and imagined the contrite looks on their faces. He looked out at the street then leaned forward. ‘Why are we going so slowly? What is the delay?’

The driver shrugged, and glanced down a side street as the car shuffled past it in first gear, then looked at Hassan in his rear view mirror. ‘Looks like they’re preparing for a festival,’ he said. ‘Must be a holiday or something.’ He pointed at a pair of workmen attaching red streamers between streetlights. ‘It’s going to take a while to get back.’

Hassan slumped in his seat and growled. He plucked his mobile phone from his shirt pocket and jabbed at the buttons in disgust, then held it up so the driver could see it in the mirror. ‘And we have no reception.’

The driver shrugged. ‘We’ll be fine once we get onto the main road. Reception’s always bad this side of Tas-Samra.’

‘How long do you think it will take us?’ Hassan asked, glancing through the front windscreen at the bus in front belching exhaust fumes.

‘Half an hour, perhaps a bit less once we get out onto the main road.’

***

‘Anything?’
asked
Firuz.

Ali shook his head and slammed down the phone. ‘I’ve tried him from this phone and my mobile. He must be in an area where there’s no reception.’

Firuz glanced at his watch. ‘The meeting would have finished ten minutes ago. I don’t want to do anything with those two until he gets back,’ he glanced over his shoulder towards the cellar door, the four bolts gleaming new in the low light.

Ali noticeably shuddered. ‘I wouldn’t want to be around while he’s dealing with them,’ he said.

Firuz laughed. ‘What? You getting soft?’

Ali shook his head. ‘No, but he’s meant to be as bad as Baqir if he’s pissed off. I heard back home that…’

He broke off as Mutstapha entered the room, and then stood to one side to let him pass.

The man pointed at the phone. ‘Have you contacted him?’

‘There’s no reception.’

 
‘Keep trying.’ The bodyguard stalked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows. In a few hours it would be dusk, and they would be on their way. ‘We can’t move out until we’ve dealt with them.’ He turned and faced the two thugs. ‘And I don’t fancy their chances of leaving in a taxi, do you?’

***

Dan and Antonia made swift progress through the narrow passageway. It had been used recently – large stones had been pushed to each side of the path out of the way, while the path itself was pockmarked with scrapes and scratches where the contents of the various crates and boxes had been pushed or dragged along the surface.

Dan traced the markings with the torchlight, glancing up as they went to track their progress. He paused and wiped the sweat from his face with the hem of his t-shirt. ‘Christ, it’s hot down here.’

Antonia nodded. She removed her sweatshirt, tied it round her waist and ran her hands through her hair. ‘The sooner we’re out of here, the better,’ she gasped, fanning her face with her hand. ‘How far do you think we are from the cliffs?’

Dan glanced at his watch, factored in the fast pace he’d set them and thought about it. ‘I reckon we must’ve travelled a mile at least,’ he said. ‘Maybe further.’

Antonia kept a watchful eye on their rear. ‘How long do you think we have?’ she asked.

‘Not long. I can’t imagine Hassan has left the island – it looked like he was travelling light,’ he glanced over Antonia’s shoulder into the darkness behind them. ‘And this island isn’t big enough for a long road trip.’

The passage curved round to the right, and they stopped suddenly. Dan glanced down at Antonia. ‘Do you hear it?’

She nodded. A muffled
boom
sounded ahead of them. ‘What
was
that?’

Dan shook his head, and put a finger to his lips. He gazed at his watch, counted the seconds, and then another
boom
permeated the air around them. He grinned.

‘What is it?’ asked Antonia, clutching his arm.

‘The sea,’ he said. ‘It’s the waves against the cliffs. Come on – we must be close.’ He grabbed her hand and pulled her along behind him, setting a fast pace towards the sound.

He slowed as a breeze brushed against his face, the salty air filling his lungs. He carefully swung the torch beam left and right, not wishing to fall out of the passageway and down the cliff face. As they rounded a left-hand curve, he saw it.

An opening, with light from a rising moon shining through.

Dan switched off the torch and handed it to Antonia. ‘Don’t lose it,’ he said, and hurried towards the gap in the rocks.

***

The car weaved around the war memorial, and picked up speed along Triq Sant’ Anna.

Hassan frowned as they passed the American embassy. The car was swept up in the traffic pushing south-west through Floriana and became boxed in behind a bus which spewed dark clouds of exhaust in its wake. He picked up his phone, and noticed one bar of signal strength wavering hesitantly on the display. His eyebrows raised as a low
ping
signalled a series of missed calls. He frowned as he recognised the number of the villa, growled as the signal disappeared, and leaned forward.

‘Hurry. I have a feeling there’s a problem.’

The driver nodded, floored the accelerator and pulled out from behind the bus. Hassan was jerked backwards as the driver swung out into the opposite lane, a truck carrying watermelons bearing down on them. From his seat, he could see the bus passengers observing the manoeuvre, their mouths open in silent ‘o’s as they watched in disbelief.

He peered through the front windscreen and noticed the impassive demeanour of his driver reflected in the rear-view mirror. The man calmly continued to accelerate towards the truck, his hands steady on the wheel as he worked through the gears. Hassan held his breath as the truck loomed closer and closer before his driver suddenly swept to the left out of the way and slid in front of the bus, leaving a trail of dust in their wake.

Hassan breathed out as the truck blew past, its driver sounding the horn and gesticulating wildly out his window. Behind, the bus driver was following suit. Hassan ignored them all, and held up his phone, trying to improve the signal.

He glanced up and saw they were approaching the intersection onto the main highway.
Twenty minutes, maximum
.

‘We just passed Tas-Samra,’ said the driver. ‘You should be getting a full signal any time now.’

On cue, the phone started ringing. Hassan punched the answer button and put it to his ear. He listened, cursed silently, and then spoke four words.

‘Leave them for me.’

Edging slowly towards the opening in the cliff face, Dan tested the ground before putting his weight on each foot as he made his way forward. As he drew closer, he saw that stone steps had been carved into the rock surface. Grasping hold of a jagged rock protruding from the cliff next to him, he carefully leaned out of the opening.

The wind caught his hair and he blinked as sea spray punched the cliff below and sent droplets flying into his face. He looked down and noticed the steps leading from the passageway to a narrow plateau below, sheltered from view by the cliffs as they curved around the plateau, creating a small cove.

As his eyes travelled along the plateau to the edge of the sea, his foot kicked something. He glanced down.
Bullet casings
.

He crouched down and picked up the brass cylinders. They were recently used. He looked up as Antonia came closer and peered over his shoulder.

‘What have you got?’

‘Evidence Hassan’s been employing a sniper, I imagine,’ said Dan grimly. As he stood to tuck the casings into the pocket of his jeans, he suddenly glanced up and pushed Antonia back into the passageway. She tumbled to the floor, cursing.

‘What…?’

Dan turned. ‘Sorry – no time for manners.’ He shuffled back to the opening and edged slowly round it until he could peer out. Sure enough, there it was.

Silhouetted against the moon’s reflection on the water’s surface, he could see the outline of the top of a submarine conning tower as it slowly disappeared below the waves.

‘Shit!’ he exclaimed. ‘We’re too late!’

Antonia made her way over to where he stood and peered round his side. ‘Was it the submarine?’

Dan nodded, leaning out over the edge. Below, the sea churned up debris jettisoned by the submarine crew before leaving. ‘And now we
really
have to find a way out of here to warn the Vice-Admiral.’

He turned and glanced at the walls of the passageway. ‘Start looking for another way out. There must be something. There were lines drawn all over that map in Hassan’s study. Smugglers wouldn’t have built a one-way system. They must’ve factored in an escape route somewhere.’

***

Hassan’s hand was already on the door release as the sedan slid to a halt outside the villa. He didn’t wait for the driver to open the door for him. As the engine died, he hurried out of the car and up the steps to the front door. The door swung open as he approached.

‘What happened?’ he said as he stormed past Firuz.

He turned at the sound of running footsteps as Ali and Mustapha entered the hallway from the direction of the study. ‘What’s going on?’

‘We got a call on the radio from the guardhouse when Marik was late back from his patrol. Firuz went to investigate and found a woman dressed in combat fatigues,’ said Ali, handing Dan’s Sig Sauer to Hassan. ‘She’d attacked Marik. We secured her and brought her back here for questioning. She said she was a tourist and had got lost,’ he sneered.

Hassan held up the gun. ‘And this?’

‘A man broke into the house. Tried to rescue her, but Mustapha knocked him around a bit first.’

‘Who are they?’ Hassan checked the gun for ammunition, and sighted it along the hallway to the front door.

‘He wasn’t carrying any I.D. – nor was she,’ said Firuz, ‘so we got a photograph of them both just in case.’ He handed his phone to Hassan, who glanced at the photos, his gaze lingering on the one of Antonia, then passed back the phone.

‘Where are they?’ asked Hassan as he started to walk along the hallway to the study.

‘In the cellar.’

Hassan stopped and spun on his heel to face the man. ‘What?’

Firuz took a step back. ‘In – in the cellar,’ he repeated, his eyes darting to where Ali and Mustapha were standing, doing their best to distance themselves from him.

Hassan tested the weight of the gun in his hand, then brought it up and shot Firuz in the chest.

The man slumped to the floor, dead, his blood oozing steadily across the tiled surface, the walls spattered with the remnants of his spine.

Hassan tucked the gun into his belt. He turned and glared at Ali and Mustapha, ignoring the ringing in his ears from the gunshot. ‘You had better hope they are still in the cellar.’

***

Dan retraced their steps along the narrow passageway, running his hands over the cracked surface of the rock. Antonia swung the torch light left and right from the entrance in the cliffs, both of them aware if they didn’t find an escape route in the rock, they’d have no choice but to climb down the steps etched into the cliff face and hope for a miracle.

Dan spun round to his left at a sound from the direction of the villa.
A gunshot
. Obscured by distance and the natural curvature of the passageway, the sound echoed along the cavern.

‘We’re in trouble,’ he said. ‘Keep looking – and hurry.’

The light from the torch became more erratic as Antonia swept it across the surface of the rock, searching for something – anything – which might lead to a way out.

‘Here!’ she called. ‘Look at this!’

Dan ran over to where she pointed the torch light. A large floor-to-ceiling crack split the rock face, partly blocked by large stones which had worked loose and tumbled to the floor over the centuries.

‘That’ll do us,’ said Dan. ‘Put the torch on the floor and help me move these – quickly!’

As they pulled each stone out of the way, they threw them back in the direction of the villa in a desperate attempt to slow their pursuers, even for a few seconds.

The crack slowly revealed an opening. Dan picked up the torch and shone it through. A passageway led away from the cliffs, turning to the right and out of sight.

He handed the torch back to Antonia and began to ease himself through the gap. His large frame struggled with the tight fit. He breathed out, forcing his chest cavity to sink and pushed his body through the rocks, ignoring the jagged edges tearing into his shoulders and hips.

Suddenly, he was through. He peered back through the gap and beckoned to Antonia. ‘Come on – you’re smaller than me – it’ll be easy,’ he said.

Antonia nodded, glanced over her shoulder and passed the torch to Dan. Reaching up with both hands, she raised herself over the last of the fallen rocks and began to squeeze through the gap. She cursed under her breath as she scraped an elbow and heard Dan chuckle under his breath on the other side.

‘I don’t know what you said, but it transcended any language barrier,’ he said.

‘Shut up and shine the torch so I can see where I’m going!’ she hissed.

She wriggled again, felt something give, and then found herself on the other side of the rock fall. Dan reached up and helped her down. He held her in a brief hug.

‘Okay?’

She nodded, looked down, then back in the direction of the original passageway. ‘I’ve lost my sweatshirt!’

A muffled shout emanated through the natural wall.

‘No time,’ murmured Dan. He handed her the torch and pushed her in front of him. ‘Run!’

***

Hassan held his breath as the cellar door was unbolted and swung open. As Ali hit the light switch, Hassan strode down the steps. No-one stood up to greet him. He turned his head left and right, searching, and then began to make his way through the strewn crates and packing boxes, throwing them to one side as he made his way to the back wall.

He pressed his hand against the brickwork and held his breath as the entry to the passageway rolled open. He glanced over his shoulder at Ali and Mustapha, then bellowed down the passageway.

‘There’s nowhere to run!’ he screamed. ‘When I find you, I will kill you!’

He slammed his fist against the stone walls of the passageway and then flicked his hand at the two bodyguards. ‘Move – flush them out. If you don’t find them, don’t come back.’

He moved to let the two men pass, the light from their torches bouncing off the walls and ceiling of the passageway as they hurried away. Hassan stepped back into the cellar, closed the door and made his way up the cellar steps to the study. He looked around at the familiar surroundings. There was no room for error.

He returned to the front door and gestured to the driver standing next to the sedan, its engine ticking as it cooled from the recent journey. The driver nodded, leaned into the rear of the car and turned, holding Hassan’s briefcase.

‘Be ready to leave in ten minutes for the airport,’ said Hassan. ‘Phone ahead and have the aircraft ready.’ He turned back to the house and hurried to the study.

Unlocking the desk, he ripped open each drawer in turn and flicked through the contents, throwing what was needed into the briefcase before shutting its lid. He paused in the centre of the room, nodded to himself, and then made his way out to the waiting car.