The Judas Gate. Jack Higgins
‘You know what to do,’ he said.
Holley obliged, leaned on the van, and the Walther was discovered. ‘My, but you are getting to be a big boy,’ Holley said as he straightened, ‘You should enter the Mr Universe competition this year. Muscles gleaming under all that oil. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
‘No, Mr Holley, what I’d really like is to tear off your head—and I will do exactly that, the first chance I get.’
He moved into the office ahead of Holley and put the Walther on the table, then stood at the back of the room. Kupu was very drunk and yet reached for an open bottle of vodka and swallowed deeply from it.
‘You shouldn’t anger Abu like that. He’s a very violent man when he gets angry and does terrible things, doesn’t he?’ he said to the woman, who looked terrified. She wore a raincoat over a light black dress and clutched a handbag.
‘I’m sure he does.’ Holley walked to a chair at one side of the door, sat down, took off his Burberry rain hat and put it on his lap.
‘This is Liri.’ Kupu encircled her waist. ‘One of my best girls. Empty your handbag and let’s see how well you’ve done tonight.’
‘The rain,’ she said as she fumbled. ‘Business wasn’t good.’ She emptied the handbag of not very much.
Kupu glanced at it, then took a Gladstone bag from under the desk, opened it and swept in Liri’s earnings.
‘Excuses, Mr Holley, it’s all I get.’ He slapped her face, then said to Abu, ‘Search her next door. See if she’s hiding anything.’
‘No, please,’ she begged Kupu, as Abu grabbed her arm, opened the far door and shoved her through.
‘Stupid bitch, they are all the same. I give them employment, look after their interests and how do they repay me?’ He swallowed more vodka. ‘But to business. You can supply what I need? I’m a serious man. I desire only to help my Muslim brothers who are being butchered every day in Kosovo.’
‘Very commendable.’
‘And I have good references.’ He patted the side of his nose drunkenly. ‘AQ, eh?’
‘Is that a fact?’ Holley said.
There were muffled cries from the next room, but Kupu ignored them. ‘You don’t believe me, do you?’ He reached for the vodka bottle, swallowing again. ‘My father’s brother, my Uncle Mahmud, is an art dealer based in Tirana. He specializes in rare holy books and manuscripts. He travels all over Europe, knows people at the highest level. I act as his contact man in Paris. He tells me everything. For example, what if I told you that Prime Minister Putin intends to make a visit to Chechnya this weekend? All very hush-hush. The sort of thing you only hear about afterwards.’
Holley said, ‘And why would he be doing that?’
‘A meeting requested by a very high-level Muslim holy man. A famous Mullah, now in his nineties, Ibrahim somebody.’ He leaned forward. ‘But here’s the thing, my friend. This holy man, this Ibrahim? He intends to become a martyr this weekend. He will be carrying religious scrolls, which of course security men would not dare to search. A profound insult. And inside the scrolls—Semtex. You wouldn’t need much to do the job at close quarters. The Prime Minister would be blown to hell.’
‘With everyone around him.’
‘What a moment,’ Kupu roared, and the door to the other room opened and Liri staggered out, trying to cover her torn dress with the raincoat and still clutching her handbag. She stood there, crying bitterly.
‘Look at you,’ Kupu said. ‘Disgusting. Who in the hell would want you? Go on, get out.’
‘But I’ve no money for a cab,’ she wailed.
‘Then you can walk in the rain. Better than a shower. Wash the stink off you.’
At which point Holley, having had enough, said, ‘No need for that, Liri. I’m leaving myself. I’ll be going by cab and I’ll drop you off.’
Suddenly Kupu didn’t seem as drunk as he had been. ‘What is this about you leaving?’
‘I don’t like the way you do business.’
‘Really? Then obviously you need to pay a visit to the next room, where Abu will indicate what is expected of you. I don’t think it will take long for you to get the point.’
As Holley stood up, he produced the Colt .25, extended his arm and shot Ali Kupu twice in the heart, knocking him back over the chair. Liri gave a strangled cry, then leaned over to look. Abu seemed stunned and uncertain what to do.
Liri recovered a little and turned to Holley. ‘He’s dead.’
‘That’s what I meant him to be. Can you drive?’
‘Yes.’
‘Take one of the vans and get out of here, and you can also take the Gladstone bag with you as far as I’m concerned. Will you be okay?’
‘Fine. I’ve got a passport. I’ll be out of Paris first thing in the morning. God bless you. I’ll never forget you.’
‘I’d rather you did.’
He picked up the Walther, put the Colt in his pocket and pulled on his rain hat. Liri was already disappearing into the night at the wheel of a van. Abu said, ‘What happens now?’
‘You pick up the body, carry him out to the jetty like a good boy, and we dump him into the Seine.’
‘And if I refuse?’
‘For starters, I’ll have to shoot you in the right kneecap.’ He produced the Colt from his pocket. ‘Hollow point cartridges, Abu. You’ll never be able to stand up on the podium again.’
‘You bastard,’ Abu told him, went round the desk, picked up Ali Kupu as if he were a rag doll and walked towards the other end of the warehouse. Holley followed.
It was raining harder than ever and Abu paused, looking down through the lights to the Seine, Notre Dame floating in the dark way up to the right.
‘Now what?’
‘Straight to the end of the jetty and drop him in. Go on, get on with it.’
The big man walked through the lights, holding the body in both hands, paused at the end for a long moment, then dropped the corpse in. It surfaced for a moment, then drifted away into the darkness.
Abu turned and faced Holley. ‘She won’t get away with it, that bitch, or you. The Albanian Mafia will hunt you both down.’
‘Thanks for reminding me. Since you are the only witness, it leaves me with little choice.’
There was sudden alarm on Abu’s face and he put a hand out. ‘No, let’s discuss this.’
But Holley’s hand was already swinging up. The silenced Colt coughed once, the bullet hitting Abu between the eyes, and he lurched back over the end of the jetty into the water. Holley returned to the warehouse, opened the small door by which he’d entered and retrieved the umbrella he’d left there. He started to walk back to the barge, thinking about it. The Albanian Mafia was the bane of Paris. The deaths of Abu and Ali Kupu wouldn’t disturb the Paris police in the slightest. He would have to take a chance that Liri would forget all about him, but then she would value her own anonymity. Always with him, a woman in trouble was one thing he could never turn away from. In a way, he’d been a fool, but there it was.
But what Kupu had said about AQ—Al Qaeda. Was it just the idle boast of a drunkard or was there genuinely something to it? Whatever—if there really was a plot to assassinate Vladimir Putin, it would create chaos, and that was bad for everybody. It left him with only one choice, and he quickened his pace and hurried back to the barge.
Colonel Josef Lermov of the GRU had been appointed London’s Head