Free Beirut - An Explosive Thriller by Alexander McNabb Page A

numbers on the
display counting down. He controlled the strong urge to flee. The
lift door opened.
    ‘ Herr Meier!
Herr Meier!’
    It was the
security guard. Meier entered the lift, turning to catch the man’s
idiot face and his raised arm. The two suited men talking to the
guard turned. One started to run. The other, unsure, was swept
along by his colleague’s momentum. Meier punched at the fifth floor
button. The lift doors closed on the sound of skittering feet. A
body thumped against the door. Meier watched the display count up,
tapping his fingers on the wall as the impersonal female voice
announced the fifth floor and the doors opened. He crossed the
corridor to the opposite bank of lifts, slammed the down button and
waited, shifting his case from hand to hand and biting his lip. The
doors opened to reveal a woman in a suit. Meier lunged inside and
shoved her out. She screamed, flailing at him with her bag as his
thrust sent her flying backwards to smack against the steel doors
opposite. He hammered the basement button, pushing G twice to
cancel the woman’s request. The door shut out her shocked
face.
    Meier cursed
his stupidity in trying to reach the office when he had sensed
something wasn’t right. Caution in everything, care above
everything. Now, with so much at stake, he had let himself
down.
    The door
opened and Meier peered out, scanning the basement. He turned left
along the wall, following the carefully planned route that avoided
the CCTV cameras his own company had installed at a sizeable
discount for the building owner.
    Emerging from
the ramp up to the street, he squeezed past the car scanner and
number plate camera. Meier ignored the two men in the police car.
He turned left down the street, walking at a harried businessman’s
pace and checking his watch. A car door opened behind him. He
walked on. The cry he dreaded didn’t come and Meier rounded the
corner, his own car in sight along the busy main road where he had
parked.
    It had been
too close. Meier never took risks like that. He threw his case onto
the front seat and pulled out into the traffic. He dug at the call
button on the centre console. The line answered after three
rings.
    ‘ We leave
tonight at six.’
    The dusty
voice on the line was factual. ‘The paint won’t be dry.’
    ‘ I don’t
care. It can dry as we drive. Tonight at six. Tell them
all.’
    ‘ You’re the
boss.’
    Yes , thought Meier as he cut the
line. I most certainly am.
     
     
    Lynch woke up
with his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He spent a full
thirty minutes in the shower, letting the jet massage his neck and
shoulders. He packed and went downstairs to check out at the
hotel’s functional front desk. He had a last job to do before he
travelled to Hamburg. Lynch never went back to the UK without going
over to Belfast, his home town. He left Nathalie a note at
reception before he headed for the airport: Thanks. See you in Beirut.
    Alone and the
master of an entire row of empty seats on the plane to Belfast,
Lynch stared at the grey clouds below him and thought about her.
They had eaten together at the hotel, a nondescript Sofitel near
Vauxhall after they had met for a few drinks at the bar. ‘We might
as well get to know each other,’ Lynch had told her. ‘We’re going
to be in each others’ pockets for a while.’
    She had
agreed. He drank pints while she drank gin and tonic. She
pronounced it ‘jeene’, which delighted him.
    She lifted
her drink. ‘So you must not be pleased to work with me, I
think.’
    Lynch bobbed
his glass at her and took a deep pull. ‘I have absolutely no
problem with that at all. Sure, and this game can be lonely at
times. I respect the way the DGSE trains its people. I’ve worked
with your guys before in Beirut. I’m sorry about the Levesques
scandal. I understand you’ve had to virtually start your Beirut
operations again from scratch.’
    Nathalie
Durand inclined her head in acknowledgement. ‘However, I am