Payback - John Hayes Series 06 (2020), стр. 23

36

John finished loading the luggage in the rear of the black Mercedes Vito and closed the door. Walking around to the front, he climbed into the driver’s seat and glanced over his shoulder.

“Everyone comfortable in the back?”

“Yes,” Maadhavi and Adriana chorused. “Very comfortable.”

“Do you think we have enough seats, mate?” Steve piped up from the back. “This seats nine.”

“Well, no-one wants to sit next to you, Steve.” He winked at Mansur, sitting beside him. “That’s why I got you a row to yourself.”

“Yeah, thanks, mate.”

John slipped on his seatbelt, checked the mirrors, and pulled out into the traffic, just as his phone buzzed on the dashboard.

“Can you check that for me, Mansur? I’m expecting a message from Craig.”

Mansur picked up the phone and glanced at the screen. “He says he’ll meet you in the hotel bar at eight-thirty with his contact.”

“Good.” John checked the time on the dashboard. “It’s about thirty-five minutes from here to the hotel, so we’ll have about fifteen minutes to check-in before he arrives.” He glanced in the rear-view mirror at Steve. “Steve, I reckon you and I meet them together without Adriana and Maadhavi.” He moved his head so he could see Adriana. “I don’t want this smuggler guy to know you are here. We don’t know who he is, so the less he knows, the better.”

Adriana nodded. “Ok with me, Maadhavi?”

“Okay, for me, too.” Maadhavi added, “I can do with a freshen up before dinner, anyway.”

“Good.” John indicated and pulled into the next lane to avoid a slow-moving lorry. “Mansur, I want you in the background as backup. Go to the bar before us and find a table where you can watch. Pretend you don’t know us. Just sit there and observe.”

“Okay, Mr. John.”

“Mansur, you’d better wear something less conspicuous. You’ll stick out like dog’s balls in that outfit,” Steve added from the back row.

“Steve.” Maadhavi frowned at him as John stifled a laugh.

Mansur frowned and repeated slowly, “Stick out like dog’s balls...” He looked to John for an explanation.

“What he means, is in your dishdasha and,”—John glanced at Mansur’s headdress—“mussar, you will be very noticeable. Especially in a bar.” He looked away from the road again and smiled at Mansur. “You had better change into some western clothing.”

“Yes, I will.” Mansur stared out the window, a slight frown on his forehead, his lips moving soundlessly. He began to smile, then chuckled. The chuckle turned into laughter, and he turned in his seat to look back at Steve. “I understand now.” He gave him a thumbs-up, a big grin on his face, then turned back to face the front.

“Like a dog’s balls, that’s a good one.”

37

John and Steve walked into the hotel bar and looked around. The bar was half full of travelers and businessmen, and in the far corner Mansur sat by himself, facing the room, a glass with an umbrella in front of him. John was relieved he had changed into something less noticeable and looked like a traveler from somewhere in the Mediterranean.

“Over there,” Steve said as he saw a hand being raised. They spotted Craig sitting at a table in front of a large man with his back to them. They walked over as Craig stood up and reached out his hand.

“Good to meet you, at last, Craig.” John shook his hand. He had a firm grip and looked thinner than on the video call, his face drawn and tired.

“You too, John, Steve.”

They turned to face the man sitting opposite him, who was studying them with small cynical eyes set in a corpulent face. His hair, greying at the temples, was slicked back, and his thick mustache twitched as he regarded them without warmth, weighing them, figuring out where they stood in the scheme of things.

“This is Mehmet. Mehmet, John and Steve.”

Mehmet didn’t stand, just nodded, so John held out his hand. Almost reluctantly, he leaned forward in his chair and took John’s hand, a loose handshake, his hands soft and fleshy. Steve didn’t bother, just nodded, and moved around him to sit down.

John and Craig sat down as well, and Craig waved for the waiter. “What do you want to drink?”

“I’ll have a beer,” Steve replied.

Craig nodded and turned to the waiter who had appeared by his side. “One beer, another Glenmorangie,”—he glanced at Mehmet, who nodded—“a raki,” then turned to John. “John?”

John turned to the waiter. “Do you have Botanist?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Large Botanist and tonic, lots of ice, slice of orange, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

John felt Mehmet staring at him, and he gave him a smile. “I’m particular about my drink.”

Mehmet nodded slowly. “You are English, no?”

“Yes.”

“And you?” Mehmet turned to Steve.

“Australian.”

“You are not Muslim,” he said as a statement, not a question.

Both men shook their heads, and Mehmet frowned, his eyes almost disappearing between the fleshy folds of his face.

“Then why you want to go to Syria?”

John glanced at Craig. “You didn’t tell him?”

“No, just that you wanted to go there.”

John turned back to face Mehmet as the waiter arrived with their drinks. He waited until the waiter was out of earshot, using the time to think about how much he should tell him. He didn’t know the guy and wasn’t getting great energy from him. He pulled his drink closer, swirled it around, and held it up.

“Cheers...”

“Cheers.”

Mehmet took a sip of his raki, then put the glass back on the table. He tapped out a rhythm on the tabletop with his index finger as he waited for John’s answer.

“We want to find someone.”

The tapping stopped. “Who?”

John glanced at Steve.

“A girl.”

“Ha,” Mehmet snorted and looked around the table. “I can get you girls here. Beautiful girls. Why you want to go there?”

Steve banged his bottle of beer on the table and sat forward. He leaned toward Mehmet and growled, “The girl is my