AL FALAMANKI RESTAURANT
MONOT STREET
BEIRUT, LEBANON
Sergent-Chef Lauren Didier of the 1er Régiment de Parachutistes d'Infanterie de Marine reclined further on the sofa as he admired the nubile young females in the adjacent section behind the restaurant's strategically placed hedges.
"Is that him?" Inspector Alexandra Russell peered over the top of her outsize sunglasses at the French Special Forces soldier reclining in an impeccable white shirt and de rigeur blue jeans.
"That's Laurent. He bailed my ass out of a hotspot in Afghanistan in 2001." Christopher scrutinized the lush gardens of the restaurant.
In the seating area, several couches were strategically placed in seating pods and separated from each other by hedges or potted plants. "I can't believe this place is always busy. Even at four in the afternoon."
"This is Beirut – the Paris of the Middle East. At least it used to be that until the civil wars and the Israeli occupation. Do you want to meet with him alone?"
"It might be better." Christopher grinned. "You might distract him in that outfit of yours." He cast an admiring glance over the white sundress. "Laurent is a connoisseur of the female form."
"And this is Beirut and I can wear what I want!" Alexandra signaled a waiter to seat her. "Let me know if you need me."
At the Bar, CSM Primo grinned as he listened to the bickering while he provided oversight coverage to the combative pair.
**
"Mon colonel. You came!" Laurent stood up. "Isn't it beautiful?"
"No rank, Laurent. Just call me Chris. Are you referring to the feathered birds or the gardens?" He gestured to the four young ladies that Laurent had been admiring in the adjacent couch.
"Ah, Chris, I am French. The petite jeune filles always come first. It is you English who glorify gardens." The young soldier grinned and then dropped his voice. "I have recognized your Sergeant-Major Primo leering from the bar, but I did fail to recognize your charming companion. You are definitely becoming very fast with the ladies – perhaps it is our French influence on you." His grin widened as he teased.
Christopher accepted a glass from the waiter and poured some white wine from the bottle in the ice bucket. "Thank you. When are you returning to base?"
"Forty-eight hours. Do you need a ride?" The young Frenchman leaned forward and whispered.
"No, but Primo and two young girls need to get to Italy. Can you accommodate for me?"
"Yes, but I will need to speak to the Major. Are you being followed?" Laurent smiled as he gestured casually with his wine glass.
**
"Yes. Two men. Six feet. One with a beard." Chris touched his glass to Laurent's. "We spotted them at the restaurant. How will I know you have the necessary approval?"
The young soldier's grin was his only response.
"You're assuming your boss will say yes. So do I. Where do we meet?" The two soldiers discussed, in lowered voices, their pickup points and fallback plans as they feigned interest in the laughing quartet of petits jeune filles next to them.
To any observer, the two men were just two lechers discussing the many pleasures of Beirut without a care in the world.
AN HOUR LATER
"Where are we going to now?" Alexandra asked as she carefully picked her way across the cobblestones in her gravity-defying, high-heeled slippers. "You have made the egress arrangements and we can get back to planning our other mission."
"We're drawing those who followed us from the restaurant and their backup teams away from Primo. Are you all right in those shoes?" He failed to notice her derisory glance as he gestured to a shop window. "That would suit you."
An arched eyebrow was her only response as his right arm encircled her waist.
"We need to get rid of our friends," he whispered as he followed the reflections of the staggered team following them. "Primo's to the north. Let's go in and buy something. They should have a back entrance for receiving goods." He failed to notice Alexandra's lips curling into a wide smile as he guided her through the ornate doors of the store he had distracted selected.
"Welcome to Vanilla," the saleslady greeted them. "Is there any that I can interest you in?" She smiled as Christopher peered at the mannequins in surprise. "Is there something M'sieu finds to his liking? We have the new lines of Chantal Thomass and Le Mystere spring collections. This way, please."
A dumbfounded Christopher followed Alexandra and the saleslady further into the store. "We have this new line of bustiers. Very playful, no?"
"Is there a dressing room?" Chris asked as he glanced at the mirror and its reflection of the main entrance.
"We have private dressing rooms where you can make your decisions. However, we cannot permit bottoms to be tried on. Hygiene, you understand?" The sales lady displayed her most dazzling smile. "May I recommend these? They would highlight ..."
Christopher pointed to three sets. "We'll try those. Wrap the bottoms and we'll try the tops if you can find the right sizes." He continued to observe the main entrance as the sales lady returned with three sets of lacy, see-through brassieres.
"No, we will not!" Alexandra exclaimed as Christopher accepted the three bras from the smiling saleslady.
"Your husband won't know, darling. We have always been discreet—there is no way he would suspect..." Christopher coaxed her into the booth as the saleslady employed her cash register skills with amazing dexterity and speed. "...here's my credit card."
**
"What are we doing?" Alexandra hissed as he closed the dressing room door and turned the lights on. "I am not trying those on. No mission is worth that!" Chris silent peered at the mirrors that covered the walls.
"Can you see those two men who are following us entering this store together? Especially in Beirut?" He smiled and shook his head. "I don't think so. This is where we get to put some distance between them and us. Now check the sizes. Sir William is paying for them, so you might as well enjoy them when you get back to London. Incidental expenses."
A suspicious Alexandra checked the sizes and nodded. "Now how do we lose the men following us?"
"We tell the charming saleslady that your husband is outside and we need to use the back entrance. The French love a scandal. I've just spent more than seven hundred pounds in five minutes. If she wants repeat business, she'll let us out of the back door and you get three lingerie sets for nothing."
"Why three sets?"
"Because we now have that saleslady eating out of our hands. She's going to deny that we left through the back door." He fumbled in his pocket for his disposable cell phone. "Oh shit!" He stared at the text message he had just received.
"What?"
"Primo just sent a recall signal. We have to get out of here now!"
**
In the alley behind the store, Christopher motioned Alexandra to the nearest cargo door. "Let me have your satellite phone. Quickly."
In less than a minute, he had a secure connection to Sir William.
"Hooker Zero." He focused on the lingerie store's doorway from his perch twenty meters away.
"Code Black. I repeat Code Black. Proceed to East Site XII. I repeat proceed to East Site XII. Do you read?"
"Five by five. East Site XII affirmative. Out." Christopher disconnected the call and grabbed Alexandra by the arm. "We have to move quickly. When can you be ready to leave?"
**
They walked for ten minutes to the world famous Corniche boardwalk before Alexandra finally asked the first of her questions. "How do you know that a second team isn't following us?"
"Him." Christopher nodded in the direction of Laurent sauntering on the board walk. "And him." Sergeant-Major Primo was seated on one of the benches placidly enjoying the late afternoon heat and humidity. "But that doesn't mean we aren't being followed."
"Where could they be?" Alexandra surveyed the pedestrians ambling along the stone walkway.
"Above us. Drones, Alex. Depending on who is interested in us, there could be a drone right up there circling about five miles out to sea." He smiled as she inadvertently glanced upward. "You won't see them. You just assume they're there. Come closer." He gripped her waist.
"What are you doing?" She started to push him away.
"Don't push. I don't want to take a chance that they have lip readers. I'm heading for Jordan and then Pakistan. Brief change in plans." He whispered into her ear as he brushed back several of her erstwhile tresses of auburn hair.
"Why Pakistan?" she relaxed as he gently stroked her tense neck.
"Sir William said Site XII. XII is usually a Corps designation in most armies. Americans had a XII Corps in their Civil War and in World War II which they made inactive in 1945. Russian also had one and so did the Germans, except the German Corps was a unit of the SS. That leaves only Pakistan which has the only active XII Army Corps and they are based in Quetta – right across the border from Afghanistan," He whispered as he slowly massaged the muscles on either side of her spinal column. "You need to relieve yourself of the stress, Alex. A good massage and a hot bath..."
"And you're volunteering, of course." She pushed back. "Why Jordan?"
"Because I can definitely lose anyone trying to trace or follow me." He grinned. "I know you think I'm some sort of Casanova looking for a romp in the hay, but let me assure you that when I am around you – that is the last thing on my mind. You're safer than a nun in the convent."
She examined him in the gusting sea breeze. "You're going to try to do whatever it is alone, aren't you? You're leaving me here, aren't you? What about the need for a wife as cover?"
"That's three questions, Inspector. As of now, this is a Code Black Operation. You get to go back to your pretty boys in London. I'm sure they will be more fun than me and some unwashed Afghans. I'll make sure Primo and Laurent get the girls out safely. Tell Sir William 'Pathfinder Five'. Can you remember that?" He smiled. "Now in case someone is watching us from one of those buildings." He gestured to the seaside condominiums. "You get to do what you've been dying to do. Slap me. Make it look like a lover's quarrel."
**
"I don't slap!" Alexandra put her full weight behind her punch.
She spun on her heels and walked north on the colonnade after dumping the lingerie bag into the nearest garbage receptacle.