Mount Lebanon, Lebanon
‘This is Xavier Callo,’ a scared voice said. ‘I’m in Minsk.’ There was a pause, the sound of heavy breathing. ‘Tell Yamout it’s a trap. Vladimir Kasakov is going to kill him.’ Another pause, longer, more breathing. ‘He tried to kill me already but I got away. Tell Yamout-’
‘That’s it,’ Yamout said. ‘That was Callo’s message. He made the call shortly before he was beaten to death.’
Baraa Ariff nodded, not quite believing what he was hearing. He sat in an eighteenth-century Turkish armchair carved ornately from ebony. Before him a mobile phone set to speaker sat on a coffee table. Yamout sat opposite Ariff, perched on a hand-stitched silk couch.
‘Play it again,’ Ariff said.
They listened to Callo’s words another time. Ariff shook his head before the recording had finished.
The two arms dealers sat in silence for a moment. They were in the combined lounge and bar of Ariff’s private wing on the second floor of his mountain villa. It was cool and quiet in the room. Ceiling fans thrummed softly overhead. Set within the north-east corner wing he also had an office, kitchen, bathroom, bedroom and balcony for his exclusive use. The area was inaccessible to his wife and daughters due to an electronically sealed door that only he and Yamout knew the code to.
Ariff sat back in the armchair. ‘What time was the call made?’
‘The voicemail log says nine-thirty, last night.’
‘Nine-thirty,’ Ariff said thoughtfully. ‘Shortly after you were attacked.’
Yamout nodded.
‘So Kasakov went after Callo and you simultaneously. A coordinated strike against us. But Callo’s death matters nothing to me except I have now lost the money he owed us, and we need the services of a new diamond merchant. Both of which are trivial. What is important to me is that you, my dear friend, were cunning enough to escape Kasakov’s foul assassins.’
Yamout made a face. ‘Yet I came within a hair’s breadth of losing my life. His men were but a room away from killing me. I employed no cunning in my escape, only terror. I am lucky to be alive. It is nothing short of a miracle.’
Ariff gave a mocking smile. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. God would no sooner save you than he would me. Miracles are reserved for the pure and the good. We are neither. Men like us must make our own miracles.’ Ariff stood. ‘Come.’
Yamout followed him through the door into the rest of the villa. The decor changed markedly. Ariff liked his private rooms to be simply decorated — animal-skin rugs on the floor, comfortable furniture, nothing that did not serve a practical purpose. The gold-painted armchairs, bronze statues, Persian rugs, crystal chandeliers, exotic house plants and original oil paintings in the rest of the villa were the doing of Ariff’s wife. She had extravagant tastes and had the interior of the house set like the palace of an opulent prince.
They descended the huge marble staircase. When Ariff reached the bottom his youngest daughter appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and sprinted straight up to him. He caught Eshe under the armpits and hoisted her off her feet. He blew raspberries on her belly. She laughed hysterically. Yamout watched and smiled.
The nanny came rushing after Eshe. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she said to Ariff. ‘Eshe, come here, don’t bother your father.’
Ariff lowered Eshe and stroked her hair. ‘Do as you’re told, my dear.’
The nanny took Eshe’s hand and pulled her away.
Ariff was still smiling when they entered the massive garden that lay behind the villa. It stretched into the distance, seeming to meet the mountainside that rose high behind the villa. There were no clouds and the sun was hot. A guard patrolled on the far side of the crescent-shaped swimming pool. He was armed with an assault rifle — not one of the cheap AKs that were Ariff’s main product — but an American-made Armalite. The villa was set within forty thousand square feet of land patrolled continuously by six mercenaries. Two more were stationed inside the house itself while another two monitored the twenty security cameras and dozen motion sensors that ceaselessly watched over Ariff’s home. Ariff only employed the best to watch over himself and his family.
‘If he came after me,’ Yamout said. ‘He’ll come after you too.’
He walked the thirty feet to where a large pergola stood near to the swimming pool. Beneath its tiled roof were couches and chairs. Ariff took a bottle of Sabil mineral water from a freestanding refrigerator. He offered one to Yamout, who shook his head. Both men sat down in the cool of the shade.
‘And we will be ready for his assassins when he does,’ Ariff said.
‘You don’t seem particularly concerned.’
‘Don’t think that means I am naive. Remember, they could not get to you when you were so far away from home.’ He gestured at the guard. ‘Do you think they will be more successful where we are strongest?’ Ariff relaxed in his chair. ‘Ever since I was a boy my life has been in danger. Now my hair is grey and my face is lined yet I still breathe. Will Kasakov survive as long as I?’ He shook his head again. ‘But for caution’s sake move yourself and your family here with me until this thing is over. I have six bedrooms standing idle. It will be good to finally make use of them.’ He smiled. ‘You will not be in the way and your own men can be added to those already here. We will be invincible.’
‘Thank you, I would feel better with my family behind your walls.’
‘Don’t mention it. Your family is my family.’ Ariff held his arms out. ‘This will be our castle. I welcome his killers to try and strike at us here. We will show that fool just how foolish he really is. Let Kasakov send his killers into our domain and we shall send them back to Russia in little pieces.’
Yamout exhaled and stood. ‘But why attack us now, after all these years? We do not fight for the same business.’
Ariff sipped some water and said, ‘He should have no reason for wanting you or I dead, agreed. We have made no move against him, nor has there been any strife between our traffickers. And if there were some unknown personal grievance there would be no need to kill Callo. But remember, Kasakov has been trapped in Russia for some years now. The UN pressure to apprehend him is considerable. This could be affecting his ability to deal in heavy armaments.’
Ariff set his water down and stepped out from under the pergola. He unhooked his cufflinks and folded up his shirtsleeves. He walked to the edge of the stone patio, slipped off his sandals, and walked barefoot on the grass. It was cool and moist beneath his feet. Yamout walked with him.
Ariff said, ‘Vladimir does not have the infrastructure to flourish in the small arms trade. His giant cargo planes that are so good for delivering tanks to warlords are not subtle enough to sneak assault rifles and rocket-propelled grenade launchers into a war zone. He knows he can’t compete with us, which is why he has never made more than token efforts in the past. But he must believe if he can wipe us out he can fill the void that is left.’ Ariff shook his head but smiled. ‘He must be insane to think that, and to have come after us like this, so blatantly, so arrogantly. That he failed to kill you, which of course I am glad of, is proof enough that his intelligence is second to his ambition. He will suffer for his lack of foresight.’ Ariff stopped to face Yamout. ‘We are now at war, Gabir.’
Yamout exhaled and squinted against the sun. ‘Yet how are we going to strike back? Russia is a long way for us to reach.’
Ariff nodded. ‘Do not forget that Kasakov’s empire overlaps with our own. We deal with many of the same parts of the world, with the same clients. Our paths cross frequently. If he thought he could sweep us away without leaving himself exposed he is very much mistaken. We need not stretch our arm all the way to Russia when Kasakov is already so close. We will attack his network. We will destroy his shipments. We will kill his traffickers. We will slice off his fingers one by one and leave his empire crippled.’
Ariff smiled and set his hands on Yamout’s shoulders. ‘Then, when he has no strength left to resist us, we will deliver the killing blow.’