Beirut - An Explosive Thriller by Alexander McNabb

full lips
and smelled mint.
    ‘ We have not
access code for this door. We think it is Russian access
only.’
    Lynch scanned
the door. ‘Russian access? I don’t understand.’
    Liberec spoke
slowly. ‘These facilities are many in Czech Republic and other
countries around us. The Russians controlled them even if they
nominally belonged to the host country. Sometimes the Russians keep
access to areas only for Russian personnel. At that time we Czechs
had to allow this.’
    ‘ And you have
no records of what is stored here?’
    ‘ No. The
records are in Moscow and we have requested them, but we have no
idea of what they kept. We are little bit concerned because
obviously they would only use access codes for highly controlled
materiel. It does appear as if your friends had access to this
area. There are some scrape marks here showing recent
activity.’
    Lynch reached
for the door. ‘So how did they get in?’
    Liberec
shrugged. ‘There are sophisticated systems that can manage this
type of lock. It is over thirty years old, please remember,
although it was very advanced for its time. We have asked for
electronics specialists, they will take perhaps a few more hours to
arrive. Come.’
    Liberec
nodded his thanks to Milena and led Lynch up to the door. ‘The
thieves used the lift, over there at the end of the corridor. We
have lorry tracks up to the exit. They did not bother to hide their
traces. They used one lorry. This has been found abandoned. The
tracks confirm it performed many trips. We think perhaps ten men or
more were involved in this. We have found no significant
fingerprints but we are still dusting. Sorry.’
    Sorry for
what, thought Lynch. For the lack of prints or the certain evidence
they were now chasing the biggest shipment of illegal munitions he
had ever heard of since the Libyans had sent their heavily laden
ships across to the IRA? Sorry for the destruction these crates of
metal and plastic were going to cause when they got to the Middle
East to be lifted out by eager hands? Lynch breathed deeply as they
emerged from the bunker, clearing his head of the musty premonition
of death.
    ‘ What next?’
Liberec asked.
    ‘ Report back
to Dubois and then I have to get back to Beirut. I guess they’re
going to start looking for this boat, but the Germans are all tied
up in red tape. Me, I want to find out what the Lebanese hoods that
bought this lot from Meier and Hoffmann want to use it for. Did you
get descriptions of the boat?’
    Liberec
turned. ‘Yes. They matched those you sent us from Hamburg. We even
had one witness who confirmed the name. It’s the Arabian Princess, surely. She must have been low in the water on the journey
back down the Elbe, though.’
    ‘ And she just
sailed through the border.’
    ‘ I’m sorry,’
said Liberec. ‘Today is my day to be sorry to you, no?’
    Lynch waved
Liberec’s protestations down. ‘Sure, ye can buy me a drink to say
sorry properly when we get back to Prague.’
     
     
    Liberec
surveyed the hotel reception area appreciatively as Lynch led the
way to the bar. The sumptuous art deco room buzzed to the low
chatter of well-heeled tourists preparing for their concerts and
dinners in the bustling heart of Prague. ‘This place is expensive.
They treat you well at EJIC, no?’
    ‘ I’m not
EJIC,’ said Lynch. ‘That whole thing’s a crock of shit as far as
I’m concerned. They can take European cooperation in intelligence
and shove it. What do you fancy?’
    ‘ Beer,
thanks.’
    Lynch called
to the barmaid. ‘Two draught beers, please.’ He settled on the
wooden bar stool, turning to face Liberec. They were alone at the
long wooden counter, at the opposite end of the bustling service
area. The tables in the bar were packed with revellers, a
chattering throng. People bustled past on the street outside,
couples and groups looking in from the cold night air through the
bar’s wide glass frontage.
    The beers
came and they clinked glasses. Lynch