Page 85

Chapter 54

Raphael and Leonardo clomped down the stairwell a little after ten in the morning, heading to a café for the linkup and hoping to get a little breakfast along the way. They exited onto the street warily, as if they expected a suicide bomber to come running up at any minute.

That didn’t happen. What they saw was a cloistered street not unlike Rome, but a little filthier, with bits of trash caught by the breeze floating around. People were walking about normally, not acting as if they feared for their lives or scuttling for cover like Raphael had seen before. He expected some shock from people seeing them exit the building, two Caucasian strangers on the street, but everyone completely ignored them.

Leonardo had never been to Beirut, and Raphael had told him how bad it could be, with bombs flying through the air and shooting all over the place—but Raphael had only been here for a brief stint, during the 2006 war with Israel.

After a moment, he laughed and said, “Looks like things have changed since I was here.”

Leonardo shook his head and said, “It’s like you described our childhood during the Bosnian war, and then we entered Croatia today. What the hell, man? I thought it was going to be a mess here.”

Raphael said, “Youwere the one who was here with Donatello.Youshould have known.”

“That was Tripoli, and honestly, that place looks a lot like this one. I thought you had some secret knowledge of Beirut.”

They gained confidence, shouldering their backpacks and walking up the street, following the directions they’d been given. Eventually, they found the shop, a little street corner café serving espresso and scones.

They took a seat at an outdoor table, as instructed, and ordered from an attractive Lebanese waitress with a flawless understanding of English.

She left and Leonardo said, “I could come back here, afterward. Just for the vacation.”

Raph said, “Me, too.”

A car pulled up across the street and a man exited. He stood for a moment, looked both ways, and the car drove away. Raph studied him. He had what Raph would call a “Taliban beard,” with it shaved into a spike, and was dressed in rough pants, a button-up shirt, and a jacket. He had no skullcap or Kaffiya, his head bare.

He approached the café as if he wanted to enter it, then at the last minute veered to their table, taking the one remaining seat. He said, “My name is Tariq Bazzi, and I understand you need some help.”

Startled at his brazen approach, Raph slid his chair back, putting a hand on his backpack, all of his fears coming true.

Tariq said, “Don’t touch that bag. I’m not the only one here. You won’t live to open it.”

Raph released the zipper but kept his hand on the top, saying, “We won’t go quietly.”

Leonardo put his hand on Raph’s wrist and said, “This is our contact.”

Tariq said, “Leonardo, correct? I remember you from before. The moneyman, right? Tripoli?”

Leonardo nodded and Tariq said, “I’m sorry about Donatello. He was a good man. I hope he died in a good fight.”

Raph said, “He did. Now, what do we do from here?”

“It’s a long trip to where you want to go, with multiple checkpoints and rough terrain. I can get you there, but it’s going to be expensive.”

“It’s a four-hour drive from here.”

“It’s a four-hour drive on a highway in Italy or the United States. It’s a twelve-hour drive for you two. Do you think we’re going through official border crossings? We’re going to have to traverse the Bekaa Valley, go through the mountains, and then enter Syria through checkpoints that we control.”

“Twelve hours?”

“Yes. As I said, expensive. You’re paying me for my skill, and I’m the one that’s going to get you to your contacts on the other side. I have no idea what they want you for, or your area of expertise, and I don’t want to know, but it’s going to cost money.”

Raph bristled and said, “We have the money, if you are who you say you are. I’m not paying just to get rolled up by Hezbollah thugs in the valley, or Assad regime forces in Syria.”

Tariq laughed and said, “Then you’ve come to the right man, because I deal with all of them. Smuggling is what I do. On this side of the border, I’m Hezbollah. On that side, I’m regime. Nobody touches me because I’m too important to all of them.”

Raph said, “We have whatever money you require.”

“Then let’s get that out of the way first. You guys have Venmo? That’s kind of a thing now for the Assad regime.”