The Nameless Ones by John Connolly

Chapter XL

Spiridon and Radovan Vuksan watched the ongoing coverage of the Paris shootings on the television in the living room while Zivco Ilić worked the phone and monitored online chatter.

Two things were clear. The first was that the Vuksans would not be receiving the final portion of their fee for the safe delivery of the Syrian cargo, which was unfortunate. The second was that those who had entrusted the Syrians to their safekeeping would want to know why two of their most senior people had been martyred at a Paris railway station. They would already be trying to establish if they had an informant in their ranks, but only as a formality.

If the traitor were at their end, he would have passed on details of the operation long before Saad and Mahdi ever boarded the boat to France, a drone strike in the North African desert being easier and less dangerous than a confrontation at a crowded Parisian transportation hub. Similarly, the two men could have been intercepted shortly after they landed at Port-Vendres, or while they were in the safe house outside the town. Instead, the French had waited until they arrived at Gare de Lyon before moving on them, with the associated risk of civilian casualties should the men have been in possession of explosive devices, or had they elected to fight it out.

To Radovan, this suggested necessity rather than choice on the part of the French. While they might have had some foreknowledge that valuable ISIS operatives were headed for their territory, they didn’t know how, or when, until the Syrians were actually on the train to Paris. Radovan knew that Marković would have stuck to established procedure and isolated all stages of the operation, meaning that only he and the Vuksans were aware of all the arrangements, including false trails involving misinformation, unused cars and apartments, and associates placed on alert who would never be called upon to act. Marković had also decided to split the long journey to Paris between road and rail in order to minimize the risk of interception, so that even Baba and Fouad were not aware of the final destination until they boarded the TGV to Gare de Lyon at Perpignan. No, the leak had occurred only once the final phase of the trip was confirmed, which meant that either Fouad or Baba had betrayed them.

The latter was currently in police custody: there was footage all over the internet of his apprehension by armed police. Of Fouad, there was as yet no trace. The fact that the French had seized Baba did not mean anything. If he was the informant, it would have been natural for the police to spirit him away as quickly as possible; if he was not, the same principle applied. But if Fouad was innocent, why had he not made contact? Yes, Marković was dead, and Fouad had no direct line of communication to the Vuksans, but he had not even been in touch with some of his own people. Fouad, it seemed, had vanished. Perhaps the French had also picked him up and were keeping silent about it, but that was unlikely. Thus Radovan was leaning toward Fouad as the traitor.

But this suspicion, even if it were to be confirmed, would not avail them if, or when, it came time to explain to a bunch of aggrieved Arabs why Saad and Mahdi – accomplished ISIS strategists and moneymen, and therefore beloved of the Prophet – had come to a violent end while ostensibly under the Vuksans’ protection. Spiridon and Radovan would be held accountable. Financial compensation would be demanded, which the Vuksans were not in a position to pay. And if money was not forthcoming, the men in black would seek a more painful and permanent form of restitution.

Meanwhile, Marković was dead, killed in what was being described as an undercover police operation linked to the events at Gare de Lyon. If Fouad had betrayed the operation to the French, it was probable that he had sold out Marković as well. Yet according to the Vuksans’ source on the hotel staff, the police had arrived only after Marković was shot – and, the source opined, they had appeared as puzzled as anyone else by his murder.

All of which made it more urgent than ever that Frend reach an accommodation with Belgrade, one that would permit the Vuksans to retreat to the safety of their rural fastnesses in Serbia. Radovan was working on other options, just in case, but he did not wish to spend the rest of his life running from his enemies, waiting for the inevitable moment when they found him. Like Spiridon, he wanted to be buried in Serbian soil, but unlike Spiridon, he was intent on postponing that interment for as long as possible.