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CHAPTER 3
    The teletype began to clatter as soon as the plane came to a stop at the west end of the field near the warehouse. Dick Carriage unfastened his seatbelt and walked over to the machine. He waited until the sound ceased, then he tore the message from it, sat down at the desk and opened the codebook he always carried with him.
    Baydr glanced at him, then turned back to the two girls. They were already unbuckled and getting to their feet. He rose with them and smiled. “I hope you enjoy your stay on the Riviera.”
    The blond girl returned his smile. “We’re very excited. It’s our first trip here. The only thing we’re sorry about is that we won’t see you.”
    He gestured vaguely. “Business. Always business.” His mind was on the message. It had to be important if the teletype worked on the weekend. “But if there’s anything you need, just call Carriage; he will take care of things.”
    “We will,” the dark girl said. She held out her hand formally. “Thank you very much for a lovely trip.”
    The blond girl laughed. “It was a real trip.”
    Baydr laughed with her. “Thank you for coming along.”
    Raoul approached them. “The ladies’ car is waiting at the gate.”
    Baydr watched the women follow the steward to the exit and turned back to Carriage. A moment later the young man finished decoding the message. He tore it from the pad and handed it to Baydr.
    TEN MILLION £ STERLING DEPOSITED YOUR ACCOUNT BANQUE DE SYRIE GENEVE ACCORDING TO AGREEMENT. CONTACT ALI YASFIR MIRAMAR HOTEL CANNES FOR FURTHER DETAILS.
    [signed] ABU SAAD.
    Baydr looked at the message impassively, then carefully tore it into shreds. Carriage did the same with the teletype and put the pieces in an envelope. He walked back to the desk and, from under it, pulled out what looked like an ordinary wastepaper basket with a slotted cover. He opened the basket and threw the papers into it, closed it and pressed a small button on its side. The button glowed bright red for a moment, then faded to dark. He opened the container and looked in. All that was left of the papers was crinkly gray ashes. He nodded and went back to Baydr.
    “When would you like to se Mr. Yasfir?” he asked.
    “Tonight. Invite him to the party.”
    Carriage nodded and went back to the desk. Baydr leaned back in his chair, thinking. It was always like this. No matter how carefully he planned his holidays, something always came up that interfered. But this was important and had to be attended to. Abu Saad was the financial agent for Al-Ikhwah, one of the most powerful of the Fedayeen splinter groups, and the sums of money that passed through his hands were astronomical. Contributions came from the rulers of oil-rich sheikdoms and monarchies like Kuwait, Dubay and Saudi Arabia that were anxious to keep their images in the Muslim world intact. And with typical Middle Eastern caution, part of the money was set aside for investment and safekeeping in case the movement should fail. Perhaps no more than fifty percent of the total amounts received were funneled back into the struggle for liberation.
    Baydr sighed gently. The ways of Allah were strange. Freedom had always been an elusive dream for the Arab world. Perhaps it was written that it would always remain so. Certainly there were those like himself upon whom He smiled, but for the others there was only bleak existence and struggle. But the gates of paradise were open to all who believed. Someday they would reach those gates. Maybe.
    He rose to his feet and walked over to the desk. “Get the necklace from the safe,” he told Carriage. He slipped the velvet-covered box into his jacket pocket and walked to the door of the aircraft. He looked back at Carriage. “I will see you on the boat at eleven o’clock.”
    Carriage nodded. “Yes, sir.”
    Jabir was waiting for him at the foot of the ramp. “The car is waiting to take you to the speedboat, master.”
    The big black Rolls limousine was on the field