PROLOGUE

On an undisclosed date in September 1979 the
Secretary-General of the United Nations Chaired an
extraordinary meeting .attended by forty-six envoys who,
between them, represented virtually every country in the
world. There was only one pointon the agenda: the
escalating tide of international crime. Criminals and
terrorists were able to strike in one country then flee
to another, but national police forces were prevented
from crossing international boundaries without breaching
the protocol and sovereignty of other countries.
Furthermore, the red tape involved in drafting extradition
warrants (for those countries that at least had
them) was both costly and time-consuming and many
an unscrupulous lawyer had found loopholes in them,
resulting in their clients being released unconditionally.
A solution had to be found. It was agreed to set up an
international strike force to operate under the aegis of
the United Nations' Security Council. It would be
known as the United Nations Anti-Crime Organization
(UNACO). Its objective was to 'avert, neutralize and/or
apprehend individuals, or groups engaged in international
criminal activities'.* Each of the forty-six
envoys was then requested to submit a detailed curriculum
vitae of a candidate its government considered

* UNACO Charter, Article x, Paragraph

5

to be suitable for the position of UNACO Director,
with the Secretary-General making the final choice.

UNACO's clandestine existence came into being on
March x98o.

ONE

	Neo-Chem Industries' Italian plant was situated near the

	. Az4 motorway, halfway between Rome and Tivoli. The

	complex, hidden from the road by a pine grove planted

	in the 95os when the land belonged to the army, was

	surrounded by a 15ofoot perimeter fence and patrolled by

•
	armed guards, most of whom were exopolicemen lured

	away from the Carabinieri by the company's lucrative

wage prospects.

Pietro Vannelli was an exception. He had been a security
guard all his working life.. It was all he knew. He
was fifty-three years old and had been with Neo°Chem
-Industries since the plant had opened eight years earlier.

Six months ago he had been transferred from ground
patrol to the less demanding graveyard shift at the main
gate. At firsi he had been grateful for the move, only too
glad to leave the exercise to the younger men. But he soon
grew disillusioned. Nothing ever happened. He missed
mingling with his colleagues; the jokes, the shared cigarettes,
but most of all the poker games held twice a week
in one of the warehouses. All he seemed to do now was
sit in the hut and read a succession of cheap paperbacks
to pass the time. He had been told there was no chance
of getting his old job back, so he had made some discreet
enquiries about vacancies for nightwatchmen in the city.
It would only be a matter of time before the replies came
through the post.

A pair of headlights pierced the darkness beyond the
gate. It would either be a member of staff who had
forgotten some work or someone seeking directions into
Rome. Why else would anyone bother to take the
signposted road at that time of night? He picked up his
torch, tugged his peaked cap over his thinning grey hair,
then opened the door and stepped out into the cold
night air. A yellow Fiat Regata stopped in front of the
gate. The girl who got out was in her early twenties,
the same age as his own daughter, with an attractive
figure and long red hair. Her face was bruised and
blood seeped from the corner of her mouth. Her faded
jeans were smeared with mud and her white sweatshirt
was torn at the left shoulder. Tears glistened on her
discoloured cheeks. He used a sonic transmitter to open
the gate.

'What happened?' he asked in horror.

" 'Please. help-me,'- she whispered in a barely audible
voice. 'They're going to kill me.'

'Who?' he said, shining the to.rch into the darkness
behind her.

Nothing.

She suddenly darted past him and disappeared into the
hut. He hurried after her. She was cowering in a corner,
her hands clenched tightly under her chin, her eyes wide
with fear.

'It's all right, you're safe now,' he said with a comforting
smile.

He turned back to the door, intending to dose the
gate, and found himself facing a silenced L34 Az Sterling
sub-machine-gun. The man holding it was Riccardo
Ubrino, a swarthy 34-year-old with greasy blk hair and
a stubbled chin. The man behind him was similarly armed.
Paolo Conte was in his early twenties with curly.brown

8

and wire-rimmed glaSses, He wore a brown uniform
identical to Vannelli's.

'Carla, get his gun,' Ubrino ordered, indicating

!i annelh s holstered auger GPxoo.

:i .Carla-Cassalo scrambled to her feet, unholstered the
Lf gun, and gave it to Ubrino. He tucked it into his belt, then

i unslung a second sub-machine-gun from his shoulder and

: handed it to her..
	"
	,

" , 7,-! I see you re admiring my handiwork,' Ubrino said

to Vannelli and cast a sidelong glance at Carla's face.

: 'RealistiC,meat theiSn't it? I use,d,,to work in the make-up depart

at Teatro Opera. You,d be amazed what dell

can be done with a little imagination.

I II: 'Who are you?' Vannelli asked, desperately stalling for

time. He had to get to the alarm bell underneath the desk

behind him.

Red Brigades,' Carla told him.

'What do you want?' Vannelli's right hand was now
touching the desk, his fingers feeling for the button.

Ubrino pressed the tip of the silencer against Vannelli's
face. 'Spare a thoight for your family before you raise the
alarm. Especially your daughter. She's getting married
next month, isn't she? I'd hate anything to happen to her
before the wedding.'

Vannelli.swallowed and brought his hand back into

view.

Ubrino smiled faintly and patted Vannelli's cheek.
'Wise decision. I want you to call your colleague in the
reception foyer. Boschetto, isn't it?'

Vannelli merely nodded.

fear in the corner of the hut. YouYve already called the
il !i!- 'Tell him about the young woman who's cowering with

police ihut you'd feel a lot better if she were to wait in the
foyer for them.' Ubrino grabbed Vannelli,s wrist as he

9

reached for the telephone. 'And remember your daughter
when you make the call.'

withVannellithis.' jerked his hand free. 'You won't get away

'Just call him!' Carla snapped; pressing the Sterling into
Vannelli's back.

'Boschetto knows my voice. Kill me and you'll never
get inside the building.'

'That's where you're wrong,' Carla said with a sneer.
'Paolo was at drama school with me. He's been studying
your voice for the last few weeks. He may not have
perfected it but Boschetto wouldn't know the difference
over the phone."

Ubrino pushed Carla's sub-machine-gun away from
Vannelli's back. 'She's right. We've each got something to
contribute to the mission. The Red Brigades never carry
passengers. Not that we'll need to use Paolo, will we? I'm
sure your. daughter will look lovely on her wedding
day.'

Vannelli snatched the receiver from Ubrino. He had no
difficu, lty in convincing Boschetto to let him bring the girl
to the foyer.

'Bring the car inside,' Ubrino said to Conte after
Vannelli had replaced the receiver. 'Then we can close
the gate. Hurry.'

Vanneili saw Vittorio Nardi for the first time when he
took Conte's place at the door. He immediately remembered
Ubrino's words: We've each got something to contribute
to the mission. Nardi was the same build and
height as Vannelli and, in the brown uniform, could pass
.for him at a distance. Vannelli knew then he was going
to die. He was still teaching for the alarm when UbrinO
shot him in the back. The force of the bullet knocked him
against the wall and he fell heavily to the floor. Obrino

him and checked for a .pulse. There wasn't

one.

:. Conte pushed past Nardi into the hut, his eyes wide
I!i with horror. 'You said there wouldn;t be any killing. You
i!sai'd we'd only have to knock the guards out.'
.,.,- 'You better start growing up, kid '
'Shut up, Nardi!" Ubrino cut in sharply, then led Conte

m the hut. 'It's your first mission, isn't it?'

-: ,Co-n!You lln°dded'learn that 'it mission

I -s one thing to plan a
	on

!.paper but quite another to put it into practice. Things

J.-happen that we can't foresee in the planning stage.

	Vannelli went for the button. If I hadn't shot him he'd

	have raised the alarm and we'd have had to abort the

		You can see that, can't you?'

	Conte nodded again. 'It's just that...' He swallowed

	hard.

	'You've never seen a dead body before? Neither. had I

	until I joined the Red Brigades.' Ubrino:,patted Conte on

	the back. 'Come on, they're waiting for us in the car.'

	Nardi sat behind the wheel, his peaked cap tilted for
	ward
to obscure his face. Carla sat beside him, the Sterling

	on the floor at her feet. Ubrino and Conte climbed into

	the back of the Regata and ducked out of sight, just as

	they all had done when Carla had driven up to the gate.

	Nardi started the car and drove up the winding approach

	road leading to the plant's main reception area. There

	wasn't a guard in sight. It was what they had expected.

	Sunday nights were always reserved for poker and at that

	moment two-thirds of the security staff were in one of the

	warehouses huddled around a makeshift table, consisting

	of two wooden crates pushed together, playing out their

	first hand of the night. The games invariably went on

	until the small hours of the morning. They had made an

II

arrangement that Vannelli and Boschetto would call them
if any of the senior management arrived unexpectedly at
the plant, as had happened a couple of times in the last
month. It cost each player twenty thousand life for every
session (the money being divided equally between Vannelli
and Boschetto)but they regarded it as a small price to
ensure they weren't caught.

Nardi parked in front of the building and got out of
the car. Boschetto opened the glass doors with a transmitter
then hurried down the steps to where Nardi was
standing with his back to him. Nardi, who had been
monitoring Boschetto's approach in the reflection of the
driver's window, swung round to face him, Ruger in hand.
Boschetto opened his mouth to speak but Nardi motioned
him to remain silent. Boschetto's eyes flickered towards
the gun but he did as he was told. Carla alerted the others
and they scrambled out of the car. Ubrino undipped
the transmitter from Boschetto's belt then hit him on the
back of the head with the butt of his Ruger. Nardi
caught Boschetto as he slumped forward unconscious.
He laid him on the ground then got back into the car and
returned to the main gate. Ubrino got Conte to help
him carry Boschetto behind a hedge to one side of the
steps.

'Let Carla into the foyer,' Ubrino said, handing the
transmitter to Conte.

'What about you?'

TII be with you in a minute. I thought I heard a noise.
I'm going to check it out.'

Conte looked down at Boschetto. 'You don't think he'll
wake up-'

'He won't wake.up!' Ubrino hissed sharply. 'We'll be
long gone by the time he comes round. Now go on, Carla's
waiting.'

waited until Crla and Come had entered the
before he pressed the Sterling against the back of
.oschetto's head and squeezed the trigger. Blood splatd
over his shoes. He cursed under his breath wiped
shoes on Boschetto's jacket, then hurried up the steps

/-i Did you see anybody? Conte asked, activat/ng the

r behind Ubrino.

:--:No, just.my im-anation. You're not the only one
ffcring from nerves. Ubrino led Conte behind the recep' in desk, and indicated the row of closed-circuit television
-screens. The first sign of any guards, you call me.'

: "I will,' Conte replied quickly.

i!i Obrino attached an earpiece to the two-way radio on

his belt then crossed to where Carla was waiting for him

-at the top of the stairs, his rubber.soled shoes silent on
the black-and-white tiled floor. They descended the stai
and he paused to get his bearings, picturing the architect s
blueprint in his mind. He pointed to another flight of
stairs at the end of the corridor. It leddown to the
laboratories. He allowed himself a faint smile of satisfaction
when he saw the sign on the wall at the foot of

the stairs: ,,- LABORATORIES I -- x7 LABORATORIES

xS-- 40--.

They wanted ZT. It turned out to be a white door
with the words vaoFssoa r.vm wsEl˘, printed
across it in black. He paused at the door to wipe the sweat
from his forehead. Carla instinctively touched his arm. She had been his lover for the past year. He knew she was
in love with him. She had told him enough times but he
had reciprocated the sentiments merely because he knew
that was what she wanted to hear. She was young and
attractive, like many before her, but he would have no
qualms about ditching .her.

He opened the door without knocking, He had
pected to find-himself in a laboratory with rows of workbenches
and charts plastered across the walls; instead this
was an office, neatly furnishedwith a collection of framed
diplomas on the wall. He reminded himself that David
Wiseman was the plant's senior scientific adviser: an administrator,
not a research chemist. And administrators
work in offices.

Wiseman sat behind the desk. He was a 49-year:old
American with wiry black hair and a neatly trimmed black
beard. His eyes widened in horror when Carla appeared
in the room behind Ubrino.

'It's just make-up,' Ubrino assured him.

"Why?' Wiseman asked in Italian.

- "That doesn't concern you,' Ubrino retorted, then
: rossed to the desk. 'Have you got the vial?'

Wiseman took a sealed metal cylinder, the size of a
.cigar case, from one of .the drawers and held it up for
Ubrino to see. The vial was inside the cylinder. 'A hundred
thousand dollars isn't enough. Not after all the risks I've
had to-take to produce this for you in secret.'

Carla stepped forward and aimed the Sterling at
Wiseman's chest.

Uhrino pushed the barrel away from Wiseman. 'Let him
speak. As he said, he was the one who took all the risks.'

'VII have an antidote ready for this by the end of the
week, But it will cost you another hundred thousand, to
be paid into my Swiss bank account.'

Ubrino nodded thoughtfully, then took the metal cylinder
from Wiseman and checked the serial number.
SR4785. It was the same as the number he had been given
a-t the final.briefing earlier that day

'Don't forget2 A hundred thousand dollars or no anti
dote,' Wiseman got to his feet. 'My laboratory's next

14

		better if you coshed me there. That way

		if I'd disturbed you.'

..
	been a change of plan,' Ubrino said with an

c smile.
	.

	?' Wiseman demanded. 'Why wasn't I told about

doubt whether you'd have gone along with it. We

need the antidote.'

at's madness,' Wiseman retorted.-'If the vial was

without an antidote the consequences would be

0phic.'

And that's what makes it all the more valuable.' lY0rino

,eted the metal cylinder, then glanced at Carla. 'Kill

F/iseman grabbed th ashtray from his desk and threw

at her, catching her painfully on the shoulder. He

ashed the safety glass on the wall behind him and hit

alarm bell with the palm of his hand. A high-pierced

ihritl echoed through the compx, Ubrino shot him twice
Fin
the back then grabbed Carla s hand and hurried to the

Call Nardi,' he told her, easing the door open and

'ering out into the corridor. It was deserted. 'Tell him

-i to wait for us at the steps.'

:. She unhooked the two-way radio from her belt and

called Nardi, who told her he was already on his way. She

:dipped it back on to her belt and theyere about to run

ifo :he stairs when they saw the approaching guard.

		'Put down your gun,' Ubrino said to Carla.

		'What?' she replied in amazement.

	.
	'Trust me, card; he said, then took the Sterling.from

her and leant it against the wall. 'I've got one of them,'

| he shouted, emerging into the corridor behind her, using

I
her body to shield the Sterling in his hand.

in the cause wasn't enough. He had only
to the team because he could impersonate
telephone. Now he was expendable.

strafed.the deskwith gunfire. Conte was hit
es before he slumped to the floor. Ubrino dis
empty magazine then pulled a.fresh one from
' and snapped it into place. He snatched the
off the desk but as he turned towards the door
˘racked inches from his ear. He dived to the floor
to safety behind .the thick concrete pillar in the
f.the foyer. The bullet had come from the direction

• A second bullet hit the pillar. He was pinned
;"˘˘here the hell was Nardi? Had he been caught?
U'brino heard the sound of a car engine abov the
-He glanced over his shoulder and saw the Regata
upin front of the steps. He unclipped a smoke grenade
his belt, primed it, and rolled it towards the stairs.
pactivated the doors, then, using the dense black smoke

b cover, he sprinted down the steps and flunghimself
ugh the open passenger door. Nardi threw the main

transmitter to Ubrino, then accelerated away-from
guards, who had stumbled out on to the steps, cough:
nd spluttering from the effects of the smoke renade.
no activated the gate when it came into view. The car
t through the narrow aperture and Ubrino immediately
d the gate behind him. He tossed the transmitter on
the dashboard, then sat back and closed his eyes.

get the vial?' Nardi asked once they were clear

patted his pocket in answer.

Carh and Paolo?'

'I'm rry. I know you and Carla were...' Nardi
with a shrug.

He opened the door without knocking. He had expected
to find himself in a laboratory with rows of workbenches
and charts plastered across the walls; instead this
was an office, neatly furnished with a collection of framed
diplomas on the wall. He reminded himself that David
Wiseman was the plant's senior scientific adviser: an administrator,
not a research chemist. And administrators
work in offices.

Wiseman sat behind the desk. He was a 49-year:old
American with wiry black hair and a neatly trimmed black
beard. His eyes widened in horror when Carla appeared
in the room behind Ubrino.

'It's just make-up,' Ubrino assured him.
'Why?' Wiseman asked in Italian.
'That doesn't concern you,' Ubrino retorted, then
crossed to the desk. 'Have you got the vial?'

Wiseman took a sealed metal cylinder, the size of a

i	cigar case, from one of the drawers and held it up for

Ubrino to see. The vial was inside the cylinder. 'A hundred

thousand dollars isn't enough. Not after all the risks I've

had to take to produce this for you in secret.'

i	Carla stepped forward and aimed the Sterling at
] Wiseman's chest.

i	Ubrino pushed the barrel away from Wiseman. 'Let him
1 speak. As he said, he was the one who took all the risks.'
5 Til have an antidote ready for this by the end of the
week. But it will cost you another hundred thousand, to
iJ ^ 'be paid into my Swiss bank account.'
j 1 Ubrino nodded thoughtfully, then took the metal cylinder
from Wiseman and checked the serial number.
51^4785. It was the same as the number he had been given
at the final briefing earlier that day.

'Don't forget. A hundred thousand dollars or no antidote.'
Wiseman got to his feet. 'My laboratory's next

14

Idooi. It would be better if you coshed me there. That way
it would look as if I'd disturbed you.'

'There's been a change of plan,' Ubrino said with an
apologetic smile.

'What?' Wiseman demanded. 'Why wasn't I told about
A?'

'I doubt whether you'd have gone along with it. We
Pdon't need the antidote.'

'That's madness,' Wiseman retorted. 'If the vial was
iv opened without an antidote the consequences would be
^catastrophic.'

'And that's what makes it all the more valuable.' Ubrino
pocketed the metal cylinder, then glanced at Carla. 'Kill
him.'

Wiseman grabbed the ashtray from his desk and threw
it at her, catching her painfully on the shoulder. He
smashed the safety glass on the wall behind him and hit
the alarm bell with the palm of his hand. A high-pierced
shrill echoed through the complex. Ubrino shot him twice
in the back then grabbed Carla's hand and hurried to the
door.

'Call Nardi,' he told her, easing the door open and I. peering out into the corridor. It was deserted. 'Tell him \ to wait for us at the steps.'

\ She unhooked the two-way radio from her belt and \ called Nardi, who told her he was already on his way. She \ clipped it back on to her belt and they were about to run ;: for the stairs when they saw the approaching guard.
I 'Put down your gun,' Ubrino said to Carla.
' 'What?' she replied in amazement.

'Trust me, cara,' he said, then took the Sterling from
her and leant it against the wall. 'I've got one of them,' I he shouted, emerging into the corridor behind her, using
her body to shield the Sterling in his hand.

[	*5

The guard, seeing the uniform, hurried towards them.
Ubrmo stepped out from behind Carla and shot the guard
in the chest. Carla grabbed her Sterling and covered
Ubrino while he sprinted to the stairs. A guard appeared
at the top of the stairs and Ubrino swung the Sterling
upwards, killing him with a single shot. As he turned back
to cover Carla a bullet hit the wall inches from his face.
He jerked his head away, his back pressed against the
staircase wall. Carla, who was already running for the
stairs, turned to face the kneeling guard at the end of the
corridor. He shot her twice. The Sterling spun from her
hands and she landed heavily at the foot of the stairs, her
sweat shirt soaked in blood. Ubrino stared momentarily
at her sightless eyes, then darted up the stairs to the next
level. It was deserted. He ran to the stairs leading up to
the foyer and mounted them cautiously, his back against
the wall, the Sterling swinging from side to side. He
reached the top of the stairs and dived low on to the foyer
floor, the Sterling at the ready. The foyer, too, seemed
deserted. But he couldn't see the reception desk from
where he lay. He scrambled to his feet and tiptoed past
the lift, frequently glancing over his shoulder, then pressed
himself against the wall, the Sterling held inches from his
sweating face. He flicked the switch from single to rapid
fire, then pivoted round to face the reception desk, his
finger curled around the trigger.

Paolo Conte stood nervously behind the desk, his eyes
wide and fearful. Ubrino knew it was a trap. It made
sense. Why hadn't Conte called him on the radio when
the alarm went off? Because the guards had got to him
first. One or more guards would be crouched behind the
desk, willing Conte to lure him into the open. An old
trick. But still effective. He had been right all along. Conte
would never make a good Brigatista. He didn't have the

16

I guts. Believing in the cause wasn't enough. He had only I ,been drafted into the team because he could impersonate
" Vannelli on the telephone. Now he was expendable.

Ubrino strafed the desk with gunfire. Conte was hit

' several times before he slumped to the floor. Ubrino dis

» carded the empty magazine then pulled a fresh one from
\ his pocket and snapped it into place. He snatched the

r transmitter off the desk but as he turned towards the door

j> a bullet cracked inches from his ear. He dived to the floor

'* and rolled to safety behind the thick concrete pillar in the

middle of the foyer. The bullet had come from the direction

of the stairs. A second bullet hit the pillar. He was pinned

down. Where the hell was Nardi? Had he been caught?

Then Ubrino heard the sound of a car engine above the

alarm. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the Regata
pull up in front of the steps. He undipped a smoke grenade
from his belt, primed it, and rolled it towards the stairs.
He activated the doors, then, using the dense black smoke
as a cover, he sprinted down the steps and flung himself
through the open passenger door. Nardi threw the main
gate transmitter to Ubrino, then accelerated away from
the guards, who had stumbled out on to the steps, coughing
and spluttering from the effects of the smoke grenade.
Ubrino activated the gate when it came into view. The car
shot through the narrow aperture and Ubrino immediately
dosed the gate behind him. He tossed the transmitter on
to the dashboard, then sat back and closed his eyes.

'Did you get the vial ?' Nardi asked once they were clear
of the gates.

I Ubrino patted his pocket in answer.

f 'What happened to Carla and Paolo?'
'Dead.'

'I'm sorry. I know you and Carla were . . .' Nardi
trailed off with a shrug.

i?

I'She knew the risks,' Ubrino said bluntly.

Nardi swung the car into a side road and pulled up
behind the white Fiat Uno Ubrino had parked there earlier
that evening. They climbed out of the car and Ubrino
came up behind the unsuspecting Nardi and shot him
through the back of the head. His orders had been to
eliminate the others once he had the vial safely in his
possession. He tossed the Sterling into the undergrowth,
then crossed to the Fiat Uno and took a holdall from the
back seat. t
contained a pair of jeans and a grey sweatshirt.
He changed into them, then stuffed the brown uniform
into the holdall and left it beside Nardi's body.

He drove the Fiat Uno the short distance to join the
Az4 motorway and headed back towards Rome.

it
18

TWO

Monday

jLino Zocchi slipped on a pair of sunglasses then stepped
out into the exercise yard, a burly man on either side of
him. It was a bright cool day, far pleasanter than it would
be once Rome was enveloped by the sweltering heat of
Summer. Zocchi looked up at the watchtower, manned
by an armed warder, then dug his hands into his pockets
and crossed to the concrete stand on the other side of the
exercise yard. The two men kept in close attendance.

Zocchi was a short, stocky 4 3-year-old with a leathery
lace and black hair cropped close to his skull. He had
grown up in the slums of Rome, committed to the political
ideologies of Engels and Marx, and had been recruited by
the Red Brigades when he was in his early twenties. He
had gone on to spearhead a successful recruitment drive
4n the south of the country, mainly on the university
campuses, and was rewarded with a post as one of Rome's
senior cell commanders. Three years later he was promoted
to brigade chief of Rome, a position he still held
despite having just started a ten-year sentence for his part
in the attempted assassination of a leading Italian judge,
e still had one ambition left to fulfil--to become leader of
e Red Brigades, even if it meant running the organization

m his prison cell. He knew he could do it.

He climbed to the top of the stand and sat in the place
e always took when the weather was good. His two
yguards, both Brigatisti serving life sentences, looked

19

around slowly, then seated themselves on either side of
him. He took a cigarette from his pocket and pushed it
between his lips. One of the bodyguards lit it for him. He
heard the sound of the approaching helicopter and looked
up when it came into view. The word polizia, in black
letters, was clearly visible against the side of the white
fuselage. The prisoners gesticulated angrily at it, their
voices carrying as they shouted abuse at the pilot. It
hovered over the exercise yard. The cabin door opened
fractionally. A moment later a single shot echoed out. The
prisoners were still scrambling for safety when it gained
height again. The cabin door was flung open and the
watchtower raked with gunfire, forcing the warder to dive
for cover. By the time he got to his feet the helicopter was
already out of firing range. He raised the alarm, then used
his binoculars to scan the exercise yard for any casualties.
He trained them on a section of the stand where the
prisoners were congregating in an ever-widening circle.

Zocchi lay on the top step, the cigarette still smouldering
inches away from his outstretched hand. The top of
his head had been shot away.

Malcolm Philpott used the miniature transmitter on his'. desk to close the door after the Secretary-General had lefti
the office, then opened his tobacco pouch and tamped aj
wad into the mouth of his briar pipe. He lit it carefull)
then sat back in his chair and stared thoughtfully at the|
ceiling.

He was a 56-year-old Scot with a gaunt face and red
hair who had spent seven years as the head of Scotland!
Yard's Special Branch before taking up his present pos
as UN AGO Director in 1980. The man with the dolefu
features and thinning black hair sitting opposite him haf*

2.O

I deputy for the past three years. Sergei Kolchinsky,
fwas four years younger than Philpott, had been a
erative for twenty-five years, sixteen of those as a
attache in the West, before he joined UNACO,
; a fellow Russian who had been sent back home

«

VCO employed zo9 personnel, thirty of those being
ratives who had been siphoned off from law
it agencies around the world. They worked in
eOl three, each team being denoted by the prefix
Force', and their intensive training included all
of unarmed combat and the use of all known
(although operatives could choose their own
for any assignment). The training took place
ty at UNACO's Test Centre off the Interborough
ay in Queens. The entire complex was housed
aund to ensure maximum security.
3tt reached for his cane and crossed to the win
He limped heavily on his left leg; the result of an
he had sustained in the last days of the Korean
»office, situated on the twenty-second floor of the
Nations Secretariat, looked out across the East

ft view of the report we received this morning we're
to have to bring in Strike Force Three for this

it,' Philpott said. I agree.' Kolchinsky stubbed out his cigarette and
lately took another one from the packet on the
jtand lit it. 'But then I'd have used them anyway.'
11 detect a hint of favouritism there, Sergei?' Philpott
I as he returned to his chair and sat down,
nil it respect. Their track record proves they are the

we've got.'
ilpott entered a code into his computer, read the

zi

information from the screen, then banged his fist angrily
on the desk. 'They went on leave last week. As if we didn't if
have enough problems.' He flicked a switch on his desk.
'Sarah?'

'Yes sir?' came the immediate reply.

'Get hold of Mike, Sabrina and C.W. Top priority.'

Til get on to it right away.'

'And Sarah, they're on a Code Red standby. Cancel j
their leave, effective immediately until further notice.'

Sabrina Carver was UNACO's only female field operative, a
It had initially caused some resentment amongst some of,,
her more chauvinistic male colleagues when she had been S
recruited from the FBI, but she had quickly proved that|
'she was more than capable of looking after herself and!
now, two years on, Mike Graham and C. W. Whitloclc
were the envy of those same colleagues who had made the|
mistake of doubting her abilities.

Although she lived in New York she still tried to get|
down to Miami at least twice a year to visit her parent
at their Spanish-style mansion in the affluent Coral Gables*
suburb overlooking Biscayne Bay. When her leave cam*
through it was already the middle of March and she hadn't
seen her mother and father since their annual Christma^
pilgrimage to New York. She had decided to spend thy
first ten days of her leave in Miami before flying out t^
Switzerland to join some of her friends for a week
skiing. The Miami weather was in the high eighties ani
she had spent most of her time either lazing by the swinv
ming pool listening to jazz on her portable compact dis j
player, or else out on Biscayne Bay in her father's 4zf
Maxum speedboat, the Port of Call.

She parked her father's BMW 730! opposite the Mariti*|

zz

close to the entrance of the Miamarina, and
if as she remembered how she had managed
him to call the speedboat the Port of Call |8f of her favourite songs by her jazz idol, saxophonSanborn.
Heads turned to look at her when
lit of the car. She was a strikingly beautiful
with a near perfect figure which she kept in
* attending aerobics classes three times a week
wasn't on assignment. Her shoulder-length
r, which she had tinted with auburn highlights,
underneath a New York Yankees baseball
Graham, a lifelong Yankees fan, had given it
she had turned up at the Test Centre wearing
ers cap. She had never worn the Dodgers cap
was wearing an emerald bikini underneath a
ike T-shirt and knew she was attracting the
i of the men she passed on her way to where the
f Call was berthed at the end of the pier. She had I ignore the salacious looks and wolf-whistles, for ved to acknowledge them would only be a sign
)r. And she despised vanity in any form.
^"Stopped beside the Dream Merchant, a icy-foot
Iwhich belonged to John Bernstein, one of Miami's
f financiers and a close family friend for more years
could remember. Her father had told her the
>re that Bernstein was attending an international
ary conference in Washington and wasn't due back Nhe following week. So what were the two men in
pwetsuits doing in the saloon? She was sure there
? perfectly simple explanation but decided to check
' anyway. The gangway had been pulled in so she
t on to the deck, landing nimbly on her toes. One pounds nen saw her and swung round, a Walther ?5 in his
*5 She flung herself to the deck as he fired. The bullet

2.3

smashed through the glass door and hit the pier. His
colleague shouted at him and they disappeared through a
side door. Seconds later she heard the sound of engines
and got to her feet in time to see the two men fleeing the
yacht on red and white jetskis. She clambered back on to
the pier, shouted at a startled couple on a nearby yacht;
to call the police, then ran to where the metallic-gold Port of Call was moored. She untied it, started the engine, then;
turned it sharply in the water and headed after the,jetskis,s|
The two men saw her and split up, one heading fot|
the busy harbour complex, the other continuing towards!
Lummus Island. She spun the wheel violently and went!
after the one making for the harbour. She knew she would|
lose him if he reached the harbour first. There were toof
many hiding places for a craft of that size. She accelerated;!
sharply and the speedboat skimmed across the water but-|
although she was closing on the jetski she knew sht|
couldn't catch it. He glanced over his shoulder and mac
the mistake of thinking she would cut him off before
reached the safety of the docks. He panicked and reache
for the Walther in his wetsuit pocket. He lost control
the jetski. It somersaulted, catapulting him into the watet
She throttled back the engine and pulled up alongside i
man who offered no resistance as she helped him into th
speedboat. He slumped dejectedly on to one of the padde
seats, his hands over his face. Blood ran down the side <
his head from a gash above his eye.

Then she noticed the approaching patrol boat. It dre|
alongside the speedboat and a painter rope was throv
to her.

v'There's another '

'Just tie the rope to your boat,' a ginger-haired mi commanded. He was in his early fifties and wore t|
insignia of a lieutenant.

M

I", She switched off the engine then scrambled on to the
and threaded the rope through the ring, securing it
ily with an overhand knot. The man was hauled over
patrol boat's low railing and sent below to have his
grund treated. Sabrina ignored the extended hands and
ibed aboard the patrol boat by herself. She asked about
pother jetskier.
fe'A patrol boat has already intercepted him near
amus Island.' The lieutenant stared at her, then shook
|phead slowly to himself. 'You've been watching too

i Miami Vice, sweetheart.'
pt"m not your sweetheart,' she snapped back.

New Yorker; I should have guessed,' he muttered
I reached for her baseball cap.
fou touch that and you'll be in the water quicker than
i can draw breath,' she said icily. fd watch my tongue if I were you,' he shot back,
icing a finger of warning at her. 'What the hell were
||jloing? You could have got somebody killed at the

jrina.'

^didn't know they were armed,' she replied defens
, fThe yacht belongs to a friend of mine who happens
fee out of town at the moment. What was I supposed
Sj? Ignore the fact that two men were acting sus
sly on board?'

were supposed to call the police and let them
it.'

t bear it in mind next time, if I can find a policeman
»

i got a good mind to book you.'
what?' she replied in amazement. 'Making a citipgrrest?
You guys must really be having trouble

; your quota of collars for the month.'
f bleeper sounded. She undipped it from the bottom

^5

half of her bikini and switched it off. 'I need to call New
York urgently.'

'Don't tell me, your boyfriend's missing you,' the
lieutenant said sarcastically.

There was a ripple of laughter from the men around
them.

She bit back her anger. 'If it'll put your mind at rest,
have one of your men radio through to police headquarters
and check on the speedboat. The Port of Call. You'll find
it's registered to George Carver, the former Democratic
Congressman and Ambassador to Canada and the United
Kingdom. He's my father.'

The lieutenant gestured to the door behind her. 'Make
your call, but you're going to have a lot of explaining to
do before we're through here.'

She let him lead the way to his cabin.

'I'll be waiting outside the door,' he told her gruffly.

She closed the door behind her and crossed to the
telephone on the desk. She dialled an unlisted number.

'Llewelyn and Lee, good morning,' a female voice
answered politely after the first ring.

'Sabrina Carver, 101730630,' she said, quoting the
number on her personnel dossier in Philpott's office.

'Hello, Sabrina, the Colonel wants to speak to you
urgently. I'll put you through.'

'Thanks, Sarah.'

There was a click on the other end of the line.

'Sabrina?'	$»

'Yes, sir,' she replied, immediately recognizing-*
.Philpott's crisp Celtic accent.

'You're on an immediate Code Red standby. There's a!
ticket waiting for you at the Continental check-in counter. |
Your flight leaves in three hours. Briefing is scheduled fors
three-thirty this afternoon.'

16

She swore inwardly. 'There's a slight problem, sir,' she
lid, and went on to tell him what had happened.

Til call Miami's Chief of Police and have him clear
lings with this lieutenant. You say his name's Grady?'
| 'That's what it says here,' she replied, touching the
imeplates on the desk.
| 'Fine. See you later.'

The line went dead. She replaced the receiver and found
bdy waiting in the corridor.
|The Chief of Police?' he said in amazement, when she

told him to expect the call. 'Who are you?'
||ust another New Yorker,' she replied, touching her
'See you on deck.'

icn he reemerged fifteen minutes later she was busy
ing to a couple of the men about the intruder, who
^already confessed to attempted theft. They saw it as

:n and shut case.

fou're free to go,' Grady told her, barely able to keep
contempt from his voice. 'You'll still need to testify in

'^r '

jfou know where to get hold of me, Lieutenant.'
abrina climbed back into the speedboat, untied the
then turned the boat around and headed back is the Miamarina.
at I'd give for one date with her,' one of the men

wistfully.

now what your wife would give you,' a voice piped
rind him.

pie others laughed.

" ay, the fun's over,' Grady snapped. 'Let's get that
i jetski out of the water before it drifts any further
tsea.'

*7

Mike Graham's first thought on hearing the gunshots had
been for the safety of the small herd of white-tailed deer
that lived in the forest near his log cabin on the banks of
Lake Champlain in southern Vermont. He had spent his
vacations watching them since moving from New York
two years earlier and the idea of them being harmed both
angered and horrified him. Arming himself with an Mzi
rifle and a powerful pair of Zeiss binoculars, he had set
off in the direction from which the gunshots had originated.
Not that he had needed to draw on any of his
tracking experience to find the culprits. A ten-year-old
could have followed the trail of empty beer cans. The two
men were sitting against the side of a white jeep in a
clearing by the lake, each with a beer in his hand. They
were cooking a rabbit over a crudely constructed fire,
occasionally turning it on a makeshift spit. He could smell
the meat from where he lay. He could also smell the joint
they were sharing.

Graham was a youthfully handsome 37-year-old with
tousled collar-length auburn hair and penetrating pale
blue eyes who kept himself in shape with a daily predawn
run followed by a gruelling workout in the converted
mini-gym behind the cabin. His obsession with fitness
dated back to his childhood in the Bronx when his only
ambition was to wear the famous blue and white uniform
of the New York Giants. His ambition was realized when
he was signed up as a rookie quarterback after he gradu- ;|
ated from UCLA with a degree in Political Science. A If
month later he was drafted into Vietnam where a shoulder ^
injury cut short his promising football career. He joined S|
the C1A to help train Meo tribesmen in Thailand and oil. ^
his return to the United States he was accepted by the elitt t|
anti-terrorist squad, Delta. He was promoted to leader of =1
Squadron-B eleven years later and his first mission was to jjj

x8	'

a five-man team into Libya to destroy a known
bgrist base on the outskirts of Benghazi. He was about
Ipve the order to close in on the base when news reached
jljji/tbat his wife, Carrie, and son, Mike Jnr, had been
l^cted outside their New York apartment by Arabjeaking
gunmen. He refused to abort the mission and
was destroyed. The FBI launched an intensive
mwide search but Carrie and Mike Jnr were never
He was retired from Delta at his own request three
is later but was initially turned down for UNACO
Secretary-General on the basis of his psychiatric
Philpott personally overruled the Secretary's
decision and Graham was accepted as a
"AGO field operative, subject to periodic reevaluation
every year.

older of the two men, who was wearing a peaked
^©ver his grey hair, tossed the joint into the fire then
|f JO his feet and helped himself to another beer from
Jer on the passenger seat. He was about to sit down
when a movement caught his eye in the scrub behind
$eep. He tapped his blond-haired companion on the
ler, gestured for him to be quiet, and pointed
Is the scrub. The blond-haired man took a .300
:f Hale from the back of the jeep, raised it to his
r and fired. He shouted in triumph and slapped
id on the back.

'0u only hit it in the leg, Ray,' the grey-haired man
then took another mouthful of beer. 'Hell, that
;S big enough to keep us in jerkey for the next

is,' Ray replied with a grin. 'Hey, look at it tryin'
up. It's not goin' to get far on three legs.'
companion laughed. 'Shoot it in another leg. I bet
f$i ten dollars you can't.'

&'	2-9

'You're on, Sam,' Ray replied and raised the rifle to his
shoulder again.

Graham, who had crept up silently behind them, struck
Ray in the small of the back with the butt of the Mzi,
slamming him against the side of the jeep. The Parker
Hale fell to the ground. Sam made a move towards it.

'If you pick it up, you'd better be prepared to use it,'
Graham threatened.

Sam swallowed nervously and stepped away from the
Parker Hale. Graham picked it up and threw it into the
water.

'Who are you?' Ray demanded, his face still twisted
in pain. 'There ain't no law 'gainst us huntin' round
here.'

I t	Graham ignored him, then reached inside the jeep and
released the handbrake. It rolled towards the lake. Graham
hurried over to where the deer lay, its eyes wide and
fearful as it struggled to stand up. He tried to comfort it j
by stroking its head. There was nothing he could do to save it. The leg was shattered. He shot it through the back of j
the head. Its body jerked, then lay still.

'I hope you're proud of yourself, boy,' Graham snapped I
at Ray, who had managed to stop the jeep inches away]
from the water.

'We was only havin' some fun,' came the sullen reply, j

'Is that what you call it? Well now, it's my turn to have
some fun. Take off your boots, both of you.'

'Go to hell,' Sam snarled. 'You've got no right to
threaten us like this. Ray's right, we haven't broken an)
hunting laws.'

Graham looked out across the lake. 'One of the reason
I came to live out here was because of its seclusion. Hard!
anybody comes around these parts. I could kill you botl
dump your bodies in the jeep, and drive it into the laki

30

Your bodies would never be found. And if you don't think
I'd do it, call my bluff.'

Ray shook his head nervously. 'We ain't doubtin' you'd
do it, mister. If it's money you want -- '
Take off your boots!'

The two men exchanged glances, then untied their
boots and kicked them off. Graham threw them as far as
he could into the lake, then shot out the jeep's back tyres.
: 'What the hell are you doing?' Sam shouted, his eyes
'fixed on the deflated tyres. 'We're only carrying one spare.'
; 'The nearest town's Burlington. It's about five miles
ifrom here. Ask for Charlie, he'll sell you a tyre, if you pay
shim enough.'

| 'How we supposed to get there?' Ray wailed, staring
[at his stockinged feet.

'If you run you should make it by mid-afternoon.'
raham pointed east. 'It's in that direction.'
'We'll cut our feet to pieces,' Sam said, looking around
n desperation. 'There's nothing but forest for miles.'
'Yeah, deer country.'

Graham shouldered his Mil and disappeared back
to the undergrowth, deaf to the shouted pleas of the n behind him. It took him twenty minutes to get back
his cabin and as he neared the door he could hear his
r in the bedroom. He hurried inside and switched :. The telephone beside the bed started to ring. He sat
the edge of the bed and picked up the receiver.
'Mike?'
'Speaking.'

'It's Sarah, from Llewelyn and Lee.'
'1913204,' Graham quoted his UNACO ID number.
'Finally,' she said, the relief evident in her voice. 'I've
trying to get hold of you for the past two hours. Isn't
r bleeper working?'

3i

'I guess not,' Graham replied, turning it around in his j
hand.

'Bring it in, I'll order a replacement from the Test!
Centre. Colonel Philpott wants to speak to you urgently.!
Oh, Mr Kolchinsky's just come in. He wants to speak to|
you.'

'Michael, what's going on down there?' Kolchinsk
barked down the line. 'Why haven't you been answerit
your bleeper?'

'It must be acting up,' Graham replied dismissively
'What's the big panic?'

'You're on a Code Red standby. Nash has been waitir
for you at the Burlington airstrip for the last hour. Pac
some summer clothes, the Mediterranean can be we
warm at this time of year.'

'You've whetted my interest already.'

'And don't forget to bring your bleeper with you. Wl
can't have you running around with a faulty one, can we!)
,'j	Kolchinsky's sarcasm wasn't lost on him. He smiled I
1 ;; himself, then replaced the receiver and crossed to
j j cupboard to find his suitcase.

Sabrina found a space for her champagne-colour
Mercedes-Benz 500 SEC in the parking bay next to
United Nations Headquarters, then crossed to the
retariat Building where she produced a pass to gain
I	entry into the main foyer. The pass identified her as
interpreter based at the General Assembly, the perf^
cover considering her degree in Romance languages
her subsequent postgraduate work at the Sorbonne.

She took the lift to the twenty-second floor, then walk
to an unmarked door at the end of the corrid
and punched a code into the numerical bellpush on'

32
adjacent wall. The door opened on to a small, neatly
furnished office. Three of the walls were covered with
cream-coloured wallpaper. The fourth wall was constructed
of rows of teak slats, incorporated into which
were two seamless sliding doors which could only be
opened by miniature sonic transmitters. The door on
the right led into the soundproofed UNACO Command
Centre where teams of analysts, using the latest in high
tech equipment, worked around the clock to keep abreast
of the ever-changing developments in world affairs. The
door on the left led into Philpott's office and could only
fee opened by him.

Sarah Thomas looked up from her typewriter and

smiled at Sabrina. She was an attractive 31-year-old with

short blonde hair who had turned down the possibility of

a lucrative career in Hollywood after winning a beauty

ageant and gone instead to secretarial college in Chicago.

ic had been with UNACO for four years and was married

the Test Centre's senior martial arts instructor.

'How was the vacation?' she asked after Sabrina closed
ic door.

'Short,' Sabrina replied with a grin, then sat down on

ie couch. 'Am I the first one here?'

Sarah nodded. 'Mr Kolchinsky's gone to fetch Mike at
ie airport.'

'And C.W.?'

'He's in Paris. Jacques Rust is flying up from Zurich to
rief him.'

Sabrina indicated the desk panel. 'Well, you'd better

U His Lordship I'm here.'

Sarah smiled then flicked on the intercom switch.

abrina's here, sir.'

'Send her in,' Philpott replied, and the door slid open.

'Afternoon, sir,' Sabrina said as she entered the office.

33

'Sit down,' Philpott replied abruptly, activating the
transmitter on his desk to close the door behind her.

She sat on the nearest of the two black leather couches.

'I received a call earlier this afternoon from Miami's
Chief of Police,' Philpott said, reaching for his pipe. 'It
seems you not only went out of your way to embarrass
this Lieutenant Grady in front of his own men, you also
threatened him with physical violence.'

'The guy was a creep -- '

'He's a police officer!' Philpott thundered. 'You were
supposed to be on leave. And that meant you didn't have
official clearance with any of the local law enforcement
agencies. I had to pull a lot of strings to get you out of
testifying at the trial. What if the papers had got hold of
the story? My God, they would have had a field day. You
drew unnecessary attention to this organization and that's
something I will not tolerate. Pull another stunt like that
and you'll find yourself suspended. Do I make myself
understood?'

'Yes, sir,' she muttered through clenched teeth.

Philpott lit his pipe and sat back in his chair. 'This
negative side has only surfaced since you teamed up with
Graham. It's obvious that some of this contempt he holds
for the law has rubbed off on to you. It might be your
way of getting him to accept you as an equal, I don't
know, but it won't do you any good if you're transferred
to another team.'

'I resent that, sir. I've never tried to prove anything to
Mike. If he can't accept me for what I am, that's his/
problem. Not mine." $,	The intercom buzzed.

Philpott flicked on the switch. 'Yes?'

'Mr Kolchinsky's here with Mike Graham, sir,' Sarah
said.

34

'Send them in.' Philpott switched the intercom off and
activated the door with the transmitter on his desk.

Kolchinsky greeted Sabrina with a quick handshake
then sat down and lit a cigarette.

'Afternoon, sir,' Graham said to Philpott, then sat on
the couch beside Sabrina. 'How you doing?'
'Good,' she replied with a smile. 'And you?'
'Okay, I guess. Where's C.W.?'
'Paris. Jacques is briefing him.'

'Can we begin?' Philpott asked, and waited until he
had their attention before continuing. 'Sergei and I had
an hour-long meeting with the Secretary-General this
morning about this Code Red you've been assigned to
cover. That, in itself, should give you an idea of the severity
of the situation. How often does the Secretary-General
involve himself personally in a case? Sergei will brief you,
he's been monitoring the case from the start. Sergei?'

Kolchinsky stubbed out his cigarette and got to his feet.
'Last night four terrorists from the Red Brigades broke
into the Neo-Chem Industries plant outside Rome.'
' 'I take it this is the same Neo-Chem Industries who
own that glass and aluminium monstrosity over on West
57th Street?' Graham asked.

'That "glass and aluminium monstrosity", as you call it,
< is their international headquarters,' Kolchinsky told him.
f 'They have fourteen plants outside the United States and
I"' are widely regarded as one of the foremost pharmaceutical
|. manufacturers in the world.'
| 'Pity about their taste in architecture.'
| 'Let's stick to the briefing, shall we?' Philpott said,
eyeing Graham sharply. 'Go on, Sergei.'

'One of those killed during the break-in was the plant's
senior scientific adviser, Professor David Wiseman. He'd
worked for UNACO in the past as a consultant, which

35

was why we were able to gain access to his personal files
within hours of his death. A team of scientists from our
Zurich HQ took a complete inventory of his stock but
found only one item missing. A vial encased in a metal
cylinder identical to this one I got from the Test Centre.'

Sabrina took the metal cylinder from Kolchinsky and
turned it around in her fingers. 'And nothing else was
taken from any of the other laboratories?'

'All the other laboratories were still locked when our
people got there. No, the terrorists knew exactly what
they wanted and where to find it.'

'What was in the vial?' Graham asked, taking the metal
fi;	cylinder from Sabrina.

'I'm coming to that.' Kolchinsky lit another cigarette
and dropped the match into the ashtray on Philpott's desk.
'According to the files Wiseman kept in his personal safe
he had been working on two projects that hadn't been
sanctioned by the company. One was to procure a quantity
of sleeping gas for the Rome cell of the Red Brigades.'

'And was the Rome cell behind the break-in?' Sabrina
asked.

'Yes,' Kolchinsky replied. 'The second project involved
viruses. Six months ago he set out to develop a highly
contagious recombinant DNA virus which could poten- j
tially kill millions of people if it were ever released into
the atmosphere. He completed his work on it a fortnight j
ago.'

Sabrina sat forward, her arms resting on her knees.]
'And the Red Brigades took the wrong vial?'

Kolchinsky nodded grimly. 'Both were stored in met all
cylinders. The only way of telling them apart was by their J
different serial numbers. The vial containing the sleeping!
gas was found in Wiseman's office.'

'What about the antidote?' Sabrina asked.

36

'He was still working on it at the time of his death,'
Philpott replied.

'But surely if all his work's been documented then our
boffins can come up with an antidote themselves?' Graham
said, handing the metal cylinder back to Kolchinsky.

'I don't know how much you know about recombination,
Michael, but basically it needs the genes of two
virus strains to conjugate for it to be successful. An antidote
can only be developed if both strains of the virus are
known. In this case both strains were artificially created
in his laboratory. He referred to them throughout his files
simply as 'alpha' and 'beta'. He was the only person who
knew what they were.'

'And now he's dead,' Sabrina muttered, rubbing her
hands over her face.

'What if the sleeping gas was just a red herring and
the virus was destined for the Red Brigades all along?'
Graham said.

'That was my theory, until this arrived on my desk.'

Philpott removed a telex from the folder in front of him.

'It's a transcript of a taped message the Italian government

I received earlier this morning. The voice has been identified

| as Riccardo Ubrino, one of Rome's senior Brigatisti. He's

threatened to open the vial at ten o'clock on Thursday

morning unless he sees a live telecast of Rome's jailed

brigade chief, Lino Zocchi, being put on an aeroplane

bound for Cuba. What is significant, though, is that he

refers to the contents of the vial as "sleeping gas". Why

ntinue the pretence knowing that the authorities will

we already discovered the truth, unless he genuinely

iieves he has the sleeping gas?'

'I don't get it, sir,' Sabrina said, frowning. 'Have we
n called in because the Italian government won't com
with his demands?'

37

'We've been called in because the Italian government can't comply with his demands. Zocchi's dead. He was
shot by an unknown gunman an hour after the government
received the tape. The authorities have instigated an
immediate news blackout on Zocchi's death. The prison
itself has been isolated. The authorities have come up with
a story that there's a bout of acute conjunctivitis amongst
the prisoners so that news of Zocchi's death can't be
leaked out to visitors. But it can't remain isolated indefinitely.
The vial has to be found. Quickly.'

'Can't the authorities get around the table with senior Brigatisti and explain the situation to them?' Sabrina
asked.

'They already have,' Kolchinsky replied, resuming his
seat. 'Word is that Zocchi masterminded the break-in
from his prison cell. It was done without the knowledge
of the committee, so none of them know where Ubrino's
gone to ground. They have no way of contacting him.
And even if they could, who's to say Zocchi didn't give
him instructions to open the vial in the event of his death?'

'To make matters worse, the gunman who shot Zocchi
was in a police helicopter, or what looked remarkably like
one,' Philpott added. 'Put yourself in Ubrino's shoes. An
hour after the government receives his demands, Zocchi
is killed by a gunman in a police helicopter. Coincidence?'

'It's obviously a set-up, sir,' Sabrina said.
I #	'Try explaining that to the Red Brigades,' Philpott replied, i

'But why us, sir?' Graham asked. 'Why haul us back
from leave when you could have brought in one of the |
other Strike Force teams?'

Philpott removed a second telex from the folder. 'This 1
also arrived this morning. It concerns Wiseman's brother. I
You might remember him. Richard Wiseman. I believe he j
was one of the more colourful officers in Vietnam.'

38

l<t

'Yeah, I remember him. Lieutenant-Colonel Richard
Wiseman, Marine Corps. A damn good soldier.'

'He's now General Wiseman of the First Ranger Battalion.
And he's out for revenge. I'm not going to go into
detail, it's all in the resume for you to read on the plane.
Basically, he's hiring a gunman and a driver to do the
dirty work for him. We can't afford to have them encroaching
on the case. There's too much at stake. It seems
he's chosen a Jamaican from London as the getaway
driver. We're going to put our man in his place. And
there's only one field operative who fits the bill.'

'C.W.,' Sabrina said.

'Right,' Philpott replied, handing out two manila envelopes
to Graham and Sabrina.

The envelopes contained the resume, which had to
be destroyed after reading; airline tickets; maps of their
ultimate destination; written confirmation of hotel accommodation;
a brief character sketch of their contact/s (if
any) and a sum of money in lire. All field operatives also
carried two credit cards for emergencies. There was no
limit to the amount of money an operative could use
during an assignment but it all had to be accounted for
to Kolchinsky, with chits to back up the figurework, when
returned to New York.

'Your flight leaves in two hours. Sergei will be going

ith you to set up a base in Rome. I'll be joining you as

m as I can. Jacques will run things from Zurich

ny absence.' Philpott activated the transmitter on his
to open the door. 'Mike? Sabrina?'

They paused at the door to look back at him.

; 'Good luck. I've got a feeling you're going to need

39

C. W. Whitlock replaced the receiver and looked
round at his wife, Carmen, who was standing motionless
on the balcony, her hands gripped tightly around the
railing, the light evening breeze teasing her shoulder length
black hair. She was a tall, slender Puerto Rican with a youthful
beauty which belied her true age. She was forty. As
he stared at her he realized just how much he loved
her. But that wasn't enough to save their crumbling
marriage.

'It's beautiful, isn't it?' he said behind her, looking
across the Champs de Mars at the brightly lit Eiffel Tower
which soared 984 feet into the clear night sky.

'That was Jacques on the phone, wasn't it?' she asked
softly.

'Yes, he's on his way up,' he replied, putting an arm
around her shoulders.

'Don't.' She shrugged his arm off and returned to the
bedroom.

He leaned his arms on the railing and looked down at
the passing traffic on the Avenue de Bourdonnais. He
was a 44-year-old Kenyan with sharp, angular features
tempered by the neat moustache he had worn since his
university days. After graduating with a BA (Hons) from
Oxford he had returned to Kenya where he spent a short
time with the army before joining the Intelligence Corps,
remaining there for ten years and rising to the rank of
Colonel. He had been one of Philpott's first recruits in
1980.

There was a knock at the door.

Til get it,' Carmen said.

Jacques Rust smiled at her when she opened the door.
He activated his mechanized wheelchair and entered the
room. He handed her the bouquet of red roses he was
carrying. 'Freshly picked from thejardin du Luxembourg,'

40

he said with a smile. 'Well, I hope not. I bought them
from a vendor I've known for years.'

She kissed him lightly on the cheek, the anger suddenly
gone from her eyes. 'Thank you, Jacques, they're beautiful.
I'll put them in some water.'

'Where's C.W.?'

'He's on the balcony,' she replied. 'I'll get him for you.'

Rust put his attache case on the floor. He was a handsome
4 3-year-old Frenchman with pale blue eyes and
short black hair. He had spent fourteen years with the
French Service de Documentation Exterieure et de
Contre-Espionage before joining UNACO in 1980. He
and Whitlock had worked as a team until the Secretary
General had given Philpott permission to increase the field
operatives from twenty to thirty. Sabrina, because of her
age and relative inexperience, had been put with them to
form the original Strike Force Three.

A year later he and Sabrina were on a stakeout at the
Marseilles docks when they came under fire from the drug
smugglers they had been watching. He was hit in the spine,
leaving him paralyzed from the waist down. He was given
a senior position at the Command Centre after his release
from hospital, and was promoted to head the European
operation when his predecessor was killed in a car crash.
He was widely tipped to become the next UNACO Director
when Philpott retired in four years' time. That had
already given rise to speculation that Kolchinsky would
replace him in Zurich with Whitlock taking over as deputy
director when he was retired from the field, also in four
years' time.

'Hello, C.W.,' Rust said when Whitlock entered the
room.

'Jacques,' Whitlock replied, his handshake formal
rather than friendly.

41

'I'll leave you two to it,' Carmen said, emerging from
the kitchen where she had put the roses in some water.

'Where are you going?' Whitlock asked.

'Does it matter?' she retorted.

'Of course it matters,' Whitlock shot back. 'I don't
want you walking the streets by yourself at this time of
night.'

'He's right, Carmen,' Rust said to her. 'This part of the
city's crawling with pickpockets and bag-snatchers.'

'Don't worry, I don't intend to walk the streets by
myself.' She looked at Whitlock. 'You know where I'll be.
If, of course, you remember our honeymoon.'

'You know where she's going?' Rust asked once
Carmen had left the room.

Whitlock nodded. 'There's a small bistro not far from
here on the rue de Crenelle. We ate there most nights
when we were here on our honeymoon. It's ironic, isn't
it? We started our marriage in this room, now it looks
like we're going to end it here as well.'

'Don't talk like that, C.W. - '

'Like what?' Whitlock cut in sharply, his eyes blazing.
'You know damn well why our marriage is in such a mess.
She wants me out of the firing line at UNACO, I want to
stay because I know I have a future with the organization.
We chose Paris as neutral ground. No fights. No UNACO.
Three weeks to try and save our marriage. What happens?
Three days after we get here you call to say that I'm on a
Code Red standby. All leave's been cancelled. She's got
every right to be mad, Jacques. Every right.'

Rust nodded sombrely. 'I know what you're saying,
C.W., but we have to use Strike Force Three. More to the
point, we have to use you.'

Whitlock sighed deeply and patted Rust on the
shoulder. 'I'm sorry, Jacques, I didn't mean to fly off the

4*

handle at you like that. I know we wouldn't have been
recalled unless the situation was critical. It's just so frustrating
not being able to make Carmen understand that.'

'I don't like it any more than you do, C.W. You know
how fond I am of Carmen. I hate to see the two of you
like this.'

'I know,' Whitlock said softly, then sat on the edge of
the bed. 'What's the assignment?'

Rust told him about the break-in at the plant, the stolen
vial, Ubrino's demands and the death of Zocchi. 'Mike
and Sabrina will be handling that side of the case. You're
going undercover. We received a report today to say that
Wiseman's brother is out for revenge. He's already hired
a gunman to find his brother's killer.' He took a blue
folder from his attache case, opened it, and handed a
photograph to Whitlock. 'That's the wheelman he wants
to use. His name's Reuben Alexander, a Londoner of
Jamaican extraction. You're going to take his place.'

'But I don't look anything like him. All we've got in
common is that we're black.'

'Alexander's camera-shy. In fact, he takes it to extremes.
That's why we think you'll be able to pull it off
without any hitches. That's a police photograph you've
got there. And it's the only one they've got, apart from
his official mugshots.'

'I take it Wiseman's never met him?'

Rust shook his head. 'Wiseman only put the scheme
together when he heard of his brother's murder.
Alexander's been in custody for the past fortnight. He's
due in court tomorrow. That's when they intend to spring
him.'

'I don't get it, Jacques. Why not just have Wiseman
and this gunman picked up until we've recovered the vial?'

'On what charge? All we have is the word of an in43

former. Richard Wiseman is a three-star general. He also
happens to be one of America's most decorated war
heroes. If we pulled him in without any evidence we'd
have the Pentagon down on us like a ton of bricks. We
have to keep this whole thing as quiet as possible. Imagine
the pandemonium if word ever got out about the vial.
This way we can make sure that Wiseman won't get under
our feet. It's imperative that Ubrino's given as wide a
berth as possible if we're to have any chance of recovering
the vial.'

'Who's the gunman?'

'His name's Vie Young. They served in Vietnam
together. That's all we know about him at the moment.
We're having him checked out, the information will be
waiting for you by the time you reach London.'

Whitlock handed the photograph back to Rust. 'Who's
my contact in London?'

'A Major Lonsdale of Scotland Yard's antiterrorist
squad.'

'Aren't we handling the switch ourselves?'

'Now, the British authorities wouldn't hear of it. It was
either the anti-terrorist squad, or nothing. We had no
choice. Lonsdale will brief you further once you get to
London.'

'What time's my flight?'

'Ten o'clock.'

Whitlock checked his watch. 'It's gone seven-thirty
already. You'll have to excuse me, Jacques, I still have to
break the news to Carmen.'

'Go on,' Rust said softly. Til see myself out.'

They shook hands, then Whitlock grabbed the key off
the dresser and left the room. He took the lift to the foyer,
handed in the key, then emerged out into the cool nig!
air and strode briskly to the bistro a hundred yards away

44

on the rue de Crenelle. It was exactly as he remembered
it. The whitewashed exterior walls, the green and white
awning over the entrance and the umbrella-shaded tables
spilling out on to the pavement. He went inside. It was
,- packed. Carmen sat at the counter, tracing her finger
absently around the rim of her empty glass.

'Can I buy madame another drink?' he asked over her
shoulder.

'That's the fourth offer I've had since I came in,' she
replied.

'What Frenchman can resist a beautiful woman?' he
said, trying to catch the barman's attention.
'What time are you leaving?'
'My flight's at ten o'clock. I'm sorry -- '
'Save it, I've heard it all before,' she interceded, snap|
ping her fingers to catch the barman's attention. She asked \ him to refill her glass.
I 'Monsieur?' the barman asked Whitlock.
I 'The gentleman was just leaving,' she answered. When
I the barman had gone she turned to Whitlock. 'Thanks for
I the second honeymoon, all three days of it. I suppose I \ should be grateful it lasted that long.'
| 'Carmen - '

'Leave me alone!'

He kissed her on the cheek. There was nothing he could
say.

She stared ahead of her as he left the bistro. She was
damned if she would give him the satisfaction of seeing
the tears in her eyes.

45

THREE

Tuesday

The BA 707 touched down at Heathrow at midnight,
ten minutes behind schedule. Whitlock took a taxi to the
address in East Acton he had been given in his brief. It
turned out to be a red-brick bungalow with a low wooden
fence running the length of a small, neat garden. The gate
squeaked as he opened it. An old intelligence trick. He
instinctively looked around. The street was deserted. He
took a key from his pocket and unlocked the front door,
dumping his overnight bag at the foot of the hallstand.
He switched the light on and took in the unobtrusive
patterned carpet, the pale-blue walls and the framed
photograph of the Queen which hung between the two
doors to his right. The first door led into a lounge. The
second led into a bedroom. He glanced at his watch.
12.45. He had no idea when the anti-terrorist squad were
going to brief him. Tonight? Tomorrow morning? It was
up to them to contact him. He certainly wasn't going to
wait up for them. He picked up his overnight bag and j
headed for the bedroom, turning on the light at the wall j
switch as he went in.

The man in the armchair facing the door was in his j
mid-thirties with a pale complexion and cropped blond '
hair. The automatic in his right hand was aimed at the j
centre of Whitlock's chest.

Whitlock recognized it as a Browning high power, al
favourite handgun of the British special forces. He dumped]

46

his bag on the bed. 'Are Scotland Yard's antiterrorist
squad always so cordial to foreign visitors, Major
Lonsdale?'

The man picked up a photograph of Whitlock from the
table beside him, looked at it, then put it down again,
laying the Browning on top of it. 'You can never be too
careful these days,' he said with a grin, then got to his
feet, hand extended. 'George Lonsdale.'

Whitlock shook his hand.

'Your accent intrigues me,' Lonsdale said. 'Eton?
Harrow?'

'Nothing so grand, I'm afraid. Radley.'

'Really? I'm an Old Etonian myself.' Lonsdale clapped
his hands together. 'Well, how much have you been told
about the London operation?'

'Only that you'd be my contact once I got here.'

'I guessed as much. Let's go through to the lounge, we
can discuss the details in there.' Lonsdale slipped the
Browning into his shoulder holster then picked up a folder
from the table and led the way. He switched on the light
and indicated the drinks cabinet in the corner of the room.
'What's your poison?'

'I wouldn't say no to a scotch and soda. No ice.'

'Coming up,' Lonsdale replied, crossing to the cabinet.

'We always keep a bit of alcohol in our safe houses. It can

get pretty frustrating being cooped up in a place like this

for days on end. We find that alcohol helps to relieve the

tension.'
'As long as it's taken in moderation.'

'You sound like a commercial for AA,' Lonsdale said
i.with a smile and handed Whitlock his drink. He raised i his own glass. 'Here's to a successful operation.'

Til drink to that,' Whitlock replied, taking a sip of his
twhisky.

47

Lonsdale sat down facing him. 'How much do you
know about Alexander?'

'I read his background history on the plane. What I
don't know about him isn't worth finding out. One thing
does puzzle me, though. If Wiseman doesn't know what
Alexander looks like, how can this Young be sure he's
springing the real Alexander from the prison van?'

'Young's hired a couple of locals who've worked with
Alexander in the past. It's Young's insurance against
snatching the wrong man. One of them, Dave Humphries,
is on our payroll. It was him who tipped us off about
Young in the first place.'

'But if they both know what Alexander looks like,
where does that leave me?'

'It's all been taken care of, don't worry. Humphries has
agreed to identify you as Alexander in exchange for a
small financial incentive.'

'What about the other man?'

'He won't be there. In fact, he's sitting in a police cell
right now. And he'll remain there on suspicion of some
trumped-up charge until after the breakout in the morning.
It's too late for Young to draft in a new accomplice so it
will just be the two of them.' Lonsdale removed a silver
cigarette case from his inside jacket pocket and offered it
to Whitlock, who declined with a raised hand. Lonsdale
lit one for himself and pocketed the case again. 'Our
original idea was to change vans en route to the Old Bailey
but the problem is, we don't know where Young intends
to spring you. It could be at any point along the way.
We're going to have to be there from the start.'

'How many men in the van?'

'Two of us up front. We're also using our own men to l act as your fellow prisoners. The last thing we need is a j
mass breakout.'

48

'What time are we due out of the police station?'
'The hearing's scheduled for two. I haven't finalized
I the exact time of departure with the station commander
[yet but it should be around eleven-thirty.'
'What about Alexander?'

'He'll be our guest for a few days. We'll hand him back
to the prison authorities when we get the nod from your
chaps.'

'How have they taken it?'

Lonsdale chuckled. 'They're well pissed off, because
it's going to look like they lost Alexander. Too bad, it's
something they'll have to accept.'

Whitlock pointed to the folder. 'Has anything come
f through on Young?'

Lonsdale nodded. 'I read it while I was waiting for you.
ome partner you've got there. Seems he ran with a New
|York gang until he was eighteen when he was drafted into
/ietnam. He turned out to be an exceptional soldier, and
er the US pulled out in '75 he joined the French Foreign
;ion. Spent eight years with them, then deserted and
vent to Central America to fight against the Sandinistas. it now works with the death squads in El Salvador.' He
nded the fax from the Command Centre to Whitlock,
ben stood up and moved to the window. He turned back
> Whitlock. 'Married?'

Whitlock's fingers instinctively tightened around his
ass. He put it down on the table, hoping Lonsdale hadn't
ticed. 'For six years.'
'What does your wife do?"
'She's a paediatrician. How about you?'
'I've been married for eleven years. Cathy used to be a
cher, but now she's a full-time mother. Jill's nine,
ally's five. Cathy's expecting again in October. We
ady know it's going to be a boy this time. Quite a

49

relief, I'm beginning to get outvoted on everything at
home. At least we men will be able to stick together. Have
you any children?'

Whitlock shook his head. Just as well, he thought to
himself. 'What time will you be here?' he asked.

'About ten. That will give us plenty of time to get tol
the police station.' Lonsdale drank down the rest of hisl
Scotch in one gulp. Til leave the folder with you and pickj
it up in the morning. I'll see myself out. Good night.'

Whitlock returned to the bedroom after Lonsdale hadl
left the house. He thought about Carmen as he got ready!
for bed. He had an insane impulse to ring her but hel
quickly talked himself out of it. He switched off the light!
and climbed into bed, pulling the sheets up to his chin. I
What was going to happen to them? He knew he would!
lose her if he stayed with UNACO. It was inevitable.]
She was always worried about him when he was on I
assignment: worry which was affecting her work. Or sol
she claimed. But what was the alternative? Leave UNACOl
to set up some security consultancy that advised Fifth]
Avenue boutique owners how best to protect their premJ
ises? That wasn't for him. He loved the challenge of his!
work. He only wished he knew how to convince Carmen. I
He stifled a yawn, turned over, and closed his eyes. Within]
minutes he was asleep.

The streets of Rome were still quiet when Kolchinsky!
parked the hired Peugeot 405 in front of a small cafeteriaj
on the via Nazionale.

Sabrina looked through the passenger window. 'Gt/-| zone Caffe, that's it all right.'

Graham, who was seated in the back, glanced at hi&|
watch. Two minutes to seven. Perfect timing.'

5°

Kolchinsky switched off the engine. They got out and
locked the doors behind them. The card hanging in the
window read Chiuso. Closed. He waited until a couple
had walked past then knocked sharply on the door. A

\ corner of the red curtain which spanned the window was
pulled back and a moment later the door was unlocked
and opened. It was locked again behind them. Apart from
the man who had let them in, there was only one other
person in the room. He was seated at one of the tables, a
copy of Paese Sera spread out in front of him. An empty
coffee cup stood on the next table.

'Please, come in,' he said, without looking up from the

I newspaper.

I 'Major Paluzzi?' Kolchinsky said, approaching the

I table.

I The man held up his hand, continuing to study the page

I in front of him. He finally shook his head and sat back in
the chair, a bemused smile touching the corners of his
wide mouth. 'I hate the stock market. That's the third day
in a row that my shares have gone down. I should have
listened to my father when he told me to dump them.' He

^suddenly grinned and got to his feet, pushing back the
; chair, his hand extended. 'Fabio Paluzzi, Nucleo Operiativo
Centrale di Sicurezza.'

They each shook his hand in turn.
Paluzzi was thirty-six years old with a gaunt, pallid
face which, together with his cropped brown hair, made
im look more like an emaciated prisoner on a hunger
Strike than one of the most respected officers in the elite
Italian anti-terrorist squad, the NOCS, better known as
<he 'Leatherheads' because of the leather hoods they often
,Wore in combat.

'Please, sit down,' Paluzzi said, indicating the table.
|Have you eaten this morning?'

'We had dinner on the plane,' Kolchinsky replied, pull-J
ing up a chair.

'You mean breakfast?'

'Dinner, breakfast, it's the same thing. We're six hours!
behind you in New York.' Sabrina stifled a yawn as if to |
make her point. 'It's really disorientating.'

'I can believe it. How about some coffee?'

'The magic word,' Kolchinsky replied. 'We checked!
into the Quirinale Hotel, dumped our things, and dashed]
over here. Not even time for a coffee.'

'That's easily rectified,' Paluzzi said, and signalled to j the man who had let them in. He held up three fingers. 'Tre tazze di caffe.'

The man pointed to Paluzzi's empty cup.

'S/, grazie,' Paluzzi said, nodding his head. He gestured I
after the retreating man. 'Giancarlo's completely deaf. He
used to be with the NOGS. His eardrums were shattered
in a freak accident when a limpet mine detonated prema-1
turely during an underwater exercise. He bought the cafe
when he was discharged from hospital. I thought it would |
be the perfect place for us to meet. He can lip-read, but j
don't worry, he can't understand a word of English. We j
can talk freely in front of him.'

'Where did you learn to speak English?' Sabrina asked, j

'My mother's English,' Paluzzi replied. He took a telex j
from his pocket and gave it to Kolchinsky. 'Your Colonel j
Philpott asked me to give you this. It came through about j
four hours ago.'

Kolchinsky unfolded the telex and read it.

Have held further discussions with the
Secretary-General and the Italian Ambassador
to the UN. It has been agreed, in view of the
gravity of the situation, that the Red Brigades

5*

should be given the facts about the missing
vial. I have asked Major Paluzzi to make the
necessary arrangements.

Philpott

Sabrina read it, then handed it to Graham.

'But this is playing straight into their hands,' Graham
said, tapping the paper with his finger. 'Once they know
'what's really in the vial it could push it even further
(underground. Who knows what they might use it for in
§the future?'

s 'I think we should hear what Major Paluzzi has to say
'before we start jumping to conclusions,' Kolchinsky said.
Paluzzi waited until Giancarlo had deposited the four
Icups of coffee on the table. 'I've already spoken to Nicola
|Pisani, the leader of the Red Brigades. He's agreed to
fco-operate fully with us.'
I 'And you believe him?' Graham asked incredulously.

'How much do you know about the Red Brigades, Mr
SGraham?'

' 'Enough to know that I wouldn't trust the bastards an
jinch.'

'I know them inside out. I should do after eight years,
was my idea in the first place to contact Pisani.' Paluzzi
;ld up his hand when Graham opened his mouth to
speak. 'Give me a chance and I'll explain to you why I did
it. We have a senior Brigatista on our payroll. A brigade
chief, to be exact. He gets to attend all the executive
Committee meetings. He told us that Pisani called an
jfcmergency meeting yesterday. It turned out that the
break-in hadn't been sanctioned by the committee. In fact,
the first Pisani knew about it was when he turned on his
dio yesterday morning and heard that the Red Brigades

53

had claimed responsibility for it. It was obvious thatj
Zocchi was behind it - '

'Why?' Graham challenged.

'Two reasons. Firstly, because Riccardo Ubrino wasl involved. He's been Zocchi's right-hand man for the lastj
six years. They were inseparable.'

'Couldn't Ubrino have pulled it off by himself?'}
Kolchinsky asked.

Paluzzi shook his head. 'It was too well planned.!
Ubrino's a hatchet man, he doesn't have the brains tof
plan a raid like that. Zocchi did.'

'And the second reason?' Sabrina asked..

'It's a bit more complicated. Pisani found out at the be-1
ginning of the year that he had cancer. The doctors doubt]
he'll see out the year. This has naturally sparked a bitter!
power struggle amongst the brigade chiefs to appoint his I
successor. It came down to two men: Zocchi and Tonino 1
Calvieri, Milan's brigade chief. Calvieri is a so-called "mod- j
erate". He has the unanimous support of the other brigade j
chiefs. He's been Pisani's blue-eyed boy for years. But Zoc-1
chi had the money behind him. The Rome cell is wealthier j
than all the other cells put together. And that meant he had j
the backing of many of the rich irregulars.'

'Irregulars?' Kolchinski asked.

'It's what the Brigatisti call sympathizers. They don'tl
have a say at committee level but they can easily makej
their presence felt by withholding donations if they don't I
agree with committee policy. And if enough donations are j
withheld, it would cripple the organization financially.'

'Was this happening?' Kolchinsky asked.

'It was being threatened. And that was something Pisani j
had to take into consideration when choosing his sucj
cessor. Then Zocchi was arrested for his part in the I
attempted murder of a Rome judge. The other brigade j

54

liefs were only too pleased to see the prison gates close
hind him. They certainly wouldn't have wanted to
iring him. Which leaves Zocchi himself.'

'I still don't see why Pisani has agreed to cooperate
ith us,' Sabrina said.

'Because the vial could end up being used against him,
id the committee, forcing them to concede power to the
ome cell/ Paluzzi held out his hand towards Graham. Is you said, who knows what use they might find for it

the future.'

"f

I 'But Zocchi's dead,' Sabrina said.

I 'But Ubrino isn't, and the Rome cell regard him as Zocchi's

jatural successor. That frightens Pisani and his brigade chiefs

bough for them to agree to help us get the vial back.'

f 'Surely they could negotiate with him themselves?

[hen, once they had the vial, they could kill him and

iistall this Calvieri.'

'Nice scenario, Mr Graham, but you're overlooking a
buple of points. Firstly, they don't know where Ubrino
i, that much we do know from our mole. And secondly,
y killing him, the donations from foreign irregulars could :ry up. But if we were to kill him, or jail him, for that
latter, they would have neatly sidestepped the responsiility.
As far as they're concerned, the vial's a small price
3 pay if it means keeping the Red Brigades intact.'

Graham drank the remainder of his coffee and replaced
ie cup in the saucer. 'I've got to hand it to you, Paluzzi,
bu know your business.'

'That's why I was assigned to help you. I know how
leir devious minds work. And Pisani's sending us their
kost devious mind of all to help us find the vial. Calvieri.'

'I thought you said he was a moderate?'

'He is, Miss Carver, and that's what makes him all the
tore dangerous. He and Zocchi were like chalk and

55

cheese. Zocchi, the brash, arrogant radical who us
violence against anyone opposing the cause. And CalvieJ
the polite, mild-mannered intellectual. He speaks fi» languages fluently and has been in charge of their
department for the past four years. At least with Zocc
you knew what to expect. But not with Calvieri. It]
impossible to know what's going on in his mind. It's
wonder he's held in such high regard in the Brigades.'

'When do we meet him?' Kolchinsky asked.

'Eight o'clock at the Quirinale.'

Kolchinsky finished his coffee. 'Any news of the hel(
copter that was used by Zocchi's killers?'

'Still nothing. But we are certain it wasn't a genuiii
police helicopter. The markings on the fuselage were fals

'What about the wounded terrorist?' Kolchinsky asked

'Conte? He's still in a critical condition in hospital.'
doctors removed eight bullets from his body. It's a mirac
he's still alive.' Paluzzi took another sheet of paper from 1
pocket and handed it to Kolchinsky. 'The ballistics rep
on the bullets taken from Conte and Nardi. They all car
from the sub-machine-gun found next to Nardi's body. 1
was clean, so we can only presume that Ubrino had instru<j
tions to kill his team once he had the vial in his possession

'What can you tell us about Ubrino?' Sabrina asked
'We don't have much on him at the Command Centre.'

'Grew up in the same slums as Zocchi. Believed passic
ately in the cause from an early age. Zocchi recruited hir
He started out as Zocchi's personal bodyguard but slow
worked his way up through the ranks to his pres
position of senior cell commander. That meant he wsi
only answerable to Zocchi. We know he's been personalf
p	responsible for atleastfourmurdersandcountless kneecaj
pings here in Rome but we've never had enough evide
to make it stick. He's always had Zocchi to bail him out<

56

I trouble.' Paluzzi glanced at his watch. 'I think we should go f if we're going to make the Quirinale by eight.'

Kolchinsky was the first on his feet and he led the way
i out to the Peugeot.

A receptionist at the Quirinale Hotel told them that
Calvieri had checked in less than half an hour earlier. She
gave them his room number and they rode the lift to the

s third floor where Paluzzi rapped sharply on the bedroom
door.

; Calvieri opened it and gestured for them to enter his
room. He was a handsome 41 -year-old with finely chiselled
features, piercing blue eyes and a neatly trimmed brown
moustache. His long dark brown hair was combed away
from his forehead and secured in a ponytail behind his head.
He closed the door after them and stopped in front of
Paluzzi. They each tried to stare the other out like two

I boxers before a big fight, both oblivious to those around

them. Kolchinsky was about to speak but Graham put a
; hand on his arm to silence him. The movement broke
Paluzzi's concentration and he turned away sharply, furious
with himself for allowing his feelings to surface so
I easily. He introduced them to Calvieri. Kolchinsky and
Sabrina shook Calvieri's extended hand. Graham refused.
'What organization do you work for?'
'That doesn't concern you, Mr Calvieri,' Kolchinsky
| replied as he crossed to one of the armchairs and sat down.
'Let's just say we're working with Major Paluzzi and leave
it at that.'

'Very well,' Calvieri replied, the resentment obvious in

his face.

'<; Kolchinsky took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket

;and offered one to Paluzzi, who refused with a quick

57

shake of his head. Calvieri took one. Kolchinsky lit it for j
him, then his own, and discarded the match in the ashtray
beside him.

'Has Pisani briefed you?' Paluzzi asked, sitting on the
bed beside Graham.

Calvieri nodded. 'I called him when I got here. He
wanted to be here in person but he wasn't up to it. He's
deteriorating fast. The doctors are doubtful he'll see out
the year. At this rate he won't see out the summer. You
did tell them about him?'

'They know,' Paluzzi replied.

'He asked me to put myself completely at your disposal.
We're just as concerned as you are about getting the vial
back safely.'

'That's good coming from you,' Graham snapped. 'It's
a bit late to lock the stable door. The horse bolted two
days ago.'

'It was an unauthorized operation, Mr Graham. The
committee didn't know anything about it until the following
day.'

'And that's your excuse? Your organization is in such
a shambles that the right hand doesn't know what the left
hand is doing any more?'

Calvieri inhaled deeply on the cigarette and moved to
the window. A school bus had stopped on the other side
of the street. He could see several of the children inside
laughing as they play-fought on the back seat. How many
of them would die if the virus were to be released into the
atmosphere? He turned away, unable to look at their
innocent faces.

'Where do you think Ubrino's hiding?' Kolchinsky
asked Calvieri.

'I'd say he is still in Rome. His friends are here. They'll
shield him. Unfortunately the Rome cell has always been

58

he maverick in the organization. That's how someone
ike Zocchi became their brigade chief. It could.never have
lappened in any of the other cities.'

'He could also be in Venice,' Paluzzi said.

'Venice?' Calvieri asked in surprise.

'He was posted up there for a few months a couple of
rears ago. It's about the only time he and Zocchi were
ever apart.'

'I didn't know he was ever in Venice. It proves how
mysterious the man can be.'

'I doubt he'd have gone to Venice, though," Paluzzi
concluded after a moment's thought. 'It's a moderate
stronghold, that's why he didn't last there very long. No,
I'd have to go along with Calvieri. He's almost certainly
still here in Rome.'

'I used to be the senior cell commander here twelve
f years ago,' Calvieri said. 'I've still got contacts in the city,
r I've already told them to find out what they can. If Ubrino's
rhere, they'll pass the information on to me. The problem
1 will be trying to pin him down. He knows he'll have to
|keep moving to stay one step ahead of us.'
I 'I suggest you split up into teams,' Kolchinsky said.
t'Sabrina, you work with Calvieri. And stick to him like a
peech.'

Calvieri shrugged. 'That's fine by me.'

'Her Italian's as good as your English, that's why I've
[paired her with you.' Kolchinsky turned to Graham. 'You
jwork with Major Paluzzi.'

'How's your Italian?' Paluzzi asked Graham.

'Nonexistent.'

'We'll manage,' Paluzzi said with a smile.

Kolchinsky picked up his attache case and got to his

t. 'You'll have to excuse me. I have several phone calls

make.'

59

'So have I,' Calvieri said. 'Hopefully one of my contactsj
will have come up with something by now.'

'Where do we start?' Graham asked Paluzzi.

'Neo-Chem Industries. My men have been there all)
night. I think it's time to see what they've found.'

Paluzzi parked his white Alfa Romeo Lusso in the car-parkl
opposite the plant's main entrance. They got out and hej
used a transmitter to lock the doors behind them.

They crossed the car-park and mounted the steps lead-J
ing into the foyer. The front of the reception desk had!
been boarded up to hide the bullet holes. The wall behind]
it had already been redecorated. In fact, the only sign of I
the break-in was the chipped pillar in the middle of the I
foyer. Paluzzi identified himself to the receptionist and!
asked her to have his deputy report to the foyer. He thenj
crossed to where Graham was standing beside the pillar.

'What were your men doing here last night?' Graham j
asked.

'Trying to find out who was paying Wiseman for thej
virus. They concealed themselves in the building late yes-1
terday afternoon and waited until the management team}
had left before going through each of their offices in turn.'!

'How did they get past the closed-circuit television j
cameras?'

Pal uzzi gave him a knowing smile. 'Some of these systems j
can go on the blink at the most inopportune moments.'

'Point taken.'

'We're sure to take some flak when the MD finds outl
what's happened but we'll weather the storm. We always j
do.'

The lift doors opened and a tall, dark-haired man]
emerged into the foyer. Graham doubted he was much older!

60

than Sabrina. Paluzzi introduced him as Lieutenant Angelo
Marco, his personal adjutant for the past seven months.

'Pleased to meet you, sir,' Marco said, shaking
[Graham's hand.

I 'Call me Mike,' Graham told him.
; 'Well, did you find anything?' Paluzzi asked. [ 'Yes, sir, but we're going to have a job proving it.'
fMarco jabbed his thumb upwards. 'We've got a more
^immediate problem on our hands. The MD's been ranting
land raging at me ever since he got here an hour ago. He
paid he wanted to see you the moment you arrived.'
| 'What did you find?'

I Marco pushed the button for the lift. 'The senior sales
pnanager has received four payments of eighty million lire
pn the past year. And each time he withdrew sixty-four
; million lire, in cash, on the same day that the cheques
|were cleared through his account.'
; The lift arrived.

; 'How much is eighty million lire in dollars?' Graham
asked.

If: 'It's about twenty-five thousand dollars,' Marco said,
pressing the button for the top floor. He looked at Paluzzi.
;'The cheques were all issued by Nikki Karos.'
f 'Karos?' Paluzzi said thoughtfully. 'That's interesting.'
f 'Who's this Karos?' Graham asked.
r 'One of the wealthiest arms dealers in the Aegean,'
Paluzzi replied. 'He does most of his business in the Middle
[East.'

&I
'So if this sales manager was the middleman between
|Karos and Wiseman, who's to say Karos wasn't acting on
behalf of a Middle Eastern client? Iran? Iraq? One of the
^Lebanese factions? The list's endless.'
I* 'That's what we've got to find out,' Paluzzi replied.
I'JBut first we've got to pacify an angry MD.'

t	61

The doors parted and they emerged into a beige
carpeted corridor. Marco led them to a door and entered
without knocking. The secretary looked up from her typewriter.
Her smile faltered when she saw Marco. Paluzzi
rapped loudly on one of the double doors and entered the
inner office without waiting for a reply.

The managing director sat behind a large oak desk.
The nameplate identified him as Daniel Chidenko.

'I'm Major Paluzzi, I believe you wanted to see me?'

The secretary hurried into the room. 'I'm sorry, Mr
Chidenko, they just walked in - '

'It's okay, Margarita,' Chidenko cut in, his hand raised.
'It's not your fault.'

The secretary left the room, closing the door behind her.j

'You don't have to speak English to me, Major. I mayj
be American but I am fluent in your language.'

'Mr Graham here doesn't speak Italian.'

Chidenko removed a cigarette from the silver box onj
his desk and lit it. 'Mike Graham. Our head office in Ne
York told me you were coming.'

'I'm impressed,' Graham replied. 'At least there's or
efficient employee in the company. You should have then
transferred out here.'

Chidenko ignored Graham's sarcasm and looked
Paluzzi. 'I want to know on whose authority your me
broke into the seven offices on this floor, including
own, and went through the contents of the wallsafes?'

'Mine,' Paluzzi replied.

'May I see a search warrant?'

'I don't need one,' Paluzzi replied defiantly.

'Really?' Chidenko tapped the ash from his cigare
into the glass ashtray on his desk. 'You've been trying I
link one, or more, of my management team to Wiser
ever since you took charge of this case instead of gettii

62.

out there and finding the vial. Well, this time you've gone
too far. You've broken the law and I'll see to it that you're
taken off the case and replaced with someone who's
prepared to get his priorities right.'

'Before you do that, Lieutenant Marco has something
= to show you.'

Marco took the papers he had found in the senior sales \ manager's wallsafe and handed them to Chidenko. I 'They're bank statements,' Chidenko said.

'They're also evidence linking Vittore Dragotti to
; Wiseman and the virus,' Marco said.

'Show me,' Chidenko said, holding up the papers.
'These payments have been traced to Nikki Karos,'
I^Marco said, pointing out the relevant entries on each of
|die bank statements.

'And who's Nikki Karos?'

'An arms dealer with powerful connections in the
fiddle East,' Paluzzi replied.

'So Vittore did some business with him,' Chidenko
lid, hands outstretched. 'What does that prove?'
'The money was deposited in his private account,'
irco stressed.

'A gift. It happens all the time in this business.'
'We think it was a payoff.'

'So arrest him,' Chidenko challenged. 'Then let's see
jrhat a court will make of your "evidence".'

'No one's going to be arrested yet. AH we want to do
i talk to him,' Paluzzi said.
'Fine, I'll have one of our lawyers come over.'
'No lawyers,' Paluzzi replied.

|;Chidenko's hand rested lightly on the receiver. 'You
ainly believe in flouting the law, Major. First your men
ak in here without a search warrant and now you want
nterrogate one of my managers but refuse to allow him

63

access to a lawyer. I know his rights, and that means
having a lawyer present when you confront him with this
flimsy evidence of yours.'

Paluzzi crossed to the desk. 'Get him a lawyer, but I
promise you every national paper will carry a front-page
story tomorrow morning linking a senior manager at
Neo-Chem Industries to an arms dealer whose past deals
involving Sarin and Tabun have left hundreds of thousands
dead in the Gulf War. It won't look very good
coming so soon after the break-in, will it?'

Chidenko sat back in his chair. 'Is Vittore here yet?'

'Not yet, but one of my men is waiting for him in his office.'

The telephone rang.

Chidenko grabbed the receiver, listened momentarily,
then held it out towards Graham. 'It's for you.'

'Graham speaking.'

'Mike, it's Sabrina. Calvieri's got word from one of his
contacts that Ubrino's been seen in Venice. We're going
up there to check it out. I'll see you back at the hotel.'

'Okay. But Sabrina -- ' Graham struggled to find the
words to express himself. Take every precaution,' he said
finally in a gruff voice. 'I don't trust that bastard an inch.'

'I will. See you later. Bye.'

Graham replaced the receiver and almost immediately
the telephone rang again.

Chidenko picked up the receiver again, his eyes darting
around the room as he listened in silence. He put his hand
over the mouthpiece. 'Vittore's here.'

'We're on our way,' Paluzzi said.

Chidenko passed on the message and had to restrain
himself from slamming the handset back into the cradle.
He stood up and brushed an imaginary fleck of dust from
his jacket. 'Let's get this over with, shall we? Then I'm
going to make sure you're kicked off the case.'

64

'You're not coming with us, if that's what you think,'
Paluzzi shot back.

'I've had about all I can take from you, Paluzzi -- '

'I don't like pulling rank, but you're forcing my hand,'
Paluzzi cut in sharply. He took an envelope from his
pocket and slapped it down on the desk. 'Read that.'

'What is it?' Chidenko demanded.

'Read it and you'll find out.'

Chidenko removed a sheet of paper from the envelope
and read it. He looked up once, then sank slowly into his
chair.

'There's a telephone number at the top of the page if
you want to take the matter any further. If not, I've got
work to do.'

Chidenko replaced the paper inside the envelope and handed it silently back to Paluzzi.

Graham followed Paluzzi into the corridor. 'What the
hell's in the envelope?'

'A letter, signed by the Prime Minister, which, roughly
translated, gives me carte blanche to use any methods I
deem necessary to recover the vial. It also says that any
complaints about my methods should be reported to him
in person.'

'So why didn't you show it to Chidenko straight away?
It would have saved us all a lot of trouble.'

'I don't like to tempt fate. That's why I only use it as \. a last resort.'

Graham stopped in the middle of the corridor. 'What
do you mean, you don't like to tempt fate?'

'It's a forgery. The notepaper's genuine, we get that
from a mole inside the Prime Minister's office. We write
the text ourselves, depending on the nature of the assignment.'

'And you do it for every assignment?'

65


I

'Every difficult assignment. And let's face it, they don't
come much more difficult than this one. As I said, it's only
used as a last resort.'

'Has anyone ever challenged its authenticity?'

'Not up to now. But I'm sure there will be a first
time. That's when I'll start thinking about writing my
memoirs.'

'I like it,' Graham muttered thoughtfully. 'I wonder
how I can get hold of some White House stationery?'

Marco looked out from a doorway. 'Are you coming,
sir?'

Paluzzi patted Graham on the shoulder. 'Come on,
Mike.'

Dragotti was standing in front of his open wallsafe,
checking through his personal papers, when Graham and
Paluzzi entered the room.

'Looking for these?' Paluzzi asked, holding up the bank
statements.

Dragotti looked round, momentarily startled by
Paluzzi's use of English. He closed the safe and approached
Paluzzi. 'Who are you?'

Paluzzi introduced himself and said that Graham was
from the company's headquarters in New York, sent out
to help with the investigation. Marco spoke softly to
Paluzzi, then left the room, closing the door behind him.

'Where's Signore Chidenko?'

'Busy,' Paluzzi replied. 'Now sit down, we've got some
questions to ask you.'

'I'm not answering any of your questions until I know
why my wallsafe was opened last night. It's an outrage.'

'Call Chidenko, he knows what's going on.'

Dragotti picked up the receiver hesitantly and rang
Chidenko's office. He turned away from them as he spoke
softly into the mouthpiece.

66

'What did Chidenko say?' Paluzzi asked once Dragotti
had finished his conversation.

'He told me to cooperate with you. What do you want
to know?'

'Why has Nikki Karos been paying eighty million lire
into your account every month for the past four months?'
Paluzzi demanded, dropping the bank statements on the
desk in front of Dragotti. 'And why did you withdraw
eighty per cent of the money in cash on the same day that
each of the cheques was cleared?'

'We had a business deal,' Dragotti replied, fingering the
nearest bank statement nervously. 'I should have known it
would backfire on me. I told him to pay me in cash but
he wouldn't hear of it. He insisted on payment by cheque.'

'Karos never deals in currency,' Paluzzi told Graham.
'It's an idiosyncrasy that's lost him a lot of business in the
past.' He turned back to Dragotti. 'So you kept twenty
per cent as a commission and paid the balance to Wiseman
in cash?'

'Wiseman?' Dragotti replied in surprise. 'I had nothing
to do with Wiseman.'

'Don't lie!' Paluzzi snapped.

'I'm not lying. Have you ever heard of phosgene?'

'Of course,' Paluzzi replied. 'It's a nerve gas made up
from a mixture of chlorine and phosphorus.'

Dragotti nodded. 'Karos was put in touch with me
because he needed large quantities of chlorine for one of
his clients so that they could make phosgene themselves.'

'Who?' Graham demanded.

'He never told me. All I knew was that he had a source
for phosphorus and he needed the chlorine to complete
the deal. I have a reliable contact who could supply him
with as much chlorine as he needed, at a knockdown
price. That's what he paid me for.'

6?

There was a tap on the door and Marco entered. He
spoke softly to Paluzzi, then took up a position by the
door.

Paluzzi crossed to the desk, picked up the bank statements
and pocketed them. 'It's over, Dragotti. Karos has
confessed.'

'To what?' Dragotti asked apprehensively.

'To paying you to act as the middleman between
Wiseman and himself.'

'That's ridiculous,' Dragotti retorted.

'We had him picked up earlier this morning. He held
out for the first hour but he finally agreed to talk in
exchange for a reduced sentence. And from what he's said
about you, I doubt you'll get out of jail before you're
sixty.'

'You're lying,' Dragotti said, a desperation already
beginning to creep into his voice.

'We're prepared to offer you the same deal.' Paluzzi
glanced at Marco. 'Read him his rights.'

Dragotti yanked open the middle drawer of his desk
and pulled out an RF83 revolver, but when he looked up
he found Paluzzi and Marco aiming their Berettas at him.

'Drop the gun,' Paluzzi ordered, his finger tightening
on the trigger. 'Drop it!'

Dragotti's plan had backfired. He hadn't known that
they would be armed. There was no escape, not now.

'Drop it,' Paluzzi repeated.

Then what?' Dragotti said in a hollow voice. 'Thirty
years inside?'

'Karos hasn't confessed to anything. We haven't even
arrested him. It was a trick to try and make you confess,' <
Paluzzi told him.

'I don't believe you,' Dragotti said, shaking his headl
slowly.

68

'Put down the gun, Vittore, and we'll talk,' Paluzzi said.

Dragotti gave Paluzzi a half-smile, then pushed the
barrel of the revolver against the roof of his mouth and
pulled the trigger. Blood splattered across the window
behind the desk and Dragotti slumped to the floor. Paluzzi
hurried across to where he lay and felt for a pulse. There
wasn't one. He looked up at Graham and Marco and
shook his head, then, taking off his jacket, he placed it
over Dragotti's mutilated face.

Chidenko and several of his managers burst into the
office.

'What happened?' Chidenko demanded, staring at
Dragotti's body.

'He shot himself,' Graham replied.

'This isn't some sort of sideshow!' Paluzzi shouted
angrily. 'Go back to your offices.'

Chidenko persuaded his colleagues to leave, then
crossed to where Dragotti lay and reached down to lift
the jacket.

'You don't want to look,' Graham said, grabbing his wrist.

Chidenko jerked his hand free and lifted the cloth.

Stumbling backwards a few feet, he clasped his hand over

his mouth in a struggle to keep himself from vomiting.

I When he finally turned back to Graham his face was pale.

'I never realized a handgun could cause so much damage.'

'It can if it's loaded with .38 slugs.'

Marco returned to the office. 'The ambulance is on its
sway.'

'What now?' Graham asked Paluzzi.

Til get hold of the local carabinieri. If we can hand
aver the suicide to them without too many hitches we
bould be in Corfu by mid-afternoon.'

'What's in Corfu?'

'Not what. Who. Nikki Karos.'

69

FOUR

Mary Robson had always dreamed of becoming a professional
dancer ever since she was eight years old. She
took up ballet at school but her real love was disco dancing
and when, at the age of seventeen, she won a national
competition in her home town of Newcastle a theatrical
agent offered her a small part in a leading West End
musical. Her parents refused to give their consent, arguing
that they wanted her to finish her education first. Six
months later she ran away to London, certain she would
land a part in another West End show, but when she got
there she found that she was just one of hundreds, many
of whom were better dancers. She took a job in a Soho
strip club to make ends meet and it was there that she met
Wendell Johnson, a West Indian with a long criminal
record. Three months after moving in with him she discovered
she was pregnant. She was only nineteen when
their son, Bernard, was born. The dream was over.

She was now twenty-two years old, overweight and unemployed.
Wendell was in prison, where he had already
served ten months of a seven-year sentence for burglary.
She would wait for him. Her parents couldn't understand
how she could love a man like him. Neither could they
understand that she wanted her son to have a father, even
if he was a criminal. Not that she saw much of them anyway.
She would bring up her son in her own way and to hell with
what anyone else thought. And that included her parents.

70

She finished drying the dishes then stood looking out
; of the window over the sink at the row of bleak terraced
houses on the opposite side of the street. It was a mirror
image of all the streets in the neighbourhood. She hated {Brixton: it was so depressing. Wendell liked it, because
Jail his friends were there. She had tried to persuade him
to put his name down for a council house in Streatham >but he had always refused to budge on the issue. They
would stay in Brixton.

A police car pulled up in front of the house. Inside
twere two policemen. The driver got out of the car and
!approached the front door. Mary discarded her apron and
I hurried into the hallway. The doorbell rang. Her mind
graced as she fumbled to unlock the door. It had to be
|about Wendell. She pulled open the door, her eyes wide
Iwith anxiety.

'Are you Miss Mary Robson?' the policeman asked.
'Yes,' she stammered. 'Something's happened to
fWendeli, hasn't it?'

The policeman nodded. 'He was stabbed in a fight at
lithe prison. Don't worry though, he'll be all right.'
'Where is he now?'

'He's been taken to the Greenwich District Hospital.'
'Can I see him?'

'That's why we're here,' the policeman replied with a
eassuring smile.
:;, 'I won't be a minute, I just have to get my son.'

He waited until she was out of sight then looked back
pt the police car and nodded to his colleague.

The man in the passenger seat removed his peaked cap
and raked his fingers through his thick black hair. The
ack moustache gave a sinister edge to his youthful feaares.
Even so he looked nearer twenty-five than his real
jlge of thirty-seven. His name was Victor Young.

7i

He smiled to himself as Dave Humphries led Mary
Robson and her son towards the police car. It was all
going according to plan.

Whitlock and Lonsdale arrived at Brixton police station
at eleven o'clock and were immediately ushered into the
station commander's office. Chief Inspector Roger Pugh
was a tall man in his late forties with silver-grey hair and
an easy manner which helped to put them at their ease.
He shook hands with them and indicated the two chairs
in front of his desk.

'What time are we due out?' Whitlock asked, sitting
down. 'Major Lonsdale wasn't sure whether it would be
eleven-thirty or twelve.'

'Eleven-thirty,' Pugh replied.

There was a knock at the door.

'Come in,' Pugh called.

The man who entered was in his late twenties with
short black hair and a stocky physique. He was wearing
the uniform of a warder. Lonsdale introduced him to
Whitlock as Sergeant Don Harrison who would be driving
the police van. Harrison handed Lonsdale a uniform identical
to the one he was wearing.

'There's a changing room down the hall,' Pugh said.
'The desk sergeant will show you the way.'

'I might as well change in here,' Lonsdale replied, giving
Pugh a mock suspicious look. 'You're not expecting any { WPCs, are you?'

'Not today, I'm afraid,' Pugh said with a smile.

'How did things go with Alexander?' Lonsdale askedj
Harrison as he started to undress.

'He kicked up a bit of a fuss so we had to drug him.|
No trouble after that. He's sleeping it off at the safe house.'|

72.

Harrison took a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and
handed them to Whitlock. 'Alexander was wearing these.'
'Thanks,' Whitlock said, slipping them on.
'Are the men ready?' Lonsdale asked.
'Yes sir,' Harrison replied. 'They're waiting at the van.'
'Put them into the cages, we'll be along in a minute.
Harrison left the room.

Lonsdale finished dressing, then picked up his clothes
from the floor. 'You don't mind if I leave these here, do
you?'

'Not at all. Put them on the chair.' Pugh got to his feet
and extended his hand towards Whitlock. 'Good luck.'

'Thanks for all your help,' Whitlock said, shaking
|Pugh's hand.

'Glad to be of service. Major, I'll speak to you later.'
Lonsdale nodded then left the room with Whitlock. They
' made their way out into the courtyard where the pale^blue
I police van was parked. Harrison led them round to the
iback of the van. The doors were open. Inside was a narrow
Icorridor with three cells on either side of it. Harrison
unlocked one of the cells, removed a pair of handcuffs
Ifrom his belt and snapped them around Whitlock's wrists.
IWhitlock entered the cell and Harrison locked it behind
Rim. Harrison climbed out of the van and locked the
|doors. He handed the keys to Lonsdale. They got into the
ab and Harrison started the engine.

'Ready, sir?' Harrison asked, his hand resting lightly
l>n the gear lever.
'Let's go.'

Harrison engaged the gears and drove out into Brixton
toad, the Az3. He kept the speed steady, his eyes continujly
flickering towards the side mirror.
'What are you looking for, Sergeant? They're hardly
aing to advertise themselves, are they?'

73

Harrison smiled ruefully but said nothing. They reached
the top of Brixton Road and he was about to turn the van
into Kennington Park Road when he heard the police car
coming up fast behind them. He automatically touched the
brake pedal and pulled over to give the police car the right
of way. The police car passed them then immediately
slowed and the driver indicated for them to stop.

'What the hell does he want?' Harrison hissed angrily,
pulling up behind the red and white Rover.

'Whitlock, probably,' Lonsdale replied, his body tensing
as the policeman in the passenger seat got out of the
car ahead.

'You think . . . ?' Harrison trailed off and nodded to
himself. 'Of course, what could be more natural than a
police car and a police van pulled up at the side of the
road? Nobody would think of questioning it.'
^	The policeman knocked on the driver's window.
| Harrison opened it. 'What's wrong? We've got five
prisoners in the back who are due at the Old Bailey at
twelve o'clock.'

'You see the woman and the kid in the back of the
police car?' Young asked, making no attempt to disguise |
his American accent.

'Yes,' Harrison replied hesitantly. 'What about them?'

'They're both unconscious. My colleague has a gun
trained on them.' Young put a two-way radio to his lips.
'Show them the gun.'

Humphries raised the automatic momentarily, then i ducked it back out of sight.

'If you don't do exactly as I say, he'll kill them both, i
Starting with the kid.'

'What the hell is - '

'Shut up!' Young cut sharply across Harrison's out|
burst. 'Switch off the engine.'

74

'Do it,' Lonsdale said softly.
Harrison did as he was told.

'I'm in charge here,' Lonsdale said to Young. 'I demand
to know what's going on.'

'You will. Now give me the keys,' Young said, holding
out a black-gloved hand.

Harrison looked at Lonsdale, who nodded. He gave
them to Young.

'Get out of the van, both of you,' Young said, stepping
away from the driver's door.

Again Lonsdale nodded to Harrison, and they got out
of the van. Young led Harrison round to where Lonsdale
was standing, his eyes riveted on the woman and her son
in the back of the police car. He hated any form of
hostage-taking, especially when children were involved.
He suddenly thought of his own five-year-old daughter,
Holly. It only made him more frustrated. He felt so damn
helpless. There were times when he really hated the job . . .
'Who's got the keys to the back of the van?' Young
f demanded.

'I have,' Lonsdale replied.

'Open the doors.' Young pointed to Harrison. 'You, walk
f beside him. And remember, any heroics and the kid dies.'

Young followed the two men to the back of the van
tand watched as Lonsdale unlocked the doors and opened
|them. The men inside the cages began to shout abuse,
|demanding to know what was happening. Lonsdale had
told them to make their performances as realistic as poss|tble:
Young mustn't suspect a thing. Young motioned
ttonsdale and Harrison into the back of the van and then
:limbed in after them.
'Where's Alexander?'

'So that's what it's all about,' Lonsdale said, eyeing
foung with disdain.

75

'Where is he?'

Lonsdale indicated Whitlock's cell.

'Open it.'

Lonsdale and Harrison exchanged glances.

'I said open it. Unless you want the kid to die.'

Lonsdale took the keys from his pocket, selected one,
and unlocked the cell.

'What's going on?' Whitlock snapped as Lonsdale
pulled open the door.

'You're being sprung,' Young told him. 'Now get out
of there.'

Whitlock stared at Young with mock disbelief. 'Who
are you?'

'I'm not a cop, that's all you need to know for the
moment.'

Whitlock pushed past Lonsdale, then extended his manacled
hands towards him. 'You've got the key, screw.
Uncuff me.'

Young took the key for the handcuffs from Lonsdale,
pocketed it, then shoved Harrison and Lonsdale into the
empty cell and locked it. He grabbed Whitlock by the arm
and led him out of the van, locking the doors behind him.

'You can uncuff me now,' Whitlock said, nudging
Young with his elbow.

'Shut up,' Young snapped, then led Whitlock to the
police car. He opened the back door and peered in at
Humphries. 'Is this him?'

Humphries nodded. 'That's Reuben all right.'

'Get in,' Young said, bundling Whitlock into the back
of the police car beside the unconscious Mary Robson.
Hurriedly he got into the passenger seat beside Humphries.
'Let's get out of here. Fast.'
'Dave, what's going on?' Whitlock asked Humphries.
'What the hell is going on?'	-i

76

'I told you to shut up,' Young said to Whitlock as
^Humphries swung the police car back out into the road.
'I want to know what's going on!' Whitlock demanded.
I'And who's the woman and the kid?'

'Quit with the questions, okay?' Young snapped,
;laring at Whitlock.
'I've got a right to know - '

'You say another word and you'll get the same treat
nent as those two next to you,' Young threatened.

Whitlock slumped back in the seat and said nothing
Ifurther.

Humphries continued up Kennington Park Road for
|another six hundred yards then turned right into Braganza
Street where he slowed down before swinging the police
ar into a double garage and stopping beside a lime-green
Fiat Uno. He picked up a remote control from the dash
>ard and used it to close the garage door.
'Get the lights,' Young said to Humphries.
Humphries got out of the car and crossed to the light
vitch. He flicked it on then turned back to the car. His
yes registered sudden alarm. Young was out of the car
nd holding a silenced Heckler & Koch Py in his hand,
led at Humphries. He fired twice. Humphries was
tirown back against the wall then his body slid lifelessly
i the concrete floor. Whitlock struggled to get out of the
ar, hindered by the handcuffs. When he did manage to
traighten up he found himself staring at the silenced
|utomatic in Young's hand.

'I didn't go to all that trouble just to kill you,' Young
ssured him, reaching slowly through the open window
ad opening the glove compartment, his eyes never leaving
tiitlock's face.

There was no reason to kill him,' Whitlock said, staring
E the body slumped against the wall. 'Why did you do it?'

77

Young's fingers curled around the tranquillizer gun ii
the glove compartment and as he withdrew it a faint smile
touched the corners of his mouth. In one quick movement
he raised the tranquillizer gun and fired. Whitlock winced
as the dart hit him in the neck. The garage began to distort
into a kaleidoscope of colours. The floor swayed beneath
him. He stumbled to one side, bumping heavily against
the wall, his legs losing all sense of balance. He felt himself
fall forward. Young caught him before he hit the side of
the car.

Then everything went black.

La Serenissima. Sabrina agreed completely with the name
the Venetians had given to their city. It was serene. A city
with a complex labyrinth of rii, canals, and calling, narrow
streets, supported on piles of Istrian pine which had been
driven down twenty-five feet into a solid bed of compressed
sand, clay and limestone. She loved it most for its
architecture. The Piazza San Marco, dominated by the
Basilica with its facade of arches and loggias; the Palazzo
Ducale, the seat of power for the past nine hundred years;
Santa Maria della Salute, the white octagonal church built
after the plague of 1390 which claimed nearly a third of
the population. As far as she was concerned, Venice was
the most beautiful city in the world.

They had arrived at Marco Polo Airport aboard a
UNACO Cessna at midday. Sabrina had picked up a
Beretta from a locker in the terminal (the key had been left
for her at the information desk by a UNACO contact) and
then they had managed to hire a motorboat taxi, agreeing
the fare in advance, to take them to the Rio Baglioni, a small
canal near the Rialto Bridge, where Calvieri claimed his
contact had seen Ubrino earlier that morning.	>

78

'The helmsman says we'll be there in another five
Iminutes,' Calvieri said, resuming his seat on the padded
sbench beside Sabrina.

She merely nodded, looking across at the Ca'd'Oro, a
J magnificent palace with a Gothic facade which was once
pavishly adorned with gold and now housed the acclaimed
'Franchetti collection of Renaissance art.

'The Ca' do Mosto,' Calvieri said, pointing to the
thirteenth-century Byzantine palace a hundred yards
further on from the Ca' d'Oro.

She had seen it on her previous visits to Venice but had
?never found out its name.

'It was originally owned by Alvise de Mosto,' Calvieri
Fshouted above the noise of a passing vaporetto, a
Iwaterbus, packed with tourists. 'He was an explorer
i who discovered the Cape Verde Islands off the African
'* west coast.'

'You seem to know a lot about Venice,' Sabrina said,
^turning to face him.

'It's my favourite retreat,' Calvieri replied with a smile.
'I have many friends up here. It's the most liberal Brigatista stronghold in Italy.'

Sabrina glanced at the helmsman, who had his back to
I them, then leaned forward, her arms resting on her knees,
r'So why would Ubrino come back? Paluzzi said he'd been
I hounded out because he was too radical.'

'I know it doesn't make any sense,' Calvieri agreed.
r'But my contact has never let me down in the past.'

'So you said on the plane. I still think it's a trap. It's
[too easy.'

The helmsman blew the speedboat's horn as he turned
jthe blind corner under the white Rialto Bridge, then swung
fcthe wheel deftly to avoid an approaching gondola. He
I finally stopped the speedboat at one of the landing stages

79

on the Riva del Carbon and tossed the mooring rope to a
teenager on the jetty.

'You said you'd take us to the Rio Baglioni,' Sabrina
said, getting to her feet.

'That's it, the second canal down,' the helmsman replied,
pointing it out. 'You tell me how I'm going to get
in there!'

An unoccupied blue and white speedboat was moored
in the entrance to the narrow canal, blocking it to traffic.

'Some people have no consideration,' the helmsman
muttered, staring at the speedboat.

Sabrina paid him, then scrambled on to the jetty, ignoring
Calvieri's extended hand. 'Still so sure it's not a;
trap?'

Calvieri raised his hands defensively. 'I never said it^
wasn't. But why would my contact want to set me up? j
We've been friends for years. As I've said before --'

'I know, he's never let you down in the past,' Sabrina \ cut in. 'There's always a first time. Come on, I want to ] take a closer look at the speedboat before we go to that'
address he gave to you.'

It took them a couple of minutes to reach the Riol
Baglioni. It was about seven feet wide, half the size of the!
average canal, and ended in a cul-de-sac. The perfect|
setting for a trap. Sabrina crouched down beside the
speedboat. A canvas tarpaulin lay in the back. It was
covering something. She transferred the Beretta from the
holster at the back of her jeans to the pocket of her|
blouson then reached over and pulled back the tarpaulin.
Underneath was a cardboard box with the word 'ValpoliJ
cella' stencilled on the side. Calvieri got down on hiss
haunches beside her.

'What the hell do you think you're doing?'

They looked round, startled by the voice behind then

80

I The man was in his mid-twenties. He wore loud checked
I trousers and a windcheater.

Calvieri got to his feet and eyed the man with obvious I contempt. 'Is this your boat?'

'Yeah. Why?' the man muttered in a distinctly
[American accent.

'I might have guessed. Only a foreigner would moor a
fboat here. We live down there. How do you expect us to
fget our boat past yours?'

'Where's your boat?' the man asked, looking round him.
'Moored illegally at the Riva del Carbon. Have some
|consideration, will you?'

The American had the grace to look apologetic. Til get
|the keys,' he offered, then headed back towards his hotel.
'False alarm,' Calvieri said once the man was out of
arshot.

'What's the address you were given?'
Calvieri took a slip of paper from his pocket. 'Calle
aglioni 17.'

They moved along the footpath beside the canal, until
dey reached the house. It was a red-brick building with
»lack shutters covering the four windows and an altana, , wooden terrace, on the roof. He tried the door. It was
ked. He glanced the length of the deserted pathway
ben took a set of skeleton keys from his pocket and
nlocked the door on the fourth attempt. He pocketed
be keys but Sabrina grabbed his arm before he could

the door.

Tm the one with the gun, remember?'
She pushed open the door then pivoted around into the
allway, Beretta extended. Everything was covered in a
hick layer of dust.

'Your contact was right about one thing. Nobody's
red here for years.'

81

'Including Ubrino,' Calvieri said, joining her in the
hallway. 'A wild-goose chase.'

'Or a trap.'

They both heard the noise. It came from above. Sabrina
led the way up the wooden staircase, wincing every time
she stood on a creaky board. A bronze cross, tarnished
from years of neglect, was mounted on the wall at the top
of the stairs. Calvieri pointed to the door at the end of the
corridor, which was ajar. Sabrina nodded, certain the
noise had come from inside the room. She kicked open
the door then dropped to one knee, the Beretta trained
on the figure crouched in the corner. The boy was no
older than ten and his eyes were wide with fear. She.
bolstered the Beretta and crossed to where he was huddled; against the wall.

'What's your name?' she asked softly in Italian.

'Marcello,' the boy replied, staring at Calvieri. 'Are you j
the police?'

'Ever seen a policeman with one of these?' Calvieril
I	replied, flicking his ponytail.

Marcello shook his head. 'Are you from the orphanage?'

'No,' Sabrina replied. 'How long have you been here?'|

Marcello shrugged. 'A week. Ten days. I don't know.'j

'How do you live?' she asked.

There are many tourists, even in March. I learned how
to pick pockets at the orphanage.'

'How did you get up here?' Calvieri asked.

Marcello led them to a single window, opened it,
pointed to the trellis against the side of the house. 'I neve
use any other part of the house. That way there's
footprints in the dust to give me away.'

'You've certainly got it all worked out,' Sabrina said.1

'I don't want to go back to the orphanage. You wonl
tell them where I am, will you?'

8z

'No,' Calvieri said before Sabrina could answer. 'Has
I any one else been here in the last couple of days?'

'Nobody. You're the only people who know about my
hideout.'

Calvieri ruffled Marcello's hair. 'Don't worry, your
Isecret's safe with us.'

Sabrina took Calvieri out on to the landing and shut
|the door. 'How long do you think he'll last on the streets
|before the police pick him up?'

'A lot longer than you think. Give him a chance,
Sabrina.'

'What chance has he got living like this? He'll probably
|have a police record before the year's out.'

'Have you stopped to think why he ran away from the
arphanage? I know Brigatisti who grew up in orphanages
nd, much as I hate the law, I'd rather see him in a
tendon centre than having to put up with the abuse that

went through.'

'You're talking about isolated incidents. The vast ma
Mrity of orphanages look after their children.'
'Are you so sure? And are you prepared to take that
ance on his behalf?'

Her brow creased with concern. Taking out the Beretta
iin she completed the search, by climbing another set
; stairs up to the altana. The bolt on the door at the top
E the stairs had rusted with age. She struggled to draw it
ck, then pulling the door open, she stepped outside. It
covered with weeds. She checked to see if any of the
is had been recently disturbed. None had.
Calvieri was waiting for her in the hall. 'Find any

ig?'

: shook her head and walked back outside on to the
lal path. Calvieri followed her, securing the front door find him.

83

'So much for your contact,' she said contemptuously
as they made their way back to the canal entrance.

'I'll be taking the matter up with him, you can be sure
of that.'

The American had moved the speedboat from the]
mouth of the canal and was busy mooring it fifteen yards'
away when he saw them approaching. 'You can getj
through now!' he said, reaching for the mooring rope in j
the back of the boat.

Calvieri was about to reply when he saw the white!
speedboat dart out from behind a row of vaporetti moored!
at the Riva del Carbon. He couldn't make out the pilot's
features but there was no mistaking the stumpy Uzi|
clenched in his right hand. He knocked Sabrina to the
ground and flung himself after her seconds before a fusilJ
lade of bullets peppered the wall behind them. Sabrina
was the first to her feet and ran to the blue and whit
speedboat.

'What the hell's going on?' the American hissed, staring
after the retreating white speedboat.

'I'm taking your boat,' Sabrina said, jumping into dtij
speedboat beside him.

'Like hell you are,' the American retorted, stepping ill
front of the wheel.

She glanced despairingly at the white speedboat. SI
had to catch it before it turned up one of the side canal)
There was no time to lose. She unholstered her Here
and levelled it at the American. 'Get out!'

'Jesus, you're crazy,' the American stammered in disl lief, his eyes riveted on the Beretta in her hand.

'Out!' she snapped.

The American swallowed nervously then scrambled l
on to the jetty. She swung the speedboat round, and head
after the fleeing gunman. The Grand Canal was teer

84

Fwith an assortment of craft at that time of the afternoon and
| the gunman used this to his advantage, weaving in and out } of the traffic with the consummate ease of a seasoned helms[ man. There were vaporetti and tnotoscafi, water taxis,
fpacked with sightseers; traghetti, two-man gondolas, ferry
feng shoppers from one side of the canal to the other in search
lof bargains at the numerous waterside markets; barges
I laden with fresh produce destined for the luxury hotels;
Ispeedboats of all shapes and sizes, careful to keep within
|the strictly enforced speed limits; and the full-size gondolas
ransporting the wealthy tourists to and from their hotels
irhich lined both sides of the canal.
She lost sight of the white speedboat and cut across the
aw of an approaching vaporetto - much to the anger of
helmsman who shook his fist at her -- to see if the
unman was heading for the other side of the canal. He
asn't there. She slowed the speedboat to a crawl in order
take a closer look around her. Where the hell had the
lier boat gone? It had weaved between a couple of
ges, then -- nothing. She accelerated until she reached
: spot where she thought it had disappeared. She looked
lit, then left. Nothing. She looked to her right again,
ere was another canal leading off from the Grand
anal about twenty yards further on. He could never have
ached it in such a short time. Or could he? She slowed the
edboat on reaching the offshoot. The white speedboat
I't there. She hailed a youth on the pathway who was
jading crates of fresh fruit from a barge and asked
i whether a white speedboat had passed him in the last
aple of minutes. He crouched at the edge of the path,
r eyes running the length of her body.
*Nice,' he muttered. 'Very nice.'
?Did you see a speedboat or not?' she asked angrily.
|He scratched his head. 'Maybe. What's in it for me?'

85

'Forget it,' she snapped, turning back to the wheel.

Her path was blocked. The mooring rope holding the
stern of the barge had been untied and the barge now
stood at a forty-five-degree angle to the canal path. It
would be impossible to squeeze the speedboat past it.
Another youth appeared, holding a gaff. The first youth
jumped into the speedboat but before she could react she
felt the tip of a switchblade against her ribs.

'Switch off the engine,' he ordered. 'And don't try to^
reverse.'

She did as she was told.

'I'm sure you're armed,' he said with a sneer, then|
reached out a hand to search her.

She raised her hands then brought her elbow up sharply |
under his chin, rocking his head backwards. She twisted hisj
arm savagely behind his back, disarmed him, then jerked hisl
neck back and pressed the blade against his exposed throat,|
The second youth approached the speedboat cautiously.

'Throw it into the water,' she shouted, indicating the
gaff in his hand.

He hesitated and she pressed the blade into the fir
youth's throat. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his
neck.

'Do it, Antonio,' the first youth screamed.

Antonio threw the gaff into the water.

'Now move the barge,' she snapped.

Antonio nodded nervously and ran back to the barge^

She tightened her grip on the youth's hair and pres
the blade harder against his skin. Another trickle of blc
seeped from the wound. *I want some answers. And if j
haven't got them by the time your friend's moved
barge I'm going to cut your throat. It might make him;
little more cooperative.'

'What do you want to know?' the youth gasped.

86

'Who hired you?'
'I don't know his name.'

She dug the tip of the blade further into his skin.
'I don't know his name!' he screamed. 'Please believe
ne. He approached us in a bar last night and offered us
ach half a million lire to make sure he wasn't followed
up here today. We were only to frighten you, that's all.' The in particular?'
'No. Whoever followed him in here.'
'Describe him.'

'Tall. Suntanned. Collar-length black hair. And a mole
his right cheek.'
'Where does this canal lead to?'
'Back to the Grand Canal. It's U-shaped.'
Antonio had managed to manoeuvre the barge against
: side of the canal. Sabrina pushed the youth away from
er and he immediately scrambled back up on to the path
ray. She started up the engine, dropped the switchblade
Rto the water and eased the speedboat past the barge. Sudily
she smelt petrol. A slick had formed on the water in
ant of the speedboat. And the pathway beyond the barge
oked like it had been hosed down. A man appeared from
ehind a wall at the end of the path, his suntan and black
iir corresponding exactly to the teenager's description. All
a's senses were instantly alert. He acknowledged her
ath a faint smile and a slight inclination of his head. There
no sign of the Uzi. He was now holding two lighted
cks of rolled-up newspaper in his hands. Her first thought
to shoot him. But even if she were to hit him there
i still a danger that the fuel would be ignited. And she
iildn't have time to escape the flames.
She slammed the speedboat into reverse. He tossed one ; the sticks of newspaper into the water then dropped
other on to the canal path. A second later he had

87

disappeared behind the wall. Flames shot towards thej
bow of the speedboat. She managed to reverse into the>
Grand Canal, escaping the fire by a matter of feet. Thej
barge was ablaze within seconds. There was a piercing]
scream from behind the wall of flames. Sabrina felt com|
pletely helpless. There was nothing she could do to save!
the two youths who must have been caught in the fire.

As she turned her boat round she saw the white speed-i
boat shoot out from a side canal two hundred yards upriver. ]
i;	She unholstered her Beretta, opened the throttle, and gavel
Jsf chase. The white speedboat began to weave in and out off
p the congested traffic again but this time she kept on its tail.1
|c She heard sirens in the distance and looked round to see a|
patrol boat closing in on her. When she turned back to]
the wheel the white speedboat had disappeared. She cursed |
angrily at herself. Twice she had lost him.

As she passed a vaporetto the white speedboat shot ou
from its blind side and the gunman fired a short burst at
her with the Uzi, forcing her to duck low as the bullet
chewed across the bow. The tourists aboard the vapore screamed in terror and the helmsman immediately heac
for the nearest landing stage. She raised the Beretta as th
white speedboat drew abreast but it buffeted the side <
her boat, causing her to fire wide. The gunman peeled awajl
sharply and disappeared behind a passing vaporetto. By t
time she had regained control of her boat the gunman ha
disappeared. She hit the dashboard angrily with her fist tr
glanced behind her at the patrol boat which was now le
than a hundred yards away. Then she saw Calvieri signa
ling to her from a nearby wharf. She went to pick him upsj

'Let me take the wheel,' he said, climbing into the 1
beside her. 'I know my way around these waters and
first thing we have to do is dump the boat in one of'
side canals.'

88

She gave a resigned nod and switched places with him.

'Are you all right?'

'Sure, apart from my pride.' She shook her head, disgusted
with herself. 'I can't believe I let him get the better
of me.'

'Come on, Sabrina, don't be so hard on yourself. You're
only human --'

'And so is he,' she snapped. 'But why didn't he kill me
when he had the chance?'

'I'd say he made a pretty good attempt back there,'
Calvieri said, turning the speedboat up the Rio San Polo,
one of the largest canals leading off from the Grand Canal.

'He could have shot me when he came out from behind
the vaporetto. Instead he fired into the bow. It doesn't
r make sense.'

'You should just be glad you're still alive.' Calvieri
moored the boat in a narrow canal off the Rio San Polo
then pointed to a house with whitewashed walls at the
end of the pathway. 'It belongs to a friend of mine. We
jean hide there until the police are gone.'

They scrambled up on to the side of the canal.

Tonino?'

He looked round at her in surprise. It was the first time
|she had used his first name. 'Tony, please. The last person
pwho called me Tonino was my headmaster.'

'Thanks,' she said softly.	"

'Strange, isn't it? This time I saved your life. Another \ time it might be me in that boat trying to kill you.'

'Or me trying to kill you,' she replied, holding his stare.

'Sure, why not?' He gave a nervous laugh, then walked
Itowards the house.

La Serenissitna. So much for the serenity. Venice would
Inever again be the same for her.

89

five

Whitlock woke with a splitting headache. He opened his
eyes and looked around him slowly. He was lying on a
brown leather couch, a pillow under his head, in an
aeroplane. A private aeroplane, judging by the plush furnishings.
He tried to sit up but a bolt of pain shot through
his head. Instead he lay back and massaged his temples
gingerly with the tips of his fingers.

Take these. We use them in the army.'

Whitlock saw a pair of black-gloved hands out of the
corner of his eye. In one hand were two white tablets, in the
other a glass of water. Young had worn black gloves. But
the voice was different. Older, more distinguished. And,
unlike Young's voice, it wasn't discernibly American. It had
to be Wiseman. He took the tablets from the palm of the
outstretched hand and put one of them into his mouth. It
tasted bitter. The glass was put to his lips. He took a mouthful
of water and washed the tablet down, followed by the
second tablet with another gulp. He placed the glass on the
floor and lay back against the pillow, his eyes closed.

It was another five minutes before he tried to sit up
again. He lifted his head off the pillow, swung his legs off ^
the couch then sat up and rubbed his eyes. He was beginning
to feel human again.

'How's the head?'

Whitlock looked the length of the cabin at the man|
seated a few feet away from the cockpit door. He recog

90

nized him as Richard Wiseman from the photograph Rust
had included in the assignment dossier. The photograph
showed him in the uniform of a three-star general. Now
he was wearing a light grey suit, white shirt and blue
tie. He looked to be in his mid-fifties with a rugged,
weatherbeaten face, a neatly trimmed black moustache
and black hair going grey at the temples. Wiseman repeated
the question without looking up from the game of
solitaire he was playing.

Whitlock looked at his watch. He had been asleep for
four hours. He crossed to the table and sat down opposite
Wiseman. 'This has gone far enough. I demand to know
what's going on.'

Wiseman nodded as he studied the cards in front of
him, and finally sat back, resting his elbows on the arms
of the chair. 'What do you want to know?'

'For a start, who are you?'

Wiseman told him.

'Where the hell are we?'

'In my private jet, about thirty-five thousand feet over
t France. ETA in Rome is twenty-five minutes.'

'Rome?' Whitlock replied, feigning bewilderment.
j'Why are you taking me there?'

Wiseman was about to answer when the bathroom
|door opened at the other end of the cabin. His eyes
Iflickered past Whitlock and he smiled at the approaching
Ifigure. 'Back to your old self again, I see. Mr Alexander,
{you've met Vie Young.'

Whitlock's eyes widened in surprise when he saw

oung. The black hair and moustache were gone. Now
lie was blond and clean shaven.

'I was wearing a wig,' Young said, running his fingers
irough his thick blond hair. He crossed to the drinks
abinet, poured out two measures of bourbon, and handed

9i

one of the glasses to Wiseman. 'What you are drinking,
Alexander?'

'Nothing,' Whitlock retorted, eyeing Young coldly.
'Where are the woman and the boy?'

Young shrugged. 'I left them in the police car. They
were only drugged.'

'You killed Dave - '

'He knew too much,' Young cut in quickly.

Whitlock shook his head as if in despair. 'I would have
got five years, maximum, for the job I did. I'd have been
out in three. Now I'm facing a fifteen-year stretch as an
accessory to murder.'

Young picked up a card from the floor, dropped it on
to the table, then sat down. 'You'll be facing a murder
rap if the police find the gun.'

'What are you talking about?' Whitlock said in amazement.
'Murder? I didn't kill him.'

'Didn't you?' Young replied. 'There's only one set of
fingerprints on the gun. Yours.'

'That's ridiculous, you pulled the trigger.'

'But I was wearing gloves, remember? I put your prints
on the gun while you were unconscious.'

'Where's the gun now?'

'Safe,' Young replied.

'Call it an insurance policy,' Wiseman said.

Young smiled at Wiseman's choice of phrase.

'Insurance against what?' Whitlock asked suspiciously.

'You running out on us before the two of you have
finished what you're going to Rome to do,' Wiseman;
answered.

'Then, when it's over, you hand the gun over to thei
police?'

'On the contrary. It'll be handed over to you, alongj
with a hundred thousand pounds in cash.'

92
'And you honestly expect me to believe that?'

'I don't see why not,' Wiseman said, shrugging
his shoulders. 'You won't be able to tie Vie in with
Humphries' death. He's got half a dozen witnesses lined
up who'd swear, in court if necessary, that he was with
them in another country at the time of the shooting. I
admit I was in London this morning. At the Court of St
James. The American Ambassador and I go back a long
way.'

'You've got it all worked out, haven't you?' Whitlock
said. 'So whatever way you look at it, I've been set up to
take the fall.'

'Not if you're smart and do as you're told,' Wiseman
replied.

'So why exactly are we going to Rome?' Whitlock
asked at length.

'To find my brother's killer,' Wiseman said.

'To find him, or to kill him?'

'It amounts to the same thing,' Wiseman said.

'It gets better by the minute. I suppose my prints will
be found on that murder weapon as well?'

'Officially, neither of you is in Italy. You'll both be
travelling on false passports. Vie, get his passport.'

Young crossed to an attache case, took out a passport,
and tossed it on to the table in front of Whitlock.

Whitlock picked it up. 'Raymond Anderson?' He
ropened it and saw the space for the photograph.

'We'll take a Polaroid of you in a moment,' Wiseman
Isaid with a shrug, then gestured to Young. 'Vic's travelling
pis Vincent Yardley. Remember the name.'

'What about you?' Whitlock asked Wiseman.

'I'm going to Rome to collect my brother's body. And
tiat's not a cover story.'

'What happened to him?'

93

"	Wiseman picked up a folder from the floor beside
his chair and handed it to Whitlock. 'It's all in there.
Newspaper clippings, American mostly.'

Whitlock opened the folder. He had already seen many

of the clippings, which had been included in his dossier.

.;*	He leafed through them, pausing occasionally to read

"	something that caught his eye. 'Why did the Red Brigades

f	shoot him?'

5	'That's what I want to find out,' Wiseman replied, his
| jaw hardening. 'He'd never harmed anyone in his life. All
| he cared about was his work. I could have understood it
if they had come after me. A decorated soldier with strong
NATO connections. I know I'm a target in their eyes. But
why David? What really got to me was that the bastards
actually gloated about it publicly. That was a mistake. A
big mistake.'

Whitlock closed the folder and handed it back to
Wiseman. 'I'm sorry about your brother. But I don't see
where I fit in.'

'You were recommended to me as the best wheelman
either side of the Atlantic,' Wiseman said. 'Vie may need
you for a fast getaway. It all depends on where and when
the hits take place.'

'Hits? You said your brother's killer, not killers. How
many hits are there going to be?'

Two at least. The gunman, and the person who authorized
the killing. And if it turns out that others are in« volved, they too will be targeted. I want justice, Mrj
Alexander, no matter what it takes.'

'Why this personal vendetta? Why don't you leave kj
to the police and let them bring the killers in?'

'I'm a soldier, Mr Alexander. The Red Brigades are the
enemy. And I've been taught to kill the enemy.'

'So why don't you, instead of hiring us to do youi

94

dirty work for you?' Whitlock's expression was challenging.

Wiseman removed his gloves and held up his hands.
Both index fingers were missing. 'The Vietcong cut them
off in '69 when they found out I was a sniper. I was one
of the lucky ones. I'm still alive. I've had several rifles
made for me since then, all with the trigger housed in the
butt. They're no substitute for the real thing, though. I
only use them for game shooting now. If I don't kill a deer
with my first shot I can always rely on a second shot
to finish it off. It would be another matter if I could
only wound a human target, especially one that was
armed. It's not that I'm scared of dying, Mr Alexander,
I just want to be sure that the job's done properly.
That's why I chose the two of you. Vie was in my platoon
in Vietnam. He's still one of the best snipers in the
business. And as I said earlier, you're regarded as the best
wheelman around. I don't see how the two of you can
fail.'

'It's decision time, Alexander. Are you in or out?'
;' 'I didn't realize I had a choice,' Whitlock countered
sarcastically.

'It's very simple,' Young said. 'If you're in, you'll be
paid forty thousand pounds up front. If you're out, the
; door's behind you.'
j 'That's some choice. I'm in, for what it's worth.'

'Excellent,' Wiseman said. He removed an envelope
from his pocket and handed it to Whitlock. 'Twenty
v thousand pounds sterling. You'll be paid the balance on
wnpletion of the job.' He noticed the uncertainty in
|Whitlock's eyes. 'One thing you'll learn about me, Mr
Uexander, is that I never renege on a business deal. I pride
fiyself on my honesty. You'll be paid, in full, when it's
aver.'

95

Whitlock opened the envelope and looked inside. The
money was in used fifty-pound notes.

Young took an eight-inch oblong box from his inside
jacket pocket and placed it on the table in front of
Whitlock. 'Open it.'

Whitlock picked up the box and removed the lid. Inside
was a watch lying on a bed of cotton wool. He took
it out, turned it around in his fingers, then looked up
questioningly at Young.

'Put it on,' Young said.

'Why? I've already got a watch.'

'Put it on,' Young repeated.

'What's the catch?'

'It's another little insurance policy against you running
out on me now that you've got the money,' Young told
him. 'It has a small homing device built into it. I have the
receiver in my pocket.'

'In other words, I'm being tagged?'

'As a precaution, that's all,' Wiseman said. 'Forty thousand
pounds is a lot of money, Mr Alexander. We don't
want you to be tempted into doing something you'll
regret.'

'And if I refuse?'

Young smiled. Then the gun will be left in a convenient
place for the police to find. And you'll be handed over to
the authorities when we reach Rome. A stowaway.'

Whitlock unstrapped his own watch and snapped the
other watch over his wrist.

Young took a miniature black transmitter from his;
jacket pocket and placed it on the table. The back of the,
watch has been packed with a highly concentrated plastici
explosive. It works in conjunction with the transmitter.!
It can be triggered in three different ways. Firstly, by|
attempting to remove the watch from your wrist. Secr|

96

ondly, if the button on the transmitter is depressed. And
thirdly, if the watch and the transmitter are ever more
than three miles apart. The charge is certainly big enough
to blow off part of your arm. Potentially it could kill you,
depending on where your wrist was at the time of the
explosion.'

'I don't believe this . . .' Whitlock trailed off, his eyes
blazing.

'I can understand your resentment, Mr Alexander - '
'No you can't,' Whitlock interceded angrily. 'You can't
begin to understand it. I've been abducted, drugged,
framed, threatened and now tricked into wearing some
booby-trapped wristwatch. I've agreed to go along with
you - what more do you want from me? If you want me
to drive for you, Young, you neutralize this device first.'
Young shook his head. 'It stays on until this is over.
And as I'm the one who set the charge, I'm the only one
who knows how to neutralize it. You're stuck with it,
Alexander. At least for the time being.'

'And you go along with that?' Whitlock asked
fWiseman.

Wiseman nodded. 'If that's what Vie wants. It's his
^operation, he calls the shots. I'll merely be an observer,
Ithat's all.'

'I don't trust you, Alexander. But at least this way
know I can depend on you to be where I want you
|when I want you. Unless, of course, you're willing to
sse your arm for the sake of forty thousand pounds,
personally I credit you with a bit more intelligence than
bat.'

The pilot's voice came over the intercom asking them
fasten their seatbelts as he was about to start the final
escent into Rome.
Whitlock snapped the belt shut across him then stared

97

at the watch. They had him exactly where they wanted
him. At least for the time being . . .

Philpott answered the telephone on his desk.

'I've got a Major Lonsdale from Scotland Yard's antiterrorist
squad on the line, sir,' Sarah told him.

'Put him through.'

She connected them, then replaced her receiver.

'Colonel Philpott?'

'Speaking. I've been expecting a call from you for the
past two hours. What happened? Did C.W. get away all
right?'

'That all went fine. He should be touching down in
Rome about now.'

'So why the delay?' Philpott asked.

Lonsdale explained what had happened, including the
discovery of Humphries' body by the local CID in Stoke
Newington.

'Are the boy and his mother all right?' Philpott asked
anxiously.

'They're both fine.'

'Why did Young pick them?'

'Harris knows the boy's father, Wendell Johnson -- '

'Who's Harris?' Philpott cut in.

'He was the other man Young hired to help him spring
Alexander.'

'The one you picked up yesterday?'

'That's right,' Lonsdale replied. 'It seems Young wanted
a hostage to force the police guards to release Alexander.;
But he knew abducting someone in the street would be;
too dangerous. That's when Harris came up with Mary 1
Robson and her boy.'

'Did Harris tell you this?'

98

'Yes.'

'How did Young get hold of the police car and the
uniforms?'

'He hired the uniforms from a theatrical company. He
made a bogus call to the police to lure the police car
on to a housing estate in Lambeth. The two of them
overpowered the driver and left him tied up in an empty
flat on the estate. Whitlock was sprung half an hour later.'

'How did they get C.W. on to the plane?'

'Wiseman's private Lear jet was parked at an American
airbase. The sentry on duty at the gate is certain there
were only two men in Wiseman's official car when it
arrived at the base. Wiseman and the driver.'

'Who must have been Young?'

'The description certainly matches the American who
helped spring Whitlock from the police van. We didn't
push it any further in case word got back to Wiseman.
The logical conclusion is that Whitlock was in the boot,
unconscious, when the car arrived at the base.'

'I appreciate your help, Major Lonsdale.'

'Not at all.'

'I'll call you to tell you when you can release Alexander
back into the custody of the police.'

'Fine. We'll keep him entertained until then.'

Philpott hung up, then asked Sarah to get him Kolchinsky's
hotel in Rome.

tPaluzzi had called Nikki Karos from Rome to find out
whether he would be able to see them that afternoon. He
bad refused to elaborate further over the telephone and
Caros had told him they were welcome to fly to the island
see him, though he doubted he would be of much
sistance to them.

99

They had flown in a NOCS Cessna as far as the
capital, Corfu, where they had transferred to an Alouette
helicopter and completed the twelve miles to Karos's
mansion on the slopes of Mount Aji Deka, arriving mid
afternoon.

Marco executed a perfect landing within a few feet of
the white Mercedes parked on the edge of the helipad.
The driver stood beside it, a holstered Bernadelli visible
on his belt. Graham and Paluzzi alighted from the helicopter.
The driver took their Berettas, saying they would be
returned when they left the island. He ushered them into
the car, then got behind the wheel and drove the five
hundred yards to the Spanish-style mansion which was
set against the side of the mountain and supported by four
thick concrete pylons driven down forty feet into the
base of the rock. A butler, complete with white gloves,
accompanied them to a glass-walled lift which ran up the
end wall of the building. He pressed a button and they
were transported to the roof. The doors opened on to a spacious terrace dominated by an Olympic-size swimming
pool. The butler retreated to bring drinks, and they crossed
to a railing which ran the length of the terrace to examine
the breathtaking view. The village and the tranquil Khalikiopoulos
Lagoon stood in the foreground, with Mount
Pandokrator, the island's highest mountain, and the rugged
Albanian ranges in the distance. It all seemed very
peaceful.

Graham moved to the swimming pool and tested the
water with his fingertips. It was warm. Then, as he stood
up, he noticed the row of glass tanks built into the wall
to the left of the lift. Each of the six tanks contained a
pair of snakes. A plaque attached to each tank identified
the species: Bushmaster, Eastern Diamondback Rattlesnake,
Green Mamba, Gabon Viper, King Cobra and

100

Saw-scaled Adder. Six of the most deadly species known
to man.

'Beautiful, aren't they?'

Graham swung round to face the man who had emerged
silently from the lift behind him. He was in his fifties with
a large nose prominent in an asymmetrical face. He was
dressed in a white suit with a panama tugged over his grey
hair.

'Karos. Nikki Karos,' the man said, extending a hand
towards Graham. 'Paluzzi?'

'Graham. State Department.'

'Ah, the American,' Karos replied, shaking Graham's
hand.

Paluzzi crossed to where they were standing and shook
Karos's hand.

'The great survivors,' Karos said, looking at the snakes.
'Reptiles have been on this earth, in one form or another,
for three hundred million years. From them came the
dinosaur, the ichthyosaur, the plesiosaur and all the rest
of those magnificent prehistoric creatures. From those
prototypes came the mammals and the birds. And when
man does finally destroy himself, the reptiles will still be
here to start the evolutionary process all over again.'

'Why snakes? Why not crocodiles or lizards?'

'Where's the beauty in the lumbering crocodile, Mr
Graham? Or the scurrying lizard? There is, however,
; immense beauty in the snake. The sleek, streamlined body.
The speed with which it strikes its prey. I sit out here for
hours watching them.' Karos smiled. 'I'm sorry, I know
you didn't come all this way to discuss snakes. Please,
; won't you sit down.'

They crossed to a table beside the pool and each took
a chair. It was pleasantly warm in the thin March sun.
The butler returned with a tray and deposited their drinks

101

on the table, along with a plate of loukanika, small spicy
sausages. It was only when Graham glanced after his
retreating figure that he saw a second man standing by
the lift, his arms folded across his chest. He was black and
a muscular six-foot-five, with a shaven head and a gold
sleeper in his left ear. He reminded Graham of an extra
from one of Errol Flynn's buccaneering films.

Karos followed Graham's eyes. 'Don't worry about
Boudien. He's been my personal bodyguard for the past
five years. He's an Algerian. He doesn't say much, but
when he does speak, people tend to listen to him.'

'I'm not surprised,' Graham replied, then drank a
mouthful of the cordial the butler had brought for him.

'Well, gentlemen, what can I do for you? I must say
I'm a little intrigued as to why the State Department
should send someone out here to see me. I have no business
interests in your country, Mr Graham.'

'It's got nothing to do with my country. What can you
tell us about Vittore Dragotti?'

Graham and Paluzzi watched Karos closely, hoping to"
see a flicker of recognition in his eyes. There was nothing.;
Not that it surprised them. Karos was very much thel
professional.

Karos took a sip of his iced tea then shook his head.1
'Sorry, I can't say I know the name.'

Paluzzi then put into action the plan they had devise
on the plane. He took the bank statements from his jacke
pocket and extended them towards Karos. 'These wer
found in Dragotti's wallsafe. Four of the payments havf
been traced to you. Perhaps you can explain that?'

Frowning, Karos took the statements from Paluzzi ar
laid them out neatly on the table in front of him. He
removed a pair of reading glasses from his pocket ar
slipped them on. Having studied the entries Paluzzi ha

IOZ

marked in red, he looked up and shrugged. 'It's certainly
a mystery to me. I've never done any business with him.
Am I allowed to know what he does, or where he works?'
; 'He's the sales manager at Neo-Chem Industries in
Rome,' Paluzzi said.

'Neo-Chem? That's the pharmaceutical company.'
Karos smiled faintly. 'We're hardly in the same line of
business, are we? All I can suggest is that one of my
associates has been doing some business with him - '

'You can cut the act, Karos,' Paluzzi snapped. 'I know
for a fact that no payment is authorized without your
signature. If one of your associates had been doing
business with him, you'd have known about it.'
'Come on, Fabio, stop treating the guy with kid gloves,' I Graham said, bringing the next bit of the plan into play.
, 'Why waste time? Tell him that Dragotti's confessed.'
'Let me handle it my way, okay?' Paluzzi retorted.
Graham turned to Karos. 'Let's cut the crap. We've
^already seen Dragotti this morning. He agreed to cooperate
with us in return for a shorter sentence. He's
iadmitted being the middleman between you and Wiseman.
|How do you think we got hold of those bank statements?'
A drop of sweat ran down the side of Karos's face. He
|wiped it away quickly then looked round at the approach
rag Boudien who had been alerted by the raised voices.
ie shook his head and waved him away.
'We've got the confession all neatly documented back
f Rome,' Graham said. 'It's enough to put you away for
venty years.'

Til make a deal with you,' Karos said, once Boudien
ad disappeared into the lift.

'You're in no position to make deals, Karos,' Graham
torted.
'I can't go to jail, I've got too many enemies there.'

103

'You should have thought about that before you got
involved,' Graham said.

Karos crossed to the railing and looked across the
Khalikiopoulos Lagoon. Til take you to Ubrino. In return
you give me a twelve-hour head start once the vial's been
recovered. It's a small price to pay with so much at stake.'

Graham looked at Paluzzi. 'What do you think?'

Paluzzi stared at his empty glass and finally nodded.
He looked at Karos. 'It's a deal. When can you take us to
him?'

'Tonight. I'm meeting him outside Sant'Ivo in Rome at
eight o'clock.'

'And he'll have the vial with him?' Paluzzi asked, making
notes on the pad he had taken from his pocket.

'I can only presume so. He was told never to let it out
of his sight.'

'You know this place?' Graham asked Paluzzi.

Paluzzi nodded. 'It's a church near the Pantheon.'

'Why are you meeting him there?'

Karos shrugged. 'He was the one who called the meet-J
ing. He just said it was important and for me to meet him|
there.'

Graham eyed Karos suspiciously, then pointed a fmger|
of warning at him. 'You'd better be on the level becau
if you're leading us on a wild-goose chase you'll be in ja
so quickly your feet won't touch the ground.'

'Why should I deceive you? I've got nothing to gain by
it. Not now.'

'Who are you working for?' Paluzzi asked, breakir,
the silence.

'I'm not working for anybody, I'm working with Zocchi, head of the Rome cell of the Red Brigades.'

'Why did he come to you?' Paluzzi asked.

'Because he knew the committee wouldn't sanction i

104

operation. And he needed money to finance it. I had the
capital.'

'How much was Wiseman paid altogether?' Graham
asked.

'A hundred thousand dollars. Chicken feed, really,
when you think about what he created. That virus is
; priceless. Priceless.'

'Whose idea was the sleeping gas?' Paluzzi asked. 'Zocchi's. It was a diversion, nothing more.'
'So Ubrino knows he's got the virus?' Paluzzi said.
'Of course he does. As I said, the sleeping gas was just I a red herring.'

'What are you going to get out of this?' Paluzzi asked.
'Twenty million pounds sterling.'
Graham whistled softly. 'Did Zocchi say how he in
nded to get the money?'

Karos shook his head, then noticed the forty-foot white
|Gazelle helicopter crossing the lagoon towards the house.
'Are you going to admire the scenery all day?' Graham
apped.

Karos turned to him. 'No, he never said. I just presumed
: would be some kind of deal which included his release
i well as a sum of money in return for the vial.'
Graham's eyes flickered past Karos. The helicopter was
sing in fast. Too fast. Then he saw the two 30 mm
annons mounted on either side of the fuselage. There
wasn't even time to shout a warning. He lashed out
deways, knocking Paluzzi and his chair backwards into
: swimming pool. He flung himself into the water as the
Machine-guns opened fire. Karos's body jerked groquely
and blood spurted from the bullet holes in his
imaculate white jacket. He stumbled against the railing,
i disappeared over the side. The pilot raked the terrace
another few seconds then banked the helicopter

105

sharply to the left and headed back towards the capital,
Corfu.

Graham and Paluzzi held their breath underwater for
another ten seconds after the firing had stopped, then
swam across the pool to the safety of the steps, where
they surfaced, gasping for air. Graham was the first out
of the pool and he ran straight to the railing. Paluzzi was
close behind him. Karos lay sprawled on the rocks eighty
feet below them, his white jacket startling against the
grey of the stone. Paluzzi cursed furiously in Italian, then
wiped his hand over his face. There was blood on his
fingers.

Graham noticed his frown and gestured to his bleeding
lip. 'I didn't exactly have time to choose my spot.'

Paluzzi patted Graham lightly on the arm. 'I owe you
my life.'

'Forget it,' Graham replied, stripping off his wet shirt.
'You don't owe me anything.'

Boudien emerged from the lift followed by two guards.
Both were armed with Spectre sub-machine-guns. They^
ran to the railing and peered down at Karos on the rocks 5
below. The two guards, glancing repeatedly at Graham|
and Paluzzi, spoke softly to Boudien.

'They think we set him up,' Paluzzi said, interpreting!
the Greek for Graham.

Boudien turned to Paluzzi. 'Did you see what kind i
helicopter it was?'

'No,' Paluzzi lied. 'All I saw was that it was white'
a single figure at the controls.'

'Did you see his face?' Boudien asked.

'You must be joking,' Paluzzi said incredulously,
second later I was underwater.'

Boudien gripped the railing tightly and stared out ac
the Khalikiopoulos Lagoon.

106

'Who do you think did it?' Paluzzi asked, casting a
sidelong glance at him.

'Signore Karos had many enemies. It could have been
set up by any one of them.'

'How about Lino Zocchi?' Paluzzi asked, watching for
a reaction.

Boudien's face remained impassive. 'I don't know him.
Signore Karos never discussed his work with me.' He
suddenly eyed Paluzzi suspiciously. 'Is that why you and
the American came here, to ask Signore Karos about this
man Zocchi?'

'He did come into the conversation.'
'The police will be here shortly,' Boudien said. 'You
can tell them about it. You can also tell them how the two
of you managed to come out of all this unscathed.'

'You think we had something to do with Karos's
murder?' Paluzzi demanded.

'That's for the police to decide. The two guards will
btay here. They have orders to shoot if either of you
|attempts to escape.'

Paluzzi watched Boudien return to the lift, then turned
|to Graham and told him what was happening.

'And there is only one way out of here,' Graham said,
[lancing at the lift.

'Angelo should have heard the gunfire from the helicopr.'
'What can he do?'

'There's a rope ladder attached to the side of the passen
er seat. If he dropped it we could conceivably grab hold
as the helicopter passed overhead. I know it's a long got but it's our only real chance."
Graham looked at his watch. 'It's 4.17. We'll give him
Mil 4.20. No longer. Then we'll have to take our chances
jfith the lift. We have to be out of here before the cops

107

arrive, especially if they are already in Karos's back
pocket.'

'What about the guards? We'd be dead before we got
anywhere near the lift.'

'We'd be dead before we got anywhere near the rope
ladder as well. We've got to take them out, whatever
happens.' Graham shaded his eyes as he looked up at
the approaching helicopter. 'Looks like the cavalry's just
arrived.'

Paluzzi followed his gaze. 'What about the guards?'

'Let them come to us. They're bound to be suspicious
of the helicopter. You take the short one on the left. I'll
take his friend.'

The guards moved towards them. The short guard:
gestured for them to move away from the railing. Paluzzi j
and Graham stepped back, their hands raised above their j
heads. The second guard crossed to the railing, the Spectre!
gripped in both hands, waiting for the helicopter to come|
into firing range. The lift began to descend from the
terraces. Boudien had seen the helicopter and was sending
up more guards to deal with it. Graham and Pali
exchanged glances. There was no time to lose. Pali
lunged at the short guard, parrying the Spectre with
left arm, and brought his knee up savagely into the guar
groin. The Spectre slipped from his fingers. Graham picke
it up and shot the second guard even as he turned,
raised, to fire. Paluzzi grabbed the second Spectre
turned towards the lift, waiting for the other guards'
arrive.

The helicopter banked slowly two hundred yards I
the terrace then dived towards them, the rope lad
hanging from the passenger door.

'You go first,' Graham shouted above the noise of 1
helicopter's rotors.

108

Paluzzi shook his head. 'I owe you - '
'You don't owe me anything,' Graham snapped back.
'Go first, no arguments.'

Paluzzi nodded, his eyes darting between the lift and
the helicopter. The thirty-foot ladder brushed the railing
and trailed across the terrace towards them. Paluzzi
grabbed hold of one of the rungs halfway up with his left
hand, the Spectre still clenched tightly in his right. The
helicopter began to climb, lifting Paluzzi away from the
terrace. Graham fired a burst at the lift as it came into
view then jumped up to grab the last rung of the ladder
as the helicopter rose away and started to turn towards
|the lagoon. The Spectre spun from his hand and he was
Sung against the railing. He caught the side of his head
an one of the metal struts before he was pulled up over
be railing into the air.

Two guards sprinted from the lift and fired at the
etreating helicopter but within seconds it was out of
ange, leaving them cursing at the railing.
Blood streamed down the side of Graham's face and
; had to use all his willpower to stave off the unconscious
that threatened to overpower him. His left hand
lipped and for one terrifying moment all that prevented
from falling the three hundred feet down on to the
i below was the strength of his right hand on the last
the ladder. His body swung precariously from side
(side and his head was shaken violently. With a supreme
he reached up with his left hand and clamped it
ound the bottom rung again. He tried to pull himself
> but it was no good, he just didn't have the energy. He
ed his eyes, hoping that might stop his head spinning,
ily seemed to make it worse. His fingers were slipping
jtthe ladder. He gritted his teeth and dug his fingers into
rope. It was no good. He was going to fall. His left

109

hand began to slip from the ladder again. As it did a hand
clasped his left wrist. He lifted his head painfully and
saw Paluzzi above him. Paluzzi was shouting to him. He
couldn't hear what he was saying. He gripped more tightly
with his right hand and closed his eyes, the pain now
unbearable in his head. He felt himself drifting into unconsciousness.
His feet touched water. Then his ankles. Then
his legs. He opened his eyes. He was being dragged through
the water. Paluzzi shook Graham's wrist and mouthed the
word 'jump'. Graham let himself fall backwards into the
sea. Paluzzi dived in after him. He grabbed Graham
under the arms to prevent his head from dipping under
the water. Graham opened his mouth to speak, then
sagged forward, unconscious, against Paluzzi.

The NOCS headquarters in Rome was a large grey building
on the via Po, close to the grounds of the West German
consulate. It was officially listed as an archive for the
Ministry of Defence.

Paluzzi and Marco entered the building through the
revolving door in the main entrance and walked to an
unmarked door at the end of the long, cavernous hallway.
They went inside and Paluzzi locked the door behind
them. The room was lined with rows of shelving stacked *
with cardboard boxes full of old files and dossiers. They
crossed to the far wall and Marco activated the faqadej
with a transmitter he had undipped from his belt. Thel
wall slid back to reveal a soundproof metal door. Marco|
punched an access code into the bellpush and the d
slid open revealing a blue-carpeted corridor. He closed ,
again behind them, using a second combination which!
caused the outside wall to slide back into place as wells|
Paluzzi sent Marco to the computer suite to get a back
no

ground on Boudien, then went to his office and listened
to the messages on his answering machine. One was from
Brigadier Michele Pesco, the unit's commander-in-chief,
requesting that he report to his office as soon as he arrived.
Paluzzi switched the machine off and went straight to
Pescb's office.

Pesco was a tall man in his mid-forties whose cropped
black hair surmounted cold blue eyes. He had been with
the Brigate Cadore, one of the Italian army's five crack
Alpine brigades, before his promotion to the NOCS to
take over from his predecessor who had been killed while
on a training exercise in the mountains of Sicily. His
appointment had caused a lot of resentment among the
men who had wanted, and expected, Paluzzi to get the
post. Pesco had been in the job for three months and was
still treated as an intrusive outsider. He and Paluzzi had
never got on. Paluzzi resented Pesco's appointment, especially
as his new superior had no previous experience
f with the NOCS. And Pesco resented Paluzzi's popularity
^with the men. They only spoke to each other when necess
; ary. It was a problem known to Italy's joint chiefs-of-staff
J:but they couldn't decide which of them to have transferred
[to another unit. And neither man was prepared to back
|down first. It had become a matter of pride.

Paluzzi knocked on Pesco's open door and entered the
|ioom. Pesco was smoking his customary cigar, the thick
noke drifting up into the extractor fan on the wall behind him . The two men acknowledged each other with a curt
then Paluzzi turned to smile at Kolchinsky and
abrina who were seated on the couch against the wall.
'Where's Mike?' Sabrina asked.
'He's at the San Giovanni Hospital,' Paluzzi replied
nd immediately raised a hand to allay her anxiety. 'He's
ay, don't worry.'

in

'What happened?' Kolchinsky asked.

Paluzzi recounted the events briefly, culminating in
their rescue from the sea by a coastguard helicopter
answering Marco's mayday call.

'How bad is the wound?' she asked, the anxiety still
on her face.

'He needed fourteen stitches. The doctors were more
worried that the blow could have damaged his eyesight
but they gave him the all-clear after a series of tests.
They want him to remain in hospital overnight, just as a
precaution. He wasn't too happy about that.'

'Well, he can just stay there,' Kolchinsky said, and
looked at his watch. 'It's gone six-thirty. How long will
it take us to get to Sant'Ivo from here?'

'It's about a ten-minute drive,' Paluzzi replied.

Til go with Major Paluzzi,' Sabrina offered.

'No you won't,' Kolchinsky replied firmly. 'You'rel
working with Calvieri. I want you at the hotel where you I
can keep an eye on him. I'll go with the Major.'

Sabrina sat back glumly and folded her arms across her|
chest.

Pesco stubbed out his cigar and got to his feet.
Kolchinsky, I'll leave you in Fabio's capable hands. I have
a meeting with the joint chiefs-of-staff at eight-thirty.'

Kolchinsky stood up and shook Pesco's hand. 'Than
you for your time, Brigadier.'

'Glad to be of help.' Pesco smiled at Sabrina. 'A pleasu
meeting you, Miss Carver.'

She smiled back.

Pesco acknowledged Paluzzi with another nod and 1
the room.

'I presume from that show of affection there's lit
love lost between the two of you,' Sabrina said, lookin
at Paluzzi.

I'll

'Sabrina, that's enough!' Kolchinsky chided her
sharply.

'It's no secret,' Paluzzi told them. 'He's about as popular
here as a pit viper in a rabbit hutch. He's never tried
to fit in with the rest of us. Giuseppe Camerallo, his
predecessor, was an inspiration to us. He led by example.
He wouldn't expect us to do anything he wasn't prepared
to do himself. Pesco hasn't even been on a training exercise
with us yet. He's a desk man. The men don't want that.
They want another Camerallo.'

'So why was he sent here?' Sabrina asked.

'Because he's a desk man. Paperwork was Camerallo's
weakness. The auditors found the books in a total
shambles when they came here after his death. That's why
the top brass sent us Pesco. I was put in charge of field
operations so it was only natural that the men looked to
me as their new leader. Pesco can't accept that. He wants
that respect himself. But he won't get it by sitting behind
a desk all day. That's why he resents me so much.' Paluzzi
sat on the edge of the desk. 'How was the trip to Venice?'

Sabrina told him what had happened.

'Have you identified the man who fired at you?'

'Brigadier Pesco sent my description of the man through
to the computer suite ten minutes ago. There hasn't been
any feedback yet.'

Paluzzi was about to ring through when Marco apeared
at the door, a folder in his hand.

'I've got the information you wanted on Boudien. He
.seems --' Marco paused when he noticed Kolchinsky and
[Sabrina. 'Sorry, sir. I didn't realize you had company.'

'Come in, Angelo,' Paluzzi said, beckoning him into
| the room. 'This is Sergei Kolchinsky, deputy director at
IUNACO, and Sabrina Carver, Mike's partner. Lieutenant f Angelo Marco, my right-hand man.'

113

Marco shook hands with them, then handed the folder
to Paluzzi.

'Do me a favour, Angelo, see what's happened to the
description Miss Carver sent through to be analysed in
the identograph. It doesn't take ten minutes to come up
with a name.'

Marco nodded and left the room.

Paluzzi tapped the folder. 'This is the info on Philippe
Boudien, Karos's personal bodyguard. I'll have copies of
it made for you before you leave.'

'Is he under surveillance?' Kolchinsky asked.

'Twenty-four-hour surveillance. And the phone line's
been tapped. So far nothing.' Paluzzi moved round to
Pesco's chair and sat down. 'Any news from your other
operative? Whitlock, is it?'

Kolchinsky lit a cigarette and nodded. 'I got a call from
him this afternoon. He and Young have booked into a
boarding house in the city. Wiseman's staying at the
Hassler-Villa Medici.'

Paluzzi whistled softly. 'He must have money to blow.
That's one of the most expensive hotels in Rome.'

'His ex-wife inherited the Whiting shipyard outside
New York. She sold it five years ago for close on a hundred
million dollars. He got to keep the Lear jet, the ranch in
Colorado and an estimated ten million when they were
divorced last year.'

'Ten million and he's still drawing an army salary?^ I
certainly wouldn't be slogging my guts out for the state if
I had that kind of money in the bank.'

'The money isn't important to him. He's a soldier, first
and foremost. And a good one, by all accounts.'

The telephone rang. Paluzzi answered it and punched
a code into Pesco's desk computer as he listened to what
Marco was saying.


114

'Any luck?' Sabrina asked once Paluzzi had replaced
the receiver.

Paluzzi nodded then pressed a 'print' button on the
console. A facsimile of the two faces on the screen slid out
from a narrow aperture in the side of the computer. He
handed it to Sabrina.

'That's him all right,' she announced, handing the
facsimile to Kolchinsky. 'But why two pictures?'

'Identical twins,' Paluzzi said. 'One has a mole on his
right cheek. The other doesn't. That's the only way of
telling them apart.'

Sabrina sat down beside Kolchinsky and looked at the
facsimile again. 'You're right. It's uncanny.'

'Do you know which one you saw in Venice?' Paluzzi
asked.

'The one with the mole on his cheek. I won't forget
him in a hurry. Who are they?'

'Carlo and Tommaso Francia.'

'Who's who?' she asked.

'Carlo's the one you saw in Venice.' Paluzzi stared at
the VDU. 'Which means Tommaso was the one in Corfu.'

'I thought you said you didn't see his face,' Kolchinsky
said.

'I didn't, but they always work on the same assignments.'

'What does it say about them?' Kolchinsky asked,
gesturing to the VDU.

Paluzzi pressed another button and the text came up
on the screen. He read it through, translating it into
English in his head. He finally looked up at them. 'They
were born in Salerno in 1956 and orphaned at an early
age. Both excelled as sportsmen and by their teens they
were skiing in professional tournaments. Carlo specialized
in downhill racing, Tommaso in the slalom. They were

H5

chosen for the Italian team for the '76 Winter Olympics
but both failed a drugs test on the day before they were
due to compete. The FIS banned them for life. They
worked as stuntmen for a time before drifting into crime
in their late twenties. They now work as freelance enforcers
in Italy and Greece.'

'Have you ever come across them?' Kolchinsky
asked.

'Not personally, but 1 know of them.'

'Do they have any sympathies with the Red Brigades?'

'Their sympathies lie with whoever's paying them, Miss
Carver. And they don't come cheap. They can afford to
name their price. They're probably the best freelance team
in the Mediterranean.'

'It's pretty ironic, isn't it?' Sabrina said thoughtfully.
'Karos financed his own death.'

'It certainly looks that way,' Paluzzi replied.

'What about their present whereabouts?' Kolchinsky
asked.

'Unknown. They're nomadic. They do have a summer
villa at Frezene, a beach resort about twelve miles from
here, but neither of them has been seen there in the last
year. Naturally I'll have it staked out but I don't see us
coming up with anything. We're dealing with professionals.'

'What about the helicopter?' Kolchinsky asked. 'Thati
could be a clue in itself. A white Gazelle with mounted!
30 mm cannons. You don't see them every day.'

'I've already got a team working on that but I doub
we'll come up with anything there either. They could ha\
hidden it anywhere.'

'It's hardly the easiest of things to conceal,' Kolchinsk
said.

'I agree, but where do we start looking? Italy? Greecef

116

Corfu? Sardinia? Sicily? The list's endless and we don't
have the time.'

'Unless, of course, we manage to recover the vial tonight,'
Kolchinsky said optimistically.

'Don't hold your breath,' Paluzzi replied. 'This operation's
been planned down to the last detail. You can be
sure that Ubrino won't venture out into the open unless
he knows it's safe.'

'You think it's a trap?' Kolchinsky asked.

'I didn't initially when Karos told us about the meeting.
He would have been with us and it would have been too
dangerous to hit Mike and me without endangering his
own life. It was only after his death that another possibility
came to mind. What if the trap had been set for him? He knows too much, so Ubrino might have planned to
draw him out into the open and have him killed. Except,
when we linked him to the missing vial the plan was
brought forward, to silence him before he could tell us
anything.'

'But Tommaso Francia was too late to silence him
before you and Mike got to Corfu so he tried to kill all
three of you?' Kolchinsky concluded.

Paluzzi shook his head. 'I don't go along with that. He
could have killed us when we were in the pool. We were
sitting ducks. It was obvious he was only after Karos.'

'It's like what happened in Venice,' Sabrina said to
Kolchinsky. 'It's as if they wanted us to escape.'

'It doesn't make any sense,' Kolchinsky muttered, then
^stubbed out his cigarette and got to his feet. 'It's seven
^o'clock. I want to see Michael before we go to Sant'Ivo.'

'I'll get these dossiers on Boudien and the Francia
brothers translated into English for you.'

'I can do that,' Sabrina said, scowling at Kolchinsky.
|f It's not as if I'll have much else to do in my room, is it?'

117

Kolchinsky took the two folders from Paluzzi and
handed them to Sabrina. Paluzzi gave her a sympathetic
smile, then phoned Marco to say that he and Kolchinsky
were on their way to Sant'Ivo, and that Marco was to go
home and get some sleep. He replaced the receiver and
got to his feet.

'Are you armed?' he asked Kolchinsky.

Kolchinsky shook his head.

'Take my Beretta,' Sabrina said. She unholstered it from
the back of her jeans and offered it to Kolchinsky.

'You hold on to that, Miss Carver. I'll draw a handgun
from the armoury for Mr Kolchinsky.'

She reholstered the Beretta. 'Can we drop the Miss
Carver bit? You make me feel like an old spinster. It's
Sabrina.'

'And I'm Sergei,' Kolchinsky added.

Paluzzi smiled. 'What type of gun do you use, Sergei?'

'Tokarev T-3 3, but I can make do with whatever you've
got.'

'I can get you a Tokarev, no problem,' Paluzzi assured
him, and immediately called the armoury to arrange for >
one to be sent to the office. 'It'll be up in a minute,' he;
said, coming round from behind the desk.

Marco appeared in the doorway. 'Are you sure you!
don't want me to come with you to Sant'Ivo, sir?'

'No. Now go and get some rest. I'll call you if I ne
you, you can be sure of that.'

'Can you let me out?' Sabrina asked Marco. 'I'd be
get back to the hotel and see what Calvieri's come up will
while I've been here.'

'And don't forget to tell the switchboard to put any <
from C.W. through to you until 1 get back,' Kolchins
reminded her.

'I won't,' she replied, following Marco out of the re

118

Paluzzi signed for the Tokarev pistol when it was
brought to the office, then they left the building and drove
to the San Giovanni Hospital on the via d'Amba Aradam
opposite San Giovanni in Laterano, the basilica which
is the cathedral of Rome, In the hospital foyer Paluzzi
approached the reception desk to ask for directions to
Graham's private ward. It was on the third floor overlooking
the Villa Celimontana, a park bordering the Colosseum.

Kolchinsky knocked and entered.
Graham was sitting up against the headboard, a pillow
cushioning his back. He immediately folded the copy of
the International Daily News he had been reading and
tossed it on to the chair beside the bed. The discoloured
bruise on the left-hand side of his face was partially hidden
by the thick dressing protecting the stitches close to his
leye.

'How are you feeling, Michael?' Kolchinsky asked,
jrushing the newspaper from the chair as he sat down, his eyes fixed on Graham's face.

'I'm fine, honestly,' Graham replied, pushing back the
beets. He was dressed in his jeans and the clean white
F-shirt Paluzzi had got from the hotel for him. 'I'm ready.
fve just got to put on my shoes.'
'Ready for what?' Kolchinsky asked sharply.
'Didn't Fabio tell you about Sant'Ivo?'
'Of course he told me,' Kolchinsky retorted. 'You're
going, if that's what you think. You're staying right here you are, at least until tomorrow morning.'
'There's nothing wrong with me, Sergei!' Graham
apped angrily.

Kolchinsky sighed deeply. 'Why must you always fight
bority? The doctors wouldn't have asked you to stay
overnight unless they thought it was necessary.

119

Strange as it may seem, Michael, they do know what's
best for you under the circumstances.'

'Oh yeah? That's exactly what those psychiatrists said
after Carrie and Mikey were kidnapped. We know what's
best for you, Mr Graham. Like hell they did. They didn't
know a damn thing. To them I was just another numbered
dossier that was opened when they got to work in the
morning and closed again when they went home at night.
They didn't have to live with the guilt twenty-four hours
a day. I did. They didn't understand what I was going
through. They just thought they did. If they could have
produced a psychiatrist who had lost his family under
similar circumstances to mine then I'd have been quite
prepared to listen to him because he would have known
what I was going through. It's exactly the same here. Let
them produce a doctor who's had a similar injury to mine
and I'll listen to him. Damnit, Sergei, who the hell do
they think they are, saying they know what's best for me?
It's my body. It's my mind. And I know I'm okay.'

Kolchinsky rubbed his face wearily. 'Then discharge
yourself. But that doesn't mean you're coming with us.
Go back to the hotel. Sabrina's there.'

'Wonderful,' Graham muttered. 'She'll be mothering
me the moment I walk through the door.'

'It's her way of showing that she cares about you,"
Kolchinsky said, pushing the chair back angrily and getting
to his feet. 'We'll see you back at the hotel.'

Paluzzi followed Kolchinsky into the corridor and
closed the door behind him. 'I hope I'm not being intrusive,
but what exactly happened to his family?'

Kolchinsky explained about the kidnapping as they
walked back to the car.

'And they were never found?' Paluzzi asked.

Kolchinsky shook his head.

120

'And he's never cracked?' Paluzzi asked as Kolchinsky
settled himself into the passenger seat.

'He won't crack. Not Michael. He's far too professional
to ever let that happen.'

Paluzzi started the engine. 'I don't know what I'd do if
that ever happened to my family.'

'How can you know, unless, God forbid, it ever did
happen.'

True enough,' Paluzzi agreed thoughtfully, as they left
the car-park.

'How many children have you got?' Kolchinsky asked,
breaking the sudden silence.

'Just the one. Dario. He's eight months old. He's
already quite a handful.'

'I can believe that. What does your wife do?'

'Nothing at the moment. Dario's proving to be a full
time job for her. She used to be a stewardess with Air
France.' Paluzzi pointed out the floodlit Colosseum as
they passed it on their right. 'Have you ever seen it from
the inside?'

'Several times. I lived here for eighteen months.'

'You never told me that,' Paluzzi replied in surprise.

'It was when I was with the RGB. I was a military
attache here. It's a good ten years ago now.'

'Do you miss Russia?'

'I don't miss the winters,' Kolchinsky said with a smile,
then stared thoughtfully at the passing traffic. 'I like to try
and get back at least once a year to see my family and
friends. It's when I'm with them that I realize just how
much I do miss the country. I intend to retire there when
I leave UNACO.'

'Then you'll realize just how much you miss the West,'
Paluzzi said with a grin.

'That's true. Have you ever been to the Soviet Union?'

I2.I

'I haven't,' Paluzzi replied apologetically. 'Claudine,
my wife, has been there several times. She says it's a
beautiful country. I certainly want to go. It's just a matter
of finding the time.'

Paluzzi drove past San Marco, one of the oldest
churches in Rome, and continued along Corso Vittorio
Emanuele flanked by its impressive collection of Baroque
and Renaissance monuments and pulled up opposite
Sant'Andrea della Valle, a large sixteenth-century Baroque
church. Kolchinsky checked his Tokarev pistol, then
pushed it back into his jacket pocket and got out of the
car. Paluzzi used the transmitter to lock the doors behind
them.

They crossed the road to Sant'Andrea della Valle and
Paluzzi pointed out the dome towering behind the Valle
Theatre on the left-hand side of the street. Sant'Ivo. They
looked around carefully, both with the same apprehensive
thought. There were too many people about. It was the
perfect setting for a trap. If they were ambushed they
couldn't return fire for fear of hitting some innocent
bystander. Kolchinsky paused in front of a confectionery
shop, using the window as a mirror to scan the road
behind him. He couldn't see anything suspicious. Not that
he knew what to expect. Paluzzi tapped him on the arm
and indicated that they should move on. There was no
safety in numbers, not when the Red Brigades were involved.
They had no qualms about killing innocent people
if it meant hitting back at the authorities they detested so
much. He had seen it happen all too often in the past.

A burst of gunfire shattered the confectioner's window
into a starburst of tiny fragments of flying glass. Kolchinsky
flung himself to the ground. When he raised his
head he saw a middle-aged woman sprawled across the
pavement in front of the window, her white blouse stained

I2Z

with blood. She was dead. The street emptied as panic
stricken bystanders fled, screaming. The gunman was in
the back of a black Mercedes. Kolchinsky crawled to
where Paluzzi was crouched behind a silver BMW, the
Beretta gripped tightly in his hand.

'He missed you by inches,' Paluzzi whispered. 'Did you
see who it was?'

Kolchinsky nodded grimly.

Tommaso Francia brought the black Mercedes level
with the BMW. He glanced at Carlo in the rearview
mirror. They smiled at each other. Carlo stroked the Uzi's
trigger with his gloved finger. He had them. They couldn't
get away, not without him seeing them. He could wait.
There was no rush.

Graham had followed Kolchinsky and Paluzzi into the
hospital car-park where he had hailed a taxi and promised
the driver a handsome reward if he managed to tail
Paluzzi's Alfa Romeo Lusso without being seen. The
driver had grinned like an excited schoolboy and given
Graham a thumbs-up sign, relishing the challenge.

The driver had slammed on his brakes to prevent the
taxi from ploughing into the back of a Fiat Tipo when it
braked sharply behind the black Mercedes. He couldn't
reverse, there was a tailback of cars behind the taxi. He
was stuck. And very frightened.

Graham leapt from the back seat of the taxi, yanked
open the front door, and hauled the startled driver out
into the road. Then, climbing behind the wheel, he slipped
the taxi into gear and swung out from behind the Fiat
Tipo. There was a gap of ten yards between the Fiat and
the Mercedes. Graham rammed the taxi into the back of
the Mercedes. The momentum of the impact propelled

1*3

Tommaso against the steering wheel. The engine stalled.
Graham rammed the Mercedes again. Tommaso cursed
angrily as he struggled to restart the engine. The engine
came to life and the tyres shrieked in protest as the car
pulled away, heading for the Vittorio Emanuele Bridge.
Graham gave chase. Carlo fired a burst at the taxi. Graham
ducked sideways as the bullets hit the windscreen, pock
marking the glass. He hit the windscreen frantically with his forearm, but it wouldn't budge.

Carlo fired again, scoring hits on both the front tyres.
The taxi spun out of control and smashed into the side
of a parked car, hammering Graham's head against the
steering wheel. He immediately felt the blood seeping out
from under the dressing and down the side of his face. He
unbuckled his safety belt and reached groggily for the
door handle. The door was pulled open from the outside
and anxious passersby peered in at him. He didn't understand
what they were saying. A hand reached out to help
him but he shrugged it off and sat back, his eyes closed.
It felt as if hundreds of ballbearings were ricocheting
around inside his head. The pain was unbelievable.
Eventually he opened his eyes, wiped the blood from the
side of his face with the back of his hand, and gingerly
eased himself out of the car. His legs were unsteady and
he had to grab on to the open door to support himself.

Kolchinsky and Paluzzi pushed their way through the
crowd to where Graham was standing.

'Are you all right?' Paluzzi asked anxiously.

Graham nodded.

'What the hell were you doing?' Kolchinsky demanded,!

'Saving your ass, in case you didn't notice,' Graham |
retorted, his face screwed up with the pain throbbir,
inside his head.

'We were perfectly safe where we were.'

12.4

A

'Not from where I was sitting. What if he'd shot at the	i petrol tank? You guys wouldn't have known anything |
about it.' Graham's eyes flickered past Kolchinsky as the 1
taxi driver reached the front of the crowd. 'Now this is 1
trouble.'

The driver clasped his hands to his head as he stared
in horror at the taxi's crumpled bonnet. A police car
pulled up and two carabinieri got out. One of them
immediately cleared the crowd of onlookers from the road
and began to direct the tailback of congested traffic which
had built up on both sides of the road. The second policeman,
wearing the insignia of a sergeant, approached the
taxi but held up his hand when the driver tried to speak
to him. He stared at the bullet holes, the buckled hood
and the shredded tyres before finally turning to the driver
and asking if it was his car. The driver admitted it was
but went on to explain volubly what had happened. The
sergeant listened attentively, occasionally nodding his
head, then told the driver to wait. He crossed to where
Graham was leaning against the side of the taxi, a handkerchief
pressed against the wound on his face. Paluzzi cut
in front of the sergeant before he could speak and held up
his ID card. The sergeant looked at it, then gestured
to Graham and asked Paluzzi if he was also with the
NOCS.

Paluzzi shook his head. 'He's an American, working
with us. That's all you need to know.'

The sergeant glared at Paluzzi. 'We'll see about that.
You think you're above the law, don't you?'

'Spare me the lecture,' Paluzzi said, pocketing his ID.
|'You don't have the necessary clearance to be told what's
Igoing on.'

'I don't give a damn about your clearance,' the sergeant
|snapped, glancing across at Graham. 'He could have killed

125

someone. That concerns me. And that's why Tn
him in for questioning.'

'How old are you, sergeant?'	r

'Twenty-eight. Why?'

'You've got your whole career ahead of you.
screw it up by getting involved in something that'i
over your head.'

'Is that a threat?' the sergeant hissed under his 1

Paluzzi looked around him as he considered the j
tion. He finally met the sergeant's eyes again. 'Let i
it another way. You take the American in and I'll;
it personally that you lose your stripes.'

'For doing my job? You'll have to do better than I

Paluzzi took the fake Prime Minister's letter
pocket and handed it to the sergeant. 'I don't think!
to do much better than that, do you?'

The sergeant read the letter, refolded it and ha
back to Paluzzi. 'I don't seem to have any choice,'. What happens now?'

'I'm taking him to hospital. He needs that cut 1
I'll get a full statement from him and have it sent to* first thing in the morning.'

'That's against regulations.'

Til get it cleared with your superiors, you don't!
to worry about that.'

'And the taxi driver?'

'He'll be compensated in full.' Paluzzi handed
sergeant a business card. 'Any problems, call me.' "':

The sergeant pocketed the card, eyed Paluzzi
temptuously, then pushed past him to supervise the; of the tow truck.

Kolchinsky looked round as Paluzzi approached \ 'Any trouble?'

'Nothing serious.'

116

at about the woman back there?' Graham asked.	||
e's dead. I'm going back there now to straighten ||
put with the carabinieri.' Paluzzi handed the car i
a Kolchinsky. 'You drive. Drop me off at the Piazza, |
I take Mike to the hospital.' |
» you want me to come back for you?' |
3, I'll get one of my night staff to fetch me. I'll see |
i at the hotel.' I
fane.' Kolchinsky opened the driver's door and looked 1
the car roof at Paluzzi. 'Sabrina should be at the |
I if we're not back by the time you get there.' |
aluzzi nodded and got into the back of the car. Sraham climbed in beside Kolchinsky. 'Still mad at me, | rishchr

Jchinsky sighed deeply and shook his head slowly to
:lf. He put the car into gear and pulled away from
kerb.

12-7

SIX

Whitlock stared distastefully at the takeaway in front of
him that he had sent out for. It was supposed to be bistecca
alia pizzaiola, steak in a tomato and herb sauce. More
like bistecca al'olio. It was swimming in oil. He prodded
the steak with the fork and shook his head in disgust. His
stomach grumbled. He was hungry, he had to admit it.
The alternative was eating with Young in the dining-room.
Suddenly the steak looked appetizing. He opened the
second carton, containing peas and courgettes, and
tipped them into the first beside the steak. As he ate his
mind wandered back over the hours since his arrival in
Rome.

Wiseman had been met unexpectedly at the airport by
a senior officer from his old unit, the ist Marine Division,
which was stationed at NATO's southern command in
Verona. He had told Wiseman that a staff car, and driver,
would be at his disposal for the duration of his stay in
Rome. Wiseman had declined the offer, saying he was in
Italy as a civilian, not as a soldier. He had accepted the
offer of a lift to the Hassler-Villa Medici Hotel where,
after thanking the officer for his kindness, he had hired a
car for himself, then retired to his suite. The officer had
taken the hint and discreetly withdrawn.

That was the gist of what Young had told him when
he called Wiseman to report that they had checked into
the boarding house. Whitlock hated the place. It was

118

small, dirty and smelly. He could hear the incessant blare
of a radio in one of the adjoining rooms and he was
sure that a woman he had passed on the landing was a
prostitute. She was certainly dressed like one. Not that he
cared. He was only interested in Carmen. He had rung
the hotel in Paris that afternoon, only to be told that she
had checked out the previous evening. He had then called
the apartment in New York but the telephone had just
rung. He even tried her work number but there had been
no reply there either. He rang her sister in New York. She
hadn't seen Carmen since she and C.W. had left for Paris.
She had a lot of friends in New York but they would be
the last people she would turn to at a time like this.
She was like him in that respect, she kept her personal
problems to herself. What if she had packed her things
and left the apartment? The idea had certainly crossed his
mind but he had rejected it along with all his other little
theories. It wasn't in her nature to do that. She knew he
would only worry if he couldn't contact her, even if she
didn't want to speak to him. So where was she . .. ?

'Alexander?'

Whitlock looked round, startled by the voice behind
him. Young stood in the doorway.

Try knocking next time,' Whitlock snapped, turning
back to his food.

'I did, but you didn't respond,' Young said, closing the
door behind him. He sat on the edge of the bed and
gestured to the takeaway on the table. 'Why didn't you
eat downstairs? The food's a lot better than that.'

'I'd say that depends on the company,' Whitlock retorted,
cutting the last piece of steak in half.

'I'd watch my mouth if I were you, Alexander.'

Whitlock finished eating, then twisted his chair round
to face Young. 'What do you want?'

129

Young stood up and handed the keys to the hired Seat
Ibiza to Whitlock. 'We're going out.'

'Where?'

'The underground car-park on the via Marmorata.'

'Who are we meeting?'

'That doesn't concern you,' Young spat.

'I'm up to my neck in this thing, thanks to you. The
least you can do is let me know what's going on.'

Young grabbed Whitlock by his shirt, hauled him to
his feet and slammed him against the wall. Whitlock
resisted the temptation to break the grip and put Young
on his back. He had to let Young believe he had the upper
hand.

'Let's get something straight from the start, Alexander.
I didn't ask for you. It was the General's idea to bring you
in on this, not mine. He was the one who thought I should
have agetaway driver. So don't think you're indispensable,
because you're not. I can do this with or without you. It
makes no difference to me one way or the other.'

'It's nice to know you're wanted,' Whitlock muttered.

'Just remember, I'm the one with the transmitter. You
step out of line and I'll use it,' Young snarled, pushing
Whitlock away from him.

Whitlock bit back his anger and followed Young into
the corridor. They descended the stairs into the foyer. The
plump receptionist smiled at them as they passed then
returned to her knitting. The red Seat Ibiza was parked
directly outside, and Whitlock unlocked the driver's door,
got in, then leaned over and unlocked the passenger door
for Young. On a map he took from his inside pocket
Young pointed out the route he had already outlined in
red pen.

Whitlock followed directions and they reached the via
Marmorata within ten minutes. Young pointed out the

130

illuminated sign, parcheggio, and Whitlock swung
the car into the entrance, coming to a stop in front of the
barrier. Whitlock took a ticket from the machine and the	i;
boomgate lifted. Young told him to drive to Level C. ;
Whitlock negotiated the spiralling ramp cautiously and j
braked on reaching Level C. i
'Who, or what, are we looking for?' he asked.	a

Young pointed to a white Fiat Uno parked beside one	of the thick concrete pillars. Whitlock pulled up behind *
it. 1

'That's it,' Young said, noticing a copy of the Daily	f American in the back of the car. 'I won't be long. Drive I
around in circles, I'll signal when I'm ready.' j

Whitlock watched Young get out of the car. The gun-	f
man was playing it close to the chest. Too close for his |
liking. He had already assumed that Young was meeting I
someone who had information on the Wiseman murder |
- but what good would Whitlock be to UNACO touring j
around in the car waiting for Young to finish? He had to
know what Young was planning. There was only one
option open to him: he must bug Young's room. He
already had the bug, it was just a matter of planting it...

'I told you to drive around the level, I'll signal you
when I'm ready.'

Whitlock put the car into gear and drove off. Young
pulled on a pair of black gloves as he stared after the car.
How many times had he tried to dissuade Wiseman from
recruiting Alexander? The hell he needed a wheelman. He
could easily have incorporated both jobs into one. And
be 100,000 pounds richer into the bargain. But Wiseman had
been adamant. Alexander was a necessary back-up. Typical,
Wiseman thinking like a soldier. Young didn't like
the cocky Englishman but he had no choice but to put up
with him for the duration of the assignment. Wiseman's

131

assignment. But once it was over he still had his ace to
play. The booby-trapped watch. He smiled to himself.
What a tragedy if it happened to detonate accidentally ...

'Do you have a cigarette?'

Young turned to the man who had emerged from the
shadows behind the Fiat Uno. He was in his mid-twenties
with long, ragged black hair and a sallow, acne-scarred1 face. His name was Johnny Ramona. Young took a pack
of cigarettes from his pocket and extended it towards
him.

Ramona took one and Young lit it for him. 'I would
pay you, but I only have this,' he said, taking half a
five-hundred-lire note from his jeans pocket.

Young took the note and checked it against the half he
had on him. They matched. 'Did you get the information
I wanted?'

Ramona nodded and gestured to the Fiat. 'It's safer if
we talk inside.'

Young got into the passenger seat and immediately
tilted the rearview mirror until he could see behind him.

Ramona got behind the wheel. 'A cautious man, I see.'

'It's one way of staying alive. Well, what have you got
for me?'

'You have the money?'

Young took an envelope from his pocket, opened it to
reveal the money, but jerked it away from Ramona's
grasping hand. 'You'll be paid when 1 have the information.'

Ramona gave him a twisted smile, sat back and took
another drag on the cigarette. 'The Red Brigades were
behind the break-in at the plant.'

'Try telling me something I don't know,' Young retorted
sarcastically, then glanced in the rearview mirror
as Whitlock drove past.

132

'It was carried out by the Rome cell. The team leader
was Riccardo Ubrino, one of the two senior cell commanders.'

'Where's this Ubrino now?'

Ramona shrugged. 'Nobody knows. It is as if he has
disappeared off the face of the earth. The only person
who might know is Lino Zocchi, but there is no way of
confirming that.'

'Who is Zocchi?'

'The brigade chief here in Rome. He is in prison but
he cannot be contacted. There has been an outbreak of
conjunctivitis there and all visits have been cancelled until
further notice.'

'You say this Ubrino is one of two senior cell commanders.
Who's the other one?'

'Luigi Rocca.'

"Would he know where Ubrino's gone?'

Ramona shook his head. 'He is as much in the dark as
everyone else. And he is the acting brigade chief until
Zocchi can be contacted again.'

'So Ubrino's answerable to Zocchi. Who's Zocchi
answerable to?'

'Nicola Pisani, leader of the Red Brigades.' Ramona
took an envelope from his pocket and removed a sheet of
paper from inside it. 'This is the committee structure of
the Red Brigades. Pisani is at the top. Zocchi and Calvieri
are immediately beneath him -- '

'Who's Calvieri?' Young cut in quickly. 'I'm sure I've
heard that name before.'

'He is the spokesman for the Red Brigades. He appears
regularly on Italian television.'

'Would he know where to find Ubrino?'

'I doubt it. Ubrino is from Rome. Calvieri is brigade
chief in Milan. They are two different factions within the

J33

Red Brigades. And there is no love lost between the two
cities. Zocchi is a hardliner, Calvieri a moderate.'	'

'But it's possible?'

'It is possible, but most unlikely.' Ramona flicked the
cigarette butt out of the window. 'Well, now you have the
information you wanted. The money?'

'There's something you didn't tell me.'

Ramona frowned. 'What?'

'That you're also a member of the Red Brigades.'

Ramona chuckled nervously. 'Whoever told you this
has got his facts wrong. I have never been with the Red
Brigades.'

Young looked in the rearview mirror as Whitlock
passed again, then turned back to Ramona. 'No wonder
you were so eager to help me. I get the information I want
and at the same time the Red Brigades get to keep tabs on
me.'

Ramona shook his head. 'Honestly, mister. I have no
ties - '

Young palmed a switchblade from his pocket and
rammed it into Ramona's ribs, twisting the blade violently
up into the heart. He caught Ramona as he fell forward
and pushed him back against the seat. He wiped the blade
on Ramona's sleeve, then pocketed the knife and got
out of the car. He looked around slowly. There wasn't
anyone in sight. He took the envelope from Ramona's
hand and closed the door. He removed his gloves,
folded them over, and slipped them into his jacket
pocket.

At a signal, Whitlock picked him up and drove to the
exit. He paid the attendant, then swung the car out into
the road and returned to the hotel, remembering the route.
Young would expect that of him. He parked in the same
spot outside the boarding house.

J34

'Want a drink?' Young asked, locking the door behind
him.

'I don't drink.'

'That's right, you don't,' Young muttered. 'I remember
some of your buddies in London telling me that. So what's
wrong, why don't you drink?'

Whitlock paused on the top step and looked down at
Young. 'My parents were alcoholics. Drink killed them.
Does that answer your question?'

'Suit yourself,' Young replied with an indifferent shrug.
'There's a bar on the end of the block. I'm going to get
myself a couple of beers. I'll be back in twenty minutes.'

'Then what?'

'We go out again. Just be sure you're ready.'

Whitlock watched Young walk off towards the bar,
then looked at the booby-trapped watch. He had fifteen
minutes to plant the bug in Young's room. He hurried up
to his own room, locking the door behind him, then took
a suitcase from the cupboard and placed it on the bed. He
had bought the suitcase, as well as two changes of clothing,
that afternoon with some of the expenses money Wiseman
had given him. He unzipped it and took out a canvas toilet
bag. Inside were two microphones, a radio receiver, a
micro-cassette player and a pair of small headphones. He
had picked up the toilet bag from a contact that afternoon.
He checked the microphones. One was a radio microphone.
The other was a 'spike mike'. He would need to
get into Young's room to plant the radio microphone. It
was too risky. Which left him with the spike mike. It was
nine inches long (the actual microphone was only two
inches in length) with a thin, metallic spike which could
be inserted into a wall or window frame and any noises
from the bugged room would then vibrate against the
spike and pass through it to the microphone. He moved

135

to the window and checked the distance between it and
the adjoining window. Young's room. Ten feet. Maybe
twelve. But there was no way across to it. Then he noticed
the steel ladder on the far side of Young's window. He
presumed it went all the way to the roof because he
couldn't see anything in the darkness above him. It would
have to be checked out.

He put the spike mike in his pocket and left the room,
locking the door behind him. The fire stairs to the roof
were at the end of the corridor. He took them two at a
time and climbed out of the hatch on to the flat roof. The
top of the ladder was visible from where he stood. He
crossed to it and peered down into the alleyway below. It
was deserted. He gripped the ladder in both hands and
shook it violently. It held firm. He then clamped the spike
mike between his teeth and descended the ladder to what
was, he calculated, Young's window. The ladder was
further away from the window than he had initially
thought. Probably to dissuade burglars. He reached out
towards the window. The frame was just in reach. That
was enough. He locked one arm around the ladder then
leaned across and tried to push the tip of the microphone
into the wood. He was hoping it would be old and brittle,
but his hopes were dashed. The wood was hard. He wiped
the sweat from his face, then leaned over again and began
to screw the spike into the wood. His arm was aching by
the time the microphone was secure. He looked at his
watch. He still had eight minutes to spare.

The window was suddenly pushed up. He pressed
himself tightly against the ladder, not daring to move in
case the slightest noise carried into the bedroom. Young
rested his hands on the frame. He had been gone only a few
minutes. Why had he returned? Then Whitlock noticed a
woman in the alleyway beneath him. It looked like the

136

prostitute he had seen earlier in the boarding house. Young
leaned out of the window as she passed, his face turned	i
away from Whitlock. He whistled at her. Whitlock held I
his breath, knowing he would be spotted if she looked up |
at Young. She didn't. Instead she held up her middle ;
finger, then disappeared out into the street. Young laughed i
and ducked his head back into the room, closing the i
window. Whitlock exhaled deeply. He couldn't believe his ]
luck. But he didn't intend to push it. He climbed back up 1
to the roof, pausing a bare minute to wipe the sweat from j
his face with a handkerchief before returning to his room ]
and locking the door behind him. He set up the apparatus j
but used only one of the headphones to see if the micro- |
phone was actually working. Silence. He checked the
receiver unit. It was definitely working. He sat on the edge
of the bed and stared at the wall, willing Young to make j
some kind of noise. Still silence. He wiped his face again {
and tossed the handkerchief onto the bed. There was a j
sudden metallic click in the headphone. He frowned, then |
smiled to himself when he realized what had made the j
noise. Young had opened a can of beer. So that was why j
he had come back early. He had decided to drink in his 1
room. Then he heard the familiar sound of the telephone I
being picked up. He positioned a pillow behind him, i
then sat back against the headboard and slipped both
headphones over his ears.

'Yes, good evening. Richard Wiseman, please.'	I

The reception was excellent. It was almost as if Young	1
was in the same room. j

'Good evening, sir,' Young said. There was a pause	I
while Wiseman spoke. 'Yes sir, I met with the informer. I j
got all the information I need from him.' Pause. 'Including |
the name of the man who pulled the trigger. He's called |
Ubrino, he's a senior Brigatista here in Rome.' Pause. 'No,

137

sir, he seems to have vanished. But I don't anticipate any
problems tracking him down.' Longer pause. 'The other
three members the informer mentioned were Pisani, head
of the Red Brigades, and his two deputies, Zocchi and
Calvieri. They're both brigade chiefs. Zocchi here in Rome
and Calvieri in Milan. Zocchi's in jail so we won't be able
to get to him, at least not straight away.' Pause. 'No sir,
Alexander doesn't know the names. I thought it best to
tell him as little as possible. I still say he's a liability.'
Pause. 'I'd prefer to see him dead. He already knows too
much.' Longer pause. 'I appreciate that, sir. I'll call you
again in the morning. Good night, sir.' The receiver was
replaced.

Whitlock removed the headphones, then put the apparatus
back in the suitcase and locked the cupboard door.
He sat on the bed again, his mind racing. Were all four Brigatisti now on Young's hit list? Including Calvieri? He
had to pass the information on to Kolchinsky but there
would be no time before they went out again. And where
were they going? Was Young going to make his first hit?
If so, who was his intended target? He knew Young
wouldn't tell him anything. That much was evident. And
what had Young meant by, 'I appreciate that, sir'? Appreciate
that Wiseman was in charge and that he wanted
Young to leave Alexander alone? Or did he appreciate
the chance to kill Alexander? Whitlock cursed softly to
himself. If only he could have heard what Wiseman had
said. He wanted to arm himself. He felt naked without
his Browning. But Alexander never used firearms. And
Young would know that. He couldn't afford to take that
chance, it could blow his cover. His wits against Young's
firepower. He didn't fancy the odds, not one little bit...

There was a knock at the door.

Whitlock answered it.

138

Young stood in the doorway, the can of beer in his
hand. 'Let's go.'

'Where are we going?'

'Don't worry, I'll direct you there.'

Whitlock slammed the door angrily behind him and
headed for the stairs. Young took another mouthful of
beer, then left the can by the door and hurried after
Whitlock.

Sabrina closed La Repubblica, got to her feet and moved
to the window where she looked out across the brightly-lit
city, evoking memories of her previous visits to Rome.
The first visit was the one she remembered best, mainly
because it was a painful reminder of the way she used to
be. The plane ticket had been a twenty-first birthday
present from her parents and she had gone with three of
her girlfriends from the Sorbonne, where she had been
doing her postgraduate degree. She didn't see any of the
city's heritage in those two weeks. Their nights were spent
at clubs and discos and their days in bed recovering
from the night before. And then there were the one-night
stands . ..

She turned away from the window and shook her head
slowly to herself. It was hard for her to believe that she
had once been so immature. Not that it had ended there.
After leaving the Sorbonne she had become one of the
most sought-after debutantes in Europe. She had attended
all the exclusive parties, rubbing shoulders with the rich
and famous, and regularly had to fend off proposals of
marriage from men old enough to be her grandfather.
Then, when she tired of the parties, she found herself
another passion: motor racing. It came to a head when
she crashed her Porsche at Le Mans. She had severe bone

139

fractures and a punctured lung. She spent the next four
months in the American Hospital of Paris and came to
realize that her life was going nowhere. She needed purpose
and direction. She had joined the FBI on her release
from hospital and it had given her the maturity she needed
to make the transition to UNACO. You've come a long
way, she thought to herself, and when she caught sight of
her reflection in the mirror she noticed the faint smile of
satisfaction on her face.

There was a knock at the door. She peered through the
spyhole. It was Paluzzi. She opened the door and invited
him in.

He looked around the room. 'Mike and Sergei not
back, then?'

She closed the door. 'I thought they were with you.'

He recounted the evening's events. 'I knocked on their
doors but there was no reply. I thought they might be
with you.'

'I haven't heard from them. I presume they must still
be at the hospital.'

Paluzzi nodded, then indicated the armchair by the
window. 'May 1?'

'Of course,' she replied with a sheepish grin. 'Sorry, my
mind was elsewhere. Can I get you a drink?'

'A soft drink, perhaps. Soda water?'

She took a bottle of soda water from the fridge.

He told her not to bother with a glass and took a long
swallow from the bottle, then wiped the back of his hand
across his mouth. 'That's better. It's been quite a day.'

'But hardly constructive,' she replied, sitting on the bed.
'We're just clutching at straws, aren't we? What chance
have we got realistically of finding Ubrino before the
deadline on Thursday?'

'Not much, I'm afraid. We could certainly do with a

140

bit of luck.' Paluzzi took a sip, then pointed the neck of
the bottle at Sabrina. 'Conte's our only hope now. The
doctors are confident he'll regain consciousness. It's just
a matter of when.'

'And you think he knows where Ubrino's hiding?'

'It's obvious that Ubrino's orders were to kill the rest of
his team once he had the vial. That's borne out by Nardi's
murder as well as the attempt to try and kill Conte. Why
else would he have been told to kill them, unless they
already knew too much about the operation?'

'I see your point. It's still a long shot, though.'

'I agree. But as you said, what chance have we got of
finding Ubrino before Thursday? We have to bank on
long shots now.'

They lapsed into a thoughtful silence which was interrupted
moments later by the telephone ringing. Sabrina
answered it. Paluzzi crossed to the window while she
talked.

'That was Calvieri,' she said, replacing the receiver.
'He's had another tip-off. This time in Rome.'

'Did he think it was genuine?'

'All he said was that it was an anonymous call. It
certainly smells like a trap.' She shrugged. 'It's got to be
checked out anyway.'

The telephone rang again.

'That's probably for me,' he said as she picked up the
handset.

She listened momentarily, then nodded and passed the
receiver to him. She went to the cupboard to get her
Beretta and shoulder holster.

'Calvieri did receive an anonymous call,' he said, hanging
up.

She looked round at him as she strapped the holster
over her T-shirt. 'Who was that?'

141

'One of the men in the van.'

'What van?'

He jabbed his thumb towards the window. 'I've got
two men out there monitoring all Calvieri's calls. I told
you about it at HQ.'

'No you didn't,' she replied, shaking her head.

'Sorry, I thought I'd told you. We put a tap on his
phone and planted a couple of bugs in his room while the
two of you were in Venice. I'm sure he suspects he's being
bugged but it's worth a try anyway.'

She pulled on a jacket. 'Is he being tailed?'

'When he goes out by himself.'

'And?'

'Nothing.'

There was a knock at the door. She answered it and
ushered Calvieri into the room.

'Evening, Paluzzi. I presume Sabrina's told you about
the tip-off.'

'Anonymous, I believe? How original.'

'All I was told was that he's been spotted at one of the
safe houses here in Rome.'

'Do you think it's a trap?' Paluzzi asked.

'It's possible. As you know, I'm not very popular any
more with the Brigatisti here in Rome. Most of them
would gladly put a gun to my head and pull the trigger.'

'Do you want back-up?' Paluzzi asked.

'No, definitely not,' Calvieri insisted. 'The last thing we
need is a gun battle in the street.'

'Are you armed?' Sabrina asked.

Calvieri nodded.

'A Heckler 8c Koch Py,' Paluzzi said, looking at
Sabrina. 'But don't rely on him to cover your back. He
never uses it.'

'I've never been known to use it. There is a difference.'

142

There was an uneasy silence as the two men stared
contemptuously at each other.

'Fabio, you're welcome to wait here for Mike and
Sergei,' Sabrina said, deliberately stepping between them.
'They should be back any time now.'

'Thanks,' Paluzzi replied. 'I will. Take care of yourself.'

She smiled reassuringly and followed Calvieri from the
room.

The small red-brick house, bordered by a neatly trimmed
hedge, was a typical example of a Red Brigades safe house.	|
An inconspicuous building in the heart of suburbia.

Calvieri pulled up opposite the house and killed the
engine. He looked at it. A paved footpath, flanked by
well-tended flowerbeds, led up to the front door which
was illuminated by a subtle entrance light. The only other
light came from behind the drawn curtains in the room
to the left of the door. He checked out the garage to the
right of the house. An Alfa Romeo Alfetta stood in the
drive in front of the closed garage door.

'Why didn't you just ring ahead and tell them we were
coming?' Sabrina said sarcastically beside him.

'What do you mean?'

'Whoever's in there will have seen the car the moment
we pulled up. Why didn't you park at the end of the street?
At least then we would have had the option of using either
the front or the back of the house to gain entry. Now
we've lost the element of surprise.'

There is no back.'

'How do you know?' she asked suspiciously.

'I've used this house before when I was stationed here.
It backs on to the house directly behind it. The only way
in from the street is through the front door. The only

J43

other way out is through the garage. So you see, we don't
have any option. We have to use the front door.'

'And get shot before we're halfway up the garden path?'

'A bit melodramatic, don't you think?' He got out of
the car and made a sweeping gesture with his arm. This
is suburbia. Anything suspicious and the police would be
here in a flash. And that would mean the discovery of the
safe house. So what use would it be? No, if they're going
to spring a trap it will be inside the house, away from
prying eyes.'

'What do you suggest we do?'

'Use the front door, what else? I have my skeleton keys
with me, one of them is sure to fit the lock. If Ubrino is
in there his only way out will be through the garage. You
wait out here in case he shows.'

'Why don't I go in and you wait out here?'

"I know the house, Sabrina. It's got several places where
someone could hide in an emergency. You don't know
where they are.'

Then we go in together.' She noticed the uncertainty
in his eyes. 'Let me put it another way for you. Either I
go in with you or else I call Paluzzi and have his men go
in with me. The choice is yours.'

'Some choice.' He opened the gate and looked at the
garage. 'He couldn't get out there anyway.'

'Why not?'

The car's parked against the garage door. He'd have
to use the front door.'

They approached the front door cautiously, their hands
holding the guns in their pockets. The door was ajar. They
exchanged wary glances. Calvieri ran his fingers lightly
down the jamb to check for any booby-trapped wires.
Nothing. He eased the door open with his fingertips. The
hallway was deserted. She took the Beretta from her

144

pocket and slipped past him into the hallway. He closed
the door behind them and followed her. She pointed to
the first door on the left. He nodded and took the Heckler
&C Koch Py from his pocket, his eye continually darting
towards the other closed doors leading off from the hallway.
She pressed herself against the wall and indicated
that he should do the same on the other side of the door.

'I'll go in first,' she whispered.

He nodded reluctantly.

She curled her fingers around the handle then shoved
open the door and dived low into the room, fanning it
with her Beretta. There was only one man in the room.
He was seated in an armchair facing the door. It wasn't
Ubrino. He was a heavyset man in his forties with black
hair slicked back from a craggy face.

She got up on to one knee, the Beretta aimed at his
chest. 'On your feet, very slowly. And keep your hands
where I can see them.'

He looked past her and smiled when Calvieri appeared
in the doorway. 'I'm impressed, Tony. Your new bodyguard?'

Calvieri lowered his gun. 'I might have guessed. What
are you doing here, Luigi?'

'You know him?' Sabrina asked.

'Unfortunately, yes. Luigi Rocca, one of Zocchi's more
repulsive puppets.'

'I'd mind my tongue if I were you, Tony. My men don't
take too kindly to me being insulted by someone like you.
Look behind you.'

Calvieri looked round slowly, his nerves taut. Two men
had emerged from the opposite room. Both were armed
with AK-74 assault rifles.

'Drop the gun, Tony.' Rocca looked at Sabrina. 'You
too, bella.''

145

Calvieri let the Py fall from his fingers. One of the
men retrieved it. Sabrina stared at the two Kalashnikovs
pointing at her and reluctantly tossed her gun on to the
floor. The same man picked it up.

'You never answered my question, Luigi,' Calvieri said,
coming into the room.

'I will, in time. Aren't you going to introduce me to
your beautiful companion?'

'Her name's Sabrina Trestelli. She's a graduate of
Trento University.'

'Beauty and brains. Pity you chose to join the wrong
cell, bella.' Rocca beckoned the two men forward. 'Entertain
the lady while I talk to Signore Calvieri.'

'Whatever you have to say to me can be said in front
of her,' Calvieri said, looking round as the two men
approached her.

The first man grabbed her arm. She brought her knee up
sharply into his groin. He shrieked in pain and crumpled to
the floor.

'Touch me and I'll break your arm,' she snarled menacingly
at the second man.

He looked hesitantly to Rocca for instructions.

'Leave her,' Rocca said, then gestured dismissively at
the man gasping on the floor. 'Take him away. Wait
outside for me. I'll call if I need you.'

The man helped his colleague from the room and closed
the door behind them.

Rocca got to his feet and crossed to a side table. They
both refused his offer of a drink. He poured himself a
whisky, then resumed his seat and pointed to the couch
behind them. Obediently they both sat down.

'This has gone far enough, Luigi. What do you want?'

'Answers,' Rocca replied, and took a sip of whisky.

'Answers to what?' Calvieri demanded.

146

Rocca ran his palm over his greasy hair. 'I'm in charge	|
now that Signore Zocchi and Ubrino are allegedly indis- J
posed. I use the word "allegedly" because the city's been J
rife with rumours, counter-rumours and accusations ever ]
since the break-in at the Neo-Chem plant on Sunday night. I
I have to reassure my Brigatisti, Tony, that's why I lured I
you out here. I need answers, and I need them quickly.' I

'Then I suggest you make an appointment to see Signore	j
Pisani and discuss your problems with him.' J

'Credit me with some intelligence, Tony. Pisani's dying.	I
He's nothing more than a figurehead now. You've been ]
running the show for the past few months, not him.' J

'Who told you that? Zocchi?' Calvieri could see he was	|
right by the look in Rocca's eyes. 'I thought as much. And I you're the one complaining about rumours ? Signore Pisani ]
is dying, we all know that, but to say that he doesn't play } an active part in the running of the Red Brigades any more j
is complete nonsense. Who do you think sent me to Rome 1
to find Ubrino? I certainly didn't send myself. I'm here on j
his specific instructions. Signore Pisani will tell us when |
he wants to stand down. But until then he is still our j
leader. So that's one rumour quashed already.' |

'What about the rumour that Zocchi's dead?' Rocca	t
said, then drank down the rest of his whisky. 'That's why I
the prison's been sealed off.' jj

'The prison's been sealed off because of an outbreak of
acute conjunctivitis. I know for a fact that Signore Pisani
spoke with one of the doctors who went to treat the
prisoners. He saw Zocchi. That was yesterday afternoon.
It's possible that Zocchi could have been killed since then,
we've no way of confirming or denying that. But look at
it logically. If something had happened to him, I think the
committee would have heard about it by now.'

'What's the doctor's name?'

M7

'Are you questioning Signore Pisani's word?' Calvieri
demanded angrily.

'I just want to talk to the doctor myself,' Rocca said
defensively.

'So you're calling him a liar.'

'Of course not, but how can I be expected to answer
these rumours unless I have the facts at my disposal?'

'I've told you already, call a meeting with Signore
Pisani. He'll understand your predicament.' Calvieri stood
up. 'If that's all, I've got a busy day ahead of me.'

'Why are you looking for Ubrino?' Rocca asked suddenly.
'What did he take from the plant?'

'That doesn't concern you.'

'I have a right to know!' Rocca snapped, banging his
fist angrily on the arm of the chair. He waved the guard
away when the door opened. 'You're in my city, Tony.
That makes it my concern.'

'Signore Pisani will call a committee meeting early next
week to discuss the implications of the Neo-Chem affair.
I'm not at liberty to say anything until then.'

'If you survive that long.' Rocca reached for his cigarettes
on the table and lit one. 'There's a lot of ill-feeling
among the younger Brigattsti who resent the way you're
hunting down Ubrino like some wild animal. A contract's
been put out on you. I can't guarantee your safety here in
Rome any more.'

'So that's what this is all about. You can't control your
minions and you're scared that if anything were to happen
to me before contact's made with Zocchi, it could jeopardize
your chances of ever reaching brigade chief.'

'It's got nothing to do with that!' Rocca snapped indignantly.
'I'm warning you. Get out of Rome, you're not
welcome here any more.'

'I'll get out when I know Ubrino's not here. Not before.'

148

Calvieri paused at the door and looked back at Rocca.	Jj

'I'm right, though. If something were to happen to me it	I

would reflect very badly on you. You'd never make brig	1

ade chief. You'd be lucky to remain a cell commander.'	j

Rocca waited until Calvieri and Sabrina had left, then	i

stubbed out his cigarette angrily and reached for the	|

telephone.	^

The armed guard approached the fifteen-foot wrought
iron gate and shone his torch through the bars at the Alfa
Romeo Alfetta outside. Rocca made no attempt to shield
his eyes from the glare of the torch, and activating the
driver's window, he shouted to the guard that he had an
appointment to see Nicola Pisani. The guard contacted
the house on his two-way radio to confirm the appointment
then used a remote control to open the gates. Rocca
drove through and the guard immediately closed the gates
behind him.

	J
Whitlock and Young had seen the Alfa Romeo Alfetta	\

enter the grounds from their Seat Ibiza parked at the end	>'

of the street.	|

'What now?' Whitlock asked.	\

'It doesn't change anything,' Young replied, stubbing	;

out his cigarette among the half-dozen butts already in

the ashtray. 'I'm still going in.'	I

Whitlock stared ahead of him. Whose house was it?	I

Young had refused to tell him anything, saying the less he	\

knew, the better it would be for him. He could only	<

assume the house belonged to a senior Brigatista. Possibly	>

even Pisani. But he couldn't be sure. It left him feeling	|

helpless and frustrated. And he still hadn't managed to	J

149

contact Kolchinsky. That worried him. What if Young
was about to blunder in on Ubrino's hideout? Not that
he could do anything about it, not without compromising
his own cover.

'Let's go,' Young said, getting out of the car.

Whitlock climbed out from behind the wheel and
pocketed the keys. He looked at Young who was dressed
completely in black, a sinister figure. Young pulled a black
balaclava over his head then took a silenced Heckler &
Koch M?5 sub-machine-gun from the back of the car and
slung it over his shoulder. Whitlock followed him to
the eight-foot-high perimeter wall and after glancing the
length of the deserted street he cupped his hands together
to give him a foothold to reach the top of the wall. Young
hauled himself up on to the wall, careful to avoid the
tripwire alarm, and looked down into the garden, choosing
the spot where he wanted to land. He dropped the
sub-machine-gun over, then jumped nimbly into the
garden, rolling with the fall as he hit the ground. He
retrieved the gun and sprinted to the nearest tree where
he paused to catch his breath. Then, taking a night-vision
scope from the pouch on his belt, he surveyed the house
and its surroundings. Where were the guards? A moment
later he spotted one close to the house, an Alsatian at his
side. Young moved forward cautiously, darting from tree
to tree, until he was within twenty yards of the house.
The dog suddenly stopped and looked towards him. Had
it sensed him? He screwed up his face as the sweat burnt
into his eyes but he made no attempt to wipe it away. Any
sudden movement would certainly alert the dog. The
guard looked from the dog to the trees but was unable to
see anything in the darkness. He spoke softly to the
Alsatian then reached down and unleashed it.

Young unslung the sub-machine-gun as the dog bore

150

down on him. He swallowed nervously and curled his
finger around the trigger. It wasn't so much killing the
dog as stopping it. Even if he did kill it, its momentum
could carry it forward on to him. He could be knocked
out. Stunned, certainly, and that would give the guard
time to open fire. He aimed low, taking out the dog's front
legs. It yelped in agony as it fell, face first, to the ground.
The guard was still raising his Kalashnikov when Young
shot him twice in the chest, knocking him back into
the flowerbed bordering the porch. The dog was trying
pitifully to stand up, its bloodied legs buckled grotesquely
underneath its chest. He shot it through the head. Its body
jerked, then it fell heavily on to its side. He remained on
one knee, waiting for any sign of the other guards. When
none appeared he got to his feet and dragged the dog
behind the nearest tree. He crossed to where the guard lay	j
and picked up the Kalashnikov, ejected the clip, and tossed I
them both into a bush. He rolled the guard underneath { the steps, then tiptoed up on to the porch. He crouched f
beside the window and peered discreetly through the net
curtains. The television set was on but the room was ^-- j
empty. '

'Si alzi!' a voice barked behind him, telling him to get	|
up. ~ j

Young shifted uncertainly on his haunches, not under-	j
standing the order. He tightened his grip on the sub- I
machine-gun as he monitored the guard's movements in I the reflection of the window. The guard stepped forward j
and prodded Young in the back with his rifle. Young I
launched himself backwards, knocking the guard off- j
balance. He landed on his back, then rolled sideways and j
shot the guard through the head. The guard's body hit the ]
wooden railing, which broke under his weight and he fell |
off the porch into the flowerbed. Young cursed silently.

151

He had no time to hide the body for the other guards
would certainly have been alerted by the sound of breaking
wood. He moved to the door and tried the handle. The
door swung open. He locked it behind him, then moved
cautiously up the hallway, swivelling round to face each
door, the sub-machine-gun gripped tightly in both hands.

Then he was aware of a movement at the top of the
stairs. The driver of the Alfa Romeo Alfetta. Rocca got
off a single shot before Young returned fire. Rocca's shot
was off target. Young's burst peppered the wall inches
from where Rocca was standing. Rocca dived to the
ground. Young, sensing the advantage, hurried up the
stairs but when he reached the top and swivelled round
to fan the hallway Rocca was already gone.

He knew he didn't have time to waste. He had to find
Pisani before any more guards arrived. But where was he?
He could be anywhere in the house. What if he had been
moved when the shooting started? Young knew there was
only one way of finding out. He pressed himself against
the wall beside the first door then reached out and opened
it. Nothing. He swivelled round and fanned the room with
his sub-machine-gun. An empty bathroom. He moved
to the second door and opened it. A bedroom. Again,
empty. He looked round anxiously when he heard the
sound of banging on the reinforced front door. Then he
heard the sound of breaking glass. A window? He had
been sure all the ground-floor windows would be
protected with burglar alarms. Had the guards found
another way in? How many of them were there? He
turned his attention back to the third door and pushed
it open.

Two bullets echoed out, slamming harmlessly into the
wall. Young flung himself low through the doorway,
already firing before he hit the carpet. One of the bullets

J52.

took Rocca high in the shoulder. The Bernadelli spun	I

from his hand. Young glanced at the ashen-faced man	|

sitting in the corner of the room with a blanket around	'

his legs. Pisani. He recognized him from one of the photo	|

graphs in the envelope he had taken from Ramona. He	\

kicked the Bernadelli underneath the bed then reached	?

behind him and locked the door without taking his eyes	|

off either man. Pisani remained motionless in his chair,	i
his eyes riveted on Young. Rocca stood in the middle of

the room, his left hand clutching his right shoulder. His	|

fingers were covered in blood. Young shot him through	;

the head. Rocca fell back against the wall and slid lifelessly	I

to the floor, his hand leaving a smear of blood on the	j1

white embossed wallpaper. Young trained the sub-	|

machine-gun on Pisani.	j

'I am glad to see that you are a professional,' Pisani said	|

softly, then coughed violently, his face clenched against the	<

agonizing pain. He wiped the spittle from his lips with the	.'!

back of his hand. 'The doctors have given me two months	j

to live, three at the most.'	i

'How did you know I spoke English?'	|

'Word gets around when a foreigner asks delicate ques	j

tions about the Red Brigades. We are a very close family,	\

especially here in Rome. Unfortunately Johnny Ramona	|

defied my instructions and passed certain information on	i

to you. He always was greedy. At least you saved us the	^

trouble of disciplining him.'	i

The door handle was tried from the outside. A voice	j

called out in Italian. Still smiling at Young, Pisani slipped	J

his hand deftly underneath the blanket. Young reacted	I

faster, and shot him through the head. Pisani slumped	I

back in the chair, a trickle of blood running down the	I
bridge of his nose and on to his pallid cheek. The blanket
slipped from his legs. Young was momentarily puzzled.

J53 ,

There had been no weapon secreted beneath it. Then it
suddenly made sense. Pisani had wanted to die, it was an
escape from the agony of his cancer. He had tricked
Young, knowing that as a professional he would kill him.
He hadn't wanted the guards to save him.

Young ran to the window and pushed it open. The roof sloped at a forty-five-degree angle with a twelve-foot drop
to the garden. A bullet splintered the door behind him.
Then another. He scrambled out on to the sill and a bullet
cracked inches from his head. He overbalanced, slid down
the roof, catching his elbow painfully on the gutter, and
landed heavily on the grass. He remained on his back,
winded by the fall. The guard who had shot at him
appeared over him, the AK-47 gripped tightly in his hands.
He was barely out of his teens, and he was nervous. Young
glanced towards his own sub-machine-gun. It was out of
reach. He still had an ace to play: the switchblade strapped
to his left wrist.

He struggled to sit up, then clutched his wrist, feigning
a look of intense pain, and had successfully palmed the
switchblade by the time the youth prodded him with the
Kalashnikov, telling him to stand up. A face appeared at
the bedroom window. The youth instinctively looked up.
Young lunged at him, springing the blade in the second
before he drove it into the unprotected body. He grabbed
the Kalashnikov from the youth's hands and sprayed the
windows with gunfire, forcing the guard to dive for cover.
He discarded the Kalashnikov, picked up his own submachine-gun
and sprinted to the temporary sanctuary of
the trees, where he undipped a two-way radio from his
belt and told Whitlock that he was on his way. He looked
back towards the house. Nothing moved. He made his
way through the trees until he saw the main gates ahead
of him. Although he could see the small hut beside it, he

J54

couldn't tell if there was anyone inside. He inched his way
forward. Then he saw the guard standing outside the gate.
The remote control to activate the gates was clipped to
his belt. Young cursed angrily under his breath. He was
trapped. He only had one option open to him. He reluctantly
undipped his two-way radio and called Whitlock
again.

Whitlock put the two-way radio back on to the dashboard,
got out of the car and walked slowly down the street, his
hands dug into his pockets. The guard saw him but made
no attempt to conceal his Kalashnikov.

Whitlock smiled at him in greeting, then took Young's
cigarettes from his pocket and pushed one between his
lips. He made a show of patting pockets for matches, then
crossed the road to where the guard was standing. 'Ha da
accendere? he asked, using his limited Italian.

The guard shook his head and waved him away from
the gates. Whitlock feigned to his left then pivoted round
and caught the guard on the chin with a perfectly timed
haymaker. The guard was unconscious before he hit the
ground. Whitlock winced as he flexed his hand painfully.
He removed the remote control from the guard's belt and
opened the gates. Young slipped out into the street and
Whitlock immediately closed the gates behind him. Young
took the remote control from Whitlock, wiped it clean of
fingerprints, then tossed it down the nearest drain. They
ran back to the car. Whitlock started the engine and pulled
out into the road. Young removed his gloves, balaclava
and sweatshirt then reached behind him for a holdall from
which he took a white T-shirt and pulled it on, tucking it
into his trousers. He stuffed the gloves, balaclava, sweatshirt
and the sub-machine-gun into the holdall then ruffled

!55

his blond hair and picked up his cigarettes from the
dashboard.

'Seems like you needed me after all,' Whitlock said with
evident satisfaction.

Young inhaled deeply on the cigarette but remained
silent.

'Can I at least know now who you hit?' Whitlock bit
back his anger when Young continued to say nothing. 'It's
going to be in all the papers tomorrow.'

'So ask the receptionist to reserve you a couple.' Young
wiped his forearm across his sweating face. 'We have to
dump the car. We can drop it off at the rental agency and
get another one on the way back to the hotel.'

'That's too obvious. If the police do get a description
of the car they're sure to check with the rental agencies.
Taking it back to the rental agency so soon after the crime
would certainly arouse suspicion. I say we dump it in a
car-park and hire a new one from a different agency in
the morning.'

Young nodded in agreement and flicked his half
smoked cigarette out of the window. He closed his eyes
and remained silent for the rest of the journey back to the
boarding house.

Sabrina and Calvieri returned to the hotel and went
straight to her room. Kolchinsky answered the door.

'How's Mike?' she asked before Kolchinsky could say
anything.

'Ask him yourself,' Kolchinsky said, gesturing behind
him.

She winced at the discoloured bruise on the side of
Graham's face as she crossed to the bed and sat down
beside him. 'How are you feeling?'

156

'I'm okay,' he replied dismissively. 'How did you get	I on?' I

'We didn't,' she replied, despondent, and told them	;
what had happened. *

'Is there any chance of this Rocca discovering the truth ?'
Kolchinsky asked Calvieri.	]

'No,' Calvieri replied. 'Only Signore Pisani and I
know about the vial. And Signore Pisani won't tell him anything.'

'Rocca's not a problem,' Paluzzi said from his chair by	;
the window. 'He couldn't find his way out of a floodlit
alley without asking for directions. You have to under- '
stand that the entire Rome cell of the Red Brigades was
geared around Zocchi. He was the kingpin. The decision- :
maker, if you like. Ubrino and Rocca are good lieutenants
in that they were able to see that Zocchi's orders were
carried out successfully. But neither of them is capable of j
running a cell, least of all the one here in Rome. It's by j
far the most complex of all the Red Brigades' cells. That's why there are so many rumours around at the moment. ; Rocca doesn't have the ability or the experience to deal
with the situation. Zocchi, on the other hand, would have j
quashed them within hours.'

'Paluzzi's right,' Calvieri said grudgingly, then sat down
in the chair on the other side of the window. 'Zocchi ran	j
Rome as a one-man show. The cell is in chaos now, as
Sabrina saw for herself tonight. It's going to take a lot of
hard work to pull it round again.'

'At least something good has come out of all this,'
Graham said, eyeing Calvieri coldly.

'Sabrina tells me you knew Nikki Karos,' Kolchinsky
said, breaking the lingering silence.

Calvieri nodded. 'I've had dealings with him in the past.
Strictly on a business level. His sort are anathema to me.

J57

Capitalists, driven by greed and power. The very basis of
corruption in our so-called "free society".'

'Spare us the lecture, Calvieri,' Graham snapped. 'What
about the Francia brothers? Do you know them as well?
Strictly on a business level, of course.'

Calvieri smiled faintly at Graham's irony. 'I know of
them. But I've never met them, if that's what you mean.'

The telephone rang.

Sabrina answered it, then put her hand over the mouthpiece.
'Tony, it's for you.'

Calvieri took the receiver from her. He was pale with
shock when he replaced it a minute later.

'What's wrong?' Kolchinsky asked.

'Signore Pisani's dead,' Calvieri replied softly. 'He was
shot.'

'What happened?' Sabrina asked.

'The details are still sketchy at the moment. All I know
is that a masked gunman got into Signore Pisani's house
and shot him, Rocca and four other Brigatisti. The only
clue we have is that the gunman's accomplice was black.'
Calvieri shook his head in disbelief. 'I only spoke to
Signore Pisani a couple of hours ago. You'll have to excuse
me. I must get over there straight away to initiate our own
investigation.' He noticed the uncertainty in Kolchinsky's
eyes. 'I'll still be working with you. That hasn't changed.
It's what Signore Pisani would have wanted. I'll arrange
for one of the other brigade chiefs to take charge but I
need to be there until he arrives.'

'Any idea when you'll be back?' Kolchinsky asked.

'Hopefully by the morning.' Calvieri took a notebook
from his pocket, wrote down Pisani's telephone number,
and handed the sheet of paper to Kolchinsky. 'I'll be there
if you need me.'

Kolchinsky waited until Calvieri had closed the door

158

behind him, then slumped into the vacant chair beside the
window. 'Black accomplice. No prizes for guessing who
that was.'

'But why Pisani?' Paluzzi said with a frown. 'He knew
nothing about the break-in until it was broadcast on the
radio the next day.'

'Young wouldn't have known that,' Sabrina replied.
To him Pisani was a legitimate target.'

'If that's the case then he could be intent on wiping out
the entire committee,' Paluzzi said. 'That's the last thing
we need.'

'I don't understand your concern,' Graham said to
Paluzzi. 'Young would be doing you a favour by wiping
out this committee, as you call it. It would throw the Red
Brigades into total chaos.'

'God forbid. I know these committee members inside
out. Bring in a load of new faces and all that painstaking
work's gone out of the window. I'd have to start the whole
process again from scratch. We'd also lose our mole. And
there'd be no way we could replace him. Not at that level.'

Graham stood up. He crossed to the door then swung
round to face Paluzzi, his eyes blazing. 'It's the same old
story, isn't it? Better the devil you know! Instead of trying
to smash the backbone of this committee you take the
easy way out and leave them where they are because that
way you can keep tabs on them and rap them on the
knuckles when they step out of line. That makes you an
accomplice, Fabio. You're no better than they are.'

'I can understand your bitterness, Mike -- '

'Can you really?' Graham cut in with biting sarcasm.
'Your family hasn't been butchered by terrorists in the
name of some cause the anarchistic bastards don't even
understand.'

'Mike '

159

'Stay out of this, Sabrina,' Graham snarled, without
taking his eyes off Paluzzi.

'You just can't accept what you did in Libya, can you?'
Sabrina stood up and approached Graham. 'And because
of that you'll find any excuse to attack others for what you regard as your own mistakes.'

'Sit down, Sabrina,' Graham whispered in a threatening
tone.

'No, not this time. This needs to be said. It's long
overdue.' She held his withering stare. 'You knew the risks
when you joined Delta. So did Carrie. That's why she
asked you to get a desk job. You refused because you
knew you wouldn't last five minutes closed up in some
office. You're a field operative. One of the best. It's where
you belong. She knew that too. She may have never said
it but deep down inside she knew you were right. Why
else do you think she stood by you? And that's what made
your decision in Libya the right one. It's what she would
have wanted you to do. Why don't you let yourself see
that, Mike? Why?'

Graham's fists were clenched tightly at his sides. She
thought for a moment that he was going to hit her. Then
he spun round and left the room, slamming the door
behind him.

Kolchinsky shook his head despairingly, then rubbed
his hands over his face. 'Well done, Sabrina. You know
exactly what he's like when he gets into one of his moods.
That's all we need at a time like this.'

'It had to be said, Sergei,' Sabrina replied.

'Don't you think your timing could have been a little
better? We've got thirty-six hours left before the deadline.
This was supposed to be a briefing.' Kolchinsky banged
his fist angrily on the arm of the chair. 'Next time you
want to stir up his memories, try to be a bit more subtle

160

about it. You, of all people, should know how touchy he	\ is about Carrie and little Mikey.' I

'Precisely,' she shot back. 'Whenever their names are	]
mentioned everyone clears their throats and someone
quickly changes the subject. What good can that do him? j
It can only make him feel even more guilty than he already '
feels. The only way to help him is to make him confront the guilt that's eating away inside him.' I

Kolchinsky sighed deeply, then gestured to the tele-	j
phone. 'Just order some coffee, will you?' j

She sat on the bed and picked up the receiver. 'Fabio?'

'Coffee would be good, thank you. And something to
eat, if possible. I'm famished.'	i

She ordered three coffees and some sandwiches from
room service, then hung up and turned back to Kolchin-	'
sky. 'You know I'm right, Sergei.'

'Let's drop the subject, shall we?'	\

There was a knock at the door. Sabrina answered it.	'
She had never seen the man before. He asked to speak to i
Paluzzi. The two men spoke in the doorway for several
minutes and when Paluzzi returned to his chair he was <
carrying a folder. 1

'What was all that about?' Kolchinsky asked.	|

'It was one of the men from HQ,' Paluzzi replied, sitting	'
down and opening the file. 'I've had several teams working j
on the case from different angles. These are their reports.' 3

'Have they come up with anything?' Sabrina asked, as	.]
he sorted through the sheets of paper. jj

'The warder at the prison was shown a picture of a	j
Gazelle similar to the one Tommaso Francia used on I
Corfu. He's positive that it's the same make of helicopter I > used in the Zocchi murder.'

j	'This case gets more baffling by the minute,' Kolchinsky I said with a weary sigh. 'Zocchi and Karos hire the Francia

161

brothers. Then they're killed by them. It doesn't make
sense.'

'Perhaps there's a third party involved,' Sabrina ventured.

Paluzzi shook his head. 'I can't see it. I'm sure Karos
would have told us if there were.'

'But he was killed before you had a chance to question
him fully,' Sabrina said.

'True, but he was quick to finger Zocchi. Why not
finger the third party as well, if one was involved?'

'Perhaps too quick?' Kolchinsky mused thoughtfully.

Sabrina looked at Kolchinsky. 'You think Karos
fingered Zocchi deliberately to throw us off the scent
of his real partner? It would certainly account for the
murders.'

'Fabio, what do you think?'

Paluzzi shook his head.

'Why?' Sabrina asked.

'It all comes back to Ubrino. He was totally dependent
on Zocchi. He never did anything without first consulting
him. No, Zocchi had to be involved somewhere along the
line.'

'What else did your men come up with?' Kolchinsky
asked, breaking the sudden silence.

'It seems Vittore Dragotti, the sales manager at Neo
Chem Industries, was in serious financial difficulty at the
time of his death. That would explain why he was acting
as the middleman between Karos and Wiseman.'

'And still no sign of the money Karos paid to Wiseman?'
Kolchinsky asked.

'His bank accounts have been turned inside out. Both
here and in America. Nothing. It's probably stuck away
in some numbered Swiss account.'

There was another knock at the door. Sabrina answered

162

it again, this time admitting the waiter with the tray, which
he deposited on the table between Kolchinsky and Paluzzi.

Sabrina poured out three cups of coffee, added a dash
of milk to her own, then retreated to the bed.

'Aren't you eating?' Paluzzi asked her.

'I ate earlier. And anyway, it's white bread. I never
touch it.' She smiled wryly. 'I have enough trouble as it is
keeping in shape.'

'There I have to disagree,' Paluzzi said gallantly.

'Have you finished translating those dossiers on Boudien and the Francia brothers?' Kolchinsky interrupted, selecting
a sandwich from the pile on the plate.
She nodded and pulled the dossiers out from the bedside
cabinet. She returned them to Paluzzi and handed a photocopy
of her translation to Kolchinsky.

'I'll give Mike his when I see him again.'

'You'll give it to him tonight. He has to be kept up to
date.'

'Thanks,' she replied, screwing up her face.

'It's your fault he stormed out in the first place. And
get your act together. Both of you. There's no room for
personal squabbles at a time like this. We have to pull
together as a team. If either of you can't accept that, I'll
have you replaced.'

She nodded sombrely. 'I'll tell him.'

Kolchinsky finished his coffee, then looked at Paluzzi.
'Is there anything else?'

'No, I don't think so,' Paluzzi replied, scanning the
reports. 'There's been no change in Paolo Conte's condition.
I'll be told the moment he regains consciousness.'

'And you contact me,' Kolchinsky told him. 'I don't
care what time it is.'

That goes without saying,' Paluzzi assured him, then
stood up and stifled a yawn. 'I'd better be on my way.

163

My wife hasn't seen me for days.' He looked down at
Kolchinsky. 'I'll have a full report for you on the Pisani
murder first thing in the morning.'

'I'd appreciate that.'

Paluzzi said good night and left the room.

'I've still got some paperwork to complete before I turn
in,' Kolchinsky announced. He crossed to the door and
paused to look back at Sabrina. 'I meant what I said about
you and Michael.'

Til talk to him, Sergei, I said I would,' she replied with
a hint of irritation in her voice.

Kolchinsky disappeared out into the corridor, closing
the door behind him. Sabrina waited until she was sure
he had gone, then collected the photocopy from the bed
and went to Graham's room at the far end of the corridor.
She knocked. No reply. She knocked harder. Still no reply.
She cursed softly to herself. Where was he?

'Looking for me?'

She spun round, startled by Graham's voice, then let
out a deep sigh and clasped her hand to her chest. 'God,
you gave me a fright. Where did you come from?'

He indicated the stairs beside the lift, then turned back
to her. 'Sergei sent you, didn't he?'

'I'd have come anyway. We need to talk.'

He unlocked the door, switched on the light, then
removed a cigar humidor from his suitcase and opened it
to reveal a B4O5 Surveillance System, standard issue for
all UNACO field operatives, and used it to check that his
room hadn't been bugged in his absence. The room was
clean. He replaced the humidor in his suitcase, then took
a bottle of Perrier water from the fridge and opened it.

'You want something to drink?'

'No thanks, I've just had coffee.' She sat in one of the
armchairs by the window.

164

'What's that?' he asked, pointing to the paper in her
hand.

She gave it to him then updated him on the points made
by Paluzzi after Graham had left. He listened carefully,
then put the photocopy on the bedside table to read later
in more detail.

'I didn't mean to upset you earlier,' she said. 'I just felt
it needed to be said.'

She tensed herself for the rebuke. It was always
the same when someone tried to raise the subject of his
family. He would only talk about them on his terms. It
was a deep, personal grief and he had never let anyone
past the barriers he had built around himself since the
tragedy.

'You're probably right,' he muttered at length, his
hands clenched tightly around the bottle.

His reply caught her off-guard. He looked up slowly
at her. The cynicism had gone from his eyes, and he
suddenly looked vulnerable. It was a side of him she had
never seen before. She said nothing. It was up to him to
break the silence. On his terms.

'What you said in your room hurt me,' he said softly,
his eyes never leaving her face. That's why I stormed out.
I needed to go for a walk and clear my head. My anger
was initially aimed at you. But the more I thought about
it, the more I realized that I was angry with myself. You're
the only person who's ever tried to help me overcome the
grief, or perhaps I should call it bitterness, that's built up
inside me since I lost Carrie and Mikey. Everyone else
tiptoes around it as if it doesn't exist. And I've always
resented you for it. That's why I've knocked you whenever
I could. It was my way of getting back at you. You hurt
me, I hurt you. Pretty pathetic when you think about it.
Some partner I've turned out to be.'

Sabrina still said nothing, but her face showed her
sympathetic concern.

There's something I want to tell you. It might give you
a better understanding of what's going on up here,' he
said, tapping his head. 'I've never told this to anybody
before. Not even my mother. And I'm closer to her than
I am to anyone.' He placed the bottle on the carpet
between his feet and ran his fingers through his hair,
struggling to marshal his thoughts. He finally looked up
at her. 'I was going to resign my post at Delta after I got
back from Libya.'

'Did Carrie know?' Sabrina asked softly.

He shook his head. 'She found out she was pregnant
two days before I left for Libya. That's when I made my
decision to quit, but the crisis was already brewing in
Libya and I didn't get a chance to do anything about it.
We were going to throw a party when I got back to
announce her pregnancy to our family and friends. I
thought that would be the perfect time to tell her.' He
smiled sadly. 'You can't imagine how happy that would
have made her.'

'But would you have been happy?' she asked.

'It wasn't a decision I took lightly, believe me. And I
wouldn't have done it unless I was absolutely certain in
my own mind that it was the right thing to do. At the time
I thought it was.' He picked up the bottle and turned it
around slowly in his hands. 'Without sounding vain, I
could have walked into any number of jobs. Instructor,
supervisor, consultant. And none of them would have
been desk jobs. I would have been still in the field and I
would have had my family around me. It's exactly what
Carrie would have wanted.' His gaze moved around the
room. 'You can't imagine how I felt when I heard about
the kidnapping. I was gutted. My first reaction was to call

166

off the mission. That way I would have been reunited with
Carrie and Mikey when I got back home. At least in
theory. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized
I just couldn't do it. It would have been the coward's way
out. How could I have ever looked them in the face again?
There was only one decision I could take. Maybe now
you can appreciate the hell I've been going through these
past fourteen months.'

"I think I can,' she said quietly.

He stood up. 'We've got a big day ahead of us
tomorrow. I'm going to have a bath, then get some sleep.
Who knows what time we'll be woken in the morning.'

'Thanks for talking to me, Mike.'

'Sure,' he muttered.

She hugged him to her, then quickly left the room.

167

SEVEN

Wednesday

The telephone rang.

Kolchinsky rolled over in bed and reached out a hand
to feel for the receiver. He knocked his watch and cigarettes
off the bedside table, then, opening one eye, he
saw that the telephone was still a foot away from his
outstretched fingers. He struggled to sit up in bed and
lifted the receiver to his ear.

'Sergei?'

'Speaking,' Kolchinsky replied, then reached down to
pick up his cigarettes and watch from the floor. He
squinted at the time. 7.04 a.m. He yawned.

'It's Fabio. Paolo Conte's regained consciousness.'

Kolchinsky lit a cigarette, then dropped the packet on
the table. 'Have any of your men had a chance to speak
to him?'

'Not yet. I'm on my way to the hospital now.'

'I'll meet you there in thirty minutes,' Kolchinsky said,
then put his hand over the mouthpiece and coughed
violently.

'Are you all right?" Paluzzi asked.

'Fine,' Kolchinsky said, eyeing the cigarette with distaste.
Til tell the others.'

'What about Calvieri?'

'He'll have to be told,' Kolchinsky said.

Til leave that to you. See you at the hospital in thirty
minutes.'

168

Kolchinsky replaced the receiver, then took another
drag on the cigarette. Why did he persist in smoking? It
wasn't as if he even enjoyed it any more. It had just become
a costly, addictive habit. He stubbed out the cigarette,
then called Graham and Sabrina in their rooms. He then
rang Calvieri's room. No reply. He dialled the number
Calvieri had given to him the previous evening. It was
answered immediately.

'Posso parlare con Tony Calvieri?' Kolchinsky asked.

'Resti in linea,' came the reply, and Kolchinsky heard
the receiver being placed on a hard surface, probably a
table.

It was picked up moments later. 'Pronto, sono Tony
Calvieri.'

'It's Kolchinsky. Conte's regained consciousness. We're
meeting Paluzzi at the hospital in thirty minutes.'

Til be there as soon as I can.'

'Any luck with the investigation?'

Calvieri sighed. 'Not really, I'm afraid. I'll fill you in
when I see you. Thanks for letting me know about Conte."

Kolchinsky met up with Graham and Sabrina ten minutes
later outside the hotel and they drove to the Santo
Spirito Hospital in the heart of the city. Paluzzi was waiting
for them in the foyer.

'Have you spoken to Conte?' Kolchinsky asked.

'I haven't had a chance. I've only just got here myself.'
Paluzzi waited until a nurse had passed out of earshot
then asked, 'Where's Calvieri?'

'He was still at Pisani's house when I called. He said
he would be here as soon as he could.'

'That suits me fine,' Paluzzi said, leading them to the lift.
'I don't want him around until we've finished questioning
Conte.'

'Why?' Sabrina asked.

169

Paluzzi got into the lift last and pressed the button for
the third floor. 'It's psychological. Ubrino tried to kill him.
We have to play on that if we're going to get him into our
confidence. If we're seen to be working with the Red
Brigades it could undermine our position. We can't afford
to take that chance.'

They got out on the third floor. Paluzzi indicated the
two uniformed carabinieri sitting outside the private ward
at the end of the corridor. They approached the two men
and Paluzzi identified himself.

'Who are the others?' one of the policemen asked.

'They're with me, that's all you need to know. Is Conte
still conscious?'

'Yes, sir,' the policeman answered.

Paluzzi took Graham to one side. 'I'm sending these
two for an early breakfast. I'd like you to wait out here
for Calvieri. Whatever you do, don't let him come in.'

'Got you,' Graham replied.

Paluzzi spoke to the two policemen and they headed
off for a welcome bite to eat. He opened the door and a
third policeman, sitting beside the door, immediately got
to his feet and challenged him. Paluzzi showed him his ID
and asked him to join his colleagues in the cafeteria. The
policeman left the room. Kolchinsky and Sabrina went
inside and she closed the door silently behind her.

Conte lay motionless on the bed. His face was sallow,
his bloodshot eyes watching their every move. He tried to
speak, but his throat was dry. Sabrina poured some water
from the jug on the bedside table into a tumbler and tilted
his head forward so he could take a drink. He coughed
as the water ran down his throat.

'Grazie,' he said in a barely audible whisper.

'Prego,' she replied, putting the tumbler back on the
table.

170

She was amazed at how young he looked. The UNACO
dossier had given his age as twenty-two. He looked more
like a schoolboy. Sixteen, seventeen at most. What had
motivated him to join the Red Brigades when he had his
whole life ahead of him? It seemed such a waste. Why
couldn't he see that? Perhaps now he would realize the
futility of it all. The dream had become a nightmare.

Graham peered around the door. 'Fabio, you'd better
get out here.'

Paluzzi crossed to the door. 'What is it? Has Calvieri
arrived?'

'Calvieri I can handle.' Graham stabbed a thumb over
his shoulder. 'There's a doctor out there who's pretty
pissed off with you. He says you were supposed to call
him when you got here. Know anything about it?'

Paluzzi nodded and stepped out into the corridor.

The man was in his thirties with black hair and a neatly
trimmed black beard.

'Doctor Marchetta?' Paluzzi asked.

'Si,' came the curt response.

Paluzzi introduced himself in English and held up his
ID card.

'And who is he?' Marchetta gestured to Graham. 'I
take offence to being bullied by some foreigner.'

'He's a security consultant with Neo-Chem Industries.
He was sent over here from the United States to help with
the investigation.'

Marchetta glared at Graham, then turned back to
Paluzzi. 'We agreed over the phone that you would
contact me when you arrived at the hospital,' he said,
switching to Italian to exclude Graham from the conversation.

'I tried to contact you but you were unavailable at the
time.'

i?i

'Then you should have waited until I was available!'
Marchetta snapped angrily.

'I'm conducting a serious criminal investigation, Doctor.
I don't have time to wait about for you or anybody
else. Surely you have an assistant? Why couldn't you have
sent him to meet me?'

The reason why I wanted to speak to you personally
was to tell you about Conte's condition. He's very weak
right now. It's only to be expected after being in a coma
for the past forty-eight hours. I can't let you talk to him
for more than five minutes. You'll be able to question
him further this afternoon, depending of course on his
condition.'

'I don't have time to question him in instalments,'
Paluzzi said sharply. 'I need answers now.'

'It's out of the question. He's in no condition to be
interrogated. Five minutes, that's all.'

'I'm not asking you, Doctor, I'm telling you. I'm not
leaving here until I have the answers I want.'

'Major, your jurisdiction's out there,' Marchetta said,
gesturing towards the window with a sweep of his arm.
'But your authority ended when you entered the hospital.
This is my jurisdiction. And what I say goes.'

'Four guards were killed during the break-in.' Paluzzi
pointed to the door. 'He is one of the men responsible -- '

'I hate the Red Brigades just as much as the next man,
Major, but I'd be failing in my duty as a doctor if I didn't
do everything in my power to nurse him back to health.
Then he can stand trial and I hope he spends the rest of
his life in jail for what he's done. But in this hospital he's
a patient, not a terrorist. And he'll be treated as such.'

'Ten minutes,' Paluzzi said. 'And before you launch
into another speech, spare a thought for the victims'
families.'

172
'I can't risk it, Major. Not at this stage. The matron
will be up in exactly five minutes' time to administer his
medication.' Marchetta spun on his heels and strode to
the lift.

'What was all that about?' Graham asked.

'I was buying some time for Sergei and Sabrina. I only
hope they used it.'

Graham frowned, then took his seat again opposite the
door.

Paluzzi went back into the ward. Kolchinsky, standing
by the window, immediately put a finger to his lips and
motioned to him to remain at the door. Paluzzi nodded
then looked at Sabrina who was sitting by the bed, her
back to him, a micro-cassette player in her hand. Kolchinsky
tiptoed across to Paluzzi and indicated that they
should leave the room.

'What's wrong?' Graham asked as they emerged into
the corridor.

'Nothing,' Kolchinsky said, easing himself on to the
chair beside Graham. 'Sabrina's managed to get him talking.
I don't want them interrupted until she's finished.'

'She's got about four minutes left,' Paluzzi said, and
recounted his conversation with Marchetta.

'And what if she's not through by the time the matron
arrives?' Graham asked.

'Then we come back later,' Paluzzi answered.

'What?' Graham stared at Paluzzi in disbelief. This
could be the breakthrough and you talk about coming
back later? The deadline's tomorrow morning, in case
you've forgotten.'

'I don't have any authority in here, Mike. If we start
throwing our weight around we're going to be out on the
street before we know what's hit us. And knowing the
sort of person Marchetta is, he'll block any further visits

173

until he's sure Conte's up to them. And he'd be perfectly
in his rights to do so. We've got no option, we have to
play it by the rules.'

Graham was about to speak but thought better of it.
What was the use? Paluzzi was right.

'We've got company,' Paluzzi said as Calvieri emerged
from the lift.

'Just what the doctor ordered,' Graham muttered.

'Morning,' Calvieri called out, then gestured towards
the door. 'What have you got from Conte?'

'Nothing yet,' Kolchinsky said. 'Sabrina's still in there
with him.'

'Let me speak to him," Calvieri said, making for the
door.	",

Paluzzi blocked his path. 'Not until we know what j
Sabrina's found out. You walk in there now and you could |
blow any chance we have of cracking the case.'	j

Calvieri moved to the window and watched a barge
laden with crates of fresh produce negotiate its way under	:
the Vittorio Emanuele Bridge and disappear around a ;
sharp bend in the river. .;

'What's the latest on the Pisani murder?' Kolchinsky
asked.	!j

Calvieri turned away from the window. 'Five dead. 1
Signore Pisani; Rocca, the man Sabrina and I saw last j
night; and three Brigatisti who were guarding the house.'	j

'Any clues, other than that one of the assailants was
black?' Kolchinsky pressed.	j

'None so far. It was obviously a professional hit. Even
the number plates on the getaway car were blacked out
with masking tape.'

'Who do you suspect?' Kolchinsky continued.

Calvieri shrugged. 'We have a lot of enemies but as I
said, this was certainly a professional hit. That rules out

i?4

the vast majority of fascist groups. Most of them wouldn't
have the imagination to hire an outside man, let alone
have the money to pay him.'

'So you think it was carried out by a contract killer?'
Kolchinsky said.

'That's my guess, yes.' Calvieri bit his lower lip pensively.
'He probably flew in last night, did the job, then
flew out again this morning. Our best lead is this black
accomplice of his. If we can find him we could identify
the hit man.'

Graham and Kolchinsky exchanged glances.

'So you think his accomplice is a local?' Graham asked.

That's the assumption we're working on at the moment.
I'm confident we'll find him before the police do.'

'Then what? Thumbscrews and electric shocks?'

'We have our methods, Mr Graham, just like you.'

The door opened and Sabrina emerged into the corridor.
'I thought I heard your voice, Tony. Conte wants to
see you.'

'I thought he might,' Calvieri said, smiling triumphantly
at Paluzzi.

She grabbed Calvieri's arm when he tried to get past
her. 'I'm Sabrina Trestelli, your assistant from Milan. It's
the only way I could get him to talk.'

'Of course,' Calvieri said, and followed her into the
ward.

'Have you had a chance to talk to your man, Whitlock,
since the hit last night?' Paluzzi asked Kolchinsky.

'No, he hasn't contacted me.'

'And you've got no way of contacting him?'

Kolchinsky shook his head. 'It would be too dangerous.
He'll call when he can.'

'We've got to warn him, Sergei,' Graham said. 'What
chance has he got if Calvieri's thugs catch him unawares?'

175

'We can't, Michael, you know that. We could blow his
cover.*

'I can put a tail on him. No Brigatista will get near
him.'

'And what if Young smells a rat? We're dealing with a
professional, Fabio, not some two-bit Chicago hood.'
Graham looked at Kolchinsky. 'We've got to warn him,
Sergei.'

'Let's play it by ear, shall we?' Kolchinsky said defensively,
knowing Graham was right. But it was neither the
time nor the place to discuss it.

'It's throwing-out time,' Paluzzi said, indicating the
matron at the end of the corridor.

Kolchinsky stood up. 'I hope Sabrina's got everything
she can out of Conte. We can't be coming and going for
snippets of information every few hours.'

The matron greeted them with a smile and disappeared
into the ward. Calvieri and Sabrina emerged moments
later.

'Well, what have you found out?' Kolchinsky asked
anxiously.

Til tell you on the way back to the hotel,' Sabrina
replied, holding up the micro-cassette player in her hand.
'It's all on here.'

'That's it,' Sabrina said, switching off the micro-cassette
player. She got up from the armchair in Kolchinsky's room
and helped herself to a roll from the breakfast tray which
he had ordered.

'Good God,' Kolchinsky muttered, then placed his
empty cup and saucer on the table beside him, his mind
still reeling from Sabrina's translation of the dialogue on
the tape.

176

'Let me get this straight,' Graham said, looking at
Sabrina. 'Ubrino intends to open the vial at ten o'clock
tomorrow morning at the Offenbach Centre in Berne, Switzerland, to coincide with the start of the summit of
European leaders being held there, unless he sees a live
telecast of Zocchi being put aboard an aeroplane bound
for Cuba within the next twenty-five hours.'

That's it,' she replied grimly.

'And he's got no idea where Ubrino might be hiding
out until then,' Kolchinsky added. 'Calvieri, you know
him better than the rest of us. Where do you think he is?'

'I don't know him that well. I would say he was still in
Rome. It's what I'd do if I were in his position. Stick with
the people I can trust.'

'But you haven't had one positive sighting of him here
in Rome since the break-in,' Graham said. 'He could
already be in Switzerland.'

'Of course he could,' Calvieri replied. 'But I still think
he'd want to stay in an area where he knew he would be
safe. And that has to be Rome. We do have sympathizers
in Switzerland but very few of them share the radical
views of the Rome cell. I'm sure if Paluzzi and I put our
heads together we could come up with a list of names of
Swiss sympathizers who could be hiding him. But I still
say he's in Rome.'

'Fabio, I want you and Calvieri to put that list together,'
Kolchinsky said.

'We can get on to it right away.'

'Give me an hour,' Calvieri said, getting to his feet.
'Bettinga's coming down from Genoa to take charge of
the investigation at Signore Pisani's house. He should be
there by now. Once I've briefed him I'll be completely at
your disposal.'

'Well, the sooner you go, the sooner you'll be back,'

i?7

Kolchinsky said, then jabbed his finger towards the door.
'Go on. And for God's sake, hurry up.'

'You can count on it.'

'Do you go along with his Rome theory?' Graham
asked Paluzzi after Calvieri had closed the door.

'It makes sense, let's put it that way. And if he's right,
we've got more chance of finding Lord Lucan here in
Rome than we do of finding Ubrino. Even as the acting
leader of the Red Brigades, Calvieri still won't hold much
sway here. Pisani didn't, and he was more radical than
Calvieri. As I've told you before, the Rome cell is a law
unto itself.'

'So what's our best bet?' Kolchinsky asked. 'To try and
catch him at the Offenbach Centre?'

'I wish it were,' Paluzzi replied. 'He was a make-up
artist at the Teatro dell'Opera some years back. And a
damn good one by all accounts. He's used a variety of
disguises in the past and you can be sure he'll use another
one to get into the Offenbach Centre.'

Kolchinsky rubbed his hands wearily over his face.
'Some breakthrough this is turning out to be.'

The telephone rang.

'That could be C.W.,' Sabrina said, jumping up to
answer it.

'Sabrina?'

She immediately recognized Philpott's voice.

'Morning, sir,' she replied in surprise and glanced at
her watch. It would be just past 4 a.m. in New York.

'Is Sergei there?'

'Yes sir,' she replied, handing the receiver to Kolchinsky
who was already standing at her side.

'Morning, Malcolm,' Kolchinsky said, gesturing to
Sabrina to pass him his cigarettes and matches. 'I wasn't
expecting to hear from you until this afternoon.'

178

i

'Bad news, I'm afraid,' Philpott answered. 'I've just had
a call from Major Lonsdale of Scotland Yard's antiterrorist
squad. Alexander's escaped.'

Kolchinsky sat on the edge of the bed and dropped his
unlit cigarette into the ashtray. 'That's all we need.'

'Lonsdale's confident that he'll be re-arrested if he tries
to leave the country but I still think C.W. should be told
in case he does manage to slip through the net.'

Til get a message to him as soon as possible.'

'Any new developments since I last spoke to you?'

Kolchinsky told him briefly what Sabrina had found
out from Conte earlier that morning.

'I'll call Reinhardt Kuhlmann, the Swiss police commissioner.
We go back a long way. I'll tell him to expect
a call from you this morning. You can fill him in on the
details when you talk to him. I know he'll give you his
full cooperation. And you better get hold of Jacques in
Zurich and tell him the news as well. He can always liaise
with Reinhardt until you get to Switzerland.'

Kolchinsky promised to call Philpott later in the morning,
then hung up and told the others about Alexander's
escape.

'But how are you going to warn him without blowing
his cover?' Paluzzi asked.

'I wish I knew.' Kolchinsky looked at Graham and
Sabrina. 'Well, any suggestions?'

'Yeah,' Graham announced. 'It involves Sabrina.'

'I might have guessed,' she said, eyeing Graham suspiciously.
'Well, what wonderful scheme have you come
up with this time?'

Graham held out his empty cup towards her. 'How
about a refill before I start?'

179

'That's where C.W.'s staying,' Graham said, pointing out
the boarding house to Sabrina as they passed it in the car.
He drove around the corner then pulled into the first
available parking space he saw and killed the engine.

'This had better work,' she muttered, reaching down
for her bag.

He looked at her and smiled to himself. She was dressed
in a tight-fitting white blouse, a black leather miniskirt,
black stockings and black shoes with three-inch stiletto
heels. Her hair was loose on her shoulders and she had
purposely overdone the make-up, `:.:-' marring her naturally
fine features. It had to be realistic, much as she hated the
idea of impersonating a prostitute.

'I'm glad to see you find it funny,' she said sharply,
reaching behind her for the black leather jacket on the
back seat.

'You look great,' he said with a grin.

'You would think so. You're a man.' She opened the
door. 'I'll see you back at the hotel.'

'Sabrina?'

She looked back at him.

'Good luck.'

'Who needs luck dressed like this?'

'You've got a point there,' he replied, then started up
the car and drove away.

She took a deep breath as she walked towards the
boarding house, well aware of the attention she was
attracting from passing male motorists. She ignored the
wolf-whistles even though she knew a real prostitute
would have gladly stopped to trade insults with her leering
admirers. It would only have made her feel even cheaper
than she already felt. She was the first to admit she enjoyed
wearing eye-catching clothes, but she always dressed for
herself, not for anyone else. With these clothes she felt as

180

if she was dressed for every man in the city. She hated the
feeling. It was degrading.

She reached the boarding house and climbed the steps
to the open door leading into the foyer. The receptionist
gave her an indifferent look as if she'd seen it all before
and returned to her knitting. Sabrina climbed the stairs to
the first floor where she paused to get her bearings from
the directional board on the wall. A door opened and an
elderly couple emerged from their room. They eyed her
disapprovingly as they walked to the stairs. She waited
until they had laboriously descended, then pushed a stick of gum into her mouth and made her way to Whitlock's
room, where she rapped loudly on the door.

The door was opened. It was Young. What was he
doing there? Had Paluzzi's men got the two room numbers
mixed up?

'I look for Signore Anderson,' she said in a strong
Italian accent. 'You Anderson?'

'Hell, no,' Young replied, then ran his eyes the length
of her body and whistled softly to himself. 'But right now
I wish I was. Anderson, you've got company.'

Whitlock's eyes widened in amazement when he saw
Sabrina but he quickly checked himself and approached
the door, waiting for her to give him a cue.

'You call agency and ask for girl who speak English,' she said, chewing methodically on the gum. 'But who your
friend? You say nothing about friend on phone. It cost
more.'

Young grinned at Whitlock. 'Well, I'll be damned.
When did you reserve this little beauty?'

'Last night, after we got back. I fancied a bit of company
but they told me none of the English-speaking girls were
available until this morning.'

'Company, is that what you call it?' Young ran his

181

fingers through her hair. 'You're something else, sweetheart.'

'You touch, you pay,' she said sharply.

'Some other time,' Young said with a sneer. He slapped
Whitlock on the arm. 'I'll see you later.'

Whitlock waited until Young had disappeared down
the stairs, then closed the door and crossed to the bedside
table and switched on the radio. He found a- music
channel and beckoned Sabrina towards him.

'Is the place wired?' she whispered, dropping the gum
into the ashtray.

He shook his head. 'No, I checked it this morning. It's
the walls. They're paper thin. If Young comes back I
wouldn't put it past him to try and listen through the wall.
The radio will drown out any noises we're supposed to
be making.'

'That's a relief,' she said with a wry smile.

'Whose idea was it for you to dress up like this?'

'Mike's, naturally. I picked up the clothes on approval
from a boutique half an hour ago. They're going straight
back again this afternoon, believe me.' She sat down on
a wooden chair and put her bag on the dressing-table
behind her. 'It worked, though, just as he predicted it
would. It was the one sure way of seeing you alone.'

'How long have I been under surveillance?'

She smiled. 'How did you know that?'

'How else would you have known I was in?'

'A couple of Fabio's men have had the boarding house
under surveillance since the hit last night. I hear you've
already changed getaway cars?'

'I did it first thing this morning. We couldn't be sure
whether it was spotted or not last night.'

'Not according to the police report Fabio got through
this morning. But whether the Red Brigades know is

182.

another matter altogether. Calvieri's being very secretive.'

'Wouldn't you if you were in his position?'

'I suppose so. That's one of the reasons I'm here.' She
went on to explain first about Alexander's escape from
custody, then about Calvieri's theory about the gunman's
black accomplice.

'And Calvieri's sure to have a better description of me
than the police if it came from that guard I knocked out,'
he said once Sabrina had finished speaking.

They're looking for a local,' she reminded him.

'That's according to Calvieri. And now with Alexander
on the loose I'm going to have to keep one eye open for
him and the other open for some Red Brigades hit squad
that could come knocking on my door at any moment.
How the hell am I supposed to concentrate on Young
with all this going on around me?'

She took a Browning Mkz from her bag and offered it
to him. 'I know,' she said. 'You may need this.'

'And how would I explain it to Young? Alexander
never uses guns. No, I daren't risk it.'

'You may have to use it on Young, especially if
Calvieri's his next target.' She explained briefly what
Conte had told her. 'We can't afford any slip-ups at this
stage of the operation. And any attempt to hit Calvieri
would certainly throw us off-balance. He's our only hope
if we need to negotiate with Ubrino. We'd be lost without
him. Take the gun, C.W. Please.'

Whitlock took the Browning from her and slipped it
into the bedside table drawer. He glanced at the booby
trapped watch but decided against telling her about it.
The others had enough to worry about as it was. He
would deal with it himself.

'I don't know exactly when we're leaving for Berne,'
she said, breaking the sudden silence. 'Probably some time

183

in the next few hours. There isn't much else we can do
here. You're to liaise with Jacques from now on. He'll
pass your reports on to Sergei.'

Whitlock nodded.

'I'd better be going,' she said, getting to her feet and
smoothing down her mini-skirt. 'I'm dying to get out of
these clothes and scrape the make-up off my face. I don't
know how these girls can put up with the discomfort every
time they go out on the streets. It's revolting.'

'It's a living, I guess,' he replied and walked with her
to the door. 'Thanks for coming over, Sabrina. I appreciate
it.'

She hugged him. 'Take care of yourself.'

'And you,' he replied, then closed the door after her.

She hailed the first taxi she saw outside the boarding
house. It stopped beside her. Had she been dressed differently
the driver would probably have ignored her. Not
that it bothered her. She was just glad to be heading back
to the hotel.

Calvieri found a parking space on the busy Corso Vittorio
Emanuele and walked the two blocks to La Sfera di
Cristallo, a small, inexpensive restaurant which had been
there for as long as he could remember. It had only ever
had one owner, a fat, balding man now in his mid-sixties
with a liking for the music of Berlioz.

He went inside. Nothing had changed since he had
been there last, when he had been a Rome cell commander.
And that included the music. He recognized the piece
immediately: The Hungarian March' from The Damnation
of Faust. He had heard it enough times in the past.

'A table for one?' a female voice inquired behind him.

He turned round and smiled at the teenage waitress.

184

'Thank you, no. I'm looking for Signore Castellano. He's
expecting me. The name's Calvieri.'

'I know who you are,' she said with a quick smile. 'I've
seen you on television. What you say makes a lot of sense.'

'Thank you.'

'I'll call. . .' she trailed off when she caught sight of
the eighteen-stone Castellano approaching them.

Tony,' Castellano called out in his gravelly voice and
clasped Calvieri in a bear-like grip, kissing him on both
cheeks. 'You're looking well, my friend.'

'And you're looking well fed,' Calvieri countered, patting
Castellano's stomach.

Castellano chuckled but his face quickly became serious
and he pressed his fist against his chest. 'My heart is heavy
today, Tony. Signore Pisani was a great man. But I know
you won't fail us as our new leader.'

'I'm just deputizing until the committee meets next
week to vote for a new leader.'

'You're too modest, Tony. You can't lose. There's
nobody to touch you.'

'I'm sure Zocchi would have something to say about
that.'

'Ah, Zocchi. He's a pig. He's where he belongs. In jail.'
Castellano put an arm around Calvieri's shoulders and
led him through the packed restaurant to a door beside
the swing doors leading into the kitchen. It was marked: direttore. 'Signore Bettinga's waiting for you in
there. Can I get you something to eat? A small pizza
napoletana? That was always your favourite.'

'I've eaten, thank you. But I wouldn't say no to one of
your famous cappuccini.'

'Coming up,' Castellano replied and disappeared into
the kitchen.

Calvieri entered the office and closed the door behind

185

him. Luigi Bettinga sat behind Castellano's desk absently
paging through a culinary magazine. He was a small,
dapper man in his late thirties with beady eyes and prematurely
grey hair. He always reminded Calvieri of an accountant.
They had been close friends for years and
Calvieri saw him as an integral part of the new committee
under his leadership.

'Cwo, Tony,' Bettinga said and came round to the front
of the desk to shake hands with Calvieri. 'I'm sorry I
wasn't at the house this morning. The plane was delayed
in Genoa. I must have got there just after you left.'

'You're here now, that's the main thing,' Calvieri said,
helping himself to a cigarette from the pack on Castellano's
desk. 'Your phone call intrigued me. Why did you
want to meet me away from the house?'

'The house and the grounds are still crawling with
police. I couldn't take the chance of letting them overhear
what I'm going to tell you.'

'You've come up with something already, haven't
you?'

Bettinga nodded. 'Yes, but I can hardly take the credit.
I only took over from where you left off.'

'So what is it?'

There was a knock at the door and Castellano came in
with the cappuccino. He put it on the table and withdrew
discreetly, closing the door carefully behind him.

'Well?' Calvieri prompted.

'We know the identity of the gunman's accomplice.'

'That's excellent news.' Calvieri picked up the coffee
cup and sat down in the leather armchair against the wall.
'Is he a local?'

Bettinga shook his head. 'The name on the passport is
Raymond Anderson. It's sure to be false.'

'Where's he staying?'

186

'A boarding house on the via Marche near the Villa
Borghese.'

'What about the gunman?' Calvieri asked, wiping the
froth from his moustache. 'Any clues to his identity?'

'Not yet. But we do have a description of him. We got
it from the receptionist at the car hire company who
told us about Anderson. Blond. Good-looking. American
accent.'

'An American?' Calvieri mused thoughtfully.

'The boarding house is under surveillance. What do
you want done?'

'The American must be taken alive. We have to find
out who he's working for. Who knows, one of us could
be his next target.'

'And Anderson?'
'He's not so important. It's the American I want.'
Calvieri took another sip of the cappuccino. 'This has to
be a low-key affair, Luigi. The police mustn't suspect
anything. If they found out we had the American they
would raid every safe house in the country looking for
him. There's only one man I'd trust to handle this kind of
job.'

'Escoletti?'

'Right. Giancarlo Escoletti. Get him on the next flight
to Rome. We can't afford to waste any more time.'

'I'm way ahead of you, Tony. I've got Escoletti on
standby at the Condotti Hotel. I sent for him as soon as I
got your call last night.'

'Mister Efficiency himself. Next you'll be challenging
me for the leadership.'

'It never crossed my mind, Tony,' Bettinga replied
indignantly, then noticed the smile on Calvieri's face.
'Your little joke, right?'

Calvieri had always maintained that Bettinga would

187

have made a perfect poker-faced comedian. He never
smiled. Irony was totally lost on him.

'Call Escoletti and tell him to bring the American in.'
Calvieri finished his cappuccino and got to his feet. 'I've
got to get back to the hotel.'

'What did Ubrino steal from the plant? Signore Pisani
wouldn't have asked you to help the authorities unless it
was something pretty important.'

'I can't say anything at the moment, Luigi. I promise
I'll give the committee a full report at next week's
meeting.'

'Do you think there could be a connection between the
break-in at the plant and the hit on Signore Pisani?'

'That's what I hope to find out from the American.'

Bettinga sat down behind the desk after Calvieri had
left the room and dialled the number of the Condotti
Hotel. He asked for Escoletti's room.

'Hello?' a voice answered.

'Escoletti?'

'Speaking.'

'It's Bettinga. I've spoken to Signore Calvieri. He wants
the American brought in alive.'

'What about Anderson?'

'He's not important. You can kill him if you have to.
You know where to take the American. Call me when it's
done. And Escoletti, don't risk anything that could alert
the authorities. Signore Calvieri was quite insistent about
that.'

'Leave it to me. The authorities won't suspect a thing.'

Bettinga replaced the receiver, then took a couple of
peppermints from the bowl on the table and thoughtfully
put them into his mouth.

188

'Where have you been?' Kolchinsky demanded onee he
had let Calvieri into his room.

'I'm sure you know that already,' Calvieri replied.
'Paluzzi's men have been tailing me ever since I arrived in
Rome. But to answer your question, I was called out
unexpectedly to deal with some Red Brigades business.'

'We had an agreement, Calvieri. You work with us
until the vial's been recovered. And that means staying on
call, like the rest of us. So next time you get an unexpected
call, send one of your associates to deal with the problem.
Isn't that what leadership's all about? Delegation?'

Til bear it in mind, next time,' Calvieri retorted sarcastically.

'You do that. But right now you'd better start packing.'
Kolchinsky handed Calvieri an airline ticket. 'Flight 340
to Berne. It leaves Rome at twelve-twenty. That's in less
than two hours' time. And you will be on the plane with
the rest of us, that I promise you.'

Escoletti parked the hired Fiat Regata a block away from
the boarding house, took the black doctor's bag from the
back seat and got out of the car, locking the door behind
him.

He was a tall, distinguished-looking man in his late
forties with thick black hair which was beginning to grey
in streaks at the temples. He had once been a doctor but
had been struck off the medical register for attempting to rape one of his patients. On his release from jail he had
drifted into a life of crime and joined the Red Brigades in
'84 after meeting Calvieri at a recruitment party in Milan.
His expertise with firearms (he had been a crack shot
since his early teens) together with his extensive medical
knowledge had made him one of the most in-demand

189

assassins in the organization. In '87 he had been promoted
on to the committee as a senior security consultant, a
position he still held, which entailed him advising the
different cells on the feasibility of their intended terror
campaigns across the country. He still worked in the field,
but only on those assignments sanctioned at the highest
level of the committee. He was known as 'the Specialist'.
Just like a doctor.

He walked past the boarding house to the narrow
alleyway which ran parallel to the side of the building. He
picked his way with distaste through the overflowing
dustbins and paused at the foot of the fire escape.
Anderson and Yardley were in Rooms 15 and 16. First
floor. That's what the receptionist told him when he had
called the boarding house from the hotel. He climbed the
metal stairs to the first floor and pulled open the door.
The corridor was deserted. His plan was simple. He would
immobilize both men with the dart gun in his overcoat
pocket then withdraw back down the fire escape and make
his way round to the reception where he would say that
they had called him earlier complaining of upset stomachs.
He would then go to their rooms, call the bogus ambulance
which was on standby not far from the boarding house,
and tell the receptionist that he had diagnosed food
poisoning in both cases. They would then be taken away
on stretchers, 'under sedation', and driven in the ambulance
to a safe house on the outskirts of the city. The
manager of the boarding house would play down the
incident, desperate to avoid any adverse publicity, and by
the time the authorities did latch on to the deception the
committee would have the answers they wanted and the
two men would be dead. He had used the plan in the past
to kidnap targets selected by the committee. It had never
failed.

190

He stopped outside Anderson's room. Certainly the
lesser of two evils. He curled a gloved hand around the
dart gun in his pocket and rapped sharply on the door.
Silence. He knocked on Yardley's door. Again, silence. He
cursed under his breath. It was what he had been dreading.
The boarding house had only been under surveillance for
the past forty minutes. They must have gone out before
that. On foot. The Volkswagen Jetta Anderson had hired
that morning was still parked out in the street. They could
^te back at any time. He decided to check the rooms for
any clues to their real identities. Not that he held out
much hope. They were professionals. Well, the one calling
himself Yardley certainly was. But he would talk, like the
others before him. Escoletti had his methods. He was a
doctor. A specialist.

He would search Anderson's room first. Then Yardley's
room. Then he would wait.

Whitlock had left the boarding house soon after Sabrina.
He had needed to clear his thoughts. He had gone for a
walk, careful to keep easily within a mile radius of the bar
at the end of the block where Young was drinking.

What if Calvieri was the next hit on Young's list? He
would have to stop Young if he did get too close to
Calvieri. What about the transmitter? He was suddenly
glad of the Browning Sabrina had given to him. He had
no qualms about killing Young, especially with the threat
of the transmitter ever present in his mind. To hell with
Philpott's orders in the dossier to bring Young in alive.
He would do what he thought best under the circumstances.
And that meant killing Young.

What about Alexander? He doubted he would have to
deal with him. How could Alexander possibly trace him?

191

Young wouldn't have used his real name in London. And
there was no record of their departure at any of the
airports. An American airbase would be the last place he
would think of checking. And even if he did, how far
would he get? No, Alexander didn't worry him.

What did worry him was a revenge attack by the Red
Brigades. It had been a mistake to approach the guard so
openly outside Pisani's house. But what choice did he
have? He had to get Young out, if only because of the
transmitter in his pocket. Had he driven the car up to the
gate the guard would have opened fire. Not that he could
say anything to Young about Sabrina's warning. His only
hope was if Calvieri went to Switzerland. They would
surely follow him. And that would take the heat off them,
at least for the time being . . .

He finished his espresso at the small coffee bar, paid
for it, and walked the short distance back to the boarding
house. The receptionist handed him his room key, then
returned to her knitting. He froze halfway up the stairs
when he saw Escoletti using one of the skeleton keys to
open Young's door. He pressed himself against the wall
when Escoletti looked round furtively before picking up
his black bag and disappearing into Young's room.
Whitlock's mind was racing. Who was he? A detective?
A Brigatistat Did he have any accomplices? Was the
boarding house being watched? He looked down into the
foyer. It was deserted. He retraced his steps down the
stairs and went out into the street. He looked around
slowly, careful not to arouse any suspicion. He couldn't
see anything untoward. Not that he had any idea who, or
what, he was looking for. He had to warn Young. He
walked to the bar and pushed open the door. It was a
small room with a dozen tables dotted about the floor and
a counter running the length of one wall. A propeller fan

192.

F turned slowly overhead. The five customers all sat at the
bar. Nobody spoke.

Young sat at the end of the counter, a bottle of
; Budweiser in front of him. He was about to take a mouth
f. ful when he noticed Whitlock standing by the door. 'Well,
f how was she?' he called out, then beckoned Whitlock 'f towards him. 'As good as she looked?'
).'	'I've got to talk to you,' Whitlock said, ignoring

Young's unpleasant leer.

;	'So talk,' Young replied, lifting the bottle to his lips.

'Not here,' Whitlock retorted. 'Over there, at one of
j the tables.'

|	Young frowned but followed Whitlock to the table \ furthest away from the counter. Whitlock sat facing the
[, doorway, watching for the tail he was sure had followed I him to the bar. \. 'What is it?' Young demanded. \ Whitlock told Young what he had seen at the boarding

- house.

i. v 'And you've never seen this guy before?' Young asked.

I	Whitlock shook his head. 'He looked like a cop.'

\	Young pushed the bottle away from him. 'We've got
to get out of here, fast. If you were followed it'll only be

'. a matter of time before the reinforcements arrive. Wait

| here.'

J,	'Where are you going?'

I	Young didn't answer the question and crossed to the
counter where he spoke softly to the barman. He then
took a wad of notes from his jacket pocket and handed
them discreetly to the barman who pocketed them then
indicated the door behind him with a vague flick of his
hand. Young beckoned Whitlock over.
'What's going on?' Whitlock asked.
'I've just bought us an escape route,' Young replied,

193

then pointed to the entrance. 'We can't get out that way.
Not if it's being watched.'

The barman opened the hatch and Whitlock followed
Young behind the counter. The barman closed it behind
them then led them through the door into the kitchen. A
woman looked up from the vegetables she was dicing,
smiled fleetingly at the barman, then returned to her work.
The barman opened the back door and Young peered out
into the alleyway. He gestured for Whitlock to follow
him, and the barman closed the door behind them.

'Which way?' Whitlock asked.

Young pointed left. 'According to the barman it comes
out in the street at the back of the bar. We'll be able to
get a taxi there.'

'How much money have you got on you?'

Young shrugged. 'About forty thousand lire.'

'I've got even less. How far's it going to get us? You'll
have to call Wiseman and tell him what happened. We
need more money.'

'I'll call him later. First we need to get to the Stazione
Termini,' Young said as they reached the road. 'Flag down
the first taxi you see.'

'Why are we going to the station?' Whitlock demanded.
'We need money before we can go anywhere.'

'That's why we're going to the station. General
Wiseman left a holdall in one of the lockers for this kind
of emergency. It contains money, new passports and a
duplicate set of the weapons I've been using out here.
Now let's find a taxi.'

194

EIGHT

Reinhardt Kuhlmann had been the Swiss police commissioner
for sixteen years. Now, aged sixty-one, he had
vowed to make it his last year in office. It would be his
third 'retirement' in seven years. On the two previous
occasions he had been back behind his desk within
months. But, much as he hated the idea, he knew he would
have to bow out this time. The pressure from his family
was getting to him, especially from his son and daughter
in-law who were continually badgering him to spend more
time at home with his wife. They didn't understand.
Neither of them was connected with law enforcement.
The force was in his blood. It had become an addictive
drug over the past forty-two years and his greatest fear
was what effect retirement would have on him.

He pushed any thoughts of his impending retirement
from his mind. He would have plenty of time to reflect on
i it in the years to come. He opened his briefcase and took
f out a folder. There was only one word on it. UNACO.
1; Although he and Malcolm Philpott were old friends he
I had never attempted to hide his dislike for the organiz
I ation. The concept of an international strike force apt
pealed to him, but that's where it ended. He argued that
[. their use of blackmail, intimidation and violence, as well
as their willingness to bend the law to suit their own needs,
made them just like the criminals they had been set up to
combat in the first place. But he knew his was a lone voice

195

of protest. There were times when he thought he was
something of an anachronism in the contemporary world
of law enforcement. He hated guns, and he particularly
hated the idea of gun-toting foreigners shooting up his
country. It had happened before and he knew it would
happen again. It was inevitable.

There was a knock at the door.

He answered it and immediately recognized Kolchinsky
from the photograph in the folder lying on the table behind
him. They shook hands and then Kuhlmann ushered him
in.

'I feel as if I know you already,' Kolchinsky said with
a smile. 'Malcolm's told me a lot about you.'

'Nothing bad, I hope. Won't you sit down?' Kuhlmann
indicated the two chairs on either side of the window. 'I
ordered some coffee when I knew you were on your way
up. It should be here any time now. How was your flight?'

'Tedious, but aren't they all? When did you get in from
Zurich?'

Kuhlmann sat down. 'A couple of hours ago.'

'And you've been fully briefed?'

Kuhlmann pointed to the folder. 'Your man, Jacques
Rust, briefed me over breakfast this morning.'

There was another knock at the door. As Kuhlmann
had predicted it was the room service waiter with the
coffee. He took the tray from him and set it down on the
table beside his chair.

'How do you take your coffee?'

'Milk, one sugar,' Kolchinsky replied.

'Tell me, how did Rust manage to get these rooms at
such short notice?' Kuhlmann asked as he poured out the
coffee. 'I'm told there isn't a spare hotel bed within a
twenty-mile radius of the city for the duration of the
summit. I could understand if he'd managed to get one

196

room. But six? And all here at the Metropole. I'm intrigued.'

Kolchinsky refused to rise to the bait. Philpott had
warned him about Kuhlmann's attitude towards UNACO.
Kuhlmann was out to prove that Rust had used some
underhand method to get the rooms. Kolchinsky was sure
Rust had used some underhand method - how else would
he have got them? But that's what made him such an
invaluable asset to UNACO. He was like Philpott in that
respect. They played on the indiscretions of others to get
what they wanted. Kuhlmann would probably regard
it as blackmail. Kolchinsky regarded it as simply good
business sense.

'I haven't spoken to Jacques recently so I honestly
couldn't tell you how he did it,' Kolchinsky replied truthfully,
taking the cup and saucer from Kuhlmann and
sitting back in his chair. 'Did Jacques give you a photograph
of Ubrino to circulate among your men?'

Kuhlmann nodded. 'It's been faxed through to every
police station in the country. I've got teams checking all
the hotels, boarding houses and chalets in and around the
Berne area. If he's here, we'll find him.'

'He is a master of disguise,' Kolchinsky reminded him.

'Which is why a police artist put the photograph
through his computer and came up with a series of different
disguises. Seven possibilities in all. They're all
being used in the search. We may be a small nation, Mr
, Kolchinsky, but we do have an effective police force. I see
to that.'

'It was an observation, not a criticism.'

'I resent UNACO being here, Mr Kolchinsky. But I
especially resent you bringing scum like Calvieri into the
country. We can catch Ubrino ourselves. I have some of
Europe's finest policemen on the force. Men who use

197

brains, not guns, to bring criminals to justice. We don't
need you here.'

'So expel us,' Kolchinsky challenged.

'If it were up to me none of you would have got
permission to land here in the first place. Unfortunately
my Government views the situation differently.'

'Malcolm told me you disliked UNACO. I never realized
how much until now.'

'I make no secret of my opposition to UNACO. It's
become too powerful for its own good in the last few
years. Your field operatives can literally get away with
murder because they know they're immune from prosecution.
How can charges be brought against someone
working for an organization that doesn't officially exist?
UNACO's a law unto itself. That's something I can't
accept.' Kolchinsky picked up the folder. 'Don't get me
wrong, though. You'll have my full cooperation while
you're here in Switzerland. I never allow my personal
feelings to interfere with my work. It would amount to
professional suicide if I did.'

Professional suicide. Kolchinsky knew all about that.
He had spent sixteen years as a military attache in the
West for daring to criticize the draconian methods of the
KGB. The irony was that had he kept his mouth shut, like
many of his liberal colleagues, he would almost certainly
now be a member of the Politburo, or at least a Directorate
head in the KGB, heralding in the new era of Soviet
politics. But he had done what he had thought right at the
time and now he could live with a clear conscience. He
had no regrets. Well, almost none . . .

There was a knock at the door.

Kuhlmann answered it. Paluzzi introduced himself and
followed the police commissioner into the room.

'Sorry I'm a bit late,' Paluzzi said, giving Kolchinsky

198

an apologetic smile. 'I'd barely got to my room when the
phone rang. It was Angelo.' He glanced at Kuhlmann.
'My adjutant, Lieutenant Angelo Marco.'

'Has he come up with something?' Kolchinsky asked.

'Whitlock and Young have disappeared.'

'Disappeared?' Kolchinsky repeated anxiously.

'The Red Brigades are on to them. They obviously realized
this and fled the boarding house. They left everything
behind. We don't know where they are at the moment.'

'So they could conceivably be in the hands of the Red
Brigades?'

'No, they're not,' Paluzzi said, trying to reassure Kolchinsky.
'The Red Brigades have sent their most experienced
assassin after them. His name's Giancarlo Escoletti. We
bugged his hotel room while he was at the boarding house
waiting for them to return. When they didn't show he
went back to the hotel and called Luigi Bettinga, Calvieri's
new right-hand man, and told him he'd lost them. We're
watching his every move. If he does manage to track them
down we'll pull him in before he can do anything. He's
the least of our worries. It's Young that concerns me. If
Calvieri is his next hit it won't be very difficult for Young to trace him to Switzerland. What if they're already here?
All Young needs is a sniper rifle and he'll be spoilt for
choice when it comes to selecting a time and place for the
hit.'

'Have you got photographs of Whitlock and this man
Young?' Kuhlmann asked.

'I've got a photograph of Young in the case dossier in
my room,' Kolchinsky said. 'It's slightly blurred but it's
the only known one on file. I don't have a photo of C.W.
with me. There are some on file in New York.'

'Have one faxed through to our Zurich headquarters,
then we can circulate them both to all the airports and

199

stations. If they've passed through any of them in the last
few hours, we'll know about it.'

'I'll call Jacques right away. May I use your phone?'

'Please do,' Kuhlmann replied.

Kolchinsky explained the situation to Rust who promised
to contact Philpott immediately and have a photograph
of Whitlock faxed through to Zurich. Kolchinsky
had barely hung up when the telephone rang.

'Excuse me,' Kuhlmann said as he answered it. After
listening for a few moments he put his hand over the
mouthpiece. 'Ubrino's been found.'

Kolchinsky and Paluzzi exchanged excited glances.

Kuhlmann spoke for a minute more and then replaced
the receiver. 'An estate agent recognized him from one of
the photographs. He came here a month ago and booked
a chalet on the outskirts of the city. He picked up the keys
from the estate agent on Monday.'

'The son-of-a-bitch,' Paluzzi hissed. 'He's been here all
the time. We've been chasing shadows for the past three
days.'

'Is the chalet being watched?' Kolchinsky asked.

Kuhlmann nodded. 'There's a couple of plainclothes
men up there now. There's no sign of Ubrino but they've
reported seeing smoke coming from the chimney. So it's
fair to assume he's home.'

'Fabio, call Michael and Sabrina. Tell them to meet us
here.'

'And Calvieri?' Paluzzi asked, his hand hovering over
the receiver.

'And Calvieri,' Kolchinsky said with a sigh.

The briefing was short. Paluzzi would take Graham and
Sabrina to within five hundred yards of the chalet, where

100

they would rendezvous with the two policemen. Then,
once they had seen the chalet for themselves, they would
decide on the best way to approach Ubrino and recover
the vial intact.

'Can you see anything?' Paluzzi asked as the Westland
Scout passed over the rendezvous area.

'Not a damn thing,' Graham muttered, then glanced
over his shoulder at Sabrina. 'You've got the binoculars.
Any sign of those cops?'

'Not yet,' she replied without lowering the binoculars.
She continued to scan the desolate white slopes beneath
them, hoping to catch a glimpse of movement. Nothing.
Not even a deer bounding through the snow in search of
shelter from the deafening whirr of the helicopter's rotors.
Was it such godforsaken territory? Ubrino had certainly
chosen his hideout well.

A sudden movement caught her eye and she swung the
binoculars on to the cluster of pine trees to her left. Had
she been wrong? Then she saw it again, the glint of sun
on a ski pole. She tapped Paluzzi on the shoulder and
pointed in the direction of the trees. A figure in a white
camouflage overall emerged from the trees and waved at
the helicopter.

'I'll take the helicopter down,' Paluzzi said, his eyes
focused on the altimeter. 'I daren't land it, though. I don't
know the depth of the snow. Get ready, both of you. I'll
give you the signal to deplane.'

Graham and Sabrina were wearing white Goretex overalls
and white ski boots lent to them by the local police.
The sunglasses were their own. They clambered into the
back of the helicopter and retrieved their ski poles and
Volkl ?99 skis from the rack against the side of the cabin.

2.01

They were both experienced skiers but, like the other field
operatives, they still had to undergo rigorous outdoor
training which included skiing, mountaineering and hang
gliding at a secret camp in the backwoods of Maine.

Graham pulled open the door and winced as a gust of
cold wind whipped through the cabin. After they had
snapped on their skis Sabrina kept her eye on Paluzzi,
waiting for his signal for them to deplane. Paluzzi continued
to press down on the collective-pitch lever to lower
the helicopter towards the ground then, when the pads
were a couple of feet above the snow, he nodded his
head vigorously, the signal to deplane. They launched
themselves through the doorway and landed nimbly in the
snow, bending their knees to cushion the impact of the
fall. The helicopter immediately rose upwards and banked
sharply to the left, soon to disappear over the treetops.

The man approaching them was in his late twenties
with short blond hair and blue eyes. His goggles were
pushed up on to his forehead. 'Mike? Sabrina?' he called
out.

'Yeah,' Graham replied and shook the man's outstretched
hand.

'Lieutenant Jurgen Stressner,' he said, shaking Sabrina's
hand.

'Where's your partner?' Graham asked.

'He's watching the chalet,' Stressner replied, pointing
behind him. 'Our orders are to assist you in any way
possible. Do you have a plan in mind?'

'Not yet,' Graham replied. 'We'll need to see the chalet
first.'

'Of course,' Stressner said, pulling the goggles back
over his eyes. 'Follow me.'

Stressner led them down the slope and into a narrow
gulley which emerged out on to another slope. Ten yards

^oz

ahead of them was a dense forest of pine trees. He cut a
swath through the trees and came to a sudden halt two
hundred yards further on. He pointed to where his partner
was crouched behind a rock twenty yards away, a pair of
binoculars in his hand.

'Sergeant Marcel Lacombe. He knows this part of the
country better than any man I know.'
""Lacombe was a middle-aged man of military bearing,
with silver-grey hair and a thick grey moustache. He
greeted Graham and Sabrina with a nod.
I	'Still no sign of him?' Stressner asked, taking the bin
I oculars from Lacombe and giving them to Graham.
I Lacombe shook his head.

Graham studied the lone chalet, fifty yards away from
where they were crouched. 'It's totally exposed out there.
He'll see us the moment we show our faces.'

'Can I make a suggestion?' Stressner said.

'Please do,' Graham replied, handing the binoculars to
Sabrina.

'There are two doors. Front and back. I suggest we pair
off and approach the doors separately. If he sees two of
us coming towards the front of the chalet he's sure to try
and make a break for it through the back door.'

'Assuming he doesn't open the vial first,' Graham muttered,
his eyes flickering towards Sabrina.

'Vi-al?' Stressner said, frowning. 'What is that?'

'Haven't you been briefed?' Sabrina asked.

'All we know is his name and what he looks like.'

'We have to tell them about the vial,' Sabrina said to
Graham. 'They can't be expected to go in there blind.'

Graham nodded in agreement and explained briefly
about the contents of the vial.

'And you think he would open this vial if he saw us
coming?' Stressner asked anxiously.

Z03

'It's possible,' Graham replied, tight-lipped. 'But I
think he's more likely to try and make a break for it,
especially if he only sees two of us approaching the
chalet.'

Sabrina nodded. 'I'd go along with that. So if two of
us lie in wait for him at the back of the chalet, out of
sight, and he does try to sneak out we'll be able to grab
him before he has a chance to open the vial.'

'In theory,' Graham said.

'We have no choice,' Stressner said.

'You've got a point there,' Graham replied. 'It's best if
we stick with our original partners. I presume the two of
you are armed?'

The question surprised Stressner. 'This is Switzerland,
not the backstreets of America. We only use firearms in
exceptional circumstances.'

'And this isn't an exceptional circumstance? Ubrino
will be armed to the teeth in there, you can be sure of
that. Here, take my Beretta.'

Stressner put a restraining hand on Graham's arm. 'I
won't need it. Put yourself in Ubrino's position. He doesn't
know we're unarmed. He's more likely to try and slip out
of the back than engage in a firefight.'

'Or use the vial to effect an escape,' Sabrina said.

'In which case the two of you will be lying in wait for
him,' Stressner said. 'You need the guns, not us.'

Graham trained the binoculars on the chalet again.
Curtains drawn, overnight snow packed against the foot
of the front door and the absence of any ski tracks in front
of the chalet gave it an eerie, deserted appearance. He
focused the binoculars on the chimney. A steady stream
of smoke filtered up into the blue sky. He wondered if
Ubrino had left the chalet since he got there on Monday.
Why bother?

2.04

'How do we get round to the back of the chalet without
being seen?' Sabrina asked.

Til let Marcel explain. He's the expert.'

'My English not good,' Lacombe said to her. 'I explain
better in French. You speak French?'

She nodded, then listened attentively as he told her the
best route for them to take to come up behind the chalet
unnoticed.

'You have radios?' Stressner asked.

Graham tapped one of the pockets in his overall.
'Kuhlmann got them for us. He had them pre-set to your
frequency.'

Stressner looked at his watch. 'It should take you ten
minutes at the most to get yourselves into position. Call me
when you're ready. Then we can move in.'

Graham nodded, then followed Sabrina back through
the trees, into the gulley, and out to the slope where
they had deplaned. They traversed the face of the slope,
crossing it without losing any height, then skied down a couloir, a steep, narrow descent, and emerged on to a flat
stretch of the mountain. She stopped and pointed to the
sixty-foot ridge on their right. The chalet was directly
behind it. They pulled the hoods over their heads to give
them added concealment in the snow then made their way
slowly up the ridge, crawling the last five feet to the top.

'Look, ski tracks leading from the door,' she whispered.

'Yeah,' he muttered, his eyes screwed up behind his
sunglasses as he stared at the single upstairs window facing
out on to the ridge. The curtains were drawn.

'Call Stressner, tell him we're in position.'

Graham inched his way backwards until he was out of
sight of the chalet, then took the two-way radio from his
pocket and called Stressner. He replaced the radio in his
pocket when he had finished and gave Sabrina a thumbs2.05

up sign. 'They're going in. I'll move further down the
ridge. If Ubrino does try to make a break for it I'll be in
a better position to cut him off. You stay here . . .' He
trailed off, hearing the sound of a helicopter in the distance.
'What the hell's Paluzzi playing at? I told him I'd
radio if we needed assistance.'

'He must have picked up your conversation with
Stressner and thought it was meant for him. Get him on
the radio, tell him to pull out.'

Graham took the radio from his pocket again. 'Yankee
to Leatherhead, come in. Over.'

There was a pause then the crackled reply: 'Leatherhead
to Yankee, I read you. Over.'

'What the hell are you doing?' Graham hissed angrily.
'I haven't given the order to move in. Return to base and
await further instructions. I repeat, return to base. Over.'

Another pause. 'Leatherhead to Yankee, message unclear.
I am at base. Repeat, I am at base. Over.'

Graham was about to speak when the helicopter came
into view. It was the white Gazelle Tommaso Francia had
used on Corfu. Graham scrambled to the top of the ridge.
He had to warn Stressner and Lacombe. They were already
clear of the trees. Stressner swung round to face the
helicopter as it dived towards them. Tommaso Francia
opened fire. Both men were hit by a hail of bullets and
the helicopter immediately banked sharply, skimming over
the chalet and passing within ten feet of the ridge where
Graham and Sabrina lay motionless in the snow.

'Leatherhead to Yankee, I heard gunfire. Are you all
right? Do you need assistance? Over.'

Sabrina picked, the radio out of the snow. 'Sister to
Leatherhead, we've come under fire from the Francias'
helicopter. Stressner and Lacombe have been hit. Need
assistance. Repeat, need assistance. Over.'

2.06

f	'Message understood. Am on my way. Over and '?. out.'

Ł	Graham was the first on to his feet. 'We've got to (-' take cover before it comes back. The chalet's our only
| chance.'

I	They approached the chalet cautiously and took up
I positions on either side of the back door. They took the
t Berettas from their pockets and Graham indicated for
| Sabrina to go around the side of the chalet. She nodded
I then moved apprehensively towards the end of the wall,
I the Beretta held barrel upwards inches away from her
face. Once there she paused to wipe the sweat from her
I forehead. She glanced over her shoulder but Graham had
if already disappeared around the other side of the chalet.
r She swivelled round, Beretta held at arm's length. Nothing.
I She could see Stressner's body from where she stood. He
I lay on his back, his white overall saturated with blood. ' Then she heard the sound of the helicopter's engine behind
' her. She turned to see the Gazelle rise into view from
behind the ridge. She flung herself into the snow a split
i, second before a row of bullets peppered the side of the
chalet where she had been standing. The helicopter swivelled
fractionally as if on an invisible axis until the 30 mm
cannons were aimed at her. She tried desperately to get to
her feet. She knew she wouldn't make it before the guns
opened fire.

The Westland Scout seemed to appear from nowhere.
It shot across the front of the Gazelle and Tommaso
Francia recoiled in horror, unconsciously jerking his hands
off the controls. The Gazelle bucked sharply and went out
of control. It plummeted towards the chalet. He managed
to regain control of it at the last moment and it missed
the roof by a matter of inches. One of the pads struck the
chimney and Sabrina had to scramble out of the way as

2.07

bricks and mortar rained down into the snow. The Gazelle
levelled out and disappeared over the pine trees in pursuit
of the Westland Scout.

'You okay?' Graham asked behind her.

She nodded, then removed her sunglasses and wiped
her sleeve across her forehead. 'Now's our chance to get
Ubrino, with the helicopter out of the way.'

'You take the back, I'll take the front.' He
moved round to the front of the chalet and ducked
as he passed a window, even though earlier the curtains
had been drawn, only straightening up again when he was
clear of it. He undipped his skis then pressed himself
against the wall and reached out slowly for the door
handle. His gloved fingers curled around it and he pushed
it down. The door was unlocked. He opened the door and
took up a firing stance, Beretta extended, legs bent and
apart. He found himself looking down a dimly lit hallway.
He stepped inside and his eyes instinctively moved towards
the wooden stairs to his right. Was Ubrino at the top,
waiting to pick him off the moment he tried to climb
them? Or was he hiding in one of the rooms leading off
from the hall?

He noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye
and spun round to face the open door, the Beretta held at
arm's length. Nothing moved. A sprinkling of snow landed
in front of the door. That was what he had seen. More
snow fell to the ground. It couldn't be thawing, the chalet
was enveloped in shade. That meant something else was
dislodging the snow. Or someone else. Ubrino. He waded
out into knee-deep snow and as he looked up at the
sloping roof Ubrino propelled himself away from the open
skylight window. Graham raised his Beretta to fire. Ubrino
launched himself off the edge of the roof and caught
Graham's wrist with the edge of his ski, knocking the

108

gun from his hand. He landed awkwardly and skidded
|v sideways into the snow. He managed to get to his feet
before Graham felled him with a bruising football tackle.
Ubrino lashed out with his ski pole, catching Graham
painfully on the shoulder. He lashed out again with the
ski pole, this time hitting Graham in the face. The basket
at the end of the pole ripped open the stitches in the side
- of Graham's face, spurting blood across the snow. Graham
| cried out in pain and stumbled backwards, his hand covering
the wound as blood streamed down the side of his
face. Ubrino scrambled to his feet and set off down the
slope.

Sabrina emerged from the chalet and got off three shots
at the retreating figure before he disappeared around the
shoulder of the mountain. She dug her ski poles into the
snow and launched herself after him.

Graham returned to the chalet, where he found a clean
towel and pressed it tightly against the wound in an
attempt to try and stem the flow of blood. He was about
to run some water in the washbasin when he heard the
sound of a helicopter engine stuttering in the distance. He
went to the front door and looked up into the sky. The
Westland Scout was approaching the chalet low over the
pine trees, black smoke billowing out from the single
turboshaft engine mounted behind the cabin. It managed
to avoid the trees and crash-landed thirty yards away from
the chalet. The fuel tank was ruptured and a fire started
in the tail section. Paluzzi threw open the cockpit door
and stumbled towards the chalet. He was only yards away
from it when the helicopter exploded, burling chunks of
naming debris hundreds of feet into the air. He was
flattened by the force of the explosion. Graham hurried
out to where he lay, helped him to his feet, and led him
back to the chalet.

2.09

'You okay?' Graham asked anxiously once they were
inside the door.

'I'm okay,' Paluzzi replied with a weak smile. 'What
happened to you?'

Graham told him about Ubrino.

'I'll go after Sabrina,' Paluzzi said. 'She'll need backup.
I'll take your skis.'

'She's got a radio. She'll call us if she needs backup.'
Graham looked at the twisted remains of the helicopter
burning fiercely in the snow. 'What happened to you?'

'I gave Francia a good run for his money but he finally
got a direct hit on my engine. I had to limp back here, it's
all I could do.'

'Why didn't he follow you in?'

'My guess is he heard my distress call. He peeled off as
soon as I started smoking. Kuhlmann's sending a couple
of police helicopters but you can be sure that Francia will
be long gone by the time they get here.'

'When do you expect them?'

'They should be here in about ten minutes.'

Graham expressed his approval then disappeared back
into the bathroom to wash the blood from his face. Paluzzi
walked to the front door and stared at the bodies of
Stressner and Lacombe lying in the snow. Then he looked
down the slope, his thoughts with Sabrina.

Sabrina was gaining rapidly on Ubrino. Then the Gazelle
appeared behind them. Tommaso Francia couldn't risk
shooting at her in case one of the bullets hit Ubrino.

She looked over her shoulder at the helicopter and saw
Carlo Francia standing in the open cabin doorway. He
was dressed in skiing gear. Moments later he propelled
himself through the doorway, landing with bended knees

zio

3@i» the slope twenty yards behind her. The helicopter flew
fewst her and Tommaso Francia threw a rope ladder to
I? ybrino through the passenger door. Carlo Francia un
shouldered his Uzi and fired a burst into the snow behind
Sabrina. She veered to the left, giving Ubrino a few valuable
seconds to grab hold of the ladder which dangled

v enticingly in front of him. He discarded one of the ski poles
and reached out for the ladder. His fingers found one of
the rungs and he clamped his hand around it. Then,
discarding his other ski pole, he grabbed the ladder with
his other hand. He felt himself being lifted off the slope.
Tommaso Francia activated a button on his control panel	/
and the rope ladder began to reel in automatically. The
helicopter banked sharply, denying Sabrina a shot at
Ubrino. Within seconds it had disappeared from view.

She looked behind her. Carlo Francia was still there,
the Uzi in his right hand. He acknowledged her with a
faint smile and a slight inclination of his head, just as he
had done in Venice. He squeezed the trigger. She curved
sharply to avoid the bullets and entered a dense thicket of
larch trees. Francia double-angled, forming an inverted
'L' in the snow to change direction, and followed her into

^the wood. He fired again but the bullets chewed harmlessly
into the trees on either side of her. The wood ended
abruptly and she found herself beginning a steep, curving
descent. She looked behind her. No sign of Francia. She
carved the first bend and stopped sharply, coming to a
halt out of sight of the trees. It was her only chance. She
had to get behind him. But what if he approached the
bend firing? She crouched down, the Beretta clenched
tightly in her gloved hand.

Francia took the bend wide and only saw her as he
shot down the slope. His eyes widened in amazement.
How had she stopped so quickly? A bullet cracked inches

zn

from his head. Suddenly the hunter had become the
hunted. He fired wildly behind him but the bullets went
well wide of the mark. He cursed himself for panicking.
Then he saw his chance: a ridge directly in front of him.
He tucked his body down to increase his speed and as he
hit the ridge he pirouetted in mid-air, just one of the
freestyle manoeuvres which had brought him such acclaim
as a professional skier, and fired at Sabrina on the turn.
A bullet ripped through her sleeve, grazing her arm, and
she had to call on all her expertise to keep herself from
overbalancing and tumbling into the snow.

Francia executed the perfect landing, then looked behind
him, the Uzi at the ready for the first sight of Sabrina
riding the crest of the ridge. She still hadn't appeared by
the time he reached the next bend. Now he could lie in
wait for her further down the slope. It would be impossible
for him to miss her as she took the bend. He smiled to
himself as he leaned into the bend. His smile faltered when
he saw the precipice fifteen yards in front of him. He tried
to stop but lost control and tumbled down the slope. He
came to rest within a few feet of the edge and the Uzi
disappeared over it. He raised his head fractionally and
looked down into the canyon below him. A sheer drop of
eight hundred feet. He reached down to unclip his skis.
The sudden movement dislodged a piece of ice behind
him. It confirmed his worse fears. He was lying on a
cornice, a sheet of ice overhanging the precipice. Any
movement could cause it to break off. He swallowed
nervously and blinked rapidly as the sweat dripped into
his eyes. All he could do was wait for help. But for how
long?

Sabrina descended the ridge cautiously, the Beretta held
tightly in her hand. Her arm was throbbing. She could
feel the blood oozing down the inside of her sleeve and

2.12.

|Jtito her glove. Her progress was slow and she paused
sjsefpre reaching the bend in the slope. What if Francia was

jg in wait for her around the corner, as she had done
to him earlier? An Uzi against a Beretta. She didn't fancy the
odds. She wiped the sweat from her face and inadvertently
smeared blood across her cheek. She decided to. take the
pounds end as wide as she possibly could. At least that way she e would be able to see Francia if he had concealed himself
on the other side of the bend. She dug her ski poles into
die snow and propelled herself forward. She saw the
precipice as she took the corner and came to a halt ten
feet away from where he lay. For a moment she thought
it was a trap. Then she saw the fear in his eyes.

'Help me, please,' he pleaded in English, his eyes riveted
on her.

She moved closer, the Beretta still trained on him.

'You help me, I tell you what you want to know,' he
said in a breathless voice. 'Please, you must help me.'

'I'm going to extend my ski pole towards you. Grab hold
of the basket. Do you understand?'

He nodded.

She lay flat on the hard surface snow and reached out
the ski pole towards him. It didn't reach his hand. She
inched her way forward, knowing she could also be on
the cornice. And it could collapse at any moment. It was
impossible to know where the mountain ended and the
cornice began. There was a sudden crack and another
sheet of ice broke off behind him. He gritted his teeth, not
daring to look over his shoulder. He was now barely three
feet away from the edge of the precipice. She was at full
stretch, not daring to move any closer. The pole was within
his reach. His fingers touched the tip and he managed to
grab hold of it. She gripped the other end of the pole with
both hands, steadying herself. Cracks began to appear in

213

the ice around him and as his fingers curled around the
basket a section of ice broke underneath him. He slid
backwards, his legs now dangling over the edge of the
precipice. She dug her skis into the snow, desperately
trying to anchor herself, but she felt herself being dragged
towards the precipice as Francia continued to slide further
over the edge. In desperation he grabbed the basket with
both hands but this only served to pull her even closer to
the edge. She knew she couldn't save him and unless she
let go of the ski pole she would be dragged over the edge
with him. She began to ease the strap off from around her
wrist.

'No, please,' he screamed, desperately trying to get a
better grip on the basket.

She tugged at the strap until it slid off her hand. For a
brief moment he clawed frantically at the ice, then he fell,
the wind tearing the scream from his lips. She moved back
slowly until she felt she had put enough distance between
herself and the edge of the precipice, then got to her feet
and wiped her sleeve across her glistening face. What if
she had tried to outrun him instead of ducking down
behind the slope when she did? What chance would she
have had to stop at that speed? She would have been the
one who went over the precipice. She shuddered. It had
been that close.

She sat down in the snow and leaned back against a
large tree. Then, taking the two-way radio from her
pocket, she called Graham to arrange for a helicopter to
pick her up. She had had enough skiing for one day.

ZI4


I	NINE

'Are you all right?' Kolchinsky asked anxiously when
Sabrina entered his hotel room.

'It's just a graze,' she replied, touching his arm reassuringly.

'Where's Michael?'

'He's coming,' she said, gesturing vaguely to the door
behind her.

'How is he?'

'Pm okay,' Graham answered from the doorway.

Kolchinsky winced when he looked round at Graham.
His left eye was now half-closed and the white dressing
secured over his new stitches contrasted vividly
with the discoloured bruising on the left-hand side of his
face.

'It's not as bad as it looks,' Graham muttered, closing
the door behind him.

'You could have fooled me.' Kolchinsky smiled grimly.

'Has Fabio briefed you on what happened this afternoon?'
Sabrina asked, pouring out two cups of coffee
from the pot on the tray.

'He's told me everything,' Kolchinsky replied. 'I was
hoping we could all have a meeting as soon as the two of
you got back from the hospital. That won't be possible
now. At least not for the time being.'


'Why, what's happened?' Sabrina asked, handing a
coffee to Graham.

215

'Commissioner Kuhlmann received a call half an hour
ago to say that the Francias' Gazelle 'helicopter had been
found abandoned in a field on the outskirts of Worb. It's
a town about ten miles from here. He's driven out there
with Fabio to take a closer look at it.'

'No sign of Ubrino or Tommaso Francia?'

'None at all.'

'Has Carlo Francia's body been found?' Sabrina asked,
sitting on the bed.

'What was left of it,' Kolchinsky replied.

'Was anything found at the chalet?' Graham asked.

'The police report hasn't come through yet but you can
be sure we'd have been told if they had come up with
anything positive.' Kolchinsky shook his head. 'No, we
won't have any luck there.'

'That was to be expected really,' Sabrina said with a
resigned shrug. 'Ubrino was hardly going to flee the nest
without taking the golden egg with him, was he?'

'Which puts us back to square one again,'1 Graham
said. 'And we've got less than fifteen hours to go before
tomorrow's deadline. Not that that means anything. We
haven't got a hope in hell of finding him now.'

'Leaving the Offenbach Centre as our last line of defence,'
Sabrina added, looking at Kolchinsky. 'What extra
security measures are being taken there tomorrow?'

'Commissioner Kuhlmann has drafted in seventy
policemen and thirty policewomen from around the
country. They'll all be in plainclothes.'

'Why plainclothes?' Graham said. 'Surely an extra hundred
uniforms would be more daunting to someone like
Ubrino?'

'And frighten him off?' Kolchinsky replied. 'Remember,
he doesn't know that we know the vial is destined for the
Offenbach Centre. If the grounds were swamped with

216

irmed guards he might turn back and make his
rids from a hideout anywhere in the country. Then
would we be? No, we have to play this as covertly
possible. He's sure to have a rough idea of how many
rity staff are employed by the Offenbach Centre. It's
Imperative that he isn't suspicious when he gets there. As
jiyou said, we won't find him now. Tomorrow's our last
jiiiance.'

Graham finished his coffee and got to his feet. 'Are we
Still going to have this meeting tonight?'
-.; 'That all depends on when the two of them get back.
Why, is there something on your mind?'

'I've got a few questions to put to Calvieri. I can do it
now, or later.'

'Fabio told me about your little theory linking Calvieri
to Ubrino. It doesn't hold any water, Michael. You're
letting your emotions get the better of you.'

'The fact remains that someone tipped off either Ubrino $.- or the Francia brothers about our movements this after
R noon. Who knew we were going to the chalet? You, me,
Sabrina, Fabio, Kuhlmann and Calvieri. Who would you
suspect?'

'Calvieri never left this room from the time we had our
briefing until the time Kuhlmann received Fabio's call
requesting back-up. When could Calvieri have warned
them? I'm the first to take notice of your hunches, Michael,
but this time you're way off the mark.'

'Someone tipped them off, Sergei. There are two bodies
in the mortuary to prove it.' Graham glanced at Sabrina.
'And it could so easily have been three.'

'We don't know that they were tipped off, Michael. It's
pure speculation.'

'I still want to talk to Calvieri,' Graham said.
'There's enough tension as it is without you adding to

2.17

n. i^cavc nun aiunc. Ana tnars my tinal word on the
subject.' !l	Graham threw up his hands in frustration and sat on

trie edee ottlxe.lie«L^TkgL.*«les^es«_.^!s^te. '	Ko)chins)cy answered Jt.

S&S&, it's C-W-' Whitlnek said at rhe nth&t end

tie

me.

'C.W.?' Kolchinsky replied in surprise. 'How did you
know we were here?'

'Jacques told me. I can't talk for long. Young and I are
here in Berne.'

'I know.'

'You know?' It was Whitlock's turn to be surprised.

'I had a photograph of you sent out from New York.
You were recognized by one of the staff at the airport.
Where are you staying?'

'That doesn't matter at the moment. Young's setting
up a hit on Calvieri.'

'When?'

'Now. This is the first chance I've had to call you since
we got here. Young picked up a case from a locker at the
airport. It has to be a high-powered rifle.'

'Where are you calling from?'

'A callbox opposite your hotel. Young went into the
building behind me a couple of minutes ago. It's my guess
he'll lure Calvieri out to the front of the hotel. What do
you want me to do?'

'Stop him. It's gone far enough. Are you armed?'

'I wish I was. I had to leave the Browning behind when
we fled the boarding house in Rome.'

'Do you want backup?'

'No back-up, thanks. If Young suspects for one moment
that I've double-crossed him he'll use the transmitter to
detonate the watch. I'll get him myself.'

zi8

EfHow?'

let me worry about that. Keep an eye on Calvieri

L«me, Try and he;? him in rk bold J'JJ caJJ jou

tan fact stettnt s*h it.* \5f7nitl«ŁU$ osiisi ansJ »im:

n

pKolchinsky recounted the conversation to Graham and
rina. He thought for a moment, then said, 'Sabrina, I
it you to go down to the foyer. If Calvieri does show
rface I want you to keep him occupied until I give you
all-clear sign.'

'How am I supposed to keep him occupied?'
'I'm sure you'll think of something,' Kolchinsky said,

ling the door. 'Now go on, you're wasting time.'
'I still say C.W. needs back-up,' Graham said, after , Kolchinsky had closed the door.
'No backup.'
'He's unarmed --'

'Michael!' Kolchinsky snapped. 'I'm as worried about
him as you are but he specifically said no back-up. All we
can do is wait for his call.'

'All we can do is hope for his call,' Graham muttered,
I then crossed to the tray to pour himself another cup of i coffee.

Whitlock emerged from the callbox and looked up at
the building behind him. Three floors. Several of the
third-floor windows were illuminated. The rest of the
building was in darkness. Young wouldn't risk using
the third floor. And the first floor was also out. He
wouldn't get the right angle on his shot from there. Which
left the second floor. Whitlock glanced at his watch.
Young already had a five-minute headstart. Whitlock

zi9

walked towards the alley at the side of the building.
He suddenly froze mid-step and the woman behind him
stumbled against his arm. He muttered an apology without
taking his eyes off the man in the fawn trenchcoat who
was standing at the entrance to the alley. He held a black
doctor's bag in his gloved hand. It was the same man
Whitlock had seen at the boarding house in Rome.
Escoletti looked about him casually, then disappeared
into the alley. Whitlock continued to stare at the spot
where Escoletti had been standing. How had he found
them so quickly? What if he managed to overpower Young
and take him away for questioning? What about the
transmitter?

Whitlock moved cautiously towards the alley, intent
on following Escoletti at a distance.

As Whitlock had predicted, Young had chosen the second
floor for the hit. Getting into the building had been easy.
The door leading into the alley was unlocked. Once inside
he had discovered that the building was some kind of
youth centre. According to the bulletin board, the first
floor housed an arts and crafts workshop, the second floor
a martial arts club and the third floor a discotheque. And
only the discotheque was open that evening. The noise
would provide the perfect cover for the hit. Nobody in
the building would hear the gunshot.

He had passed a couple of teenagers on the stairs
between the first and second floors but neither of them
had given him a second glance as they made their way to
the exit. The double doors were padlocked on the second
floor. It took him a few seconds to pick the lock, then he
eased one of the doors open and went inside. The street
light shone dimly through the Venetian blinds. He could

220

see the padded mats laid out neatly across the wooden
floorboards. Then he noticed the two glass cabinets against
the wall. He whistled softly to himself as he stared at their
contents. One of the cabinets contained a pair of sheathed tachi, the Japanese sword traditionally worn suspended
from the belt. The second cabinet contained ninja weaponry, kama, the sickle used for cutting corn, which
doubles as a lethal weapon; kusari-gama, a sickle attached
to a lead ball with a chain; nunchaku, the corn-beater,
consisting of two short lengths of wood joined by a chain; sat, an iron dagger protected by two lateral hooks which
is used to check, or deflect, the tachi; shuriken, the small,
iron projectile with sharp, serrated edges; and the tonfa, a twenty-inch oak rod with a cylindrical handle fixed
three-quarters of the way along its stem.

Young stared, fascinated, at the assortment of
weaponry until a loud hornblast from a taxi in the street
below brought him sharply back to his senses. He crossed
to the Venetian blinds where he opened his slim, black
case and carefully removed the sections of the specially
designed detachable Mauser SP66 sniper rifle which he
had asked Wiseman to get for him. He screwed on the
Zeiss 1.5--6 X 42 zoom telescopic lens then reached
through the Venetian blinds and opened the window. He
had a perfect view of the main entrance to the Metropole
Hotel. He took a cordless phone from the case and rang
the hotel. It was answered by one of the switchboard
operators and he asked for Calvieri's room.

'Pronto, Tony Calvieri.'

'You want to know who killed Pisani, don't you?'
; 'Who is this?'

'I'll meet you outside the hotel in two minutes. If you're
not there, I'll assume you're not interested and leave. Two I 'minutes.'

2.2.1

'How will I recognize you?'	|

Til recognize you.'

Young disconnected the line and replaced the phone in
the case. He picked up the sniper rifle and leaned the
barrel lightly on the window frame. He adjusted the sights
until he had a perfect image of the doorman's head in the
crosshairs. Then, curling his finger around the trigger, he
squeezed it gently. Click. He selected a 7.62. mm semi
jacketed soft point bullet from the case and fed it into the
breech. Like any good sniper, he only needed one bullet.
He rested the rifle on the window frame again and waited
for Calvieri to appear.

A smile touched the corners of his mouth when, a
minute later, the electronic doors parted and Calvieri
emerged into the street. He tightened his grip on the rifle
then lined up Calvieri's forehead in the crosshairs. His
finger rested lightly on the trigger but he held back from
firing when Calvieri suddenly swung round towards the
doors behind him. He looked to see who had distracted
Calvieri's attention. It couldn't be. It was a woman,
dressed differently, but closely resembling the prostitute
he had seen in Whitlock's room in Rome. His mind raced.
Who was she? Was she a Brigatista? Why was she in
Berne? What was her relationship with Calvieri? More to
the point, what was her relationship with Alexander?
Was Alexander working with Calvieri? Had Alexander
compromised the assignment? Alexander had a lot of
explaining to do. Then Young would kill him. He couldn't
afford to take any chances. But he had some unfinished
business to attend to first. He lined up Calvieri's forehead
in the sights again. He slowly tightened his finger on the
trigger.

The room was suddenly flooded with light.

'Drop the gun,' Escoletti ordered from the doorway.

ZZ2.

Young used the reflections in the window to watch the
behind him. He had two options. Try and shoot
on the turn. Or throw down the rifle and take his
|chances from there. It was obvious that the gunman wanted
alive, otherwise he would already have put a bullet
|in his back. He laid the rifle down carefully in front of
Ikim then turned round slowly to face his assailant. He
f looked from the Bernadelli in Escoletti's hand to the black
bag on the floor beside him. It had to be the man Alexander
had seen at the boarding house. A sudden thought crossed
his mind. What if Alexander was working in league with
him?

'Who are you?' Young asked. 'Red Brigades?'
'That's right,' Escoletti replied. 'You should have quit
while you were ahead. But, like so many before you, you
underestimated the Red Brigades. We're not the disjointed,
ramshackle organization our Government would have the
world believe. How do you think we were able to track
you down to that boarding house in Rome? How do you
think I was able to trace you here so quickly?'
'So what happens now?'

'You will be taken back to Italy and tried by a people's
court.'

'And submitted to your proletarian justice, no doubt?'
Young said with a sneer. 'You sound just like the Vietcong
I was fighting eighteen years ago. Unenlightened, uneducated
red scum.'

'Who brought your country to its knees,' Escoletti said
with evident satisfaction. 'The people triumphed over the fascisti, one of the greatest victories in socialist history.'
Whitlock appeared in the doorway behind Escoletti, a
5-inch length of lead piping in his hand. He pressed it into
Escoletti's back and told him to drop the gun. Escoletti
stiffened but made no move to drop the Bernadelli.

2.2.3

I'

11!	Whitlock's heart was racing. If Escoletti called his bluff
and turned on him he would be dead. It was as simple as
that. Escoletti finally let the Bernadelli fall to the floor.
Young picked it up before Whitlock had a chance to get
to it. Escoletti looked round at Whitlock, his eyes lingering
on the lead piping in his hand. His face remained expressionless.

Til spare you the kangaroo court,' Young said to
Escoletti, and shot him through the head.

'You didn't have to kill him!' Whitlock exclaimed,
staring at the body sprawled at his feet.

'That's right,' Young replied. 'Close the door.'

Whitlock closed the door behind him and when he
turned back to Young he found the Bernadelli trained on
him.

'I never did trust you,' Young said, taking a step
towards Whitlock. 'As I said to you in Rome, it was
General Wiseman who wanted you in on the operation.
Not me. I could have handled it by myself, no trouble.'

'I can see that,' Whitlock said sarcastically. 'You needed
me to save your arse at Pisani's house. And you needed
me to save it again tonight.'

'For which I'll be eternally grateful,' Young replied
with equal sarcasm. His eyes narrowed. 'Who was the
woman with Calvieri?'

Whitlock frowned. 'What woman? What are you talking
about?'

That so-called prostitute who came to your room in
Rome was out there talking to Calvieri not five minutes
ago. Who is she?'

'Is that what all this is about?' Whitlock said, gesturing
to the Bernadelli in Young's hand. 'You see a woman who ";	looks like an Italian prostitute talking to Calvieri and you
immediately jump to conclusions.'

2.Z4

'They were one and the same, I'm sure of it. I'm hardly

.ely to forget a face or a figure like that in a hurry.' I "What possible reason would that prostitute have for
ing up here to Berne? It makes no sense at all. And if
thought about it logically, you'd agree.'

'You're good, I'll grant you that. But you're not good

iugh. If you haven't told me who she is in five seconds'

ic I'll put a bullet in your left kneecap. I'm told the pain is unbearable. Another five seconds and I'll put a bullet
|*n your right kneecap. Then, if you still won't talk, I'll
Hresort to the transmitter. I'm dying to try it out. It's the
first of its kind. If it's any good I might just patent it. I'm
Sure the CIA would be interested.'

'You're mad,' Whitlock said, staring at the glazed ex- i: pression in Young's eyes.

'Five seconds. Starting now.'

'Look, I don't know who she is,' Whitlock said in
' desperation, his eyes flickering towards the glass cabinets
on the wall. They were out of reach. Even if he could have
reached them, he would have had to smash the glass to
get to the weapons. Young would have shot him long
before he got there.

'Two seconds,' Young said, reaching his left hand into
his jacket pocket for the transmitter.

Whitlock saw his chance. He lunged at Young, bringing
the lead piping down across the back of his gun hand.
Young cried out in pain and the Bernadelli fell to the
floor. Whitlock grabbed Young's wrist as he pulled the
transmitter from his pocket and ran him backwards into
the cabinet containing the two ceremonial tachi. The glass
shattered and Whitlock slammed the back of Young's
hand against the shards still embedded in the frame. A
piece of glass sliced across the back of Young's hand
and in his haste to pull away from the searing pain the

2.2.5

transmitter slipped from his bloodied fingers. Whitlock
made the mistake of taking his eyes off Young for a split
second to kick the transmitter out of the way. Young
butted Whitlock savagely in the face and followed through
with two hammering body punches, dropping Whitlock
to his knees. Young grabbed the nearest tachi, wrenched
it out of its sheath, and, using both hands to grip the hilt,
lashed out at Whitlock, who managed to hurl himself
sideways a split second before the blade, missing him by
inches, sliced through the mat where he had been kneeling.
Whitlock brought his foot up sharply into Young's midriff
then, springing to his feet, he managed to draw the second tachi from its sheath before Young had time to catch his
breath.

They circled each other warily, the tachi held away
from their bodies, neither of them prepared to make the
first move. Young suddenly gripped the hilt firmly in both
hands and scythed the blade at Whitlock, who parried the
blow with the blunt edge of his tachi. Young lashed out
again but this time Whitlock managed to evade the blade,
which smashed into the second cabinet, spilling several of
the ninja weapons on the floor around them. Young
swivelled round as Whitlock aimed a thrust at his midriff
and blocked the attempt. The two blades locked and
Whitlock shoved Young against the wall, his arm shaking
as he forced the two blades ever closer to Young's face.
Young lashed out with his foot, catching Whitlock on the
knee. Whitlock stumbled back in pain, lost his footing on
one of the mats, and fell to the floor. Young noticed the
transmitter lying beside the door. He discarded the tachi and made a grab for it.

Whitlock knew he wouldn't be able to reach Young
before he pressed the button. He looked around in desperation
for the Bernadelli. It was out of reach. His fingers

iz6

I something cold on the floor beside him. An eight- \shuriken. It was his only chance. Young uncapped
'transmitter's protective seal and looked up trilantly.
Whitlock flung the shuriken. It struck Young
tin the forehead, spraying blood across the wall behind
, The transmitter slipped from Young's hand and the
lishment was still mirrored in his eyes when he fell
rard on to the floor.
I-Whitlock got to his feet gingerly and retrieved the
asmitter, which lay next to Young's body. He secured
protective cap over the button again then crossed to
: case by the window and used the cordless telephone
»call Kolchinsky and tell him what had happened. Kolchasky
told him to go back to the boarding house where
: was staying and he would arrange for a scientist to be
Esent down from Zurich to defuse the booby-trapped
I watch. Whitlock replaced the telephone in the case and walked to the door, where he paused to pick up the
rBernadelli. It could come in useful. He pocketed it then
^looked around slowly at the havoc before closing the door
behind him and padlocking it again.

Kolchinsky replaced the receiver and told Graham what
had happened.

'Is he all right?' Graham asked once Kolchinsky had
finished speaking.

'Mercifully yes. I told him to go back to the boarding
house.'

'Surely he'd be of more use to us here?'

'And let Calvieri see him?'
-- 'That's being a bit overcautious, isn't it?'

'I don't think so. Remember, the Red Brigades have
got a good description of C.W. I'm not saying Calvieri

Z2.7

would link him to the hit but it's not worth taking that
chance. It's best if we keep him in the wings until we need
him.'

'I see your point,' Graham admitted.

'I want you to go down to the foyer and tell Sabrina
what's happened. I'll let you know when Fabio and Commissioner
Kuhlmann get back from Worb.'

'What do you want us to do until they get back?'

'There isn't much you can do.'

'What are you going to do about the bodies across the
road?'

Til have to discuss that with Commissioner Kuhlmann
when he gets back.'

'And Wiseman?' Graham asked, as Kolchinsky led him
to the door.

'That's up to the Colonel. I'm going to call him now.'
Kolchinsky opened the door. 'And Michael, leave Calvieri
alone.'

'When have I ever disobeyed an order, Sergei?' Graham
asked, feigning a look of innocence.

'Frequently,' Kolchinsky replied, closing the door.

Heads turned when Graham emerged from the lift but
he ignored the curious looks as he scanned the foyer for
Sabrina. She wasn't there. He sighed irritably, then crossed
to the reception desk and asked for her to be paged.
She arrived at the desk within seconds of the call being
made.

'Where have you been?' Graham asked, leading her
away from the desk.

'I was in the bar,' she replied, 'having a drink with
Calvieri.'

'Sounds cosy,' he muttered.

She ignored the sarcasm. 'Any news of C.W.?'

He told her briefly what had happened.

128

'That's a relief,' she said. 'I almost missed Calvieri when
|be came down here.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, I had this plan to call the switchboard from a
j house phone the moment I saw Calvieri and have him
paged to the reception desk. I would have pretended to
have been an anonymous caller with information on the
Pisani murder. I could have kept him talking on the phone
long enough for C.W. to deal with Young.'

'So what went wrong?'

'I was watching the lift. Calvieri must have used the
stairs. You can't see them from the house phones. I only
saw him as he was about to leave the hotel.'

'How did you get him back inside?' Graham asked,
glancing at the electronic doors.

'How could I, without arousing suspicion? Fortunately
he came back in when he saw me. It must have been close.'
She gestured in the direction of the bar lounge. 'I'd better
get back. Why not join us?'

'No thanks, I'm pretty selective about who I drink
with.'

'And I'm not, is that it?'

'I don't drink with terrorists,' he said sharply.

This is business, Mike, just remember that.'

'Oh yeah?'

'What's that supposed to mean?' An elderly couple
looked at them, startled by her raised voice.

'Is there a problem?' Graham asked, staring at them
coldly. They moved away.

'I'm not going to have a slanging match with you out
here, Mike. If you don't want to come for a drink, that's
fine by me. I just wanted . . .' she trailed off with a shrug
and turned to leave.
- He grabbed her arm. 'You just wanted what?'

2.2.9

'It doesn't matter,' she retorted, then shrugged off his
hand and strode back into the bar.

Graham exhaled deeply, then went after her. They were
seated at a table in the corner of the room.

Calvieri saw him and beckoned him over. He pulled
out a chair for Graham to sit down. 'Mike! Come and
join us. What will you have to drink?'

'The coldest bottle of Perrier you've got,' Graham said,
glancing up at the waiter.

'I see you changed your mind,' Sabrina said, eyeing
Graham sharply.

'Yeah,' Graham muttered, then sat back and looked
distantly around the packed room.

The waiter returned with the Perrier water and a glass
filled with ice. He placed them on the table in front of
Graham.

'Please, this is on me,' Calvieri said, reaching out for
the chit.

Quickly Graham grabbed the chit from the table and
signed it. He looked across at Calvieri after the waiter had
left. 'You buy your own drinks. I'll buy mine. That way
there can be no misunderstanding.'

'Ever since we met you've gone out of your way to
condemn me for my beliefs. What makes you so sure
you're right?'

'That's a question you should put to the families of all
those people the Red Brigades have murdered in the past
twenty years,' Graham replied, holding Calvieri's gaze.
'You might just learn something.'

'We only hit legitimate targets, Mr Graham. Politicians
like Moro and Tarantelli. Or soldiers like General
Giorgieri or your own Leamon Hunt, the director general
of the Sinai Peacekeeping Forces we assassinated in 1984. Fascist!.'

Z30

-Graham drank a mouthful of Perrier and sat forward,
; arms resting on the table. 'What about all those inno
: bystanders, caught in the crossfire of your so-called
lit against fascism? Are they also legitimate targets?'
'It's regrettable, but there will always be innocent
jalties in this kind of conflict.'

Graham shook his head in disgust. 'The standard
Irrorist reply. You know you can't possibly condone it,

you evade the question.'

'The Red Brigades don't kill senselessly, Mr Graham.
^There's always a reason for our actions.' Calvieri took a
[sip of brandy, then placed his glass on the coaster in front
&of him. 'You may think we're just a group of terrorists
; out to spread anarchy and revolution. It's not the case.
We have aims and ambitions like any other political
organization. We have a strong following, especially
; amongst the working classes.'

'You did, until you killed Aldo Moro in '78,' Sabrina
cut in quickly. 'You've never managed to regain that level
of support since.'

'Granted, killing Moro was a mistake. It gave the
authorities a martyr and we lost an important hostage
who could have brought us a lot of money. But that
was a long time ago. We have won back that support,
irrespective of what the Government would lead the world
to believe.

'This country has had to endure an endless succession
of inept, corrupt governments, none more so than the
present communist government under Enzo Bellini. The
balance of payments is the worst in living memory, unemployment
is up fifteen per cent and tens of thousands of
Italians are living below the poverty line.'

'The perfect climate for revolution,' Graham said.
'The perfect climate for change,' Calvieri retorted. 'The

2-31

people have lost faith in the politicians; both the Christian
Democrats and the PCI, the Communist Party. It's time
to brush aside the dead wood and replace it with a new,
dynamic force in politics capable of putting this country
back on its feet again.'

'In other words, the Red Brigades,' Sabrina concluded.

'Not necessarily, no.' Calvieri watched the puzzlement
in their expressions. 'Of course there are those Brigatisti who won't settle for anything less than the overthrow of
the democratically elected government, in the blinkered
belief that the Red Brigades could seize power in the
ensuing confusion.'

'Like Zocchi?' Sabrina said.

'He was the worst. But there are others, some even on
the committee. And these are the ones the authorities
highlight in the media, making us all out to be bloodthirsty,
revolutionary anarchists whose only law comes
from the barrel of a gun.'

'You're their spokesman, surely that gives you a platform
for your own views?' Sabrina said.

'I wish it were that simple. The Red Brigades only make
the news when they fall foul of the law. That's the only
time the media want to know me. Of course I try to put
across the other side of the story, but once the interview
gets back to the studio it's butchered by the editors and
by the time it reaches the television news I've been quoted
completely out of context. The media depend on viewing
figures to survive, and sensationalism seems to be the way
to achieve them. I can't win.'

'So what are your aims, if not the violent overthrow of
the government?' Graham asked.

'Don't get me wrong, I'm not opposed to the violent
overthrow of the government. Especially this government.
If a volunteer was needed to put Bellini out of Italy's

2.32

I'd be glad to put the gun to his head and pull
trigger. It's just not a viable proposition, not here
Europe. That's where the militants and I disagree.
; the armed forces and the police just going to stand by
let us topple the government in a blaze of gunfire?
course not. We have to be realistic. The answer is a
ilition.'

Graham sat back and folded his arms across his chest.
Fell us about it.'

'We want the working classes to have a say in the
itnning of the country. At the moment they don't, which
(why there is such an unacceptably high level of unemfoloyment.
What I'd like to see in the foreseeable future is jr the PCI to take on board two, maybe three, Brigatisti nd give them a portfolio in the government.'

'With an eye on the Red Brigades finally running the
suntry?' Graham said.

'It's a nice thought but we just don't have the experience
| to run the country by ourselves. Again, that's where the
militants and I disagree. I think it would work. The PCI
thave the experience and we have the input of ideas which
jShave been sadly lacking in the past few governments.'

'You're overlooking one point,' Sabrina said. 'Some
fyears back the PCI denounced you as "common terror
lists". What makes you think they would agree to a co
laKtion?'

'The Christian Democrats are currently ahead in the
Spoils because of the way the PCI have wrecked the econjpomy.
At this rate the PCI don't stand a chance of being
'returned to power at the next election. But with the
Isupport we have amongst the working classes we could
|:not only win them the next election, but the one after that
kas well. That's not something to be taken lightly.' Calvieri
f finished his brandy. 'It's all hypothetical at the moment.

2-33

We do have contacts inside the PCI but the final decision
would lie with Bellini and his senior ministers.'

'And if they don't agree to your terms they'll become
"legitimate targets" like Moro and Tarantelli?'

Calvieri smiled at Graham. 'They're already legitimate
targets. So you see, the sooner they agree to meet us, the
better it will be for all concerned.'

'Blackmail,' Graham muttered. 'I might have guessed.'

'I prefer to call it common sense,' Calvieri replied.

Over the loudspeakers came the request that Michael
Graham contact the switchboard immediately. He crossed
to the house phone at the end of the bar. The call was
from Kolchinsky.

'Commissioner Kuhlmann and Major Paluzzi have just
got back,' Kolchinsky told him. 'We'll have that meeting j
now.'

'Your room?'

'Yes. Is Sabrina with you?'

'Yeah. And Calvieri.'

'I told you to leave Calvieri alone,' Kolchinsky said
sharply.

'Sabrina was having a drink with him. What was I
supposed to do, sit at the next table?' Graham raked his j
fingers through his hair. 'Do you want us to bring him
along?'

'No, just the two of you. We won't be able to talk i
freely if he's there. Sabrina can brief him later.'

'Okay. We'll be up in a couple of minutes,' Graham
said, then replaced the receiver and returned to the table.

'Sergei?' Sabrina asked, looking up at him.

'Yeah, he wants to see us right away.'

'Does that include me?' Calvieri asked.

'No. Sabrina will brief you later if there's anything you
need to know.'

*34

'It's so refreshing to work in an atmosphere of trust
i cooperation,' Calvieri said bitterly.
'I'd prefer to call it common sense,' Graham replied
(rtth a forced smile.

They took the lift to the third floor and walked the
art distance to Kolchinsky's room. Sabrina knocked,
jlchinsky opened the door and ushered them inside.
'I hear you've been drinking with the enemy,' Paluzzi
aid with a smile.

'Not by choice, believe me.' Graham went on to explain
phat Calvieri had told them about the possible coalition
veen the Red Brigades and the PCI.
'I've never heard about it before,' Kuhlmann said.
'I'm not surprised,' Paluzzi replied. 'It's not exactly
thing the PCI want the world to know about. At least of yet.'

'So you're saying there will be a PCI-Red Brigades
alition at the next election?' Graham said in amazement.
'It's certainly a possibility. As Calvieri said, the PCI
I't stand a chance of being returned to power. They
the extra votes. And the Red Brigades are capable,
i theory, of giving them those extra votes.'
: 'But surely the Italian people wouldn't accept the co
iition?' Sabrina said.

'I don't have to tell you how bad our economy is at the
ament. And it's getting worse by the day. The people we lost faith in the politicians. Can you honestly blame
i? They want hope for the future. And if a PCI-Red
ades coalition can offer them that hope, they'll be

into power.'

'So what's stopping the coalition happening?' Kolchin
ky asked.
'In a word, Bellini. He's totally opposed to the idea.'
'At least someone's got some scruples.'

2.35

Paluzzi laughed and patted Graham on the shoulder.
'You obviously don't know about Enzo Bellini, Mike.
He'd make a pact with the devil if he thought it would
keep him in power. It's not the coalition that bothers him.
It's the idea that he could lose the Prime Ministership and
all the privileges that go with the job.'

'Would he be deposed?' Sabrina asked.

'Undoubtedly. Along with most of his cabinet. Especially
his senior ministers, who are all loyal to him.
Although I don't vote for the PCI, I have to admit that
they do have several up and coming politicians who could
work wonders for the country. They all back the coalition.
And that's why none of them have been given posts in the
government.'

Kolchinsky turned away from the window, his eyebrows
furrowed thoughtfully. 'What if the vial was going
to be used not only to free Zocchi but also to force Bellini
to step down as Prime Minister so that these coalition
talks could take place?'

Paluzzi shook his head. 'Opposition to the coalition
isn't just confined to the PCI. The Red Brigades also have
their dissenters. And Zocchi was the loudest of them. He
was a militant who wouldn't settle for anything less than
the violent overthrow of the government in power. Negotiations
between the PCI and the Red Brigades were out
of the question as far as he was concerned. And that went
for the Rome cell in general. The idea of the coalition was
drafted by Pisani, Calvieri and Luigi Bettinga, Genoa's
brigade chief, the three so-called "moderates" on the •
committee. Had any of them been involved in the theft of
the vial I'd have said you had a valid point. But not with
Zocchi and Ubrino.'

There was a knock at the door and Paluzzi answered
it. He stepped aside to let the two waiters enter and

sky told them to leave the trays on the dressing,
Sabrina signed the chit and they left the room,
ere's tea, coffee and sandwiches,' Kolchinsky said,
ng towards the trays. 'Help yourselves.'
luzzi poured himself a coffee then used his teaspoon
: the edges of the bread to see what the sandwiches
tined.
ordered you egg mayonnaise and cheese salad,'

nsky said behind him.
|| Paluzzi looked round in surprise. 'How did you know

i a vegetarian?' iTIt's in your file at UNACO,' Kolchinsky said, helping

elf to a couple.
j='You've got a file on me at UNACO?' Paluzzi exclaimed,
oking from Kolchinsky to Sabrina.
Graham put a hand on Paluzzi's shoulder as he reached
for a sandwich. 'Thing is, Fabio, you just can't be
»careful when it conies to differentiating between friend
I foe. One day friend, next day foe.'
'Like Calvieri?' Paluzzi said.
'No, he'll always be foe,' Graham replied.
Sabrina took a cup of coffee to Kuhlmann who was
ated by the window. 'Did you come across anything in
i helicopter?'

'Nothing. I've got a team of forensic scientists
wng over it now but I can't see them coming up with
nuch.'

'There wasn't a single fingerprint on it,' Paluzzi said,
aking across at Sabrina. 'Not one.'
'What about Ubrino and Francia?' Graham asked.
!*Surely the locals must have seen them?'

'Someone gave two men fitting their descriptions a lift
|to the railway station,' Kuhlmann said. 'They seem to
|have disappeared into thin air after that.'

Z37

'They must have bought tickets. Surely somebody must
remember them?'

'The staff at the station were questioned thoroughly,
Mr Graham. None could recall them.'

'What if they never boarded the train but slipped back
into town?'

'We thought of that, Miss Carver,' Kuhlmann said. 'All
accommodation centres have been checked. Nothing. I've
also instigated the surveillance of all known terrorist sympathizers
in Switzerland. If Ubrino or Francia are staying
with any of them, we'll know about it.'

There isn't much else we can do, except wait,' Paluzzi
said, sitting down next to Graham.

'Have you spoken to the Colonel, Sergei?' Graham
asked.

Kolchinsky nodded. 'He's flying out to Switzerland
tonight. I'm picking him up at the airport tomorrow
morning.'

'What did he say about Wiseman?'

'He's gone to ground. His present whereabouts are
unknown.'

'And Alexander?' Sabrina asked.

'He was spotted at a tube station in London this morning.
Scotland Yard are confident of picking him up within
the next couple of days.'

'The ambulances have arrived,' Paluzzi said, peering
down into the street.

'What ambulances?' Sabrina asked, craning her neck
to look over Paluzzi's shoulder.

'To take away the bodies of Young and Escoletti,'
Paluzzi replied, then stood aside to give her a better view
of what was happening in the street below them.

'Escoletti?' Graham said, crossing to the window.

'Giancarlo Escoletti, the Red Brigades' most senior

138

bitman,' Paluzzi told him. 'Just the sort of person to be

it after Pisani's killers.'

'How do you know it was Escoletti?' Sabrina asked.
^Have you been over there?'

Paluzzi shook his head. 'I knew who it was when Sergei
^mentioned the black doctor's bag found beside the body.
; It was Escoletti's trademark.'

'C.W. won't be implicated, will he?' Graham asked,
-turning to Kolchinsky.

'I cleared that with the Commissioner as soon as he
arrived,' Kolchinsky replied, indicating Kuhlmann. 'It'll
be an open and shut case. Escoletti surprised Young, a
fight ensued, and they killed each other. At least that's the
story that will appear in the morning papers.'

Graham put his empty cup on the tray. 'Talking about
the morning, hadn't we better get on with the briefing?'

'Quite right, Michael. Commissioner Kuhlmann and I
will meet the Colonel's plane at seven-thirty then the three
of us all go directly to the Offenbach Centre for a meeting
with representatives of those countries taking part in the
summit.'

'Have they already been briefed about the vial?' Sabrina
asked.

Kolchinsky nodded. 'The Colonel told the sixteen Ambassadors
at the United Nations as soon as we knew
that Ubrino's final destination was the Offenbach Centre.
They've been kept up to date on all the latest developments.'

'What about us?' Graham asked. 'What will we be
doing?'

'You three, plus Calvieri, will be in a car parked a few
hundred yards away from the Offenbach Centre. You'll
be in constant radio contact with me.'

'What use will we be there?' Graham exclaimed in

Z39

disbelief. 'We know what Ubrino looks like. We should
be working with the security guards, not sitting in some
damn car.'

Kolchinsky studied the remaining sandwiches on the
plate then selected one and turned back to Graham.
'Ubrino also knows what you look like. All of you. And
if he sees any of you at the Offenbach Centre he's likely
to smell a rat and take off. Then what? We wouldn't know
where to start looking for him. At least this way we can
pin him down to one place. And as I told you earlier, an
extra hundred policemen and women have been drafted
in to help look for him.'

'Chances are he'll wear a disguise,' Paluzzi said, looking
at Kuhlmann. 'And if he does, I guarantee that none of
your people will recognize him. He's a master of deception.'

'I've heard about these disguises,' Kuhlmann replied.
'That's why everyone entering the building will be subjected
to a body search. We also have X-ray machines at
all entrances to check bags and briefcases. He may be able
to disguise himself, but he won't be able to disguise the
vial. He won't get into the building undetected, of that
I'm certain.'

'I wish I could share your confidence,' Paluzzi said,
then turned to Kolchinsky. 'Do you need me for anything
else? I've some calls to make before I go to bed.'

'No, I don't think so,' Kolchinsky replied.

'What time do you want us in position, Sergei?' Sabrina
asked.

'I'll be there from eight o'clock. Any time after that.'
Kolchinsky took a map .of Berne from under a dossier on
the bedside table and handed it to her. 'I've marked the
street with a cross where I want the four of you to wait.
It's close to the highway.'

2.40

hat about radios?' Graham asked,
iibio's got one. It's all you'll need.' Kolchinsky shot
am a hard look. 'As long as everyone obeys orders
I stays together.'

iYeah, sure,' Graham muttered, then stood up and
a yawn. 'It's been a long day and I, for. one, am
tered.'

ii're not the only one,' Sabrina agreed, getting to
:feet.

r'Not so fast, young lady,' Kolchinsky said. 'You've still
t to brief Calvieri before you go to bed.'
fc*You're all heart, Sergei,' she replied with a grimace.
!| Kolchinsky saw Kuhlmann and Paluzzi to the door
turned back to Graham and Sabrina. 'Strange how
: human mind works. There we all were, tiptoeing about
if this wasn't really a crisis. But behind the facade of
afessional detachment we were all asking ourselves the
jme questions. What if Ubrino slips the net and opens
vial? How many millions will die before an antidote
> found? And we'd be among the first to be contaminated,
fet none of us has voiced our anxieties, myself included.
| Strange, isn't it?'

'That's what I like about you, Sergei,' Graham said,
| patting Kolchinsky on the back. 'Your unfailing optiIpism.'
Kolchinsky smiled fleetingly, then exhaled deeply. 'It's
f going to be a long night. I know I'm not going to get any
peep.'

Sabrina glanced at Graham and noticed the uncertainty
=m his eyes. A mirror image of her own? Kolchinsky was
fright. None of them wanted to address the issue head on.
Not even Graham. The most vociferous amongst them.
S; 'None of us will, Sergei, you can be sure of that,' ^ Graham said then disappeared out into the corridor.

141

Sabrina looked across at Kolchinsky who was standing
with his back to her at the window then turned and left
the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Whitlock stared at the food in front of him. Choucroute
garnie, sauerkraut with boiled ham and Vienna sausages.
One of his favourite dishes. He had bought it on the way
back to the boarding house but when he had opened the
carton in his room his appetite seemed to vanish. He just
wasn't hungry. He had prodded the food absently with
his fork for the last hour without making any attempt to
eat it. Now it was cold and unappetizing. He suddenly
stabbed the fork into one of the sausages and pushed the :
carton away from him. He glanced at his watch. 10.40;
p.m. What did time matter? He stood up and crossed to!
the telephone on the bedside table. He picked up the
receiver and rang the apartment in New York. He let it ring for a minute. No reply. How many times had he rung j
the number in the last hour? Ten? More like fifteen. And i
each time the same. He had rung Carmen's work number j
half a dozen times as well, with the same result. Hej
replaced the receiver, then walked to the window and
looked down into the alley below him. A teenage couple
were kissing in the shadows of a doorway. He turned,
away angrily and sat down again. He was out of his mind j
with worry. Where was Carmen? Her sister hadn't seen
her. Her friends hadn't seen her. It was completely out of j
character for her to act like this. He had called all the
main hospitals in New York but none of them had any;
record of her admittance. He had even contacted the city mortuaries but again his enquiries had drawn a blank. He j
was desperate to talk to her. He suddenly banged his fist j
angrily on the table. He had to stop dwelling on Carmen's \

2.41.

irance and concentrate on the assignment,
in his selfishness. He had to pull himself together.

cly.

? He picked up one of the keys on the table. It was for
ig's room. He had been meaning to search the room
since he got back to the boarding house. Now was a
time. It would help him to take his mind off
irmen. Well, he could try. He left his room, looked the
i of the deserted corridor, then moved to the adjacent
>r, unlocked it, and slipped inside. He closed the door
bind him and switched on the light. The room was
ideal to his own. A double bed, a table, a chair, a chest i drawers and a washbasin beside the window. Even the
wish wallpaper was the same. He searched the chest of
awers and found a passport in the bottom drawer in
name of Vincent Yannick. A Walther ?5 lay beside
: passport. It was a good, reliable handgun, used mainly
' the West German and Dutch police forces and exported
isively to both North and South America. He still
erred the Browning for accuracy. Not that he had
nch choice. The Browning Sabrina had given to him in
jme was in the hands of the NOCS. As was everything
: they had left behind at the boarding house. He looked
under the bed and pulled out the pale-blue holdall Young
had taken from the locker at Berne's Belpmoos Airport.
He unzipped it. Inside were bundles of Swiss francs, all in
8sed notes. He would give the money to Kolchinsky to
bnd over to UNICEF.

He looked around sharply when he heard the noise. It
||ame from next door, from within his own room. He
imediately thought of the scientist being sent from
IZurich to de-activate the booby-trapped watch. But there
|was another possibility. A Red Brigades assassin. He
peered out into the corridor. It was still empty. He closed

2-43

the door silently behind him and approached his ov
room cautiously, the Walther gripped tightly in his hand
The door was ajar. He kicked it open and dropped to onti
knee, training the Walther on the figure standing by the|
window. The man was in his forties with short blond
hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He raised his hands
slowly.

'Who are you?' Whitlock demanded.

'My name is Dr Hans Gottfried,' came the nervousj
reply. 'Monsieur Rust sent me. I did knock on the door;
but there was no reply. That is why I came inside.'

Whitlock got to his feet and tucked the Walther into
his belt. 'I'm sorry if I startled you but I couldn't afford!
to take any chances.'

Gottfried lowered his hands. 'I quite understand.'

'Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Coffee? That's
about all they serve here.'

'Nothing, thank you. May I see the watch?'

Whitlock held out his arm. Gottfried studied the watch
for some time, then asked to see the transmitter. He turned]
it around in his hand then undid the protective cap toj
expose the detonator button.

'Don't touch that!' Whitlock shouted, his eyes wide inj
horror.

Gottfried smiled gently. 'I do not intend to, I assure|
you. I was just looking at the design.'

Whitlock slumped on to the bed. 'I'm sorry, I'm just|
on edge. I've been like this ever since I was tricked into
wearing this damn thing. What if the strap came loos
while I was asleep? What if Young went on drinking and
inadvertently strayed more than three miles away fror
the boarding house? You could count the number o|
hours' sleep I've had since Monday on one hand. I'r
exhausted.'

2-44

{lean well imagine,' Gottfried said, picking up an
case from beside the bed. 'You will sleep well
t, I promise you that.'

the hell could he sleep well not knowing
: Carmen was? He stifled a yawn, then forced a quick
when he noticed that Gottfried was watching

> you know anything about the origins of the device?'
ied asked, placing the case on the table.
le did say it was the first of its kind and he had this

idea to patent it if it proved successful.'
iomemade. I thought as much. That means the trans
er could also be booby-trapped.'

iJ'Wonderful,' Whitlock muttered, then crossed to the low and sat on the edge of the sill. 'What's the next s?'

pSottfried patted the attache case. 'This contains a port;
scanner we developed last year. It works on the same
riple as the X-ray machines used at airports to check
es. We will be able to see if the transmitter is
by-trapped.'
!*And if it is? What then?'

iJfThat would depend on the nature of the device,'
ried replied, opening the case and starting to piece
ther the machine. 'If it is a tricky operation we will
: to fly back to Zurich and defuse it in the laboratory,
if something were to go wrong, God forbid, there
aid be a medical team on standby.to give you immediate

mce.'
*That's comforting to know,' Whitlock replied, grim

IfWe have to accept that possibility,' Gottfried said,
icing up at Whitlock. 'The only way to de-activate this
|ice is by cutting it off at the power source. That means

2.45

|j	opening the casing. And if this man Young knew anything
|| about booby-traps, he could have made the job very
|! difficult indeed.'

|l	Whitlock wiped the back of his hand across his clammy
|f: forehead.

Iff:	Gottfried removed a length of flex from the case and
j| held up the plug which was attached to the end of it.
!l|: 'Where is the nearest socket?'
j|j; 'By the bed. Here, I'll plug it in for you.'
j| 'Thank you,' Gottfried said, handing the flex to
I . Whitlock.
jj| 'Okay?'
if 'Ja, it is working.'

I"	Whitlock took up a position behind Gottfried's chair
I: and looked more closely at the apparatus inside the attache
Hi case: a twelve-inch fold-up square box, with protective
|i: curtains at each end, a compact control console and
||: a monitor which was built into the lid of the case. Gottfried
placed the transmitter inside the chamber, then
pressed a series of keys on the console in front of him.
An image of the transmitter's components appeared on
the screen.

'The normal two wires connected to the detonator cap,'
Gottfried said, pointing them out with the tip of his pen.
'Nothing unusual there.'

'What about the sides of the case? He could have set a
hair-trigger device which would detonate the watch if any
attempt was made to open the transmitter.'

Gottfried enlarged each side of the transmitter in turn
but there were no strands of wire crossing the joins between
the two halves of the case.

'There is another possibility,' Gottfried said at length.
'A light-emitting diode. It is a tiny photocell incorporated
into the circuit which would trigger off the explosive

2.46

the moment it came into contact with a light

»

pin other words, when you removed the back of the

smitter.'

pExactly. But there is a way of getting round it. Infrared
bt.'
fi'Does that mean I'm going to have to fly back to Zurich

you?'Whitlock asked.

T'That is up to you. There is an infra-red light built
this system but if you would prefer to go to
rich '

I 'Not if we can do it here,' Whitlock cut in. 'I'm on
indby. My colleagues may need me at any time.'
'Very well. Will you switch off the light and close the
tains, please? The infra-red light can only work in
nplete darkness.'
I*' Whitlock did as he was asked. Gottfried activated the
a-red, which was built into the lid of the case, then
pitched off the scanner and removed the transmitter from
chamber. He placed it face down on the table then
Jected a screwdriver from the miniature tool kit he had
iken from his pocket and began to unscrew the first of
: four screws holding the two halves of the case together,
iiitlock remained motionless behind him, his breathing
hallow and ragged. He wiped the sweat from his eyes
en bit his lower lip painfully when Gottfried placed the
aurth screw on the table and gingerly lifted the back off
be transmitter. He breathed out deeply and managed a
ervous smile when Gottfried held up the back half of the
lease to show him that it was perfectly harmless. Gottfried
{took a pair of pliers from the kit and studied the two wires
|more closely. One blue. One yellow. The standard wiring
; for a device of that kind. He used the tip of the pliers to
look under the wires for any booby-trap that may not

2-47

have shown up on the monitor. Nothing. He sat back and
shook his head slowly.

'What's wrong?' Whitlock asked anxiously.

'I have this feeling that something is not right,' Gottfried
replied, staring at the two wires. 'It is almost as if he is
inviting us to go ahead and cut the wires. Why go to such
lengths to booby-trap the watch but not the transmitter?
It makes no sense.'

Whitlock remained silent. Not that he could have
spoken anyway. His throat was suddenly dry. Gottfried
took a small scalpel from the kit and cut a two-inch gash
in the yellow flex. He peeled the plastic back and studied
the fine network of wires inside it. He did the same with
the blue flex and it was a couple of minutes before he sat
back and nodded to himself.

'Well?' Whitlock asked.

'It is booby-trapped.' Gottfried used the scalpel to point
out a single strand of wire amongst the network inside
the yellow flex. 'There it is.'

Whitlock stared at Gottfried. 'How can you tell? It just
looks like another wire to me.'

'It would, to an untrained eye. I have been defusingj
explosive devices for the past fifteen years. I know whal
to look for.' Gottfried used the scalpel as a pointer and
followed the passage of the wire to the detonator cap. 'I
you look closely you will see that this strand was connected j
separately from the other wires. The perfect booby-]
trap.'

'Is there one in the blue flex as well?'

Gottfried shook his head. 'It is not necessary. Both]
lengths of flex have to be cut to defuse the device. He only j
needed to booby-trap one of them.'

'Thank God for suspicious minds,' Whitlock saic
wiping his forearm across his forehead.

248

lore like devious minds. The only way to beat these
1 of people is to think like them.'
Gottfried picked up the pliers and cut through the blue
e. Then, using the tip of the screwdriver to isolate the
by-trap, he cut the remaining wires inside the yellow
to make safe the transmitter.
''You can take off the watch now.'
'Whitlock stared at the watch, an uncertainty in his eyes,
i *Trust me, Mr Whitlock, the watch is perfectly safe
»w.'

'It's not that I don't trust you. It's Young I don't trust.'
rGottfried switched the light on again then turned back
Whitlock. 'You are worried about the booby-trap in
strap, not so?'

Whitlock nodded. 'As I said, I don't trust that bastard
; inch. It would be just like him to have the last laugh.'
'The booby-trap needs to work off a power source. The ver source has been cut, so the booby-trap cannot
ark. It is as simple as that.' Gottfried smiled at the doubt
FWhitlock's eyes. 'What must I do to convince you?'
fWhitlock sat on the edge of the bed and smiled ruefully
attfried. 'Nothing. I'm convinced.'
i take off the watch.'

litlock undipped the strap and let out a deep breath
i the watch slipped off his wrist on to the back of his
He eased it over his fingers and dropped it on to
bed.
'Thanks,' Whitlock said softly, massaging his wrist

the watch had been pressed against his skin.
e'l am glad to be of assistance.' Gottfried pointed to the
i. 'May I take it with me? I would like to examine it
: closely in the laboratory.'

take it,' Whitlock said, handing the watch to
ied. 'I never want to see it again.'

M9

Gottfried smiled, then dismantled the X-ray machine.

'Can I at least buy you a drink before you go back to j
Zurich?' Whitlock asked.

'That is very kind of you but I have to get back as]
quickly as possible. Yours is not the only such difficulty I
awaiting my attention, you understand.'

'Of course. I hope it all goes well.'

'I am sure it will.' Gottfried closed the attache case and j
locked it. 'Nice to have met you, Mr Whitlock.'

'Likewise,' Whitlock said, shaking Gottfried's hand. 'I]
just wish it had been under more relaxing conditions.'

'C'est la vie,' Gottfried replied with a resigned shrugj|
then took his leave.

Whitlock closed the door behind him then kicked offl
his shoes and lay on the bed, his hands clasped behind his I
head. He knew he should be feeling great relief now that]
he was rid of the watch. But he only felt empty. It wasj
probably the same feeling the condemned man feels on!
the eve of his execution. He stifled a yawn. His body wasj
exhausted but his mind was awake. Very awake. HeJ
glanced at the telephone and thought about Graham,!
Sabrina and Kolchinsky. He knew none of them would!
be sleeping. But at least they had each other for company.!
He had nobody. Not even his wife. He'd probably getj
back to the apartment and find the divorce pipers in the
post. If he got back, he reminded himself. That all de-j
pended on Ubrino.

He sat up and reached for the telephone. He rang the!
apartment in New York. He let it ring for the customary]
minute. No reply. He thought about calling her work
number then replaced the receiver and pushed the tele-j
phone away from him. Why bother? There would be noj
reply.

C'est la vie . ..

2.50

TEN

^Thursday

;*What time is it?' Graham asked.

'Five minutes later than the last time you asked,'
JSabrina replied, exasperated. 'And ten minutes later than
?;the time before that. And fifteen -- '

'Okay, you've made your point. Ask a civil question
land all you get is sarcasm.'

'That's rich coming from you, Mike - '
'Sabrina, please,' Paluzzi interceded quickly, his hands
raised defensively. 'We're all on edge, let's not make it
|any worse than it already is.'

Paluzzi sat behind the wheel of the white BMW 735!
fthat Kuhlmann had had delivered to the hotel for them
Ithat morning. Graham sat beside him. Sabrina and
fCalvieri were in the back. They had been parked in the
^street that overlooked the Offenbach Centre for the past
Pforty minutes, waiting for Kolchinsky to call them on the
ro-way radio lying on the dashboard. So far only
silence. Paluzzi stared at the building in the distance.
fe remembered the official opening earlier in the year
irhen one critic had called it 'a monstrous glass and
jminium bandbox, without the ribbons'. He could see what the critic had meant. There was nothing appealing
about it. A ten-storey building, cylindrical in shape,
pwith a glass and aluminium exterior and a flat roof to
commodate a helipad. Helicopters had been landing rid departing regularly in the last forty minutes and he

2-51

was sure the traffic would get busier as the day wore
on.

'What's the time?' Graham asked, nudging Paluzzi's
arm.

Paluzzi pulled back his sleeve to reveal his gold Carder
watch. 'Nine twenty-four. Where's your watch?'

'It got bust on the mountain yesterday. I'll send it to
the jeweller's when I get back to New York. It's pretty
special to me.'

'Was it a present from your wife?'

'Yeah,' Graham muttered, then lapsed into silence.

Paluzzi turned his attention back to the Offenbach
Centre. The more he looked at it, the more he came to
agree with the critic. Berne, a beautiful, medieval city, had
always rebuffed the advances of modern development,
and planning permission had been granted to Jacob
Offenbach, the Swiss multimillionaire, only on condition
that the Centre was built on the outskirts of the city, away
from the charm of the Old Town district. The people of
Berne had never taken it to their hearts, calling it the Raumschiff, the spaceship, because of its futuristic appearance
and design. It would never be accepted by the locals,
and he could see why.

'Does anyone mind if I smoke?' Calvieri asked, breaking
the silence.

'Yeah, I mind,' Graham bit back, then threw up his
hands dismissively. 'What the hell, I'm going for a walk.
Do what you want.'

'Don't go far,' Paluzzi said. 'Sergei could call at any
moment.'

'Stop panicking, I'm only going to that fruit and vegJ
etable shop over there.'

Graham forced himself not to slam the door behind^
him. Sliding on his dark glasses, and then thrusting his

Z52

fids into his pockets, he walked the length of the narrow
to the shop. He crouched in front of the display
[itside, which was shaded from the sun by a white canopy,
ad tested the apples for their ripeness. He suddenly
ime aware that he was being watched. He looked up.
; five-year-old boy stood in the doorway, pointing a toy
straight at him. Graham feigned a look of surprise
slowly raised his hands. The boy glanced with alarm
Graham's chest. Graham looked down. His bolstered
eretta was visible. He immediately got to his feet
I covered the holster with his jacket. The boy stared fear
illy at him, then ran into the shop. Graham cursed
nself but a hand grabbed his arm before he could
after the boy. He spun round to find Sabrina behind

'What happened?' she asked, then glanced towards the
irway after he had told her. 'I'll talk to him. He's hardly
>ing to understand you, is he?'

Graham nodded and she disappeared into the shop,
be emerged a minute later with a brown-paper bag in 1 hand. The boy was with her.

'Magnum!' the boy shouted with a wide grin, then
tended to shoot at Graham before hurrying up the
et and disappearing into one of the houses.
'He thinks I'm Magnum?' Graham asked in amaze
ent.

'I told him you were a real-life Magnum. It certainly
jpealed to him.' She took an apple from the bag and

ed it to Graham.

yThey crossed the street to the site of a demolished house
at on what remained of the front wall,
sorry I snapped at you in the car,' she said at "I had a pretty rough night. I don't know how
sleep 1 actually got. About two hours, probably.'

*53

'That much?' Graham replied, turning the apple in his
hands. 'I doubt I even got an hour.'

'How did you pass the time?'

'I watched television, there wasn't much else to do.'

She sat forward, her elbows resting on her knees. 'I
tried to but I found I couldn't concentrate for more than
a few minutes at a time. In the end I was just glad of the
background noise. I don't think I could have coped with
the silence.'

'I know what you mean. There was a soccer match on
one of the channels. I stayed with it for the whole game
but I still couldn't tell you the score. Hell, I couldn't even
tell you who was playing.' He tugged back her sleeve to
check the time: 9.37. 'Twenty-three minutes left. And here
we are sitting around waiting to die.'

She put a hand lightly on his arm. 'I hate this waiting
as much as you do, but you know that Sergei's right. If
Ubrino did see us, he'd be sure to bolt. Then what?'

Paluzzi jabbed the horn and, climbing out of the car,
beckoned them frantically to him. They ran to the car.

'What is it?' Graham asked breathlessly.

'Sergei's just been on the radio. Ubrino's been caught
inside the building but he won't say anything unless
Calvieri's there.'

'Did he have the vial on him?' Sabrina asked, getting
into the back.

Paluzzi glanced at her in the rear-view mirror and
shook his head. 'He's been searched from head to toe. It
wasn't on him.'

'Was he wearing a disguise?' Graham asked.

'Not when he was caught,' Paluzzi replied, starting the
engine. 'But he must have worn one to get into the building.
How else would he have got past the guards?'

'It doesn't make any sense!' Sabrina exclaimed, looking

2.54

&Calvieri. 'Why would he take off the disguise once he
as inside the building? It's almost as if he wanted to get
aught.' Calvieri shrugged. 'We'll find out soon enough. The

thing is he's been caught.'

Paluzzi put a siren on the roof and drove the short
mce to the Niz southbound motorway. He took the
i-off for the Offenbach Centre and came to a stop
Kree hundred yards further on in front of a red and white
amgate. An armed guard approached the car. Paluzzi
iuced the pass provided by Kuhlmann and, after
eking it, the guard gave him directions to a side en
ance where Kolchinsky would be waiting. The guard
gave the order to lift the boomgate. Paluzzi slid the
ar into gear and drove into the grounds.

Pantechnicons of varying shapes and sizes, covered
nth the logos of the world's media, lined the sides of the
ad and spilled over into the massive car-park which had
designed to take two thousand cars. There wasn't a
jace available. Paluzzi drove around the perimeter then
jrned into the alley indicated by the guard and stopped
ide a fire escape. Kolchinsky, who had been standing
the door, hurried forward to meet them.
'Why all this cloak and dagger stuff?' Calvieri asked,
imbing from the back of the car. 'Why can't we use the
lin entrance like everyone else?'
'Because we're armed,' Sabrina answered, patting her
^bolstered Beretta hidden discreetly beneath her beige
Ifacket. 'If we used the main entrance the X-ray machines
prould go berserk.'

'Have you managed to get anything out of Ubrino yet,
ergei?' Graham asked as they followed Kolchinsky to the
Idoor.

'He refuses to say anything until he's seen Calvieri.'

2-55

The guard at the door stood aside to let them pass then I closed it again behind them. They were in the main foyer, ]
which bustled with activity as journalists sought last- j
minute interviews with the politicians as they made their i
way towards the lifts. Kolchinsky took four ID passes'
from his pocket and handed them out.

Graham clipped his to his jacket pocket. 'Where did;
you get the passport photographs from?'

'The Colonel brought them with him,' Kolchinsky replied
as they walked towards the lifts.

They took the lift to the fifth floor where Ubrino was <
being held in one of the conference rooms. Kolchinsky;
stopped outside an ornately carved oak door and knocked
twice, paused, then knocked twice more. The armed guard
inside peered through the spyhole, then unlocked the door
to admit them. The room was small and windowless,
with a rectangular mahogany table and fourteen matching
chairs around it. Kuhlmann dismissed the guard and
Kolchinsky introduced Paluzzi and Calvieri to Philpott.

Philpott turned to Ubrino. 'Well, Calvieri's here now.
Where have you hidden the vial?'

Ubrino merely shrugged his shoulders.

'I'll find out,' Graham hissed angrily.

Philpott put a hand lightly on Graham's arm, then
looked at Calvieri. 'Talk to him. Maybe you can coax it out of him.'	';

Calvieri crossed to where Ubrino was sitting and patted
him on the shoulder. 'He doesn't know where it is.'

'How do you know that? You haven't even asked him
yet,' Kolchinsky said.

Calvieri took a small transmitter from his pocket and
held it up for them to see. It was the size of a cigarette
lighter. 'He doesn't know because I never told him.'

Paluzzi stared at Calvieri in horror. 'You've been be116

jtthis all along. And we've played straight into your

V

raham slid his hand behind his back, feeling for his

Beretta.

Ivieri touched the detonator with his forefinger. 'The
litter's linked to a small charge of plastic explosive
to the side of the cylinder. It's powerful enough
ak both the cylinder and the vial in half. Question Ir Graham, can you draw your gun and kill me before
; the button?'

et it go, Mike,' Philpott said without looking at tiam.

raham's hand dropped to his side.
I'Now, I want you each to remove your handguns and

them on the table. One at a time. Ladies first.'
[Sabrina removed her Beretta, using her thumb and
efinger, and put it on the table. Graham and Paluzzh
the same.
|*You won't get away with this, Calvieri,' Kuhlmann

sharply.
' 'Get away with what? You don't even know what I

it yet.'

f'What do you want?' Philpott asked.
'All in good time, Colonel. In the meantime, would you
: the key for Riccardo's handcuffs on the table next to
: guns.'

'I don't have it. The guard took it with him.'
| 'I wouldn't insult the intelligence of the UNACO Direc
Please don't insult mine.' Calvieri smiled at their
artled expressions. 'Oh yes, I know who you work for.
ben you refused to tell me I did a little investigative
ging of my own. It took a while but I got there in the

)

'How did you find out?' Philpott demanded.

2-57

'I have my sources, let's leave it at that. Now, i

Philpott put the key on the table, then turned
Calvieri. 'You killed Zocchi, didn't you?'

'Had him killed,' Calvieri corrected, then picked i
key and unlocked one of the cuffs. He gave the
Ubrino to unlock the second one himself. 'I must i
your little theories about Zocchi certainly kept me ar
these past few days. I knew that with him dea
authorities would have no option but to call us in to|
them find the vial. And I was the only Brigatista Sig
Pisani would trust with such a delicate task. That's!
the plan came into being in the first place. And as|
said, Paluzzi, you played straight into my hands. Ric
didn't have the vial on him when he got here, that'
have been too dangerous. I had it with me. I kne
wouldn't be searched when we entered the builc
passed it on to a sympathizer in the foyer. It's al:
been secreted somewhere in the building. So I have
to thank for helping me smuggle it past the guards.'

Ubrino tossed the handcuffs on to the chair then i
lected the handguns from the table. He handed twc
Calvieri and tucked the other into his belt.

'Where does he fit into all this?' Paluzzi asked, indil
ing Ubrino.

'He's been my inside man in Rome for the past^
years. 1 knew you would immediately suspect Zocc Riccardo was involved in the break-in at the plant.'

'How did you get in?' Kuhlmann demanded of Ubr

'I pose as maintenance engineer,' Ubrino replied in
thick Italian accent. 'Nino Ferzetti, that is his name,
have the same build and height. He wear the beard
glasses. It is an easy . . .' he trailed off and looked \ Calvieri. 'Travestire?'

'Disguise,' Calvieri answered.

M»

disguise for me. I carry his pass so the
me.'
rreal Ferzetti?' Philpott asked.

eping off the effects of a spiked drink he
S,* Calvieri pointed to the door behind them.
t've taken up enough of my time as it is.
me when you have a number where I can
(And make it soon. The longer you delay, the
: will be to process my demands.'
question, Calvieri,' Paluzzi said. 'Why the
iCentre?'

simple. The summit is being covered by
i from all over the world. You can't do anything jut alerting them. I'm sure you all know what
tin 1938 when Orson Welles narrated The War
rids on American radio. There was unpre
i panic across the country. Can you imagine that
i>ai scale?'

I you in a few minutes,' Philpott said brusquely,
Iked to the door.
(is one more thing,' Calvieri said. 'Sabrina stays

: hell she does,' Graham snapped,
as talking to Colonel Philpott.' Calvieri retorted,
lispered to Ubrino, who immediately drew the
from his belt and aimed it at Kuhlmann. 'You we seconds to comply otherwise Kuhlmann will be
pFhen Kolchinsky '

ay, you've made your point,' Philpott cut in. He
I to Sabrina. 'We'll have to do as he says.'

ierstand, sir,' she replied with a quick smile,
fiat the hell do you need her for?' Graham deed.
'You've got the detonator, isn't that enough?'
I'll only use the detonator as a last resort. In other

2-59

words, if my demands are not met. Sabrina's the deterr
to stop you and Paluzzi from getting any heroic ide
about storming the room like a couple of over-enthusiasti
schoolboys.'

'I'm going to come after you when this is over, Calviertl
Graham said menacingly. 'I don't care where you go, if find you. That's a promise.'

'In that case I look forward to seeing you again,
Graham. Please close the door on your way out.'

Ubrino waited until they had left, then locked an
bolted the door behind them and handed the key
Calvieri.

Sabrina sat down and looked up at Calvieri. 'Are you
demands really worth the lives of millions of innoc
people?'

'Don't try to play on my emotions, Sabrina, it won|
work.'

'I didn't know you had any,' Sabrina shot back.

'Manette,' Calvieri said to Ubrino and pointed to th
handcuffs.

Ubrino pulled Sabrina's hands behind her back an^
snapped the handcuffs over her wrists. He grinned at he
then reached out to touch her face. She kicked at him
savagely, catching him full on the shinbone.

Tell your poodle to keep his hands off me,' sh
snapped, her eyes blazing at Calvieri.

'I'm sure he's learnt his lesson,' Calvieri replied, casting
a disdainful glance towards Ubrino. He took the Berett
from Ubrino's hand, ejected the clip, pocketed it, thefl
threw the gun on to the table. 'Leave her alone. She isn't]
one of your wide-eyed recruits. She'd kill you without!
batting an eyelid.'

'Nobody does that to me, especially not a woman,']
Ubrino hissed through his clenched teeth.

2.60

311 just won't learn, will you?' Calvieri pointed a : warning at him. 'I won't tell you again. Leave
e.'

; telephone rang. Calvieri answered it.

i Philpott. I've set up a base in the manager's office.

ion 157.'
be in touch.' Calvieri replaced the receiver and

I across at Ubrino. 'We're in business.'

Vlok was a short, athletically built man in his late
i with black hair and a neatly trimmed black beard,
ad been widely regarded in his native West Germany
: of the country's leading hotel managers, first at the
r Jahreszeiten in Hamburg, then at the Bremner's Park
den-Baden, before he went to Switzerland to take up
I most challenging post to date, that of general manager

: Offenbach Centre.
iifHis office, situated on the tenth floor, had a breathtak
; view of the city spread out in the distance. He stood
tionless by the window as Philpott described the latest
:lopments to him. Although he had been briefed that
ig, he was still finding it hard to believe that such
(catastrophe could be unfolding on his own doorstep.

'As I said this morning, it's imperative that we keep his under wraps,' Philpott said in conclusion, then sat
: in the padded chair behind the desk. 'If the press get
slightest whiff of a story, God knows the pandeanium
that would result.'

'Of course, I understand,' Vlok replied, turning to face
others. 'I just find it hard to comprehend. This man
alvieri knows what will happen if the vial is opened and
: he says he's quite prepared to do it if his demands are
at met.'

2.61

'What do you expect? He's a terrorist,' Graham re
torted gruffly.

'Even so, what can he hope to achieve?'

'We'll find out soon enough,' Philpott replied. 'That'«j
why we'll need to use your office as a base.'

'It's at your disposal. Any calls for me will be pu
through to my assistant. Not that I need the room anyway
I'll be down in the conference hall making sure everythir
runs according to plan for the opening ceremony at eleve
o'clock.'

'Do you have an architect's plan of the building?|
Philpott asked, tamping a wad of tobacco into the mout
of his pipe.

'Not here. There's one in the safe at reception. I'll ha\
it sent up to you.'

'No, we have to keep our presence here as quiet
possible. Mike will go with you.'

'Of course. I'm sorry, I'm not used to this kind
secrecy.'

'How can we contact you if we need you?' Kolchinsk
asked.

Vlok opened his jacket to reveal a bleeper attached i
his belt. 'Ask the reception to page me if you need me
Anything at all.'

'I will, you can be sure of that,' Philpott replied.

Vlok looked at his watch. 'I better get down to th
conference hall.'

Philpott gestured for Graham to go with Vlok, then s
back in the chair and lit his pipe. He waited until the
had left before looking across at Kolchinsky. 'Have yc
got C.W.'s number? We're going to need him here.'

'I was thinking the same thing.' Kolchinsky took
black notebook from his pocket, opened it at the relevar
page, and put it on the desk in front of Philpott.

2.62.

ben are you going to tell the delegates about
t!?' Kuhlmann asked, pacing the floor in front of
gfesk.

ben we know his demands. There's no use calling
igs every five minutes. And for God's sake,
t, stop pacing about like an expectant father,
^driving me crazy.'

Cuhlmann sat down beside Kolchinsky on the leather
but within seconds he was back on his feet. He
to the window. 'I should have barred Calvieri
i Switzerland when I had the chance. But no, I let you
: me out of it. Now look what's happened. Why did I

i to you?'

jp*Barring him wouldn't have solved anything,' Philpott
reaching for Kolchinsky's black book. 'He'd just
: gone somewhere else.'
|*But at least he wouldn't be in Switzerland,' Kuhlmann

ted.

|sSo that's what it's all about,' Philpott snapped, then

veiled round in the chair to face Kuhlmann. 'We have

aying in English, Reinhardt, "If you can't take the heat,

lout of the kitchen." Perhaps it's just as well that it's

ar last year in office. You obviously can't take the heat

more.'
llCuhlmann was silent.

lilpott picked up the receiver and dialled the number
be boarding house where Whitlock was staying.
|Ł.W.?'
jfYes sir,' Whitlock answered, recognizing Philpott's

tish brogue.

|*I want you to get over to the Offenbach Centre right
*y. I'll have a security pass waiting for you at the main
e. We're on the tenth floor, the manager's office.'
I'l'm on my way, sir,' Whitlock replied.

z63

Philpott replaced the receiver and looked at KolchinskyJ
'We're going to need handguns for Mike and C.W|
Major Paluzzi, what weapon do you use?'

'Same as Mike and Sabrina. A Beretta 9Z.'

Kolchinsky got to his feet. 'So that's two Berettas and
a Browning.'

'I want you carrying as well, Sergei.'

Kolchinsky nodded. Til get on to it right away. There'|
a phone in the outer office I can use.'

'Oh, and Sergei, get a couple of cheap wristwatches 1
Mike and C.W. as well.'

The telephone rang.

Kolchinsky froze, his hand on the handle of the cor
municating door.

'Get the guns, Sergei,' Philpott said. He picked up
receiver as Kolchinsky disappeared into the outer offic
'Yes?'

'What's going on up there?' Calvieri demanded. 'I calle
a	a minute ago and the line was engaged. Let's get somethin !l straight right from the start. That line is to remain op
at all times. Is that understood?'

'Perfectly,' Philpott replied.
|	Tm going to issue my demands now. Are you ready I
I: write them down?'

Tm ready.'

'My demands are twofold. Firstly, the Italian Priti
Minister, Enzo Bellini, who is attending the summit,
call a special press conference for five o'clock this af
noon at which he will announce that he is stepping dov
as the leader of our country on the grounds of ill-healt
He has had problems with his heart in recent years so I
will give credence to his story. I do have a television i
in the room, Colonel, so if he doesn't appear at exac
five o'clock I'll press the button. It's that simple.'

z64

id what do you hope to achieve by getting Bellini to
_i?'

i|Y-ou let me worry about that. You just make sure he
(the message.'

nd the second demand.'

IfThere are sixteen countries represented at this summit,
en them they will pay the sum of a hundred million
i to the following five revolutionary organizations: Directe in France, the Red Army Faction in
Germany, the Red Brigades in Italy, Euskadi ta
ma, ETA, in Spain, and the Irish Republican
in Britain. Twenty million each. They have until
f o'clock this afternoon to have the money ready for
tion.'

at's impossible. They won't be able to raise that
of money in seven hours. Make it a more realistic
lline.'

hours and fifty-four minutes to be precise. Once
if have seen Bellini resign on television a member of
organization will call the Foreign Office in their
alar country with details of where they want the
to be delivered. They will then call me when they
recovered the money. But they will only call when fare sure that they are safe and that no homing devices
been hidden amongst the notes. They each have a
, password, known only to the two of us, so don't
nything foolish like using some of your own people
11 me pretending to have the money. Then, once 1
(received all five calls, I'll contact you again to arrange \helicopter to fly Riccardo and me out of here.'
bat about Sabrina?'

e'll come with us, at least for part of the way. I'll
i'tall you in the morning to tell you where to find the
land the transmitter.'

z65

'I've told you, getting hold of that kind of money --'

'If, however, the governments refuse to pay
ransom,' Calvieri cut in, ignoring Philpott's protestj
ations, 'try and stall for more time, or even try
evacuate the building by staging some fake bomb hoax in
order to conduct a search, I won't hesitate to press
button.'

'I've told you, Calvieri, they won't be able to raise tha
sort of money in seven hours.'

'Why do you persist in insulting my intelligent
Colonel? We both know the leaders of those five countrk
alone could raise twenty million pounds by making
single phone call. And they could arrange to have th
money ready for collection in half the time I've give
them. Please call me when you know their decision. The
have exactly six hours and fifty minutes left.'

The line went dead.

Philpott replaced the receiver then looked at Kolchinsk
who was hovering by the door. 'Have you arranged
the handguns to be brought here?'

'Yes.' Kolchinsky gestured to the pad Philpott had us
to jot down the demands. 'What does he want?'

Graham came in before Philpott could reply,
dumped the three rolled-up blueprints on the desk
looked at them both carefully, suspicious of the sudc
silence. 'What's wrong?'

'Calvieri's just called the Colonel with his demands
Kolchinsky replied.

'What are they?' Graham asked Philpott.

'I was about to announce them when you arrive
Philpott relit his pipe, then recounted the demands.

'I'd say they got off lightly,' Kolchinsky said, th«j
pushed a cigarette between his lips and lit it.

'I agree,' Philpott replied. 'He could have asked for i

z66

that amount and they would still have had to pay

lat's to say he won't keep the transmitter and ask,
tanother hundred million once his demands have been

?' Graham asked.

flAbsolutely nothing.' Philpott looked at Paluzzi who
sitting thoughtfully on the couch. 'What do you make
' Bellini angle?'

ave you been told about Calvieri's plans to form a
ion between the Red Brigades and the PCI?'
ilpott nodded. 'Sergei briefed me on the phone last

>

IfThat's your answer. Without Bellini the coalition
aid become a distinct possibility.' Paluzzi got to his
: and crossed to the window. He stared up at the sky,
i turned back to them. 'As you know, the NOCS have
tior mole on the Red Brigades committee. What I'm
at to tell you has to be strictly off the record.'
pWe understand,' Philpott replied softly.

Red Brigades have infiltrated the PCI. Nothing
jal in that, you might say. It wouldn't be, but their
: is the Deputy Prime Minister, Alberto Vietri.'

God,' Kolchinsky muttered in horror. 'And if
i steps down, Vietri takes over as Prime Minister.'
avhig the floodgates open for the Red Brigades to

the PCI,' Graham added.

i theory,' Paluzzi replied. 'It's the Red Brigades' most
ply guarded secret. Now that Pisani's dead, there are
f two committee members left who know about Vietri's
ficity: Calvieri, and our mole. So you see, if it were
made public the finger of suspicion would immedi
' point at our mole.'

Jnless something were to happen to Vietri,' Graham
'An accident of some kind.'

z67

'It will, believe me,' Paluzzi replied coldly. 'Alberto
Vietri will never become Prime Minister of Italy.'

'You're proposing. . .' Kuhlmann trailed off as he
stared at Paluzzi. 'That would be murder.'

'What do you suggest, Commissioner?' Paluzzi asked
the sarcasm not lost on Kuhlmann.

'Threaten to expose him publicly unless he agrees
resign. Politicians fear scandals more than anything else,'

'It's a nice scenario, Commissioner, but you're overlook
ing one small point. What if Vietri calls our bluff? We don's
have a shred of evidence to back up our accusation. All'
have is the word of an informer. And he's hardly going 1
hand over any incriminating evidence to us, is he ? He mig
as well put a gun to his head and pull the trigger.'
'Why should Vietri - '

'Reinhardt, that's enough!' Philpott reached
his cane and stood up. 'Major Paluzzi doesn't need
lecture from you on how to handle his domestic prob
lems.'

'Are you condoning murder, Malcolm?' Kuhlmar
challenged.

'I don't have the time to stand here and argue with you
Reinhardt. Vietri doesn't concern us. Calvieri and Bellin
do. I suggest you keep that in mind.' Philpott moved
the door, then turned back to Kolchinsky. 'I'm going
see Bellini before I meet the other leaders. I think it's or
right to put Calvieri's demands to him first. I want
four of you to go through the blueprints while I'm
and make a list of all the places where the vial could
hidden.'

'It'll be like looking for a needle in a haystack.'

'I'm well aware of that, Mike, but it's better than sit
around here for the next seven hours hoping that one <
the cleaners will find it.'

z6S

Paluzzi waited until Philpott had left the room before
sing to the door. 'I'll be back in a moment. I have to
I headquarters in Rome.'
f*To arrange for Vietri to meet with an accident?'

ilmann said.

|'To arrange for Calvieri's apartment in Milan to be
apart, brick by brick if necessary. It might throw
>a clue. Satisfied?'

NCuhlmann looked at Kolchinsky after Paluzzi had disired
into the outer office. 'Perhaps Malcolm was
it after all. Perhaps the heat is getting too much for me

days.'

''Kolchinsky maintained a diplomatic silence. He picked
> the nearest blueprint, sat down and unrolled it across
: desk.

Bellini was a small man in his early sixties with
v-white hair and a craggy face lined from the pressure
Fyears in the forefront of Italian polities. He spoke no
Jish. Cesare Camillo, a handsome man twenty years
i junior, was acting as interpreter. Camillo was one of
Hini's senior aides who was already being tipped as a are PCI leader. He had represented Bellini at the briefing

by Philpott and Kolchinsky that morning,
ic two men sat facing Philpott in a small antechamber
rind the conference hall. Bellini remained silent as Philt,
through Camillo, explained the first of Galvieri's de
rids to him. His face was expressionless as he listened to
lillo, his hands gripping the table in front of him tightly.
Philpott waited until Camillo had finished translating
iwords, then sat back in the chair and stared at Bellini's
head. 'I thought I should tell you first rather than ', announce it in front of the other leaders.'

269

Camillo translated. Bellini said nothing.

'I've arranged to meet the others in five minutes' time!
to put Calvieri's demands to them. I need to know if 1
Signore Bellini is prepared to accede to the demands before j
I see them.'

Bellini listened silently as Camillo translated Philpott's j
request, then spoke in a barely audible voice, his eyesjj
never leaving Philpott's face.

'Under the circumstances, Signore Bellini feels he has j
no alternative but to resign. It is a small price to pay for.]
the safety of Europe and its peoples. I will represent I
Signore Bellini at this meeting. He feels he has nothingj
more to contribute.'

'I understand,' Philpott replied softly.

Bellini got to his feet and walked to the door. Philpott \ stared after him. A broken man. He had merely passed on'] Calvieri's demand but he still felt a sense of guilt. It was \
a feeling he couldn't seem to shake off.

Camillo closed the door behind Bellini, then turned to j
Philpott. 'Calvieri seems to think that by forcing Signore 1
Bellini to step down it will bring the chances of a coalition 1
between the PCI and the Red Brigades that much closer]
to fruition. He couldn't be more wrong. We may not be j
a popular government, but we are loyal to each other. "I
And especially to Signore Bellini. We'll close ranks at the \ top. The Red Brigades won't get a look in. Our deputy j
Prime Minister, Signore Vietri, will see to that. He hates 1
the Red Brigades more than anyone else in the cabinet.
Calvieri's in for a big surprise. A very big surprise.'

Philpott closed the folder in front of him. If it were up } to him he would tell Camillo where Vietri's true loyalties'
lay. But it wasn't. He had already chided Kuhlmann for
interfering in Italy's domestic problems. Not that Camillo ;
would believe him anyway. Not without proof. He

270

ienly remembered Paluzzi's words. Alberto Vietri will

become Prime Minister of Italy. Camillo may yet be right. Calvieri could well be in for
i big surprise.

lie meeting had been convened in a soundproof room
Dwn the corridor from the conference hall. The fifteen
aders were all present, along with the aides who had
presented them at the morning briefing (it cut out the
ed for translators for those leaders who didn't speak
nglish, minimizing the chances of a security leak).
Philpott felt like a headmaster as he stood in front of
hem detailing the demands he had received from Calvieri.
PFhere was a moment's silence after he had finished speak|ing,
then the room was filled with the sound of angry
IVoices as the delegates conferred, outraged at the audacity
|bf Calvieri's demands. Philpott allowed them to let off
|steam. After all, they were politicians. Finally he clapped his hands, bringing them to order.

'We have to discuss this rationally if we're going to
|reach any kind of decision.'

'Where is Signore Bellini?' a voice called out.
Philpott looked at Camillo and indicated that he should
f answer.

'Signore Bellini is meeting the rest of our delegation.
; He won't be attending the opening ceremony. He feels it
Iwould be better if one of his senior ministers was there

from the start. I have already informed the chairman.'

Camillo gestured to the Swiss President, who nodded in
agreement. 'He has asked me to represent him at this
meeting.'

Philpott raised his hand before anyone could speak. 'I

i-can understand how you must all feel about the way

2.71

Signore Bellini has been treated, but it's neither the tim|
nor the place to discuss it. We must address the second <
Calvieri's demands, the payment of a hundred milliori
pounds to the five terrorist groups.'

The Dutch Prime Minister raised a hand to catc
Philpott's attention. 'Do you believe he would press the
button if his demands were not met?'

'Yes,' Philpott replied bluntly.

'He's a madman!' someone called out.

There was a murmur of agreement.

Philpott shook his head. 'No madman could have
pieced together an operation like this. It's been meticiH
lously planned down to the last detail. Every loophole'sl
been plugged. We're not dealing with some two-bit hood|
lum here. He's probably more intelligent than most of i
in this room. And that's not something I'd say lightly.'

'Couldn't your people launch a commando-style oper|
ation on the room and recover the vial?' the Norwegian!
Prime Minister asked.

'Out of the question,' Philpott replied. 'The rooml
has no windows. The only way in is through the door.f
And that would have to be blown. When I left the rooml
Calvieri had his finger on the button. All he would have!
to do is press it if we made any attempt to storm the|
room.'

'These questions aren't getting us anywhere,' the British!
Prime Minister snapped irritably. 'If Colonel Philpottj
thought there was a chance of recovering the transmitter!
intact he would have told us already. Obviously there!
isn't. It's something we have to accept. And the sooner we 1
come to a decision, the sooner the wheels can be set injj
motion to get the vial back safely.'

Philpott nodded gratefully to the Prime Minister. They j
went back a long way. One of the Prime Minister's first|

2-72
i on coming into office had been to forward Philpott's iculutn vitae, together with a personal letter of rec
icndation, to the Secretary-General of UNACO for
aderation as Director. He never knew whether the
er had helped to sway the Secretary-General's decision
: he had always been grateful for the Prime Minister's
erving belief in him. It had made his job that much
sier.

'I can only advise you,' Philpott said, looking around rly at the faces in front of him. 'The final decision
with you. And as the Prime Minister has said, we
I't have much time. It's imperative that you reach your
sion as soon as possible.'

'What choice do we have?' the British Prime Minister
jid. 'It's not as if we're dealing with a hijacked aeroplane
a kidnapped businessman. We're dealing with a lethal
i which could potentially kill millions. A virus without
antidote. If it were just our lives at risk, I'd certainly
ly we should stand firm against the demands. But it's
at. Much as it goes against everything I believe in, I say
: pay the ransom.'

'One hundred million pounds in the hands of terrorists,'
: Austrian Chancellor said, breaking the sudden silence,
bey will be able to buy enough arms to carry out
arrendous attacks across Europe. It will snowball into a
irfoody conflict, you mark my words.'

'Do you think I want to contribute to their coffers?'
iie British Prime Minister's eyes were blazing. 'None of
you has campaigned more vociferously than I have to
nite our countries in the fight against terrorism. It sticks
i my throat to have to pay one penny to these murderers,
|lnit I don't see that we have any choice.'

'You misunderstand me, Prime Minister,' the Austrian
|Chancellor said defensively. 'I was not criticizing you, it

2.73

was merely an observation. In fact, I wholeheartedly agre
with what you say.'

'A hundred million is a small price to pay for the safety|
of our people,' the Swedish Prime Minister added. 'We
will pay our share of the ransom.'

'The French Government, too, will pay its share o|
the ransom,' the aide announced on behalf of the Prime
Minister.

Philpott raised his hands as the noise intensified around
him. 'It's no use everyone talking at the same time. There's
an easy way to settle this. Is there any government whoj
will not pay its share of the ransom?'

There was silence.

'I'll pass your decision on to Calvieri. Naturally we'lll
do everything in our power to find the vial before the]
deadline but I have to admit our chances of doing so willf
be remote, to say the least. The search will have to bel
undertaken in complete secrecy if we're not to alert!
Calvieri and provoke a catastrophe. It's the only way we|
can prevent the press from getting hold of the story.'

'We understand that,' the Swiss President said, speaking j
for the first time. 'The money will be ready for the five|
o'clock deadline.'

Philpott nodded. 'Naturally I'll keep you all up to date.1
on any developments that may arise during the day. But|
as I said, I don't hold out much hope of finding the viall
before five o'clock.'

'We know you and your team will do your best,' the]
British Prime Minister said.

'I only hope that will be enough,' Philpott replied.

Whitlock had arrived at the Offenbach Centre while the j
meeting was in progress and was poring over one of the \

2-74

i with Graham when Philpott returned to the office.
3tt lit his pipe and recounted briefly what had hap,
at the meeting.
|At least they've agreed to pay the ransom,' Kolchinsky

SAs a last resort,' Philpott replied. 'We're going to have
nil out all the stops to find the vial before five o'clock.
lie ransom is paid it'll not only be a psychological
jry for world terrorism, it'll also leave us with a lot

legg on our faces. It'll be the perfect ammunition for
politicians who'd like nothing better than to see
4ACO disbanded. I can just imagine what they'll f. We worked with Calvieri from the start. A known
srist. We even helped him smuggle the vial into the
ilding.'

f 'We had no way of knowing he was the mastermind
bind the whole thing,' Graham said angrily.

I"*We know that, but you can be sure our opponents will

I it against us. We have to find the vial if we're to save

e.' Philpott stabbed the stem of his pipe at the blueprint

i the desk. 'Have you compiled the list yet?'

Kolchinsky handed a sheet of foolscap paper to

bilpott. 'We're going to have to draft in more personnel,
alcolm. There are over fifty possible hiding places on
at list. We'd never be able to cover them all thoroughly
five o'clock.'

"I had the same thought on the way back from the
eting,' Philpott said. "I don't think I realized just how
; the building was until then. It means more people are

jing to know about the vial. That's something I was

aping to avoid. But it can't be helped. Five extra men,

naximum. The search has to be undertaken in secrecy.'
'I've got four men on standby at the airport,' Paluzzi

finounced. 'I had them flown in this morning in case we

2-75

needed them. They've been on the case since Monday
there will be no need to waste time briefing them.'

'Get them over here as quickly as possible,' Philpott|
told him. 'There's no time to lose.'

Paluzzi disappeared into the outer office to use the|
telephone.

'Michael came up with something while we were going]
through the plans. What if Calvieri gave the vial to a|
woman? We don't have Sabrina to check the women'sj
cloakrooms.'

'Good point.' Philpott looked at Kuhlmann. 'We'll need|
your best policewoman. I'll brief her personally.'

Til get on to it right away,' Kuhlmann said, and left|
the room.

Philpott read through the list. 'You're going to ne
some kind of cover to make it easy for you to move about!
the building without drawing unnecessary attention toj
yourselves.'

'I've already seen to that,' Kolchinsky replied. 'Vlok'sl
bringing up half a dozen maintenance overalls for us tof
use.'

Paluzzi returned. 'The men should be here in about
fifteen minutes. One of my deputies, Captain Molinetti, 1
has taken a team of men to Milan to search Calvieri'sf
apartment. He'll only call if they come up with something!
important. I've told him to ask for you.'

'I look forward to hearing from him,' Philpott replied,|
then reached for the receiver to call Calvieri.

Calvieri replaced the handset and gave Ubrino a thumbs-j
up sign. Ubrino punched the air in delight and grinned at
Sabrina, his animosity towards her forgotten in his mot|
ment of triumph.

276

'You haven't won yet,' Sabrina snapped, glaring at
Srino. 'Five o'clock's still a long way off.'

'It will be for us, stuck in here,' Calvieri said, then sat
own opposite Sabrina. The transmitter was still clenched

itly in his left hand. 'I don't think your colleagues would agree with you, though. They have six hours left
) find the vial. So much ground to cover and so little time
i which to do it. And to make matters worse, they have

conduct the search in complete secrecy. It wouldn't

to alert the media, would it? So many problems to
vercome. And even then they still won't find it. All that

ne and effort wasted.'

'Don't count on it,' she retorted, eyeing him coldly.

'I don't underestimate any of you, believe me. That
suld be suicidal. I don't expect them to sit around idly
aiting for the deadline. Of course they're going to try to
nd the vial. But I bargained on that when I was planning

: operation. That's why I've had it hidden where they'll
liever find it.'

'Where?'

Calvieri smiled faintly and put his finger to his lips.

here's a saying in Latin. Vir sapit qui pauca loquitur.'

'The man is wise who talks little,' she translated. \-~ 'In other words, know when to hold your tongue.'

'You should have borne that in mind yesterday.'

'I don't follow you,' Calvieri said with a frown.

'When you were so quick to tell Mike and me about your
plans to put Italy back on its feet again. Now you're ireatening to destroy it, along with countless other
nations around the world. You can't have it both ways.

uestion is, which is the truth?'

'I'm sure you're going to tell me,' Calvieri said.

'I don't have to. You answered it yourself when you
|insisted that I remain here with you.'

*77

'I see what you're getting at,' Calvieri said, keeping i
the sarcasm. 'You think I was telling the truth yesterday|
And by holding you here I've prevented you from passin
information on to the leaders which could have had
bearing on their decision whether or not to pay the ra
som.' He chuckled softly to himself. 'It's a fascinatir
theory but unfortunately there's one major flaw in it.'
didn't I insist on holding Graham and Paluzzi here
well? They know just as much about the coalition as yofl
do.'

'Because they don't know you like I do,' she replie
quickly. 'Fabio knows you, and the other Brigatisti, lik«|
a teenager knows his favourite band. He knows you
family histories, who your associates are and what you'v
done since joining the Red Brigades. But he doesn't know
you as a human being. I got to know you as a person owe
these past few days. Take that incident in Venice. You
treated that runaway as if he were your own son. And itj
would be the children who would be the first casualties i|
the virus was ever released into the atmosphere. You know!
you could no more press that button than send that kid]
back to the orphanage.'

Calvieri put the transmitter on the table and clapped|
lightly. 'Bravo. A wonderful speech. So touching.'

Ubrino grinned at Sabrina. 'So much for your theory,J bella:

Calvieri held up the transmitter in front of Sabrina. 'Itfsj
like nuclear weapons. Are they just a deterrent, or would ]
they be used as a last resort? Bluff and counter-bluff. It's 1
all a game.' He shifted his chair round to face the television \ screen, then looked back at her, a faint smile on his lips. \ 'Or is it?'

z7S

3tt arranged for the final briefing to be held at 11.15
boardroom on the tenth floor. He was the last to
having left Kuhlmann in Vlok's office to man the
hone. After taking his place at the head of the table
jk his pipe and tobacco pouch from his jacket pocket
them beside the folder he had brought with him.
took a wad of tobacco from the pouch and as he
aped it into the mouth of his pipe he looked around
iwly at the faces watching his every move. Paluzzi and
i men sat on his left, Kolchinsky, Graham and Whitlock
i his right. Sergeant Ingrid Hauser, the policewoman he
1 briefed only minutes earlier, sat beside Whitlock. She
in her late twenties with a stocky figure and curly
ck hair. Her confident manner had already impressed
itn.

'Coffee, sir?' Whitlock asked, indicating the tray in the
liddle of the table.

Philpott shook his head and carefully lit his pipe. He
laled the smoke upwards, then opened the folder in
wit of him. 'I've divided the list into four sections. I want
>u to work in teams. Two to a team.'
'I'll work with C.W.,' Graham said.
Philpott shook his head. 'Your Italian's nonexistent,
gei's and C.W.'s isn't much better. You'll each be
paired off with one of the Italians. They can cover for
you.'

'I'll work with Fabio, then,' Graham said.
'I'm keeping you two well apart,' Philpott replied,
jabbing the stem of his pipe at each of them in turn. 'I've
|fead the Corfu report. You're a bad influence on each
fother.'

Graham and Paluzzi grinned like a couple of mischievous
schoolboys.

'C.W., you'll work with Major Paluzzi. You'll be

2-79

Team One.' Philpott looked at Paluzzi. 'I need two men!
to work with Sergei and Mike. Who would you suggest?'!

'Sergeant Visconti can work with Sergei,' Paluzzi re|
plied, patting the arm of the swarthy man sitting beside!
him.

Philpott jotted down the name. 'You'll be Tear
Two.'

'Lieutenant Marco can work with Mike. They knowl
each other from Rome. He's also the most levelheaded!
one amongst us. He certainly won't be a bad influence oril
Mike.'

There was a ripple of laughter from the Italians, which I
Marco dismissed good-humouredly with a flick of his|
hand.

'You'll be Team Three. Which leaves you as Team!
Four,' Philpott said, pointing his pen at the two men sitting|
between Visconti and Marco.

'Sergeants De Sica and Alberetto,' Paluzzi said.

Philpott wrote the names down, then handed out the!
four lists. 'Teams One and Two will assume the identity!
of security agents. Teams Three and Four will be maintenance
men. That way you'll be able to gain access to|
the areas specified on your lists. I've tried to spread the]
workload evenly throughout the four lists but if a team!
does fall behind it's up to them to contact me and I'll try!
and get one of the other teams to help them out.' He|
turned to Paluzzi. 'I assume your men are armed?'

'Beretta 92.5,' Paluzzi replied.

'Ggod.' Philpott looked at Kolchinsky. 'The handguns!
you ordered arrived just before I came here. They're in]
the office.'

'What about the maintenance overalls?' Graham askedJ

'They're also in the office,' Philpott answered. 'Dieter I
Vlok has given me four bleepers which work off the system]

180

das in his office. Each team will carry one. You'll be
I only in an emergency so please respond promptly.
i the office from the nearest house phone. The extension
jber's on each of the lists. And one last point. For
's sake be careful of the metal detectors at the main
inces. You shouldn't need to leave the premises but
»u do and you get into any difficulties, call the office. If
i not there you can speak to Commissioner Kuhlmann.
e'H smooth things over. But under no circumstances are
i to call on each other for help. I don't want any public
afrontations with the security staff. Is that understood?'
pThere was a murmur of agreement.
I'Well, I think that about covers everything,' Philpott
eluded, closing the folder. 'All that remains now is for
i to wish you luck. You all know what's at stake. That
ne should be enough of an incentive.' Kolchinsky got to his feet, signalling that the briefing
; over. The others followed him out of the room.
Philpott remained in his seat after they had gone. He
is thinking about Sabrina. Was it any wonder that there
still only one female field operative at UNACO? No
: had yet come close to matching her abilities. She was
|«ut above the rest. And that included the majority of
male colleagues as well. Graham was the exception,
maverick. Philpott regarded him as second only to
ijues Rust, in his opinion UNACO's best ever field
erative. But Graham had only been with them a year.
: would become the best, given time, especially if Sabrina
lained his partner. Their record was unparalleled. They
ad solved every case to date. Until now. If only she were
ere to partner Graham now . . .
He pushed the thought from his mind, reached for his
ftne and got to his feet. He picked up the folder and pipe
left the room, closing the door behind him.

281

ELEVEN

Whitlock checked underneath the last of the tables
his section of the restaurant on the eighth floor, the
straightened up and looked across despairingly at Pali

'Seventeen minutes to one,' Paluzzi muttered, glancir
at his watch. 'It's taken us over an hour just to check
kitchen and restaurant. We're never going to finish at I
rate.'

Whitlock nodded sombrely. 'Don't remind me. What! next on the list?'

The foyer.'

'Wonderful. Now we'll be in full glare of the press.'

The bleeper sounded. It was attached to Whitlock^
belt. He switched it off and met Paluzzi's questionin
look. 'Am I expecting too much?'

'Probably, but there's only one way of finding out.'

Whitlock crossed to the telephone and rang Vlok'|
office. Philpott answered.

'It's C.W., sir. Has the vial been found?'

'No,' Philpott replied brusquely.

Whitlock shook his head at Paluzzi.

'I might be on to something,' Philpott told him. 'I wan
the two of you to check it out.'

'What is it?' Whitlock asked eagerly.

'Were you told about Nino Ferzetti?'

'The maintenance worker Ubrino impersonated to ge
into the building?'

i8z

ic same. Well, Commissioner Kuhlmann had the
al police go round to Ferzetti's flat to see if he was all
He was still out cold when they got there. They
aged to bring him round and he told them he was
dng with a Vito Cellina last night. He also works in
maintenance department. I called Jacques in Zurich
had him run a check on Cellina. He's clean but it
is out his stepsister, Louisa, had been involved with
i Red Brigades before her death from a drugs overdose
: year.'

'So Cellina could be Calvieri's contact inside the build5?'
?'He could be, but I still have my suspicions. It's all too
nvenient. It's as if Calvieri wanted us to find out about
ellina. Why else would Ubrino have mentioned Ferzetti?
auld be wrong, of course. That's why I want the two I you to get on to it right away.'
'Do you know where he is at the moment?'
I 'In the basement. That's where the maintenance depart
nt is housed.'
'We're on our way, sir.'

The lift only went as far as the foyer, but there were stairs
ading down to the basement to the right of the reception sk. They ignored the sign on the door, staff only, and
ended the stairs to a tiled corridor. To their right was a
ring door leading into the workshop. To their left was a
am-coloured door with the words erhaltung man
iger stencilled on it in black. The maintenance manager's
Bee. Paluzzi rapped loudly on the door. 'Herein,' a voice called out.

They entered the room. The man behind the desk was
eavyset, his face remarkable only for its surly expression
I black-framed glasses. The name tag on his grey overall
entitled him as Hans Kessler. Paluzzi told Kessler in

z83

German that he was a security adviser and asked hii
where they could find Cellina.

'What's this all about?' Kessler demanded in Ger
getting to his feet and removing his glasses. 'Vito's a go
worker --'

'We don't want a reference,' Paluzzi cut in, 'we wa
to talk to him. Are you going to take us to him or do
have to call Dieter Vlok and tell him that his maintenar
manager is refusing to co-operate with the authorities i
a matter of national security?'

Kessler scowled but did as he was told, leading the
into the workshop where he identified Cellina as the i
standing with his back to them on the other side of
room.

'We'll take it from here,' Paluzzi said to Kessler. 'Than
you for your help.'

Kessler looked from Paluzzi to Whitlock, then turne
and left the room, muttering under his breath. The other
five maintenance men in the workshop were watchir
them. Only Cellina seemed oblivious to their presence,
was not until Paluzzi approached Cellina that he notic
the blowtorch in his hand. He was welding. Pah
stopped a few feet away from Cellina, out of range of th
blowtorch, and called out to him. At first he thoug
Cellina hadn't heard him but a moment later he switche
off the power and looked around.

'Are you Vito Cellina?' Paluzzi asked in Italian.

Cellina pushed the visor away from his face. He was;
gangling man in his thirties with collar-length brown hail
and a sallow complexion. 'Yes. Who are you?'

'Security. I'd like to talk to you about a friend of yours^
Nino Ferzetti.'

'He's not here,' Cellina said, glancing nervously about
him. 'He didn't come in to work this morning.'

284

bat's because you spiked his drinks last night.'
d't know what you're talking about,' Cellina stam

ripped the visor from Cellina's face then
ed him by the front of his overall and slammed
against the workbench. 'I'm in no mood to play
with you. I want some answers and I want them
r!'

ae of Cellina's colleagues picked up a screwdriver,
rwhen he tried to approach Paluzzi he found his path
by Whitlock, who had unfastened his jacket to
the bolstered Browning. The man took a hesitant
backwards, then tossed the screwdriver on to the
rkbench. Whitlock ushered the men from the workshop
hovered menacingly at the door to dissuade any of

from returning.
'Now it's just you and me,' Paluzzi hissed, tightening
igrip on Cellina's lapels. 'Where's the vial Calvieri gave
»you this morning?'

? Cellina made a desperate grab for the blowtorch. He
laged to curl his fingers around the handle before
iluzzi brought the butt of his Beretta down savagely on
: back of his hand. Cellina cried out in pain and jerked
fingers away from the blowtorch, which clattered on
nhe floor. Paluzzi twisted Cellina's arm behind his back
I frogmarched him to the bandsaw in the middle of the
am. He switched it on, then forced Cellina's face on to
cold metal workbench. Cellina struggled in vain to
ak Paluzzi's hold as his face was pushed ever closer
rards the serrated blade.

Til tell you where it is,' Cellina screamed, his eyes wide
irith fear. 'Please, no more. I'll tell you.'

'I'm listening,' Paluzzi replied, still pushing Cellina's
ace towards the blade.

z85

'It's under my workbench,' Cellina shouted breat
lessly.

Cellina's face was within inches of the blade whe
Paluzzi reached down and switched off the machine^
Cellina crumpled to the floor, shaking, his face buried it
his hands.

Paluzzi hauled him to his feet and shoved him toward
the workbench. 'Show me,' he snarled, then unholstere
his Beretta and pressed it into Cellina's back. 'And do ;
slowly.'

Cellina crouched down and pointed a trembling finger
at the metal cylinder attached to the underside of
workbench with masking tape.

'Did he say what was in it?' Paluzzi demanded.

Cellina shook his head. 'He just told me to keep it h« in the workshop. Out of sight. That's why I taped it beneath my workbench.'

Whitlock crossed to where they were crouched and
peered at the metal cylinder. 'It certainly looks intact.'

Cellina frowned at Whitlock. He spoke no English.]
Whitlock eased himself into a position where he could
study the cylinder more carefully. It wasn't booby trapped.|
He peeled off the masking tape, then stood up and checked
the serial number: $114785. The same number as on the
cylinder stolen from Neo-Chem Industries.

'I'll call the Colonel,' Whitlock said, walking to the|
wallphone beside the swing door.

'Did Calvieri say why he wanted you to keep it here?'|
Paluzzi asked Cellina.

'All he said was that someone would contact me this
afternoon and I was to give it to them.'

'Who?'

'I don't know. He said they would identify themselves j
with a password.'

286

i'What was in it for you?'

Cellina sagged against the workbench and ran his
figers through his hair. 'My stepsister was a Brigatista in
ilan. She died last year frorrt a drug overdose. Calvieri
breatened to tell my mother about Louisa. She knew
auisa died from drugs but she didn't know anything

aut her ties with the Red Brigades. She suffered a heart

ick within days of Louisa's death. It nearly finished her
Another shock like that would surely kill her. I
>uldn't risk it. You must understand that.'

'And how's she going to react to your arrest? Have you

jught about that?'

Cellina buried his face in his hands again.

Paluzzi crossed to where Whitlock was standing by the
ring door. 'What did the Colonel say?'

'He wants me to take the cylinder up to the office
traight away. It'll have to be sent for analysis. He's
rranging for a security guard to take Cellina off our
bands but he wants you to wait here until the guard
rrives.'

'Sure,' Paluzzi said, then noticed Whitlock's question
ng look towards Cellina. 'I'll tell you about it later.'

Whitlock nodded and reached for the swing door. He
addenly turned back to Paluzzi. 'What would you have yne if he'd called your bluff?'

'He didn't, did he?' Paluzzi replied, glancing at the
Ibandsaw.

'But what if he had?'

'It could have got a bit messy,' Paluzzi said with an
^indifferent shrug.

'You would have carved up his face?' Whitlock asked
fin disbelief.

'What use is a threat unless you're prepared to back it

fup?'

z87

'Now I see what the Colonel meant,' Whitlock mut
tered.

'About what?'

'You and Mike being a bad influence on each other,*
Whitlock replied, then disappeared out into the corridorj

'I'm not convinced,' Philpott said, turning the cylinder!
around in his fingers. 'I still say it's a red herring. That'sj
why I don't intend to tell the others until it's been analysed.!
If they think there's a chance that it's the real vial it could 1
lull them into a false sense of complacency. And that-]
would jeopardize the search.'

'Your confidence in them is touching, sir,' Whitlock;
said, fighting the anger in his voice.

'I have every confidence in them,' Philpott replied
sharply. 'I know they wouldn't let it affect them consciously.
But the subconscious plays tricks on us all with
out us even realizing it.'

The door opened and Kolchinsky entered breathlessly.
'I came as soon as I could. But why the secrecy?'

'Because I'm not convinced this cylinder contains the
virus,' Philpott replied, placing it on the table. 'You didn't
mention anything to Visconti, did you?'

'I did as you said and told him you needed me back
here to help you co-ordinate the search.'

'Good. I've arranged for Ingrid Hauser to join him
when she's finished checking her areas.'

Kolchinsky picked up the cylinder. 'The serial number's
the same. What makes you think it's a dummy?'

'We found it too easily. Calvieri's planned this operation
down to the last detail. I find it inconceivable that
he would slip up at this late stage.' Philpott relit his pipe.
'But this is all speculation. We can't possibly know until

2.88

c contents have been analysed. One of our helicopters is
siting for you on the helipad. The lab technicians in
arich have been put on immediate standby.'
: 'I hope you're wrong about this, Malcolm,' Kolchinsky
aid, holding up the cylinder.

'So do I,' Philpott replied.

Kolchinsky slipped the cylinder into his pocket and left.

IjBachstrasse was a gloomy, deserted cul-de-sac off the

pjtoquai, a wharf on the banks of Lake Zurich. The

JVoad was strewn with bricks and masonry. The buildings

'themselves had been derelict for years. A hoarding at the

'entrance to the cul-de-sac warned: falling masonry.

cars parked at owners' risk. A second hoarding was

more ominous: unsafe structures. dangerous. keep

out!

UNACO owned Bachstrasse. They had erected the
hoardings. They had strewn the bricks and masonry on
the road to give the impression that the buildings were
unsafe. Privacy was essential. Their European Test Centre,
housed in a network of soundproofed catacombs, ran
the length of the street. The only way into the Test
Centre was through the warehouse at the end of the
cul-de-sac. It was a rectangular building and, like the
other buildings in the street, its windows had long since
been vandalized. The battered, corrugated-iron door
could be activated electronically from inside the Test
Centre, provided the correct password was given. The
password itself was changed every day. The roof,
like the door, could be opened from inside the Test
Centre but, for security reasons, it was only used in
emergencies.

The helicopter descended into the deserted warehouse

2.%)

and when it landed on the concrete floor the roof slidf
back into place. The pilot cut the engine. A circular section*!
of the floor, fifty feet in diameter, which supported the|
helicopter, was lowered by means of a hydraulic press and I
locked into place beside a landing stage. The two halves |
of the floor closed above the helicopter.

Kolchinsky unfastened his safety belt and picked upl
the small, insulated lead case at his feet. It contained the \ metal cylinder. He clambered out of the helicopter andl
made his way down a set of metal stairs to where a|
white-coated technician was waiting to take the case from j
him.

'Monsieur Rust is waiting in his office for you,' the!
technician said politely, then strode with barely contained!
impatience down one of the corridors leading from the|
landing stage.

Kolchinsky headed down another corridor and paused ] outside a door marked: J. rust- directeur. He knocked.
An overhead camera panned his face and a moment later.j
there was an electronic click as the door was unlocked.:
Kolchinsky entered the plush office and the door closed^
behind him. Rust activated his wheelchair and approachedi
Kolchinsky. They shook hands.

'I think you know Professor Helmut Scheffer, head of!
our science department,' Rust said, indicating the black- <
haired man sitting on the sofa against the wall.

'Of course,' Kolchinsky replied. 'How are you,
Helmut?'

'Well, thank you,' Scheffer said, getting to his feet to
shake Kolchinsky's hand.

'Emile made good time,' Rust said, glancing at hisj
watch. 1.40 p.m. 'It can't have taken him much more than'
twenty minutes to fly you here from Berne.'

'About that,' Kolchinsky agreed, then sat down in the

190

ather armchair in front of Rust's desk. He looked at
beffer. 'How long will it take for your people to analyse
lie contents of the vial?'

'Had it been a glass cylinder, a matter of seconds. We
wild have used either infra-red spectroscopy or nuclear
agnetic resonance. But not with metal. It will have to be
at open inside an isolation chamber.'
'Like a glove box?' Kolchinsky asked.
'Glove boxes have been known to leak. This chamber's
idowless. The whole operation will be carried out by
cans of closed-circuit television cameras using mechan
al hands which are operated from outside the chamber,
ace the cylinder has been opened a sample can be
isferred to a glass vial for analysis. The results will
bow up as a series of oscillations on a graph which we
i use to identify the different components that make up
lie substance.'

'But how long will it take?' Kolchinsky repeated.
'How long?' Scheffer pouted thoughtfully. 'Anything
|up to two hours.'

'Two hours?' Kolchinsky parroted in disbelief. 'The
jway you described it, it sounded more like twenty min?utes.'
'I only outlined the process for you,' Scheffer said
^defensively. 'I'd be glad to explain it in more detail if you
^want.'

'It wouldn't mean anything to me if you did,' Kolchin
; sky replied with a quick smile. 'Science was never my !;strong point.'

Scheffer moved to the door. 'They will be waiting for
me in the lab. I'll let you know the moment we've identified
the substance in the cylinder.'

Rust activated the door, then closed it again behind
Scheffer.

2-91

'Two hours!' Kolchinsky exclaimed, getting to his feet.} 'I never thought it would take that long.'

'Neither did I.' Rust indicated the armchair in front of |
his desk. 'Sit down, I'll order us some tea.'

'I can't sit around here for the next two hours. I've got to j
get back to the Offenbach Centre. There's still so much to \ do, especially if the cylinder does turn out to be a dummy. ]
You can call Malcolm when the results come through.'

'I'll get hold of Emile for you,' Rust said, reaching for]
the telephone.

'Two hours?' Philpott said afterKolchinsky had finished!
briefing him. He took a sip of tea then sat back in his|
chair. 'Not that it matters. We have to keep searching.'

'Where's Visconti?' Kolchinsky asked, picking up his*]
Beretta from the desk.

'Sit down,' Philpott said, indicating a chair. 'Have some i
tea and calm down. You're like a hyperactive child at the I
moment.'

There isn't time -- '

'Sergei,' Philpott cut in, pointing to the chair.

Kolchinsky slipped the Beretta into his shoulder holster \ and reluctantly sat down.

Philpott poured him a cup of tea. 'Ingrid Hauser's;
working with Visconti now. I'd rather use you as ani
auxiliary. That way you can help out if one of the teams
falls behind schedule. It will save us having to pull out
one of the other teams to help them.'

Kolchinsky nodded and lit a cigarette.

The telephone rang.

Philpott answered it. He listened in silence. 'Thanks for \ letting me know,' he said at length, and replaced the
receiver.

29Z

'What is it, Malcolm?' Kolchinsky asked anxiously,

ticing the concern on Philpott's face.

'That was Vlok. He has just received a bomb threat.'

jraham and Marco knew their recall had nothing to do
|with the vial, that much Philpott had told them on the
Itelephone. Apart from that they were just as much in
fine dark as the other three teams who were already in the
|office when they got there.

'What's this all about, sir?' Graham asked.
'There's been a bomb threat,' Philpott replied. 'Dieter I Vlok took the call. The caller claimed to have planted a
Ibomb somewhere close to the building. It's due to go off
j at three o'clock.'

'That's in thirty-eight minutes time,' Marco said, look\
ing at his watch.

'Have you told Calvieri?' Whitlock asked.
'I haven't told anybody outside this room. Vlok's the
only other person who knows about it. And I've sworn
him to secrecy. I haven't even told Commissioner
Kuhlmann, and I don't intend to. Strictly speaking,
the bomb threat falls under his jurisdiction but knowing
him, he'll want to evacuate the building as quickly as
possible. And that could make Calvieri panic, especially
as he specifically warned us against staging a bomb
scare.'

'Where is Kuhlmann ?' Whitlock asked.
'Interrogating Cellina,' Philpott replied. 'You're going
to have to postpone the search for the vial. At least for
the time being. We have to find that bomb.'
'If there is a bomb,' Graham said.
'I'm not taking any chances, Mike.' Philpott shook his
liead in desperation. 'If there is a bomb, and it goes off, and

11

it comes out later that we received a warning beforeha
there's going to be hell to pay. Heads will roll. Startir
with mine.'

'You're going to have to try to reason with Calvieri,|
Paluzzi said to Philpott.

'I intend to. I'm sure he won't let us evacuate
building but he might be able to find out if there is
bomb. And if so, where it's hidden.'
'Leaving us to defuse it?'

'Of course I'd rather bring in the bomb squad, Mike
but their first priority would be to evacuate the building. 1
And that would give Calvieri itchy fingers.' Philpott|
gestured to Kolchinsky. 'Sergei's worked out the ar
for each team to cover. I want you to get on to it rig
away.'

'We're just clutching at straws, sir,' Graham said. 'What |
chance have we got of finding it?'

'Have you got a better plan, Michael?' Kolchinsky;
snapped angrily, opening the door leading into the outer
office. 'Let's go. The Colonel will bleep us if he gets any
positive feedback from Calvieri.'

Philpott waited until they had left then dialled the
extension number Calvieri had given him.

Calvieri was watching an interview with the French Prime
Minister when the telephone rang. He crossed to the side
table and answered it. Philpott told him about the bomb
threat.

'The Greek ELA?' Calvieri said.

'That's who the caller claimed to be representing,'
Philpott replied. 'We have to evacuate the building. If the
bomb --'

'No,' Calvieri cut in angrily. 'I've told you already, I'll

294

the button if any attempt is made to evacuate the
ding.'

iPhilpott exhaled deeply, struggling to control his term
r. 'I'm not going to argue with you, Calvieri. There isn't
e. If you're not prepared to have the building evacuated
i at least find out whether there is a bomb or whether
i just a hoax. You've got the contacts. I don't need to
nind you that it's just as much in your interest as it is
| ours to get it defused in time.'
^Tll look into it.'
'It's already two twenty-five -- '
'I said I'll look into it!' Calvieri replaced the receiver,

i spun round and punched the wall furiously.
'What is it?' Ubrino asked anxiously.
'Get Bettinga on the line,' Calvieri said softly.
'Why, what '
'Just do it!" Calvieri yelled.

Ubrino nodded hesitantly, then picked up the receiver
nd dialled a number in Rome to find out where he could
|contact Bettinga.

Calvieri looked down at his hand. The skin around the
f knuckles was torn and the blood trickfed down between
this fingers. He noticed Sabrina watching him carefully.
He sat down opposite her. 'You think I've finally snapped,
don't you?'

'No, but I think you're pretty pissed off about some
thing,' she replied, holding his stare.

'You could say that.' Calvieri winced when he tried to
flex his fingers. 'This is going to hurt like hell in the
morning.'

'I assume from what you said on the phone that there's
been a bomb scare.'

'You're very perceptive,' Calvieri replied, then looked
across at Ubrino. 'Well?'

2-95

'They are trying to find out where Signore Bettinga is at
the moment,' Ubrina said, his hand over the mouthpiece.

'Who are you talking to?'

'Larusso, one of the cell commanders in Rome.'

'I know who he is! Ask him if he's got the number of
the ELA headquarters in Athens. That's all I want to
know.' Calvieri turned back to Sabrina. 'Yes, there's been
a bomb threat. Are you familiar with the ELA?'

She shook her head.

'It stands for Espanastatikos Laikos Agonas which,;
roughly translated, means the People's Revolutionary j
Struggle. Radical fundamentalists, nothing more.' Calvieri;
took the transmitter from his pocket and turned it around
in his hand. 'I've spent months planning, and perfecting,
this operation. And now the ELA are threatening toj
ruin it all. If the bomb were to go off the whole complex would be evacuated. The perfect opportunity for a;
search.'

'It sounds like a case of the biter bit. If, of course, there |
is a bomb.'

'There's a bomb, I'm sure of that. You'll find - '

'I've got the number,' Ubrino called out.

'Call it and ask for Andreas Kozanakis head of the!
ELA.' Calvieri turned back to Sabrina. 'As I was saying,|
you'll find that anonymous bomb threats are invariably !
hoaxes. But if an organization gives its name, that means \ they're after publicity. And who's going to take themj
seriously if they're not prepared to back up those;]
threats?'

'The voice of the expert,' Sabrina said with disdain.

Calvieri stood up, pocketed the transmitter, and crossedj
to where Ubrino was standing. 'Any luck?'
'It's ringing,' Ubrino replied.

The receiver was lifted at the other end of the line.

z96

'Tony,' Ubrino said, extending the receiver towards
pCalvieri.

'Hello, who's speaking?' Calvieri asked in Greek.
'Andreas Kozanakis. Who is that?'
Tony Calvieri, Red Brigades.'
'It's an honour - '

'Shove your honour,' Calvieri said tersely. 'I want to
tknow if the ELA have planted an explosive device at the
tOffenbach Centre due to go off at three o'clock. Yes or
Ino.'

There was silence.
'Answer me!' Calvieri snapped.

'I am not at liberty to discuss that with you,' Kozanakis
plied.

'How's Alexis?' Calvieri asked, his voice calm.
'What?' Kozanakis replied, the question catching him off guard.

'Alexis, your daughter. How old is she now? Seventeen?
iighteen? It's her first year at Rome University, isn't it? I
elieve Lino Zocchi promised to keep an eye on her for
Jrou. Pity he's in jail. I'd hate something to happen to her.
ic's got her whole life ahead of her.'

'Leave Alexis out of this,' Kozanakis said, a note of
flxiety creeping into his voice.
'Then tell me about the explosive device.'
Kozanakis exhaled deeply. There was a pause. 'Semtex.
[wenty pounds.'

'Nasty,' Calvieri said. 'Where is it?'
'I don't know. One of my aides installed it.'
Calvieri looked at his watch: z.33. 'You've got exactly
reive minutes to find out where the Semtex has been
hidden. If I haven't heard from you by two forty-five then
I'll call Rome and have a couple of my Brigatisti visit
Uexis at her residence. I'm sure she'll amuse them.'

2.97

'No!' Kozanakis screamed down the line.

'I know you won't let it come to that, Andreas.' Calvieri
gave him the number, and extension, where he could 1
reached. 'Twelve minutes. Don't let Alexis down.'

'How much lower can you sink?' Sabrina hissed whe
Calvieri had replaced the receiver.

'I never realized you spoke Greek as well,' Calvieri said
'You continue to impress me.'

'It's not mutual,' she retorted. 'A seventeen-year-old
girl. You disgust me.'

'And how would UNACO have handled the situation?'!
Calvieri asked, sitting astride the chair at the head of the
table, his arms resting on its back.

'We wouldn't have threatened to send round a coupli
of hatchet men to rape her.'

'Who said anything about rape?' Calvieri exclaimed|
with a look of feigned disbelief.

'Spare the theatrics, we both know what you meant.'

'He'll call before two forty-five,' Calvieri said.

'And if he doesn't?' she challenged.

'He will, end of subject.' Calvieri looked at the television ^
screen. 'What's happening?'

'The Dutch Prime Minister's making a speech about!
the need for European unity in 1992,' Ubrino replied.

'Still no sign of Bellini?'

Ubrino shook his head. 'The Foreign Secretary is still <
representing the Italian Government.'

'Good.' Calvieri watched the screen for a couple of!
minutes, then got to his feet and took a pack of cigarettes
from his pocket. It was empty. He crumpled the pack into
a ball and threw it angrily against the wall. 'You got a
cigarette?' he asked Ubrino.

'I smoked my last one twenty minutes ago,' Ubrino said
with an apologetic shrug.

z98

'Great. We could be here all night and we're already
of cigarettes.' Calvieri crossed to the side table and
through the drawers. 'Pens, paper, even pepper
Sints. But no damn cigarettes.'

'What do you expect?' Sabrina said. 'It's a conference
>m, not a tobacco stall.'

Calvieri closed the bottom drawer, then tugged back
sis sleeve to look at his watch: 2.39.

'Tempus fugit,' Sabrina said, looking at the clock on
Ithe wall.

'He's still got six minutes.' Calvieri leaned back against
|the side table and folded his arms across his chest. 'He'll I call. Wouldn't you? Or perhaps you don't think I'd carry
out my threat against Alexis, just as you don't think I'd
press the button if it came to the crunch.'

'I'm sure you would, under the circumstances.'
'And what's that supposed to mean?'
'As you said earlier, who's going to take you seriously
unless you're prepared to back up your threats? But I still
.don't believe you'd push the button, even as a last resort.
You'd have so much to lose.'

'If I found myself in a situation where I was forced to
press the button, I'd have reached a stage where I had nothing left to lose.' Calvieri dismissed the subject with a
curt flick of the hand. 'This is all idle speculation. Bellini
will resign, the money will be paid and the virus will be
returned to the authorities intact.'

'Let's hope the ELA have read the script as well.'
Sabrina looked up at the clock. Three minutes left. Are
you stilj so sure he's going to call?'

'Of course,' Calvieri replied indifferently.
They lapsed into silence, both caught up in their own
thoughts.

She knew he wouldn't push the button. He couldn't.

299

He wasn't the megalomaniac the others believed him to
be. She knew him better than them. He had even managed
to fool Ubrino - then again, that wouldn't be very difficult.
She smiled faintly as she looked at Ubrino, who sat in
front of the television set, as enthralled as a child. She had
her doubts whether he even understood what was being
said at the conference. He was slow, even gullible. But he
was also very dangerous. He wouldn't touch her as long as Calvieri needed her. They were sure to use her as a
hostage to get clear of the building once the ransom had
been paid. Then what? She suddenly realized her life was
entirely in Calvieri's hands. There was little comfort in
that thought.

Calvieri flexed his fingers and winced as the pain shot through the back of his hand. He took the transmitter from
his pocket again and turned it around slowly in his hands.
It seemed to ease the pain. Strange. His eyes flickered
towards the telephone. Damn the ELA. What if Kozanakis
couldn't contact his aide? What if the bomb went off? The
building would be evacuated. Then what? He looked at the
transmitter. The button. He smiled to himself. Would he
press it? Not according to Sabrina. Only he knew the
answer. If it did come to the crunch, he --

The telephone rang.

He snatched up the receiver.

'Calvieri?'

'About time,' Calvieri replied, recognizing Kozanakis's
voice. He glanced at his watch: 1.44. 'You just made it.
What did you find out?'

'The Semtex is in the boot of a white Audi Quattro.
It's parked close to the building.'

'Number plate?'

'He doesn't remember,' Kozanakis replied hesitantly.

'Brilliant! Does it have any distinctive features?'

300

'A plaid rug on the back seat, that's all he can remember.'

'Is the boot booby-trapped?'

'Yes,' came the resigned reply. 'It'll blow if any attempt
is made to open it.'

'You've done well, Andreas.'

'What's going on?' Kozanakis demanded. 'I had this
number checked with the operator. You're at the Offenbach
Centre.'

'That's right,' Calvieri said brusquely.

'The ELA has planned this for months - '

'You're way out of your league,' Calvieri interrupted
him sharply. The Red Brigades have got something big
going down here. It'll be in the news soon enough. But
until then you're to keep your mouth shut. If only for
Alexis.'

'This is going to cost you, Calvieri.'

'I'm sure we can come to some arrangement.' Calvieri
cut the connection and smiled at Sabrina. 'What did I tell
you?'

'What did you mean about it being in the news?' she
asked suspiciously. 'I thought the whole point of the
exercise was to keep the media in the dark.'

'It is, while we're here. But I intend to hold a press
conference once I reach my final destination. I want the
world to know what happened here today. And I'll exploit
it to the full. The capitulation of the smug Western governments
who have always vowed publicly never to bow to
so-called terrorism. They will be humiliated and discredited
in the eyes of the world. The Red Brigades will
become legendary. But more importantly we'll have sent
out a message to our revolutionary comrades fighting for
justice the world over. And that message will be: we can
win. We will win.'

301

'You're deluded,' Sabrina said, shaking her head sadlj
to herself.

'Am I?' Calvieri said almost to himself, as he picked uf
the receiver to call Philpott.

Philpott consulted Kolchinsky's list after he had spoke
to Calvieri. Teams One and Three were the closest to the
building. He bleeped them then chewed the stem of hisl
unlit pipe as he anxiously waited for them to call, hisl
eyes continually flickering towards the desk clock as the|
seconds slipped away.

Graham and Marco located the white Audi Quattro within
a minute of contacting Philpott. It was parked fifty yards
away from the building. It had been positioned for;
maximum effect. A plaid rug lay crumpled on the back
seat. It had diplomatic plates which later turned out to be
false.

'We need a piece of wire to unlock the door,' Marco
said.

'To hell with that,' Graham replied, then picked up a
rock from a nearby flowerbed and pitched it through the
driver's window. He reached through the broken window
to unlock the door, then used the rug to brush the glass
from the seat.

Two security guards, who had seen what had happened
from their posts at the main gate, sprinted across to the
car, batons drawn. One of the guards prodded Graham
painfully in the chest with the tip of his baton and ordered
him in German to put his hands on the roof of the car.
Graham punched him. The guard fell as if poleaxed.
The second guard shoved Marco aside but found himself

3oz

ing down the barrel of Graham's Beretta. Whitlock
Paluzzi arrived breathlessly, having been alerted by
: sound of breaking glass. Whitlock immediately pushed
m's gun hand down to his side. Paluzzi was about
each for his NOCS card when Vlok emerged from the
nilding and ran towards them, shouting at the guard
leave Graham alone. The guard did as he was told.
:>k looked down at the unconscious man, then
jk the second guard to one side and explained briefly
about the bomb. The guard, obeying Vlok's orders,
spersed the small crowd of onlookers, then turned his
attention to his colleague sprawled beside the open car
Dor.

'Was that necessary?' Vlok asked, indicating the unconcious
guard.

'We'll discuss that later. Right now we've got a bomb
Sphere that's due to go off in,' Graham paused to look at
|his watch, 'eleven minutes.'

'Can't you defuse it?' Vlok asked.
'It's booby-trapped. We don't have the time or the
^equipment to deal with it,' Whitlock told him. 'We've got I to get the car off the premises as quickly as possible.'

Graham slid behind the wheel to hotwire the ignition.
'There must be a secluded spot somewhere around here,'
he said without looking up. 'We can leave it there and let
it blow.'

'It's too dangerous,' Paluzzi said. 'The vibration
could trigger off an avalanche on one of the surrounding
mountains. Perhaps more than one avalanche. We can't
risk it.'

The engine spluttered then died. Graham cursed
angrily, then reached under the wheel in another attempt
to start the car.

'What are we going to do?' Vlok asked anxiously.

303

'Water, that's the only answer,' Whitlock replied after
a moment's thought.

'Water?' Vlok said with a frown.

'A gorge, a lake, even a swimming-pool would do. If
we can immerse the car in water, it'll short-circuit the
wiring in the bomb and that would stop it from exploding.'

'There is a lake not far from here,' Vlok said. 'It's very
small.'

'How far?'

Vlok shrugged helplessly. 'A five-minute drive, about
that.'

'Did you hear that?' Whitlock asked Graham.

'I heard. We'll get going as soon as I can get this
started.'

The engine coughed into life. Graham revved the engine,
then gestured for them to get into the car.

'What have you in mind?' Whitlock asked.

'You'll see. Now get in.' Graham turned to Paluzzi.
'You guys tell the Colonel what's happening.'

'How will you get back?' Marco asked.

'I've got that covered,' Graham replied, closing the
door.

'Good luck,' Paluzzi said, hitting the roof with the palm
of his hand.

Graham reversed out of the space, then spun the wheel
violently and sped towards the red and white boomgate.

'What's the plan?' Whitlock asked from the back seat.

'There's a police car parked outside the main gate. It
can give us an escort to the lake. We'll get there in half
the time.'

'In theory,' Vlok said.

'What's that supposed to mean?' Graham asked, glancing
at Vlok in the rear-view mirror.

The quickest route to the Lottersee, that's the name of

304

: lake, is on the old Berne--Thun road. It's only used by
ries now that the N6 has been built. It's a narrow,
visting road and overtaking is virtually impossible.'
'It gets better by the minute,' Graham muttered,
en trod lightly on the brake as they neared the boom
ate.

'I'm not saying we'll encounter any traffic,' Vlok said,
ping to appease Graham. 'Most of the lorries use the N6
nyway. But it's best to be warned.'

Graham stopped the car but kept it idling. Vlok told
he guard to raise the boomgate. It was raised and Graham
drove through. He pulled up beside the police car. Vlok
at out, identified himself to the uniformed policeman
liind the wheel, and told him about the bomb in the of of the Quattro. The policeman listened in disbelief,
ben leaned over and pushed open the passenger door,
lok got in beside him. The policeman started up the
|*ngine.

'Wait,' Graham shouted at the policeman above the
Idrone of the siren. He turned to Whitlock. 'Out. If I'm
fgoing to drive this baby into the lake, I don't want to be
f carrying any passengers.'

Whitlock nodded, then climbed out of the Quattro and
^got into the police car. Graham gave the policeman a Ithumbs-up sign. The police car pulled away in a screech
] of burning rubber. Graham glanced at the dashboard
|«lock. Eight minutes. He put the Quattro into gear and
fsped after the police car. They joined the N6 and kept to \ the fast lane, forcing the traffic in front of them to give > way. When the police car suddenly swung across into the
middle lane Graham was quick to follow it, forcing a Seat
Malaga to brake sharply behind him. The driver hooted ± angrily. The police car then took a gap in the slow lane
and indicated that it would be leaving the motorway at

305

the next turn-off. Thirty yards away. Graham cur
under his breath. He couldn't get into the slow lane, the
was a tailback of traffic behind the police car. He waite
until he was only a few yards away from the turn-off the
accelerated sharply and cut across the slow lane into
slip road. Brakes screeched behind him, followed by
sickening crunch of clashing metal. He didn't look bac
The cars hadn't been travelling very fast. There shouldn'lj
be much damage. A crumpled fender. A shattered light
Nothing more. He braked at the end of the turn-of
changed down into second, and followed the police
on to the old Berne--Thun road.

He saw what Vlok had meant about overtaking being
virtually impossible. The single lane on each side of the
road was narrow, restricting visibility. To the left was
sheer drop of two hundred feet, to the right a towering
rockface. He followed the police car around a sharp bend
in the road and groaned in dismay at the pantechnicon!
twenty yards ahead of them. The pantechnicon disap|
peared around another bend. He glanced anxiously at the!
clock. He had six minutes left. He wiped the back of his|
hand across his sweaty forehead and turned the car into|
the bend. The police car was already sitting on the pantechj
nicon's tail, waiting for an opportunity to pass. It swayed I out from behind the truck but the policeman couldn't risk|
overtaking on one of the blind corners. Graham bit his lipj
nervously. They would never reach the lake at this rate.;
He knew he would have to take the initiative. He had noj
choice. He gritted his teeth and pulled out from behind i
the police car. He passed it. Another bend loomed ahead.
The police car dropped back, giving him the chance to :
tuck in behind the pantechnicon. Graham knew it would i
only waste more time. He had to get past. The Quattro and the pantechnicon turned into the bend together.

306

|The pantechnicon driver saw the lorry first and desper
tried to wave Graham back. Then Graham saw the y. He looked behind him. He wouldn't be able to drop
: behind the pantechnicon, the distance was too great,
eft him with no option. Evasive action. He swung the
el sharply to the right, missing the lorry by inches,
lorry swerved to the left, clipping the side of the
ntechnicon. The Quattro struck the mountain side-on
a protrusion of rock ripped a jagged gash in both yrs before Graham managed to swing the car back on
i the road. He glanced in his rear-view mirror. Both the
|»rry and the pantechnicon had stopped. The police car
I't stop.

Graham looked at the clock. Three minutes. And still
sign of the lake. He had already decided to send the
ar over the edge of the road if he hadn't seen the lake
rithin the next minute. Avalanche or not, he wasn't going
i kill himself for some terrorist's bomb. He was already
jntemplating where to ditch the car when he saw the
Signpost. lottersee -- EiNGANG Vakm. It was still going to
: tight. Then he saw the lake to his left. Its tranquillity
eminded him of Lake Champlain. But it was only a
action of the size.

The road descended rapidly. He followed another sign
ipost on to a dirt road which led him to the lake. He
fcouldn't drive the car into the water, there was no guarantee

that the boot would be submerged before the bomb
I detonated. He scanned his surroundings. A wooden jetty
ffifty yards away. It would be perfect. He spun the wheel
| violently and drove to the jetty. It was deserted. The whole I area seemed to be deserted. The police car appeared in his
i rear-view mirror. He mounted the jetty carefully, fearful '",_ that the wooden boards wouldn't hold the car's weight.
They held firm. He checked the time. A minute left. He

307

decided against jumping from the car before it left
jetty, not with so much at stake. He would bail out whe
it hit the water. It would take several seconds to sink
giving him enough time to swim away.

He pressed the accelerator and the car shot forward
He braced himself as the car launched off the jetty. The
it hit the water, nose first. He immediately unbuckled hif
seatbelt and pulled on the door handle. The door wouldn'i
open. The car dipped forward and the cold, murky wat
flooded in. He tugged desperately at the handle then
the door with his shoulder. It was jammed. The lock ha
been damaged when the door had been raked agains
the mountain. Within seconds the inside of the car wa
flooded. His only chance was the passenger door,
reached for the handle. The car bucked forward, knockir
him against the windscreen. He felt as if his lungs wouldj
burst. If only he could get to the passenger door . . .

Whitlock knew something was wrong when he saw|
Graham struggling with the door handle before the front!
of the Quattro disappeared. He leapt out of the police car,!
discarded his jacket and his Browning, and ran to the end]
of the jetty. He dived into the water just as the last part]
of the Quattro slid under the water. He took a deep breath!
and dived. He could see where it had come to rest onl
its wheels. As he got closer he saw Graham struggling!
frantically with the passenger door. Whitlock grabbed the!
handle with both hands and, anchoring his right footi
against the back door, he slowly eased it open. Graham!
pushed desperately from his side until the gap was bigl
enough for him to squeeze through. They immediately!
propelled themselves upwards to the surface where they!
paused, coughing and spluttering, to catch their breath|
before swimming quickly to the jetty. Vlok and the police*
man hauled them out of the water. Graham slumped down|

308

i to the wooden planks and exhaled deeply. It had been

se.

Whitlock crouched beside Graham and put a hand
Ightly on his shoulder. 'Are you okay?'

'Yeah,' Graham replied, then put an arm around
litlock's shoulders. 'I don't know how much longer fd have lasted out there if you hadn't showed up when du
did. Thanks, buddy.'

Whitlock shrugged it off, then stood up and helped
jraham to his feet. 'What we need now is a hot shower
nd a change of clothing before we catch pneumonia.' He

aked up at the policeman. 'Any chance of a lift back to
0ur hotel?'

'You bet,' the policeman replied with a grin.

309

TWELVE

Rust sat behind his desk. In front of him was a fold
containing the latest developments of Strike Force Nir
operation in Paris. He had read it four times already!
his mind refused to take any of it in. All he could thin
about was the vial. He looked at his watch: 3.30 p.m. -
hour-and-a-half had elapsed since the cylinder had
taken away for examination. It could be another thif
minutes before the results were known. Perhaps long
The waiting was killing him. He took a sip of coffee, j

f	was cold. He spat it back into the cup and was about i
make himself a fresh one when he heard a knock at
door. He looked at the television monitor on his deskij

f	was Scheffer.

I	He activated the door.

Philpott was on the telephone when Graham and Whit
entered the office. He gestured for them to take a
'Thanks for letting me know, Jacques,' he said finally 1
replaced the receiver and turned to face them. 'The i
have just come through. The vial contained water.'

'I can't say I'm surprised, sir,' Whitlock replied,
you said, it would have been too easy.'

'Has Vlok told you what happened with the
Graham asked.

'Yes. I've notified the bomb squad. It's in their har

310

|t»ow.' Philpott looked at the desk clock. There's less than
Ininety minutes left before the deadline. I want you to
|rejoin your teams and continue the search for the vial.'

'And what if we do find another one?' Graham asked.
ji'There won't be time to send it to Zurich for analysis.'

'I've asked Jacques to have a carbon-steel-plated Mag
|nox flask sent down here from Zurich. It's similar to the
Mitainers that are used for the disposal of highly toxic
nuclear waste, only much smaller. The helicopter should
et here within the next thirty minutes. Then if the vial
found, it can be sealed inside the flask, rendering it
harmless.'

'But what if it's another red herring?' Graham asked.
'Let's find it first,' Philpott replied evasively, then
eped Paluzzi and Marco to determine their positions
i that Whitlock and Graham could rejoin them.

be telephone remained silent for the next twenty minutes,
ben it rang twice in the space of five minutes. The first
,11 was from Emile, the helicopter pilot, to say that he
ad arrived at the Offenbach Centre with the Magnox
ask. Philpott told him to remain with the helicopter on

: helipad.

The second call was from Michele Molinetti. Philpott

jldn't place the name.

'Perhaps I should have said Captain Molinetti of the
IOCS.'

'Of course,' Philpott replied, now remembering the
name. 'You're at Calvieri's flat in Milan, not so?'

'That is correct.'

'Have you found something?' Philpott asked.

'We have found an address book hidden in a secret

apartment beneath the floorboards in his bedroom. All

3"

the names are of known terrorists here in Italy, except for
one. There is no address with the name, just two telephone
numbers. One home, one work. I checked the code with
the operator, and it's Zurich.'

'Zurich?' Philpott repeated, reaching for his pen. 'I'll
get on to it right away.'

'The name is Helga Dannhauser,' Molinetti said, then
went on to read out the two telephone numbers. 'We have
no record of her here in Italy. She could be linked to one
of the other European terrorist groups, but none of us has
ever heard of her.'

'I appreciate the call, Captain.'

'I only hope you have more luck than we've had. We
had already checked out all the names, even before we
found the book. We're satisfied that none of them is linked
to the case. Another dead end as far as we're concerned.'

'I'll let you know if we come up with anything. I've got
the number of Calvieri's flat here somewhere.'

'Colonel Paluzzi knows it anyway. Goodbye, sir, and
good luck.'

Philpott replaced the receiver and immediately bleeped
Paluzzi. Whitlock rang the office and Philpott asked him
to send Paluzzi up to him straight away. When Paluzzi
arrived Philpott told him about Molinetti's call.

'Helga Dannhauser?' Paluzzi said thoughtfully as he
stared at the sheet of paper Philpott had given to him.
'The name doesn't mean anything to me either.'

'I want you to ring those numbers using the other
phone. I would have done it myself but I think you'll get
further with your fluency in German.'

Paluzzi went into the outer office and sat down at the
secretary's desk. He called the home number first. He let
it ring for a minute but there was no reply. He then called
the work number.

3121

'Guten tag, ZRF,' a female voice answered.

'Could I speak to Helga Dannhauser, please,' Paluzzi
f said in German.

'Do you know which department she's in?'

'I don't, I'm sorry. A friend of hers gave me this number
the last time she visited me in Berlin. She told me to look
up Helga if I was ever in Zurich. To be honest, I don't
even know what ZRF stands for.'

'Zurich Rundfunk Firma. It's an independent television
' company. I can't say I know any Helga Dannhauser but
I'll put you through to the personnel department. She may
be new here.'

Paluzzi was put through to the personnel department.
He was told that there had never been anybody by that
name working at the station. He thanked the assistant
and hung up. His body tingled with excitement. He knew
he was on to something. He picked up the receiver again
and rang police headquarters. He asked them to check the
name Helga Dannhauser against the first number he had
rung. The name was fed into the central computer and
seconds later he was told that the number was registered
to a Miss Ute Rietler. He dialled the number of the ZRF station again and asked to speak to Ute Rietler. This time
the switchboard operator put him through to the news
department. The phone was answered by a gruff male
voice.

'Could I speak to Ute Rietler, please?'

'Ute's not here,' came the reply. 'She's in Berne covering
the European summit.'

Paluzzi slammed the receiver back into the cradle, then
leapt to his feet and raced into the inner office, where he
poured out his findings to Philpott.

'There has to be a connection,' Paluzzi said in conclusion.
'It's too much of a coincidence.'

3i3

'I agree. It could be a security measure on his part to
list her under a false name.' Philpott picked up the receiverl
and rang the press room. He asked to speak to Ute Rietler. j

There was a lengthy pause before the receptionist camel
back on the line. 'Miss Rietler returned to her hotel about I
twenty minutes ago. She won't be back for another hour. 5
Would you like to speak to one of her assistants?'

'No, it's a personal matter. Which hotel is she staying j
at?'

'I don't know, sir.'

'Then find out, lass,' Philpott thundered.

The flustered receptionist came back on the line a few:
seconds later. 'The Ambassador, on Seftigenstrasse. Do
you know where it is?'

'I'll find it, thank you.'

Philpott wrote the name of the hotel and the street on
a sheet of paper and handed it to Paluzzi. 'I want you and
C.W. to get over there right away. She's our last chance.
And for God's sake, hurry. There're only forty minutes
left before the deadline.'

Paluzzi stuffed the paper into his jacket pocket and
hurried from the room.

Philpott sat back and looked at the telephone. 'I think
we've finally got you.'

Paluzzi found a parking space a block away from the
Ambassador Hotel. They ran to the hotel, mounted
the steps two at a time, then strode briskly across to the reception desk.

'Can I help you?' a blonde-haired receptionist asked
with a glossy smile.

'Ute Rietler, her room number please?' Paluzzi said.

The receptionist punched the name into the computer.

3*4

'Suite 140. I'll tell her you're here. Your names, please?'

'It's okay, we work with her,' Paluzzi replied, forcing
a smile. 'She's expecting us.'

'It's on the second floor. Turn right out of the lift.' The
receptionist turned her attention to another guest waiting
-impatiently to check in.

Both lifts were in use. They took the stairs. Whitlock
paused on the second floor to look at his watch. There
were twenty-one minutes left before Bellini was due to
announce his resignation. He followed Paluzzi to Suite
Z4O. Paluzzi rapped loudly on the door. No reply.

'What if she's not here?' Whitlock whispered.

'She's got to be,' Paluzzi replied, and knocked again.

'Who is it?' a female called.

'Police.'

The door was opened on a chain. 'Where's your ID?'

Paluzzi produced a false carabinieri badge and held it
up for her to see. Whitlock held up his false Scotland Yard
card that had been made at the Test Centre in New York.

'Italian police? British police? You have no jurisdiction
here in Switzerland.'

'We're here for the summit. We'd like to ask you some
questions, that's all.'

For a moment they thought she would refuse to speak
to them. Then the door closed, the chain was removed,
and it was opened again to admit them. Ute Rietler was
an attractive redhead who looked to be in her late twenties.
It was clear, even in the white towelling robe she was
wearing, that she had a stunning figure.

'I hope we didn't get you out of the bath,' Paluzzi said.

'I was just getting dried when you knocked,' she replied,
closing the door behind them. 'I'm due back at the
Offenbach Centre in forty minutes so I'm in a hurry.
What is it you wanted to ask me?'

315

; 'An old friend of yours,' Paluzzi said, helping himself
to a grape from the fruit bowl on the sideboard. 'Tonino
Calvieri.'

'Who?' she retorted with a frown.

Whitlock watched her carefully. She hadn't reacted to
the name at all. Not even a flicker of the eyes. But then
she was ZRF's leading anchorwoman. Philpott had
phoned the information through to them on the earphone.
And that meant she didn't allow herself to get flustered.
An act. And a good one at that.

'You've never heard of Tonino Calvieri?' Paluzzi said,
leaning against the sideboard.

She dug her hands into her pockets and chewed her lip
thoughtfully. 'No, I don't think so.' She suddenly nodded
her head. 'Wait a minute, isn't he that terrorist who's just
taken over as the new leader of the Red Brigades? We ran
a short item on him a couple of days ago. What has he
got to do with me?'

'You tell us, Miss Rietler,' Paluzzi said.

'Tell you what?' she snapped.

'Why your phone number appears in his address book
hidden in his apartment in Milan.'

'This is too much -- '

'Where is the vial he gave you to hide?' Paluzzi cut in
sharply.

'I've had enough of this badgering. I'm calling the hotel
security.' She disappeared into the bedroom and snatched
up the receiver.

'I'd put that phone down, Miss Rietler,' Paluzzi said
from the doorway. 'Or should I call you Miss
Dannhauser?'

Her body stiffened and her fingers tightened around
the handset. The act was over. She replaced the receiver
and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the carpet.

316

Paluzzi picked up a framed photograph from the bedside
table and his eyes narrowed in sudden comprehension.

'What is it?' Whitlock asked, looking at the freckle
faced boy in the photograph.

'He's the spitting image of his father. And I thought I
-knew everything about Calvieri.'

'That's Calvieri's son?' Whitlock said in astonishment.

'He couldn't look more like his father if he tried,'
Paluzzi said, then looked down at Ute Rietler. 'He gave
you the vial, didn't he?'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' she replied,
but there was no conviction in her voice.

'Ute, you've got to help us,' Paluzzi said softly.

'I can't.'

'Why?' Paluzzi asked.

'He said he'd expose my past unless I did what he
wanted.'

'You're not making any sense, Ute,' Paluzzi said. 'Your
past has already been exposed. We know about it. You
must cooperate with us, it's your only chance.'

'I can't,' she repeated.

'And what's going to happen to your son when you're
jailed for life for conspiring with a terrorist? He'll be taken
into care. I doubt you'll ever see him again. Is that what
you want?'

There was a long silence. Ute Rietler was struggling
with her inner emotions. When she finally spoke, it was
in a barely audible voice. 'It's taped underneath the chassis
of our outside broadcast van. It's parked near the main
gate.'

Whitlock bolted into the adjoining room to call
Philpott.

'I don't know what's in it, you must believe me,' she
pleaded. Tony said it would be picked up by a member

3i7

of another terrorist group some time today. That's all he
told me.'

'When did you meet Tony?'

'Rome, eight years ago. I went there to stay with some
friends after my parents were killed in a car crash outside
Bonn. I met him at a Red Brigades rally. We fell in love
at first sight. At least that's what I thought at the time. I
found out later that I was just another in a long line of
girlfriends. We'd only been seeing each other for a couple
of months when I discovered I was pregnant. That's when
I came to my senses. I wanted my child to have a proper
family, not be surrounded by anarchists and killers. Tony
was very understanding but he refused to leave the Red
Brigades. He said his place was with them. I decided i hen
I wanted to start a new life so that Bruno would n^ver
have to know about his father. Tony helped me fake my
own death, a boating accident in the Adriatic. I was listed
as missing, presumed dead. He got me a new passport in
the name of Ute Rietler and I decided to start afresh here
in Switzerland. I cut my hair, dyed it and took to wearing
contact lenses instead of glasses. I got a job with ZRF, and the rest I'm sure you know.

'I never saw or heard from him again until he called
me last week, asking for my help. I told him I didn't
want anything more to do with the Red Brigades but he
threatened to splash my past across every tabloid in
Europe if I didn't agree to help him. What choice did I
have? I went to his hotel last night and picked up a
package from the reception desk. His instructions were
with the metal cylinder. I never knew what was in it. . .'
Her voice faded to nothing and she wiped a tear from the
corner of her eye. 'You're going to take Bruno into care,
aren't you?'

'No,' Paluzzi replied, and paused in the doorway to

318

look back at her. 'I promise I'll do everything I can to
keep your name out of this.'

She smiled weakly, then put her hands over her face
and began to cry softly to herself.

In the other room Whitlock was standing by the
-window, staring absently at the traffic in the street
below.

'Ready?' Paluzzi asked.

'Sure.' Whitlock crossed to where Paluzzi was waiting
for him at the door. 'What happened in there?'

Til tell you about it in the car,' Paluzzi said, opening
the door.

Whitlock stepped out into the corridor and instinctively
glanced at his watch: 4.46 p.m.

Philpott sent Graham and Marco to get the vial. Vlok had
arranged for a maintenance van to be parked at the back
of the building for their use. Marco got behind the wheel
and started the engine. Graham climbed in beside him.
Marco slipped the van into gear and drove to where the
dozens of media pantechnicons were parked. He cruised
the road leading to the boomgate as they scanned the
pantechnicons for the one belonging to ZRF. He braked
in front of the boomgate - there was no sign of the
one they were seeking. A guard approached the driver's
window and Marco asked him whether he knew where
the ZRF vehicle was parked. The guard consulted the
clipboard in his hand. He flicked through the sheets of
paper, then leaned his arm on the open window and
showed Marco its position on a plan he had made of the
media vehicles the previous night. It was parked on the
grass behind the row of vehicles nearest the road. Marco
thanked him, did a U-turn, and drove back ten yards

319

before finding a space between two giant pantechnicons
big enough to drive through. He braked immediately.
The grass was seething with cables. They would have to
continue on foot.

Graham jumped out and picked his way through the
cables to a white vehicle with the letters ZRF painted in
black on either side. Marco went after him and after
looking around quickly he slid underneath the pantechnicon
where Graham was already feeling around the edges
of the chassis for the metal cylinder. Ute Rietler was hardly
likely to have crawled right underneath and taped the vial
to the centre of the vehicle's underbelly.

They heard voices and tucked their legs out of sight
seconds before a couple of engineers approached the back
of the pantechnicon and climbed inside, closing the door
behind them. Graham indicated for Marco to start at the
front and work his way back. He would start from the
back. Marco nodded and leopard crawled to the front of
the pantechnicon. Graham reached the back section then
removed a small torch from his pocket and switched it
on. He played the beam across the chassis, concentrating
on the edges. The door opened again. He switched off the
torch. A man came out and paused at the foot of the steps,
inches away from where Graham lay motionless on the!
grass. He shouted something in German and a moments
later a packet of cigarettes was thrown to him. The man;j
didn't catch it and the packet landed on the middle step.5
For a horrifying moment Graham thought it was going to^
topple off the step and land next to him. It came to rest]
on the edge of the step. A hand appeared and picked it j
up. The man walked away from the pantechnicon, andlj
Graham exhaled deeply. As he switched the torch or
again, a hand touched his leg. He looked round sharply,!
cracking the back of his head painfully on the exhausij

310

pipe. Marco held up a hand apologetically then patted the

breast pocket of his maintenance overall.
'You got it?' Graham whispered.
Marco nodded. 'It was taped under the mudguard.'
Graham wriggled his way out and rubbed the back of

-his head gingerly. A man suddenly emerged from the back
of the pantechnicon beside the ZRF one. He paused on
the bottom step and eyed them suspiciously.

- Marco got to his feet, brushed the grass from his overall
and shook his head sadly at the man. 'You wouldn't believe the amount of rust under there. It's not fit
to be on the road. I'd check under your van if I were
tyou.'
,The man watched them get back into the maintenance
van, then shrugged and walked away. Marco started up
j the engine and reversed out fast into the road.

'We've got nine minutes left to get the cylinder to the

- helicopter,' Graham said. 'Forget about the back entrance,
|.we'll never make it. Drive to the main entrance, it's our
|only chance.'

'We'll never get through without setting off the metal
^detector,' Marco replied.
'We've got to do it.'

Marco sped round the perimeter of the car-park and
jlled up in front of the main doors.
'Run like hell,' Graham told him. 'And use the stairs,
bey could shut down the lifts before you reach the
helipad.'

'What are you going to do?'

'Someone's got to cover your back. Whatever happens
me, don't turn back. Just keep running.'
Marco nodded. Graham patted him on the shoulder
Mid they leapt out of the van. The doors parted electron
illy in front of them. Marco entered first. The metal

3zi

detector buzzed. He broke into a run when a guard
approached him. The guard shouted at him to stop.
Graham shoulder-charged the guard as he reached for
his holstered pistol. The pistol spun from his hand. A
second guard was instantly on the scene. Graham tackled
him, knocking him to the floor. He retrieved both pistols
and sprinted after Marco. The two guards radioed for
back-up. There wasn't much else they could do. Graham
reached the stairs before any of the guards could get to
him. Fortunately they hadn't dared to shoot because the
foyer was packed. He only paused for breath when he
reached the fifth floor. There was still no sign of the
guards. It surprised him. He took a deep breath, then
bounded up the stairs, two at a time, until he reached the
tenth floor landing. Still no guards. What was going on?
Were they waiting for him on the helipad? How would
they know where he was headed? He pressed himself
against the wall and pushed open the door leading out on
to the helipad. No gunfire.

'Michael?' a voice called out from the helipad.

Graham recognized Kolchinsky's voice. He was also
the only person he knew who called him Michael.

'Michael, is that you?' Kolchinsky called out again.

Graham wiped the sweat from his forehead and stepped
out on to the helipad. Vlok stood beside Kolchinsky and
Marco, a two-way radio in his hand.

'We thought you two might use the main entrance to
save time,' Kolchinsky said. 'So when we heard that two
maintenance workers were headed for the stairs we put
two and two together and Dieter gave instructions to the
guards to give you free passage to the helipad.'

'You sure know how to spoil a guy's fun, Sergei,'
Graham said with a half-smile.

Kolchinsky checked his watch. 'You did it with four

'32.1

minutes to spare. You could have taken the lift after all.
It would have been far less strenuous.'

Graham smiled as Kolchinsky crossed to the telephone
to break the news to Philpott.

'Wouldn't you like to join us?' Calvieri said to Sabrina
and indicated the third chair in front of the television set.

'The air's a lot cleaner where I am,' Sabrina retorted
sharply.

'Humour, even in defeat. I admire you for that.' Calvieri
sat down and rubbed his hands together. 'I've been waiting
for this moment ever since the PCI came to power two
years ago. The public humiliation of Enzo Bellini.'

'It's five o'clock,' Ubrino said, glancing at his watch.
'He should be arriving any moment now.'

Calvieri nodded. 'All that's missing is a cigarette. I
would die for one.'

The too,' Ubrino muttered, and helped himself to
another peppermint from the packet he had taken from
the drawer.

They watched the screen as the Swiss President emerged
through a side door and crossed to a table where he sat
down and surveyed the dozens of journalists seated in
front of him. Cameras flashed incessantly. A journalist
shouted out a question' but the Swiss President immediately
raised a hand for silence.

'Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming here
tonight,' the President said in English. 'I called this press
conference to deal with the rumours that the Italian Prime
Minister, Signore Enzo Bellini, is to step down through
ill-health. It is true that he was taken ill this morning,
which is when the rumours began, but I am glad to report
that it is nothing more serious than influenza. I have just

32.3

seen Signore Bellini and he has asked me to assure yc
that he will not be standing down, either today or at anji
time in the foreseeable future .. .'

'What are you talking about?' Calvieri shouted at
screen. He rubbed the back of his hand nervously ac
his mouth. 'It's part of the deal. Bellini must resign.'

The telephone rang.

Calvieri knocked over his chair in his haste to answer it

'I thought you'd like to see the start of the press confer!
ence before I called you,' Philpott said.

'What are you playing at, Philpott?' Calvieri snarle
his breathing ragged. 'I told you what would happen
either of my demands weren't met. You've just made
very big mistake -- '

'We've found the vial.'

Calvieri's eyes narrowed with uncertainty. 'Where?'

'In the workshop.'

Calvieri burst out laughing, such was his relief.

'But we expected a red herring,' Philpott continued-!
That's why we carried on with the search even after it
had been found. Miss Rietler was very helpful when
came to finding the real vial. Or should I call her Mis
Dannhauser? After all, that was the name in the addre
book we found under the floorboards in your flat.'

Calvieri's face went pale. He fumbled for a chair andf
sat down slowly.

The lab results came through fifteen minutes ago,' Phil-1
pott said, knowing he had to call Calvieri's bluff. It was tool
late to turn back, even if he was wrong. And God help him|
if he were. 'Our scientists have identified the compound i
the virus. They didn't attempt to defuse the magnetic charge 1
on the side of the metal cylinder, just in case you'd booby«|
trapped it. The vial's been removed from the cylinder
further tests. It's quite harmless now.'

32.4

Calvieri wiped the sweat out of his eyes. 'It's not over
Colonel. We still have one ace left to play. Sabrina.

e's our ticket out of here. And don't underestimate us,

: don't have anything left to lose. Not any more.'

'If anything happens to Sabrina-'

'It won't, as long as you do as we say. I'll call you back

ben we've decided on a plan of action. And don't try
nything stupid like storming the room. You wouldn't
rant to have Sabrina's death on your conscience, would

i?' Calvieri replaced the receiver and rubbed his hands
rer his face. He was devastated. He looked up at Ubrino.

bey found out about Helga.'

'How?' Ubrino replied. 'You said there was no way
bey could trace her.'

'I know what I said,' Calvieri snapped, raking his fingers
brough his hair. 'They found her name and number in

old address book under the floorboards in my flat. I
sn't remember putting it there. I thought I'd destroyed
ill my links with her. God, what have I done?'

'It's all collapsing around you and there isn't a damn
bing you can do about it,' Sabrina said with a satisfied

lile. 'You might as well give up now, Tony, you know
jrou're finished. Nobody likes a failure, not even the Red
rigades.'

'Sta zitta? Ubrino shouted, pulling the Beretta from his
elt.

'Leave her,' Calvieri hissed and pushed the barrel of
|the gun towards the carpet. 'We need her in order to get
jut of here.'

'They could be stalling for time.'

Calvieri shook his head. 'Then they would have post
ijponed the press conference. No, they don't intend to give
fin to our demands. That much is obvious.'

'Then press the button.'

32.5

Calvieri took the transmitter from his pocket and stared
at it in the palm of his hand. 'The vial's already been
removed for analysis. What's the use of blowing up an
empty metal cylinder?'

'You only have their word for it. What if they're calling
your bluff? Press the button. We have nothing left to lose.
Press it.'

'No!' Calvieri yelled, his eyes blazing. 'You've been
working with Zocchi for too long. Even if the vial is still
inside the metal cylinder, what can we hope to achieve by
killing millions of innocent people? Nothing. Absolutely
nothing.'

Ubrino looked at Sabrina. 'She was right. You never
intended to push it, did you?'

'Never,' Calvieri replied defiantly. 'But they didn't
know that. If they had they wouldn't have agreed to our
demands in the first place. It was psychological pressure.
Can't you see that?'

'I believed in you, Tony. And this is how you repay my
trust.' Ubrino levelled the Beretta at Calvieri. 'Give me the
transmitter.'

'You'll have to kill me first,' Calvieri said in a challenging voice. 'And you can't do that, can you? You need me
to get you out of here. You don't have the brains to do it
by yourself.'

Ubrino thought for a few moments, then shoved the
Beretta back into his belt. 'When this is over . . .'

Then you'll kill me, sure,' Calvieri replied with an indifferent
shrug, reaching for the telephone to call Philpott.

'What did he say, sir?' Whitlock asked after Philpott had
replaced the receiver.

'He wants a helicopter ready in twenty minutes to fly

1*6

them out. They're taking Sabrina as a hostage.' Philpott
turned to Paluzzi. 'I want you and your men to clear the
helipad. Only our helicopter must be there.' He gestured
to Vlok. 'Dieter, I want you to go with them to make sure
it all runs smoothly.'

Vlok agreed, then hurried out with Paluzzi and his men.

'Sergei, I want you and Mike to check the fifth floor.
There shouldn't be anybody there, but it's best to be
sure.'

Kolchinsky and Graham left the room.

Philpott turned to Kuhlmann. 'Reinhardt, I want you
to commandeer one of the lifts then put a guard on each
floor to make sure that Calvieri and Ubrino have safe
passage to the helipad.'
'I'll see to it,' Kuhlmann said and went immediately to
carry out the instruction.

'Which leaves me,' Whitlock said suspiciously. 'What
do you want me to do?'

'Ever wanted to become a helicopter pilot?'

The telephone rang.

Calvieri answered it. 'You're three minutes late.'

'You made the conditions, not me,' Philpott replied.

'Is the helicopter ready?'

'It's ready.'

'And the lift?'

'It's been stopped on the fifth floor, as requested.'

'You make any move against us -- '

'You'll kill Sabrina, you told me that before,' Philpott
cut in.

'As long as we understand each other. She'll be released,
unharmed, once we reach our final destination. I'll call
you at the hotel tomorrow morning to tell you where to

327

find her. Until then, cwo.' Calvieri replaced the receiver
and turned to Ubrino. 'Bring her.'

'Why don't you bring her?' Ubrino retorted.

'Why don't I just bring myself?' Sabrina said, getting
to her feet.

Ubrino grabbed her arm and pressed the Beretta against
the side of her neck. Calvieri unlocked the door and eased
it open. He then took hold of Sabrina's other arm and
they led her out into the deserted corridor. All the doors
were closed. The lift stood open at the end of the corridor.
The silence was eerie. Ubrino dug his fingers into Sabrina's
arm and guided her towards the lift. Calvieri kept his eyes
on the doors behind them, his Beretta at the ready. Not
that he thought Philpott would try anything. There was a
touching loyalty amongst his kind. A loyalty that was
foreign to someone like Calvieri. His loyalty lay with the
cause, not with its protagonists. He glanced at Ubrino.
Zocchi's militancy had obviously rubbed off on him over
the past few years. Ubrino had suddenly become a dangerous
liability. He would kill him the moment they were
airborne. He couldn't afford to take any chances. But for
the moment he needed Ubrino. Just as Ubrino needed him.
A temporary bond was all that remained of a once close
friendship.

Ubrino led Sabrina into the lift, the Beretta still pressed
firmly against the side of her neck. Calvieri backed into
the lift after them and closed the doors.

Whitlock sat behind the controls of the Lynx helicopter,
Emile's peaked cap tugged over his head. He looked across
at the lift doors. Where were they?

He thought about the briefing in Vlok's office.
Philpott's instructions had been simple. Rescue Sabrina,

3z8

unharmed. It meant he would have to kill at least one
of them. Perhaps both. Ubrino was certainly the more
dangerous of the two. A psychotic killer. Calvieri was less
of a threat. Although he was always armed, he had never
been known to use his gun. He left the killings to his Brigatisti. Whitlock touched the Browning in his belt and
looked slowly around the deserted helipad. The landing
lights were on as the darkness descended across Berne. He
shivered in the light wind which had sprung up in the
last hour and absently adjusted his cap as he turned his
attention back to the lift doors. Where were they?

The doors suddenly parted and Calvieri stepped out
tentatively on to the helipad. He looked around slowly,
then indicated for Ubrino to follow him. Ubrino emerged
on to the helipad, Sabrina held tightly against him. Whit
lock bit his lip anxiously. It was going to be a difficult
shot. A mistake could cost Sabrina her life. That seemed
to give him renewed confidence in himself.

Calvieri pointed to the rotors and turned his finger
round in the air, indicating that he wanted Whitlock to
start the engine. Whitlock remembered what Emile had
shown him and pressed the starter switch. They were now
less than ten yards away from the helicopter. He palmed
the Browning from his belt. His hands were sweating.
Calvieri reached the open door first and peered into the
cabin. Satisfied it was empty, he clambered inside. Ubrino
led Sabrina to the door and Calvieri grabbed her arm to
help her up. Ubrino glanced around furtively, then gripped
the door but as he pulled himself up Sabrina lashed out
with her foot, catching him on the side of the head. He
fell heavily on to the helipad, the Beretta spinning from
his hand. Whitlock instinctively swung his Browning on
Calvieri, then noticed out of the corner of his eye that
Ubrino had got to his feet and was making for his fallen

319

Beretta. For a split second Whitlock was caught in a
dilemma. Then Sabrina shoulder-charged Calvieri, slamming
him against the cabin wall. He grunted in pain and
the Beretta slipped from his grasp. Whitlock kicked open
the passenger door and shot Ubrino as he was aiming the
Beretta at Sabrina's back. The bullet struck Ubrino in the
head and he was dead before he hit the ground. Whitlock
turned the Browning on Calvieri, giving Sabrina the
chance to kick the Beretta out on to the helipad.

Graham and Paluzzi, alerted by the gunshot, emerged
from behind a door leading on to the stairs and ran across
to the helicopter. Philpott, Kolchinsky and Kuhlmann
appeared behind them. Graham retrieved the two Berettas,
then ordered Calvieri out of the helicopter. Calvieri
jumped on to the helipad and slowly raised his hands
above his head. Paluzzi frisked him and pocketed the
transmitter. He found the key for Sabrina's handcuffs and
unlocked them before helping her out of the helicopter.
She took one of the Berettas from Graham and pushed it
into her shoulder holster.

Whitlock cut the engine, then got out of the cockpit
and looked across at Sabrina. 'Are you all right?'

'I'm fine,' she replied, massaging her wrists where the
handcuffs had dug into her skin. 'Thanks, C.W.'

Whitlock smiled at her, then crossed to where Philpott
was standing. 'Good work, C.W.'

Thank you, sir.'

'Cuff him,' Philpott said, nodding towards Calvieri.

'Allow me,' Sabrina replied, then took the handcuffs
from Paluzzi and snapped them around Calvieri's wrists.

'Have you got a cigarette?' Calvieri asked Kolchinsky.
'I haven't had one all afternoon.'

Kolchinsky took his cigarettes from his pocket, pushed
one between Calvieri's lips, and lit it for him. Calvieri

330

took a long drag then raised his manacled hands and took
the cigarette from his lips. He exhaled deeply, then looked across at Philpott. 'I'm not taking this rap by myself.
You'll find Nikki Karos at his house on Corfu.'

'Karos alive?' Paluzzi snorted. 'That's ridiculous. Mike
and I were there when he was killed.'

'It was stagemanaged for your benefit,' Calvieri said to
Paluzzi.

'We've had the house under surveillance - '

'Don't you think he knows that?' Calvieri cut across
Paluzzi. 'Why do you think Boudien dismissed the staff?
To make it look as if Karos was dead.'

'We saw him die,' Graham snapped.

'I don't know how he faked it, but Nikki Karos is alive.
I should know, I spoke to him on his private line this
morning.'

Philpott turned to Graham. 'I want you and Sabrina to
check it out. Emile can fly you there tonight.'

'I'll fly them over, Malcolm,' Kolchinsky said. 'Emile's
a courier, not a combat pilot. If Karos is alive, we could
come under fire.'

'Very well,' Philpott replied after a moment's thought.

He took Whitlock and Paluzzi to one side. 'Commissioner
Kuhlmann has agreed to give us two hours with
Calvieri before we have to hand him over to the local
police. I want you to get as much out of him as you can
before they take him away.'

'Where can we question him?' Paluzzi asked.

'Use Vlok's office.'

'What about Ubrino?' Whitlock asked, glancing at the
body.

'The police will be here shortly. Commissioner
Kuhlmann and I will stay here to tie up any loose ends.
Now go on, get Calvieri out of here before they arrive.'

331

Whitlock and Paluzzi led Calvieri across the helipad
and disappeared down the stairs.

Kolchinsky looked at his watch, then dropped his cigarette
end and ground it underfoot. 'It's going to be a long
haul. We'd better get started as soon as possible.'

'How long will it take us to reach Corfu?' Sabrina
asked.

'You're my navigators, that's for you to work out.'

Graham and Sabrina exchanged an expressive look as
they followed Kolchinsky to the helicopter.

'Sit down,' Whitlock said to Calvieri, indicating the chair
behind Vlok's desk.

'What about these?' Calvieri asked, extending his manacled
wrists towards Whitlock.

'They stay, for the moment.'

'So what's the deal?' Calvieri asked, sitting down.

'Deal?' Paluzzi asked suspiciously.

'Why am I here? Why haven't I been handed over to
the local police?'

'You'll be handed over to them in two hours' time,'
Whitlock told him. That's when you'll be officially
booked.'

'And until then?'

'Hopefully you'll agree to cooperate with us,' Whitlock
said. 'It would certainly benefit you in the long run if you
did.'

'And what exactly does this "cooperation" entail?'

'A signed confession,' Paluzzi replied brusquely.

'And what's in it for me? I'm hardly going to be
pardoned, am I?'

'A reduction in sentence,' Whitlock said.

Calvieri sat back and smiled to himself. 'So I'll get three

332.

life sentences instead of four. Not much of an incentive,
is it?'

Paluzzi placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward,
his eyes fixed on Calvieri's face. 'You're going to
spend part of your sentence in an Italian jail. And that
means you're going to need protection. All I have to do is
make one phone call and all the Red Brigades prisoners
will be transferred to other jails before you even get there.
Can you imagine what those neo-fascist prisoners would
do to you? And the warders won't lift a finger -- '

'You've made your point.' There was fear in Calvieri's
eyes. He chuckled nervously. 'You certainly know how to
negotiate, Paluzzi.'

Paluzzi moved to the door. Til get some paper from
the other office.'

'Paluzzi?' Calvieri called out after him. 'I could use
another cigarette.'

Til see what I can do,' Paluzzi replied as he closed the
door behind him.

Whitlock sat on the sofa and looked at Calvieri. 'What
made you team up with Karos? You two are complete
opposites.'

'It was a case of us needing each other. I needed him
to finance the operation and he needed the money to start
a new life in some other part of the world. I don't know
the whole story, but it seems there were several contracts
out on his life. He knew it would only be a matter of time
before he was hit.'

'So he orchestrated his own "death" in front of the
authorities to make it seem all the more convincing?'

Calvieri nodded. 'He knew it would take the pressure
off him, giving him the chance to start afresh away from
Corfu.'

'What would his cut have been?'

333

'Twenty million.'

'Where would it have come from? You wanted the
hundred million split between five terrorist groups . . .'
Whitlock trailed off and nodded to himself. 'Of course,
you only intended to give to four of them. The fifth was
just a cover for Karos.'

'That's right. The Red Army Faction in West Germany
were never in on the deal. Karos had his own contact in
Berlin who would have collected the money for him.'

'Who hired the Francia brothers?' Whitlock asked.

'Karos. They'd worked for him before. I've never even
met them. I spoke once to Carlo on the phone to stage
the shooting in Venice, that's all. It helped to draw the
suspicion away from me.'

Whitlock frowned. 'There's one thing I still don't
understand. How did you manage to warn Ubrino that
Mike, Sabrina and Fabio were on their way to the chalet?'

'I had a transmitter in my pocket which I carried with
me at all times. Ubrino had the receiver in the chalet. We
agreed that I would only use it in an emergency. He
contacted the Francia brothers and, well, the rest you
know.' Calvieri sat forward, his manacled hands clasped
together on the desk. 'You were Anderson, weren't you?
I knew it the moment I saw you properly on the helipad.
The description matched perfectly. So who was Yardley?'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' Whitlock
replied, holding Calvieri's stare.

'No, I suppose not,' Calvieri muttered, then slumped
back in his chair.

When Paluzzi returned he placed a pad, a pack of
cigarettes and a lighter on the desk in front of Calvieri.
He then unlocked Calvieri's handcuffs and handed him a
pen. 'Now start writing.'

334

THIRTEEN

It took them five-and-a-half hours, including three fuel
stops, to reach Corfu.

As Kolchinsky skimmed the helicopter low across the
Khalikiopoulos Lagoon, Graham and Sabrina were smearing
camouflage cream over their faces in the cabin behind
him. They were both wearing black tracksuits, which they
had got from the Test Centre in Zurich, and Sabrina also
wore a black cap to hide her blonde hair.

'Are you ready?' Kolchinsky called out over his
shoulder.

'Ready,' Sabrina replied, and pushed her Beretta into
her shoulder holster.

Graham, too, loaded his Beretta and bolstered it. 'How
long before we deplane?'

'A couple of minutes,' Kolchinsky answered.

'And you're sure there are no guards?' Sabrina asked.

'That's what it says in the surveillance report,' Kolchinsky
replied. 'Boudien's the only person who's been seen
there in the last two days.'

Graham clipped the two-way radio on his belt. 'I still
say we're on a wild-goose chase.'

'But what would Calvieri gain by that?' Sabrina
asked.

'I know it doesn't make any sense but you'd understand
my scepticism if you'd been there when Karos was shot.
The guy was riddled with bullets even before he fell off

335

the terrace. You don't just get up and walk away from
that.'

Kolchinsky banked the helicopter in a wide arc to avoid
flying over the house and landed on the helipad. He gave
them a thumbs-up sign, the signal to deplane.

'If you haven't heard from us in thirty minutes you'll
come in with guns blazing, right?' Graham said, standing
in front of the closed cabin door.
'Just make sure I do hear from you,' Kolchinsky replied.

Graham pulled open the door and jumped out on to
the helipad. Sabrina leapt out after him and closed the
door behind her. The helicopter immediately rose into the
sky and wheeled away towards a clearing on the edge of
the lagoon where Kolchinsky would await their instructions.

They ignored the road leading up to the house. Instead
they used the cover of the adjacent olive grove, dense trees
with thick corded trunks. It would be impossible to see
them from the house. The perfect approach. Graham put
a hand lightly on Sabrina's arm when they reached the
edge of the grove. The nearest of the four concrete pillars
stood thirty yards away. Thirty yards of lawn. According
to the surveillance report, the only way into the house was
via the glass lift. Although the glass was bulletproof, it still
made them feel uneasy. They would be trapped together in
a confined space. And not only that, their progress could
be monitored from inside the house. Graham had
suggested climbing the pylons, using suction pads, but his
idea was quickly scuppered when it turned out that the
pylons were protected with razor-sharp pieces of glass
embedded into the concrete. Sabrina had suggested using
a length of rope to climb up to the terrace. The railing
had an alarm built into it which would be activated the
moment the grappling hook touched it. If the alarm was

336

on. But they couldn't take that chance. Another idea
discarded. There was no alternative; they would have to
use the lift.

Graham broke cover and sprinted to the lift. Sabrina
followed and took up a positjon on the other side. He
pressed the call button and the lift arrived seconds later.
He pivoted round, Beretta extended, when the doors
opened. It was empty. They stepped inside and he pushed
the button for the first floor. They had agreed to cover the
house, floor by floor, rather than risk any more time in
the lift than was absolutely necessary. The doors closed
and the lift rose slowly up the side of the house. They
braced themselves to dive low out of the lift when it
stopped on the first floor. It didn't stop. He hit the button
for the second floor. It didn't stop there either. It slowed
on nearing the third, the top, floor. Each was aware of
the other's tension, and the sweat shone on both their
faces.

The lift stopped and the doors opened. They dived low
through the doorway, fanning the corridor with their
Berettas. It was deserted. A closed-circuit television
camera, mounted above the metal door at the end of the
corridor, was monitoring their every move. The lift doors
closed behind them. Graham got to his feet cautiously and
was about to shoot out the camera lens when the metal
doors suddenly slid open. They both trained their Berettas
on the doorway. The room looked deserted. It had to be
a trap. Sabrina stood up and covered Graham's back as
he moved towards the open door.

They were both knocked off their feet as if hit by an
invisible punch. Sabrina landed by the lift. Graham was
slammed against the wall, winded. He fell, face forward,
on to the carpet. The towering figure of Boudien appeared
in the doorway, holding a CZy5 pistol in his hand. He

337

disarmed them, then returned to the doorway and waited
for them to recover.

Graham was the first to move. He rubbed his eyes, then
pulled himself up on to one knee. He felt groggy. His
whole body was tingling. He looked across at Sabrina.
She lay motionless in front of the lift. For a horrifying
moment he thought she was dead. Then she groaned and
slowly eased herself up info a sitting position. She let
Graham help her to her feet. Boudien gestured for them
to enter the room.

It was a lounge. And Karos's obsession with snakes
was evident everywhere. Prints and wood engravings lined
the walls, bronze sculptures littered the sideboards, and
even the carpet had snakes incorporated into its design.

Karos sat in one of the armchairs. 'Please, come in. Sit
down,' he said, indicating the sofa opposite him.

Boudien waited until they were seated, then handed
one of the Berettas to Karos and tucked the other into the
back of his belt. He took up a position behind the sofa,
his arms folded across his chest.

Karos placed the Beretta in his lap. 'I'm relieved that
you both survived the shock. Gadgets have never been my
strong point, I'm afraid. I was worried that I might have
overdone it. My plans would have been thrown into
complete disarray if the shock had proved fatal.'

'An electric shock? I thought as much,' Graham said,
eyeing Karos contemptuously. 'What is it, some sort of
metallic sensor?'

Karos picked up a remote control device from the coffee
table next to the armchair. 'I find metallic sensors very
unreliable. It's so difficult to set a level for it. It's either
too high or too low. There really isn't a happy medium.
This one works off a heat-seeking sensor built into the
ceiling in the corridor. The sensor picks up the heat from

338

a body and counters it with a charge of static electricity.
It's part of my security system. Not that I've had to use it
before. That's why I was worried about the strength of
the charge.'

'I presume the remote also controls the lift and the
door?' Sabrina said.

'And the closed-circuit television cameras,' Karos replied.
'That's how I was able to track you both from the
moment you left the helicopter. My whole security system
on one remote control. The wonders of science.'

'You knew we were coming?' Sabrina said.

'I realized something had gone wrong when Bellini
didn't resign at five o'clock. I knew that if Calvieri had
been taken alive he'd be sure to finger me. He wouldn't
take the rap by himself. So I expected some sort of deputation,
Miss Carver, either from your organization or from
the NOGS.' Karos got to his feet and secured the Beretta
under his belt. He gestured towards the drinks cabinet.
'Can 1 get you something? Brandy? Whisky? A bourbon,
perhaps?'

'How did you manage to pull off your own death like
that?' Graham asked, staring coldly at Karos.

"I wondered when you'd get round to that.' Karos
poured himself a whisky. 'I've made a lot of enemies over
the years and several of them have put out contracts on
my life. Two attempts have been made to kill me in the
last three months alone. Fortunately Boudien was on hand
to thwart them. But I can't go on relying on Boudien to
bail me out every time. I realized the only way to get the
contracts lifted would be for me to "die". That would
mean starting a new life away from Corfu. But I couldn't
risk withdrawing large sums of money just prior to my
"death". It would be too suspicious. So I went into league
with Calvieri. I would cover the cost of the operation in

339

return for a fifth of the ransom money. Well, that's how
it should have worked.'

'You've told us why, not how,' Graham said.

'How? It's really very simple. Carlo and Tommaso
Francia used to be stuntmen. They know the ins and outs
of the film industry. They came up with the plan. The first
hundred bullets in each of the helicopter's two machine
guns were actually blanks. I was rigged up with a series
of small explosive charges hidden underneath my jacket. The charges were attached to sachets of blood. My own
blood. It made it look more realistic. Boudien was in the
control room with the detonator switch so all he had to
do was activate the charges when Tommaso Francia
opened fire. I fell off the terrace and landed on a safety
net which was manned by four of my most trusted employees.
He then sprayed the terrace with live rounds to
keep you pinned down until the safety net had been rolled
up and taken back into the house. So by the time you and
Paluzzi reached the railing it looked as though 1 had
landed on the rocks. You both thought I was dead. What
better witnesses could I have had?'

'Ingenious,' Graham said at length. 'But how did you
know we would be there?'

'The bank statements in Dragotti's safe were the bait.
1 knew you would come sooner or later. So when Paluzzi
called to say you were on your way we put the plan into
action. As I said, it was really very simple.' Karos drank
the whisky in one gulp and placed the glass on top of
the drinks cabinet. 'Well, now that your curiosity's been
satisfied, we can get down to business. Contact your
pilot on the radio and tell him that Boudien and I have
surrendered. Tell him to put down on the terrace to pick
us up. It would be too risky trying to get us to the runway.'

Then what?' Sabrina challenged. 'You'll kill us and

340

have the pilot fly you two to a destination of your choice,
then you'll kill him as well.'

'That's a little melodramatic, Miss Carver. I don't have
any reason to kill any of you, as long as you do as I say.
I'm only interested in getting away from Corfu.'

'And if I refuse?' Graham asked.

'Then Miss Carver will die,' Karos replied, indicating
the gun in Boudien's hand.

Graham undipped the two-way radio from his belt,
switched it on, and put it to his lips. 'Graham to Emile,
do you read me? Over.'

Sabrina was momentarily puzzled. Emile? Graham
must be trying to warn Kolchinsky. But would it work?

There was a lengthy pause then the radio crackled into
life. 'Emile to Graham, I read you. Over.' Sabrina felt a
surge of relief.

'We've apprehended Boudien and Karos. Request that
you put down on the terrace to take them aboard. Over.'

'Message received and understood. Am on my way.
Over and out.'

'Perfect,' Karos said, then poured himself another
whisky. 'Are you sure you won't join me?'

Graham and Sabrina remained silent.

'As you wish. It just seems a pity to waste such a fine
whisky. I should have given it to the Francias the last time
they were here. They appreciated it.' Karos turned the
glass around thoughtfully in his hands. 'Tommaso's taken
Carlo's death very badly. I had to take him off the assignment.
He's become totally unreliable. All he talks about
now is revenge. He'll find you, Miss Carver. You can be
sure of that.'

'Unless I find him first,' Sabrina retorted.

Karos pondered the thought, then shrugged and took
a sip of his drink.

341

The silence lingered until they heard the sound of the
approaching helicopter. Karos activated the door on to
the terrace and ordered Graham and Sabrina to their feet.

'What about the holdall?' Boudien asked.

'Bring it,' Karos answered.

Boudien picked up the white holdall at his feet, then
jabbed Graham in the back with the ttj$. 'Put your
hands on your head.'

Graham did as he was told.

'Now walk slowly to the door. And don't look round.'

Boudien kept his distance and followed Graham to the
door. They disappeared out on to the floodlit terrace.
Karos told Sabrina to put her hands on her head as well
and, like Boudien, kept his distance, making it impossible
for her to disarm him.

The helicopter was hovering close to the railing, facing
the terrace. Kolchinsky had been alerted by Graham's
coded warning but he couldn't do anything until he knew
they were both safe. Then he could play his own ace. But
it was all a matter of timing. He had to await his moment,
then he would strike.

Karos stepped out on to the terrace behind Sabrina, his
face screwed up against the noise of the helicopter's engine.
He gestured for Kolchinsky to land the helicopter.
Kolchinsky kept it hovering.

'Tell him to land,' Boudien shouted to Graham.

Graham undipped the two-way radio and tossed it into
the swimming pool. Boudien hit Graham on the back of
the head with the pistol butt. Graham stumbled forward
but Boudien locked his arm around his throat before he
could fall and pressed the CZys into his neck.

Kolchinsky, who was wearing an integrated helmet and
display sighting system, turned his head towards the lift
at the other end of the terrace to aim the single missile in

34*

the pod on the side of the helicopter. He fired. The lift,
and part of the wall, disintegrated in a mass of glass,
bricks and mortar which rained down on the terrace.
Sabrina was the first to her feet and grabbed the Beretta
which Karos had dropped in his panic to find cover. She
aimed it at Karos, who was cowering in the entrance to
the lounge. He slowly stood up and raised his hands above
his head.

'Drop the gun!' Boudien snapped behind her.

She glanced at Boudien, the Beretta still trained on
Karos. Boudien, with blood streaming down his face from
a gash on his forehead, held the CZy5 on the motionless
Graham who lay face down on the terrace. She knew
that by surrendering her gun she would be breaking a
fundamental UNACO principle, giving in to the demands
of a criminal. But if she didn't, Boudien would kill
Graham. She had no choice. Karos grabbed the gun from
her hand and shoved her towards a set of stairs which led
down to the garage at the foot of the house. Graham
groaned and Boudien reached down to haul him to his
feet. Graham, who had been feigning concussion, lashed
out with his fist, catching Boudien on the side of the face.
Boudien grabbed him as he tried to stand up and they	|
both tumbled into the swimming pool, creating a cascade f
of spray.

Sabrina was about to swing round on Karos when she
saw the King Cobra in the shadows at the top of the stairs.
It was at least fifteen feet in length. And it was raised up,
its hooded head swaying mesmerizingly from side to side.
Another few feet and it would be within striking distance.
She pretended to stumble, then spun round and grabbed
Karos's arm, propelling him towards the stairs. He saw
the snake at the last moment. Its head shot forward, its
fangs sinking into his leg. Sabrina remained motionless,

343

ignoring Karos's pleading cries for help. The snake
was still within striking distance. All she could do was
wait.

Boudien was the strongest man Graham had ever
fought. It was like hitting a brick wall. It was also like
being hit by a brick wall. When he did manage to break
free from Boudien's grip he made for the side of the pool
but Boudien grabbed him from behind before he could
climb out and yanked him back into the water. He cried
out in pain as Boudien's elbow caught him on the side of
the face, splitting open his stitches. Blood streamed down
into the illuminated water. Boudien locked his arm around
Graham's neck and forced his head under the water.
Graham raked at Boudien's arm but he couldn't break the
hold. He felt as if he were being crushed by a python. He
was becoming increasingly dizzy. He felt he was losing
consciousness. He made one last effort to break Boudien's
grip. It was hopeless. Water seeped into his mouth. A
thought suddenly flashed across his mind. Boudien had
stuck the Beretta into the back of his belt. But would it
still be there? His fingers raked at the back of Boudien's
trousers. Nothing. It had to be there. He tried again. This
time his fingers touched the butt but as he pulled it from
Boudien's belt it slipped from his grasp. Darkness flooded
over him.

Then there was a muffled thud, and another, and the
pressure was gone from around his neck. He surfaced,
coughing and spluttering, and grabbed on to the side of
the pool. Boudien was floating face down in the water.
There were two bullet holes in his back.

'Are you all right?' Sabrina asked anxiously, kneeling
over him, the CZy5 still in her hand.

Graham sucked in several mouthfuls of air, then looked
up at her, 'You took your time, didn't you?'

344


'So would you if you'd had a fifteen-foot Cobra in front
of you,' she replied.

'What are you talking about?' he asked, his chest still
heaving.

The tank containing the two King Cobras was damaged
in the explosion. One of them was killed, the other
escaped.'

'Where is it now?' Graham asked, looking past her at
the shattered tank.

'The last I saw it was disappearing down the stairs,'
she said, then squinted up at the helicopter as it descended
towards the terrace.

'And Karos?' he asked, pulling himself out of the water.

'Dead. Come on, we've got to get out of here. The
whole island must have heard the explosion. It'll only be
a matter of time before the police get here.'

He got to his feet unsteadily, but pushed her hand away
when she tried to help him. He picked up the holdall and
followed her to the helicopter which had landed at the
end of the terrace.

'Michael, are you okay?' Kolchinsky shouted after
Graham had climbed into the cabin.

'Yeah, I'm fine,' Graham replied, using his sleeve to
wipe the blood from his face.

'I'm flying to Arta in Greece. I've got a friend there. An
old KGB colleague. We can stay with him for the night
then fly back to Switzerland in the morning. His wife's a
nurse, she'll see to your stitches. Sabrina, put a dressing
on the wound. It'll have to do until we get there.'

Graham unzipped the holdall and whistled softly
to himself. Sabrina returned with the dressing and
peered over his shoulder. The holdall was packed with
bundles of notes. Hundreds of thousands of pounds
sterling.

345

That's some haul,' she said, flicking through one of
the bundles.

'More than enough to start a new life,' he replied,
taking the notes from her and replacing them in the
holdall.

'Where do you suggest we go?' she asked with a mischievous
grin.

'How about . . . Arta?'

She smiled, then dabbed some disinfectant on to a swab
of cotton wool and began to wipe away the camouflage
cream from around the wound.

The helicopter ascended into the night sky and headed
out towards the Ionian Sea.

346

FOURTEEN

Friday

Kolchinsky rang Philpott from Arta at two o'clock that
morning to brief him on what had happened on Corfu.
He didn't know when they would get back to Berne.
Probably late afternoon. Philpott told him not to worry.
Calvieri was due to appear at a preliminary hearing in
Berne at three o'clock that afternoon. Whitlock and
Paluzzi would be there.

The taxi pulled up a block away from the courthouse.
The man in the back folded up the morning edition of the International Herald Tribune, placed it on the seat, then
picked up his attache case and climbed out of the taxi.
The article he had been staring at for the duration of
the journey lay face up on the seat. The headline read:

TERRORIST LEADER ON MURDER CHARGES. He paid the

fare and included a generous tip for getting him to his
destination on time. The driver plucked the notes gratefully
from the man's black-gloved hand, then slid the taxi
into gear and drove off.

Richard Wiseman watched the taxi disappear into the
traffic, then walked to the small hotel directly opposite
the courthouse. It was the second time he had been to the
hotel that morning. He had been there three hours earlier
to reconnoitre the area. Now he knew exactly where to
go. He slipped into a narrow alley at the side of the hotel

347

and paused at the foot of the fire escape to look around
him. The alley was deserted. He climbed up the metal
stairs to a flat roof. He glanced at his watch: 10.07 a-m-He still had a few minutes to spare before Calvieri was
due to arrive at the courthouse.

His mind wandered back over the past two days. He
had checked out of the Hassler-Villa Medici Hotel when
Young had failed to call him from Berne and booked into
the more modest Cesari Hotel under a false name. He had
used the name ever since. The morning paper had carried
the story of the two men who had been found dead in the
martial arts centre opposite the Metropole Hotel in Berne.
Neither man had been identified but he knew instinctively
that one of them was Young.

He had flown to Berne the previous morning but was
told by a receptionist at the Metropole Hotel that Calvieri
had been out all day. He had rung the hotel at regular
intervals throughout the afternoon but each time he had
received the same reply. Calvieri wasn't there. Then, the
previous evening, he had seen the report of Calvieri's
arrest on one of the news bulletins. He had found out
through one of his more reliable military contacts that
although Calvieri was due to appear in court at three
o'clock he would, in fact, be taken there secretly at ten
o'clock to prevent any attempt by the Red Brigades to
spring him. The security at the courthouse would be
minimal in the morning and only increased for the decoy
convoy that was due to arrive there at two o'clock in the
afternoon. It had left him very little time . . .

He found himself staring absently at the narrow road
running parallel to the side of the courthouse. The police
van would stop there. He unlocked the attache case and
removed the specially designed detachable Vaime Super
Silenced Rifle Mkz, It used subsonic ammunition and had

348

a suppressor to cut the firing noise. It was one of Young's	|

rifles which he had picked up from a locker at the station.	|

He snapped the ten-round box into place, then settled	|

down to wait for Calvieri.	|

The police van swept through the open gates at the side	1
of the courthouse at 10.2.4 a.m. Two police cars followed J it in and the gates were immediately locked behind them.
Whitlock and Paluzzi were riding in the second car.

The police van stopped beside a door at the side of the
building. A policeman jumped out from the passenger
side, walked to the back of the van, and unlocked the
doors. He climbed inside and unlocked the cage nearest
to the doors. Calvieri emerged from the cage, his hands
manacled in front of him. He was the only prisoner in the
van. He noticed Paluzzi standing beside the second police
car, hands in pockets, and paused on the top step to smile
disdainfully at him.

Wiseman's first bullet took Calvieri high in the
shoulder, knocking him back against the open door.
Paluzzi was still sprinting towards the van when the
second bullet hit Calvieri full in the chest, punching him
backwards into the van. The policemen scrambled for
cover, shouting at each other in confusion as they scanned
the rooftops for any sign of the gunman. A captain was
quick to take charge and led a team of four men out into
the street.

Whitlock hurried over to where Paluzzi was crouched
beside Calvieri. 'The ambulance is on its way.'

'There's no rush,' Paluzzi said, and closed Calvieri's
sightless eyes.

Whitlock punched the side of the van angrily.

Paluzzi stood up. 'Call Philpott, tell him what's hap
pened. I'm going to see if they've found anything out
there.'

Whitlock disappeared into the courthouse to phone
Philpott at the hotel. The gate was unlocked again and
Paluzzi slipped out into the street. All the activity was
centred around the hotel. The two policemen there, one
at the main door and the other at the entrance to the alley,
were being questioned by the ever-increasing crowd of
onlookers who were gathering in front of the hotel, jostling
with each other in an attempt to satisfy their curiosity. ] Neither policeman was saying anything. A police car
pulled up outside the courthouse and Paluzzi ordered the
two policemen to clear the onlookers, who were already
beginning to spill out on to the road. They scrambled
from the car and began to disperse the crowd. Paluzzi
showed his ID card to the policeman guarding the alley
and was allowed to pass. He was told that the captain
was on the roof. He climbed the fire escape to the flat roof
and found the captain kneeling beside a discarded rifle.

The captain noticed Paluzzi behind him and got to
his feet. 'The gunman got away,' he muttered through
clenched teeth.

Paluzzi examined the rifle, then looked across to the
courthouse yard at Calvieri's body, which had been
covered with a grey blanket. He shook his head. 'I said
there should be more security. But nobody listened. It
wasn't my jurisdiction. It's certainly going to look good on
Kuhlmann's record. Calvieri gunned down at a courthouse
because he failed to sanction the proper security measures.
The man's still living in the Middle Ages. The sooner he
goes the better it will be for this country.'

'Commissioner Kuhlmann's a fine man,' the captain
snapped. 'He did what he thought best under the circumstances.'

350

'And look at the result.' Paluzzi walked away then
looked back at the captain as he reached the top of the
stairs. 'I wonder if you'll still be singing his praises when
the bombs start exploding in your cities. The Red Brigades
won't take this lying-down, you can be sure of that.'

Paluzzi descended the fire escape and emerged into
the street, where he paused to look at the approaching
ambulance.

Calvieri's death meant the Red Brigades would have to
appoint a new leader. There was only one real candidate.
Luigi Bettinga. The NOCS mole.

Paluzzi dug his hands into his pockets and walked back
slowly to the courthouse.

Kolchinsky, Graham and Sabrina arrived back in Berne
at two-thirty that afternoon. It was three o'clock before
they reached the hotel. Philpott immediately called a meeting
in his room. Whitlock recounted the morning's events
to them.

'Where is Fabio?' Sabrina asked, once Whitlock had
finished speaking.

'Packing,' Philpott answered. 'He's been recalled to
Rome. It seems they want some answers as well.'

Graham poured himself a second cup of coffee, then
looked across at Philpott who was seated by the window.
'What's going to happen to Wiseman? C.W. seems certain
he was the phantom gunman at the courthouse this morning.'

'Nothing,' Philpott replied, then took a sip of coffee
and dabbed his mouth with a paper napkin.

'Nothing?' Sabrina repeated incredulously.

'We know he was in Berne this morning but he does
have an alibi for the time of the shooting.'

351

'A prostitute he's paid to say she was with him,' she
snorted.

'That may well be, but it's still an alibi. And we still
don't have a single witness who could place him at the
hotel this morning. Then there's the matter of the gun.
We know he could have pulled the trigger with his middle
finger, but try and explain that to a jury of housewives
and accountants. They wouldn't buy it. The whole case
would rest on circumstantial evidence. He'd never be
convicted.'

'But C.W. can finger him as Young's paymaster,'
Graham said. That's an accessory to murder charge at
the very least.'

Philpott shook his head. 'And have it come out that we
conspired with Scotland Yard's anti-terrorist squad to
kidnap, and that's what it was, a prisoner on his way to
court? We'd both be crucified. And you can be sure they'd
never agree to work with us again. We can't risk that kind
of hostility. They're our main ally in the UK.1

Graham gave a resigned shrug. Philpott was right.

'They've got enough trouble as it is with Alexander still
on the run. They don't need us to add to it, especially as
it was our plan in the first place to swop C.W. for him.
No, the whole messy business is best left well alone as far
as I'm concerned.'

'What about Conte and the Rietler woman?' Graham
asked. 'What's going to happen to them?'

'Conte will stand trial for his part in the break-in at
the plant,' Philpott replied. 'He'll be put away for a long
stretch, the authorities will see to that. I've spoken to
Commissioner Kuhlmann about Ute Rietler. He's agreed
not to press charges.'
There was a knock at the door. Kolchinsky answered
it.

352
Paluzzi smiled at him. 'I've just come to say goodbye.'

'Come in,' Kolchinsky said, stepping aside.

'Are you off to face the music?' Whitlock said, looking
up at him.

'Something like that. My plane leaves for Rome in an
hour. I just came to say ciao.'

Philpott got to his feet and shook Paluzzi's hand.
'Thanks for all your help. We couldn't have done it
without you and your men.'

'And we couldn't have done it without UNACO,'
Paluzzi replied with a wry smile.

He shook hands with Kolchinsky and Whitlock, then
turned to Graham and Sabrina and, putting his arms
around their shoulders, led them to the door.

'You got a lift to the airport?' Graham asked.

'I've got the Audi. I have to leave it there anyway.'
Paluzzi kissed Sabrina lightly on the cheek. 'Ciao, bella.'

She hugged him. 'Ciao, not addio.'

'That goes without saying.'

'What's the difference?' Graham asked.

'Addio is a final goodbye,' Paluzzi explained. 'Ciao is
more like a farewell.'

'Then ciao,' Graham said, shaking Paluzzi's hand. 'You
look me up next time you're in New York. I'll take you
to a game. You'll never be the same again.'

'You're on,' Paluzzi replied, then took a small gift
wrapped parcel from his jacket pocket and handed it to
Graham.

'What's this?' Graham asked in disbelief.

'You can open it after I've gone. Ciao,' Paluzzi said,
then waved at the others and left the room.

'Open it,' Sabrina said excitedly.

Graham tore off the paper. Sabrina burst out laughing.

'What is it?' Whitlock asked.

353

Graham smiled. 'An Italian phrase book.'

'I hope you take the hint,' Philpott said, jabbing the
stem of his pipe at Graham. 'It'll be something for you to
do while you're on leave.'

'We're back on leave?' Graham said.

'As from tomorrow,' Philpott told him. 'Naturally I
still want your individual case reports on my desk as soon
as possible.'

'Naturally,' Graham muttered.

'I won't count those few days you had off last week.
You'll get a full three weeks' leave this time.'

'Thank you, sir.'

Philpott wasn't sure whether he had heard a hint of
sarcasm in Graham's voice. He let it pass. 'I've provisionally
booked five seats on a flight back to JFK
tonight. I presume the three of you will be flying back
with us?'

'I'm certainly looking forward to going home,'
Whitlock said, automatically thinking of Carmen.

Sabrina shot Graham a sly glance, then turned back to
Philpott. 'We thought we'd stay on here for a few days.
Do a bit of skiing, take in the sights, that sort of thing. Is
that all right, sir?'

'I can cancel the bookings if that's what you mean.'
Philpott lit his pipe and exhaled the smoke up towards
the ceiling. 'Sergei, C.W., the shuttle leaves for Zurich at
seven-thirty. Our flight to JFK leaves Zurich at ten. Now,
if you'll excuse me, I've got a mound of paperwork to get
through in the next couple of hours.'

They made for the door.

'Oh, Mike, Sabrina?' Philpott called out after them. He
waited until Kolchinsky and Whitlock had left before
taking a folder from his attache case. 'You've got a thirty
six-hour clearance with the local police to find Tommaso

354

Francia. And if you haven't managed to find him in that
time, you're to pull out. 1 mean it. The first flight back
to New York. Disregard my orders and you'll both be
suspended. Do 1 make myself understood?'

They nodded.

'How did you know we were going after him, sir?'
Sabrina asked.

'Instinct. And because he's after you.' Philpott took a
sheet of paper from the folder and handed it to Sabrina.
Those are his last known movements. He was staying in
an apartment lent to him by an associate about half a mile
from here but he managed to give our man the slip last
night. You can be sure he's still in Berne, though. He
wants you badly, that much is obvious.'

'If you knew he was on to me, sir, why didn't you tell
me earlier?'

"I haven't had the chance. Our intelligence reports only
came through yesterday morning.'

'Thank you, sir,' Sabrina said, holding up the sheet of
paper.

'Thirty-six hours,' Philpott reminded them, then turned
his attention to the folder in his lap. 'That's all,' he said
without looking up.

Graham and Sabrina exchanged glances then left the
room.

Tommaso Francia hadn't touched the glass of beer on the
table in front of him. It had been there for the past twenty
minutes. His eyes darted around the bar. It was small,
dirty and almost empty. Two men played pool on the
other side of the room. A couple of prostitutes sat at the
counter. The barman looked suitably bored, occasionally
glancing at the television screen at the end of the counter.

355

It didn't hold his interest for more than a few seconds at
a time.

Francia stubbed out his cigarette and immediately
pushed a fresh one between his lips and lit it. He knew
the authorities were on to him. Why else had the apartment
been watched? Not that it bothered him. All he cared
about was avenging Carlo's death. And he would, at any
cost. Then he would kill himself. He would have nothing
left to live for after that. A part of him had died when he
had heard about Carlo's death on the mountain. He hadn't
slept more than a few hours in the last couple of days.
He was both mentally and physically drained but his
obsession with revenge had kept him going. He had to kill
the Carver woman. He owed it to Carlo. It would just be
a question of choosing the right time.

'You got a light?'

He looked up sharply. It was one of the prostitutes.
She was pretty but the excessive make-up marred her
looks. He took a box of matches from his pocket and
tossed them on to the table. She lit her cigarette and
handed the matches back to him, her fingers lingering on
the back of his hand. He pulled his hand away.

'You want to talk about it?' she asked, leaning closer
to him. 'You've been sitting here for the last half an hour
and you haven't even touched your beer. What's wrong?'

He clamped his hand around the glass. It shattered in
his grip, splashing beer across the table. He opened his
hand slowly and looked down at his palm. A four-inch
shard of glass was embedded in his skin. H plucked it out
and tossed it on to the table. He stood up, pocketed the
matches, then wiped his bloodied hand on the back of his
jeans and left the bar.

356

FIFTEEN

Saturday

The weather didn't bode well for the weekend. Sombre,
overcast skies and a chilly south-westerly blowing in off
the Alps.

Not that it worried Francia. After putting a fresh bandage
on his hand he dressed warmly, then packed the
Mini-Uzi, four spare clips and the Pzzo automatic into
his black holdall and left the apartment. He climbed
behind the wheel of the hired Volkswagen Passat, started
the engine, and drove to the Metropole Hotel. There
was an empty parking space directly opposite the main
entrance. It seemed like a good omen. He lit his first
cigarette of the day and settled down to wait. He was in
no rush.

Graham and Sabrina met for breakfast in his room at nine
o'clock to run through the plan they had formulated
the previous evening. Although they didn't know where
Francia was hiding out, they were sure that he would be
watching the hotel, waiting for an opportunity to strike.
He had to be lured into the open. And Sabrina would be
the bait. Their only concern was whether he would take
the bait in the next twelve hours, which was all the time
they had left before Philpott's deadline. It was time to put
the plan into action.

Graham left first, using the fire escape to get to the

357

car-park. He tugged his New York Yankees baseball cap
over his head and put on a pair of sunglasses before
crossing to the Volkswagen Jetta he had hired the previous
evening. It was parked facing the road. He would be able
to see if Sabrina was followed. He glanced at his watch.
She would reach the street within a few minutes. He
switched on the radio, found a music station, and began
to tap his fingers to the beat on the steering wheel.

Sabrina slipped her Beretta into her shoulder holster, then
pulled on a white down jacket and zipped it up to her
neck. She flicked her ponytail outside the jacket, slipped
on a pair of sunglasses and left the room, locking the door
behind her. She took the lift to the foyer and told reception
where she would be if anyone asked for her. She left her
key on the counter and walked towards the entrance. A
newspaper headline caught her eye as she passed the
newsstand in the foyer. It was in Italian. vietri morto -- attacco cardiaco. She bought a copy and read the
accompanying story: Alberto Vietri, Italy's Deputy Prime
Minister, had been found dead at his home the previous
evening. He had apparently died of a heart attack. Her
suspicions were confirmed when it went on to say that his
body had been found by a member of the elite Italian
anti-terrorist squad, the NOCS. She wondered what substance
had been used to kill him. Probably hydrocyanic
acid which, if fired directly into the face, causes paralysis
of the heart; even the most experienced doctor would
diagnose heart failure due to natural causes. The old tricks
are still the best, she thought to herself, as she folded
up the newspaper and left the building. She climbed behind
the wheel of the hired Fiat Croma and drove away from
the hotel.

?58

Francia started up the Passat and followed her. Even
at a distance of some yards, Graham recognized Francia
from the photograph lying on the passenger seat and
reversed out of the parking space. He let several cars pass,
then swung into Zeughausgasse, tailing the Passat at a
safe distance. He turned the photograph over. On the
back was the number of Sabrina's earphone. He called
her and gave her the registration number of Francia's
Passat.

She replaced the receiver and glanced in her rearview
mirror. The Passat was two cars behind her. She smiled
to herself. He had taken the bait. She drove to a small ski
resort outside Berne and parked outside the hire shop. She
went inside to get herself kitted out for the slopes. Francia
parked `:.:-' in sight of the shop but remained in the car.
Graham had to be content with a space beside a transit
van. He couldn't see Francia's Passat from there.

Francia unzipped his holdall and slipped the Mini-Uzi
inside his red and white padded ski jacket and zipped it
up. He pocketed the Pzzo and the spare clips. He thought
about shooting her as she emerged from the shop. No, he
would wait until she was on the slopes. That was his
territory. He made a mental note of her skis. A pair of red
Volkl ?9 SLs. At least she had good taste. He only used
Volkl skis himself. She went straight to the ski lift, snapped
on her skis, then climbed on to the pomma lift to transport
her up the slope. He went to the hire shop and selected a
similar kit for himself. He paid for them and hurried from
the shop without waiting for his change.

He joined the queue for the next available cable car. It
wasn't long in coming. Once inside he stood against the
wall, the skis held in front of him to prevent anyone
from bumping against the Mini-Uzi. He counted another \ twenty-seven people in the cable car. Its capacity was

I

I	359

forty. That meant it would travel faster. He wouldn't be
far behind her. Finding her wouldn't be difficult, for it
was a small resort. It was just a question of time. And he
had plenty of it.

He was one of the first to disembark when the cable
car docked. He climbed the steps to the exit and paused
to scan the novice slopes directly in front of him. She was
hardly going to be there. He had seen her ski. She was
good. Very good. Someone bumped into him from behind
and he instinctively clasped his hand over his midriff to
prevent the Mini-Uzi from moving underneath his ski
jacket. He glared at the woman, who mumbled an apology
before stepping out on to the snow, unsure of herself on skis
for the first time. The memories came flooding back. How
many beginners like her had he and Carlo put through their
paces on the novice slopes at the Stubai Glacier in Austria
where they had been instructors for eight months after their
life ban from competitive skiing? Hundreds certainly. And
all lacking in confidence and technique.

He was jostled again, which snapped him out of his
reverie. He stepped aside to let a party of skiers pass, then
turned to the restaurant which was directly behind the
cable car station. She was sitting by the window drinking
coffee. Was it a trap? He had been toying with the idea
ever since he began tailing her from the hotel. It was
possible. Not that it bothered him, as long as he got her
first. He entered the restaurant and bought a cup of coffee
from the self-service counter, then sat down at a table
within sight of the entrance. He was sure she hadn't
recognized him. He looked like any other skier. He took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. There was only one
cigarette left in it. The condemned man's last smoke. He
found the analogy amusing. He lit the cigarette, then sat
back in the chair to wait.

360

He was right. She hadn't noticed him. Not that she was
paying much attention to her fellow patrons. She was
watching the beginners struggling to keep their balance
on the novice slopes. Her introduction to the slopes had
been at the age of four when her parents had taken her to
Innsbruck on holiday. By the time she was fifteen she was
already skiing the black runs, areas for expert skiers only. '
She loved the sport. It gave her a sense of freedom. And
the more dangerous the black run, the more exhilarating	j
it was for her. Whitlock was a good skier. And so was \ Kolchinsky, which had surprised her. He didn't seem
the type. Graham was exceptionally good, which was
remarkable considering that he hadn't started skiing until
he joined Delta in his mid-twenties. He skied as if he had
been doing it all his life. The thought of him brought her
back guiltily to the present. She was supposed to be
keeping an eye out for him. She saw him straight away.
He was the only person there wearing a baseball cap. He
was standing outside the restaurant rubbing his gloved
hands together. She pushed the cup away from her, collected
her skis, and walked to the door.

Francia slipped his hand into his pocket and his fingers
curled around the Pzzo. He had the perfect shot as she
put on her skis. He held back. It would be too easy. He
wanted her to know she was going to die, just as Carlo
had known when he fell to his death. He took his hand
off the gun as she skied away from the restaurant, heading
for one of the off-piste black runs. He waited to see if she
would be followed by any of her colleagues. Nobody
went after her. Not that it surprised him. They were too
professional to make that kind of mistake. They would
wait for him to make the first move, if, in fact, it was a
trap.

He stubbed out his cigarette, took his skis from the

361

rack against the wall, and moved to the door. He snapped
on the skis then propelled himself out on to the snow. He
swerved sharply around the beginners group and headed
towards the nearest of the black runs. The ski pole dug
into the gash in his palm but he ignored the pain, it was
irrelevant. By the time he reached the edge of the black
run, demarcated with black poles, he could feel the blood
trickling down the inside of his glove. He looked behind
him. There was nobody in sight. Perhaps it wasn't a trap
after all. He followed the lone trail in the snow. It had to
be her. He came across a cluster of trees and ducked into
them, slewing to a stop out of sight of the slope. If she
had any babysitters, he would be ready for them. He tried
to flex his hand and a sharp pain shot up his arm. He
inhaled sharply. At least it wasn't his gun hand. He unzipped
his ski jacket and removed the Mini-Uzi. Then he
saw a movement further up the slope. He had been right.
It was a trap. He curled his finger around the trigger. A
thought suddenly crossed his mind. The gunfire could not
only alert her, it could also bring the police. He took his
finger off the trigger. He would have to kill her colleague
silently. He moved to the edge of the trees, the Mini-Uzi
clenched in his hand like a club.

Graham only noticed the deviation in the tracks at the
last moment. He was still slewing to a halt when Francia
launched himself at him, catching him on the back of the
head with the barrel of the Mini-Uzi. Graham fell back
into the snow. Francia picked up the Beretta, ejected the
magazine and threw them both into the trees. He crouched
beside Graham and pressed the ski pole against his
throat.

'Drop it!'

The voice startled him. He looked up slowly. Sabrina
stood thirty yards in front of him, a Beretta held at arm's

362

length. His eyes flickered towards the trees beside her. She
had been in there waiting for him.

'I said drop it!'

Francia's fingers tightened on the Mini-Uzi in the snow
beside him. He brought the gun up in one quick movement
and she flung herself sideways as he fired. The bullets
ripped into the trees. She searched frantically for her
Beretta which had slipped from her grasp when she had
hit the ground. It was lying in the clearing. She couldn't
reach it without being hit. She scrambled to her feet and
took off, zig-zagging through the trees in a desperate bid
to outrun him. A volley of bullets tore into the trees to
her left. She couldn't look behind her, she had to concentrate
on carving between the trees. Then she reached a
clearing which ended abruptly fifty yards further on with
a vertical drop of twenty feet to the next slope. She dug
her ski poles into the snow and launched herself down the
fall line, her knees bent, her torso flexed, her pelvis thrust
forward. She looked behind her. Francia had reached the
edge of the clearing. He fired. The bullets peppered the
snow behind her. She tensed herself to jump. He fired
again, forcing her to swerve in the second before she
launched herself through the air. She landed awkwardly,
overbalanced, and tumbled headlong into the snow.
Francia reached the edge of the ridge before she could
get up. He aimed the Mini-Uzi at her. She opened her
mouth to speak. Her throat was dry. She knew she was
going to die.

Francia smiled faintly and trained the Mini-Uzi on her
legs. He was going to make her suffer. And he was going
to enjoy it. His finger tightened on the trigger. He saw a
movement out of the corner of his eye and was still
turning when Graham hit him with his shoulder. Graham's
momentum sent them both over the edge of the ridge.

363

Francia fired blindly as he fell. He hit the snow first.
Graham landed within a few feet of him. They both lay
face down in the snow. Neither of them moved. Sabrina
grabbed the fallen Mini-Uzi and turned Francia over. She
recoiled in horror. He had been impaled on one of his
own ski poles. It jutted grotesquely from his stomach, the
blood soaking the front of his jacket. She turned to Graham
and turned him over on to his back. There was no
blood. The bullets had missed him.

'Mike?' she said, shaking his shoulder. 'Mike, are you
okay?'

He opened one eye, then the other. 'I feel like I've been
sacked by "The Refrigerator".'

She smiled with relief. 'Can't you talk about anything
but football?'

'How about baseball?' He eased himself into a sitting
position and looked across at Francia. He screwed up his
face. 'Rather him than me.'

'Thanks, Mike,' she said softly.

'Yeah, sure,' he said, shrugging his shoulders,
v They heard the sound of the engine seconds before the
police helicopter came into view. Graham sighed deeply,
then picked up one of his red ski poles and began to wave
it above his head to catch the pilot's attentioln.

New York was swathed in sunlight. Temperatures were
exceptionally high for March. Not that it bothered
Whitlock. He was used to the heat, having spent part of
his childhood in the sultry Rift Valley region of Kenya.
He stood on the balcony of his sixth-floor Manhattan
apartment looking out across a packed Central Park. He
was deep in thought. He had arrived back at the apartment
at midnight, still disorientated by the six-hour time differ364

ence between Zurich and New York. Carmen had been
there. She had returned the previous evening. She had
been evasive when he questioned her on where she had
been for the last five days. All she would say was that she
had been staying at a hotel in the city. She had needed
time alone to think about the future of their marriage. But
she wouldn't be drawn on her conclusions. This had
infuriated him and he had chosen to sleep in the spare
room. They had hardly spoken to each other at breakfast
and she had spent most of the morning in the kitchen
baking for a local charity fete. He had spent the morning
on the balcony, brooding. He was at his wits' end. How
was he supposed to communicate with her when she
refused to open up to him? It wasn't as if he was a stranger.
They had been married for six years. But for how much
longer?

The doorbell rang. Company was the last thing he
needed. He decided to ignore the bell. Then it went again
and Carmen shouted to him to answer it. He cursed under
his breath and strode across the lounge to the door. He
opened it on the chain. His eyes widened in surprise. It
was Philpott.

'Afternoon, sir,' Whitlock stammered, then unlocked
the chain and opened the door. 'Please, come in.'

'Thank you,' Philpott replied, following Whitlock into
the lounge. He looked around the room slowly and nodded
his head in approval. 'Very nice, C.W.'

Whitlock smiled quickly. 'Won't you sit down, sir?'

Philpott eased himself into an armchair and took his
pipe and tobacco pouch from his pocket. He held them
up. 'May I?'

'Of course, there's an ashtray on the table. Can I get
you a drink, sir?'

'A Scotch, if you have it.' Philpott tamped a wad of

365

tobacco into the bowl of his pipe, then looked up as
Whitlock crossed to the drinks cabinet in the corner of
the room. 'Alexander's been rearrested. 1 thought you'd
like to know.'

That's a relief.' Whitlock poured out two whiskies.
'Ice, sir?'

'No ice. It seems he was quite relieved to have been
finally caught. Life on the run wasn't much fun for him.
Ah, thank you,' Philpott said, taking the tumbler.

Whitlock sat on the sofa. 'I'm sure you didn't come all
this way just to tell me about Alexander.'

'Actually no.' Philpott was about to take a sip of his
whisky when Carmen came in. He immediately got to his
feet. 'Nice to see you again, Mrs Whitlock.'

Carmen shook Philpott's hand and sat on, the sofa
beside Whitlock.

'Again?' Whitlock said suspiciously, his eyes moving
between Carmen and Philpott. 'You two know each
other?'

'I went to see Colonel Philpott after I got back from
Paris,' Carmen said.

'What?' Whitlock said in disbelief. 'You know the
rules . . .' He trailed off when Philpott raised his hand.

'I'm not here because of that,' Philpott assured him. 'It
was an exceptional case as far as I'm concerned. We had
a long talk. I suggested she book into the Plaza. It was
obvious she needed some time to herself, away from the
pressures of family and friends.' He took a sip of whisky,
then sat back in the chair. 'We don't want to lose you,
C.W. And neither does Carmen. Only I couldn't give
her any assurances about your future at UNACO. Not
without clearing it first with the Secretary-General. I've
spent most of the morning with him. He's agreed to let
me speak to you both. Naturally what I'm going to tell

366

you can't be repeated outside these four walls until it
becomes official. Not to anybody.'

'I understand, sir,' Whitlock said hesitantly.

Philpott finished his whisky but declined Carmen's offer
of a refill. 'There's been a lot of rumours circulating about
who's going to replace who when I retire in four years'
time. For a start, I'm not retiring in four years' time. I'm
retiring at the end of the year. Doctor's orders. Jacques
won't be taking my place as has been generally rumoured.
He's top important to us in Zurich. He's built up an
invaluable network of contacts across Europe which could
be damaged if he were replaced. Sergei will take over from
me when I retire. And you will become his deputy. But
he'll only stay on as Director for a year. He wants to go back to Russia and settle there again now that Gorbachev's
given new hope to the country. The Secretary-General
doesn't want to lose him but naturally he won't stand in
his way. That means you'll take over as Director when
Sergei leaves.'

The, sir?' Whitlock stammered in disbelief. He had
hoped for Rust's job at the most, but Director? He couldn't
believe it.

"I recommended you to the Secretary-General because
I think you're the best man for the job. And you have the
respect of all the field operatives. I know you'll do well,'

'Does Sergei know?'

'He seconded my recommendation. Jacques knows as
well. He's thrilled at the idea. As I'm sure you are.'

'I am, sir,' Whitlock said, struggling to find the wo^ds.
'But what about Strike Force Three? Do you have a
replacement in mind for me?'

'I've got just the man. Fabio Paluzzi.'

Whitlock grinned. 'He's coming over to us?'

'I spoke to him yesterday. He jumped at the chance.

367

He'll be joining us next month. I'll put him with one of
the other teams so that he can get some experience, then
he'll be transferred to Strike Force Three when you come
on to the management side in November.'

Philpott looked at Carmen. 'I hope that puts things in
a clearer perspective for you, Mrs Whitlock. Naturally
you'll want to discuss it by yourselves.' He took two
airline tickets from his pocket and placed them on the
table. 'Your flight leaves for Paris from La Guardia
tomorrow afternoon. You'll find a confirmed booking at your hotel when you get there. Two weeks. The bill comes
to us. And don't worry, Mrs Whitlock, we won't interrupt
your holiday again by recalling C.W. You have my word
on that.'

She smiled. It was obvious from her expression that
she was far too emotional to speak.

'Well, I must be on my way.' Philpott reached for his
cane and pulled himself to his feet. 'Enjoy yourselves.'

'Thank you, sir. For everything.'

Philpott nodded, then moved to the hall. They both
accompanied him, and Whitlock opened the door.

'Thank you, Colonel,' Carmen said softly.

Philpott shook her hand. 'I only hope I've been of some
help. Oh, and C.W., don't forget to send a postcard.'

Whitlock smiled and closed the door behind Philpott.
He turned back to Carmen. Her cheeks were streaked
with tears.

'What's wrong?' he asked anxiously.

'Nothing,' she replied and kissed him lightly on the
mouth. 'Not any more.'