Алистер Маклин - Dead Halt

“Afternoon, Sergei,” Philpott said, looking up at him. He turned back to Sarah who was standing in front of the desk. “Thanks for doing those photocopies for me.”

She smiled at him and left the room.

Philpott used the spare miniature transmitter to close the door again behind her. “Sit down and I’ll tell you what’s going on.”

“I would but you’re sitting in my chair.”

“This is the Director’s chair.” Philpott took the envelope containing Kolchinsky’s letter of resignation from his pocket and placed it on the desk. “I believe you gave this to the Secretary-General this morning?”

Kolchinsky sat down slowly on one of the black leather sofas, his eyes never leaving Philpott’s face. “This smacks of an old-style Soviet coup. The ink isn’t even dry on my letter of resignation and already the bureaucrats have moved me out.”

“You haven’t been moved out, Sergei.” Philpott picked up his pipe and turned it around thoughtfully in his hands. He hadn’t used it since he suffered the heart attack earlier in the year. Now it was just a memento. He put it down again. “The Secretary-General called me this morning after you’d handed in your letter of resignation and asked if I’d consider returning to UNACO. It was a bolt out of the blue. Not that I needed any persuading. As you already know, the boredom’s been driving me mad. But I haven’t come back to wind UNACO down. On the contrary, I intend to fight tooth and nail to ensure it survives. I’ve spent most of the morning studying the reports of the Scoby case. There’s no use fooling ourselves. UNACO is in a lot of trouble. But there are loopholes. And I intend to exploit them to the full to get UNACO back on an even keel. But I’m going to need support on this. And I hope you’ll be there to give me that support, old friend. Of course you’re going to take some flak from the politicians. It’s only to be expected. But that doesn’t mean you were to blame for what’s happened. It would still have happened even if I’d been here. None of us is infallible. But my main concern at the moment is that UNACO will fragment at the top. A point borne out by your resignation this morning. That’s why I’m asking you to reconsider your decision. I can understand why you did it. But I don’t think it’s the answer. At least not at the moment. If we appear solid then it’s going to be that much harder for our critics to find the chinks in our armor.

“I’ve already spoken to C.W. and he’s indicated that he wants to stay with UNACO on the condition that he can return to the field. I’ve certainly got no problem with that. He’s one of the best field operatives we’ve ever had. He’s obviously never settled properly on the management side.” Philpott held up the envelope. “We’ve always been honest with each other, Sergei. If you still want to stick by your decision, I won’t try and change your mind. I respect you too much for that. It’s entirely up to you.”

Kolchinsky stared at the carpet for some time then sat back on the sofa and clasped his hands in his lap. “In retrospect, what you say makes sense. The organization does need to stand together at a time like this. Perhaps I was a bit hasty in tendering my resignation this morning. But I still intend to reconsider my position again once all the hubbub has died down.”

“Then I’d better hang on to this,” Philpott said, slipping the envelope into the drawer in front of him.

“Why didn’t the Secretary-General tell me you were coming back? I’ve been with him for the last three hours.”

“I asked him not to say anything. I thought it would be better if I told you myself.”

“It’s good to have you back again, Malcolm,” Kolchinsky said at length. “I only wish it were under different circumstances.”

“The cards have been dealt. It’s now up to us to play our hand as best we can.”

“Some hand,” Kolchinsky retorted.

“We’ve still got an ace to play,” Philpott replied, tapping the folder in front of him. “Jack Scoby left instructions with his wife to forward an envelope to C.W. if anything happened to him while they were in Ireland. C.W. faxed the contents through to the office while you were still in conference with the Secretary-General. It makes chilling reading. The question now is how best to play it for maximum effect.”

“What was in the envelope?” Kolchinsky asked, his interest stimulated.

Philpott briefly outlined the five pages of handwritten text in which Scoby had explained, in meticulous detail, the agreement he’d made with the Colombians, later to be hijacked by the Mafia, to import cocaine into the United States using New York State as the port of entry.

“Tillman’s obviously the key to this now that Scoby’s dead,” Kolchinsky said. “Has he been arrested yet?”

“Tillman fled the hotel in London as soon as he found out that Scoby was dead. By the time this came through he’d already arrived back in New York. The DEA have staked out his apartment and there’s an APB out on him as well but so far there’s been no sign of him. He seems to have vanished.”

“I’m not surprised. He must know it’ll only be a matter of time before both the Colombians and the Mafia catch up with him. But why would he come back here? If I was in his shoes I’d have fled as far away from the States as I possibly could.”

“We’ll only know that after he’s been arrested,” Philpott replied.

“Did Scoby give any reason for leaving such a damaging confession behind?”

“To protect his wife. It’s possible that the Colombians or the Mafia might put a contract out on her if they believed Scoby had let her in on the deal as well. But Scoby was very insistent in his notes that she knew nothing about it. If these allegations were made public then everything would be out in the open. It’s the best protection she could have.”

“It’s going to damage the image of the Republican Party enormously if these allegations reach the Press,” Kolchinsky said. “They could lose the next election with a skeleton like this in their closet.”

“Which is why the President’s sending one of his senior aides down from Washington tomorrow morning. And I intend to use this situation to its fullest advantage.”

“You mean you’d actually blackmail the President?” Kolchinsky said in amazement.

“Perish the thought,” Philpott replied in mock horror. “Let’s just say I intend to negotiate a deal in our favor.”

“What’s the deal?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Philpott replied, pushing the folder to one side. “Now tell me about your meeting with the Secretary-General.”

After Whitlock had settled the accounts at the hotel, the three of them had taken a taxi to Heathrow Airport where they checked in for their flight back to New York then went through to the cafeteria for a coffee.

“I’ll be glad to get back home,” Sabrina said after they’d sat down.

“Me too,” Graham said, adding milk to his coffee. “The Giants are playing at Meadowlands tomorrow night. Should be a great game.”.

“I know I’m going to regret asking this, but who are they playing?” Sabrina said.

“The Washington Redskins. It should be a really tight game. I reckon it could even be decided on a single touchdown.”

“I’m regretting it already,” Sabrina said with a despairing look in Whitlock’s direction.

“Why don’t you come along?” Graham said. “You might learn something. I’ve got a few contacts in the game. I should be able to get another ticket even at this late stage.”

“You know I don’t know the first thing about football, Mike,” she replied. “You’d just be wasting your money.”

“OK, I’ll make a deal with you. For the price of a cheap exercise book I’ll teach you the basics of the game on the flight back home. And if you still don’t understand the plays by the time we reach JFK, then I’ll concede defeat. But I guarantee that you’ll want to come to Meadowlands tomorrow night. Is it a deal?”