Алистер Маклин - Time of the Assassins

‘Mike’s changed,’ Laidlaw answered, staring at the beer can he was turning on the table. ‘I noticed that the moment we met. He used to be the most stable guy I ever knew. Nothing ever riled him. But that was before he lost his family. Now he’s bitter, unpredictable: I’d even say psychotic. I don’t go along with your assessment, Miss Cassidy. I think he was more than capable of shooting Barak in the back. Especially if you consider he was on the trail of the man he believes had his family abducted and almost certainly murdered. No, I don’t want any more to do with Mike. He’s trouble.’

Sabrina pushed her chair back and stood up, her eyes blazing. ‘At least Mike hasn’t run away from his past. What about you? Hiding away in this squalor, trying to forget what happened in Honduras.’ She noticed the surprise in his eyes. ‘Oh, I know all about you, Mr Laidlaw. I read your file on the plane. I know why you left Delta. I don’t think you’re in any position to pass judgement on someone like Mike.’

‘Just get out,’ Laidlaw hissed between clenched teeth.

‘My pleasure,’ she retorted then walked to the door where she paused to look back at him. ‘And don’t forget, you were the one who contacted Mike in the first place. It’s thanks to you that he’s in this mess right now. Think about that when you open your next beer.’

Laidlaw sunk his face into his hands. A moment later the front door slammed shut. He suddenly grabbed the beer can and hurled it against the wall then upturned the table, sending it crashing against the cooker. He checked himself as he was about to kick the chair out of the way then walked slowly to the bedroom and slumped onto the bed. He put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. Within minutes he was asleep. It proved to be a disturbed, restless sleep.

‘You look like death,’ Dave Jenkins said when Laidlaw arrived at the Windorah that evening.

‘I feel like it,’ Laidlaw retorted, climbing onto one of the bar stools. ‘A beer, Dave.’

‘Comin’ up,’ Jenkins replied, uncapping a Budweiser and placing it on the counter in front of Laidlaw.

‘Where were you last night? I was thinking about sending out the cavalry to look for you if you hadn’t shown up tonight.’

‘It’s nice to be missed,’ Laidlaw muttered then took a drink of beer.

‘So where were you last night?’

Laidlaw shrugged. ‘I didn’t fancy coming in. Is that such a crime?’

‘If it affects my profits, yes,’ Jenkins said with a grin then pushed a coaster across to Laidlaw. ‘What do you think of the design? A batch of them came in this morning.’

‘What?’ Laidlaw replied in amazement.

‘Just look at the design.’ Jenkins picked up another four and handed them out to the other customers sitting at the counter.

Laidlaw glanced at it, turned it over, and was about to discard it when he saw the handwritten note scrawled across it. He looked up but Jenkins was busy discussing the logo with one of the other customers. He read the note: Go upstairs to Room 4. Knock twice. Pause. Knock twice more .

‘Interesting, isn’t it?’ Jenkins said, deftly taking the coaster from Laidlaw’s hand and discarding it unobtrusively in the bin under the counter. ‘But then I’m biased anyway.’

Laidlaw took another mouthful of beer then got to his feet and walked to the stairs at the end of the room. He paused, his hand on the banister. What the hell was going on? He sighed deeply then mounted the stairs and looked around him slowly. The Windorah had been a small family hotel before Jenkins bought it seven years earlier. The ten rooms were all situated on the first floor. Jenkins had decided to concentrate on the bar and closed the rooms. He converted the first two into toilets and the others were only used for customers, invariably foreign journalists who were too drunk to drive home. He never charged for the rooms and the journalists repayed him by keeping their custom at the bar.

Laidlaw stopped outside Room 4, glanced round to see that nobody was about, then knocked twice. He paused momentarily then knocked twice more. A bolt was drawn back from inside then the door opened fractionally before a hand reached out and hauled him into the room. The door closed behind him immediately.

‘Mike?’ Laidlaw said in amazement as Graham bolted the door.

‘You took your time! Where the hell were you last night?’

‘Being interrogated on a murder charge,’ Laidlaw snapped back. ‘Thirty-six hours without any sleep. And all thanks to you. You’ve got some explaining to do.’

Graham walked to the unmade bed and sat down. ‘1.didn’t kill Barak.’

‘So where were you when I got to the house? And who drove off in Barak’s Peugeot?’

Graham rubbed his unshaven face and looked up at Laidlaw. ‘All I know is that when I entered the house someone coshed me. When I woke up I was in some back alley. I still don’t know where it was. And my Beretta was gone.’

‘The police have got it,’ Laidlaw said coldly. ‘It was the gun that killed Barak.’

‘I know,’ Graham retorted. ‘Why the hell do you think I’ve been holed up here since yesterday? When I saw my picture on the front page of the local newspaper I knew it meant trouble.’

‘So why did you come here?’

‘I went to your house first but the cops were watching it. I also saw them putting a tap on your phone. That’s why I couldn’t call you. Then I thought of Dave. He’s the only other guy I could trust here.’

Laidlaw moved to the window and tweaked the edge of the curtains. The police car that had followed him to the Windorah was still parked across the road.

‘Were you followed here?’ Graham asked.

‘Yeah,’ Laidlaw replied, letting the curtain fall back into place. ‘But that was to be expected. Jeez, I still don’t know what to make of your story. It doesn’t make sense. If Bernard did kill Barak, why not kill you as well? What would he have to gain by setting you up?’

‘That question’s been going round in my head ever since I woke up in that alley.’

‘And?’

‘And nothing,’ Graham replied. ‘Like you said, it makes no sense. I’m still a threat to him alive.’

‘What if Bernard wasn’t behind it?’

‘It has to be Bernard. Hell, I wish I knew why though.’

Laidlaw looked down at Graham. ‘The cops aren’t the only ones on your tail. Your partner’s in town.’

Graham’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘My partner?’

‘Calls herself Sabrina Cassidy. Looks like a model out of one of those Coke ads, only better.’

Graham smiled faintly. ‘That’s her. When did she get in?’

‘Dunno. We didn’t exactly hit it off.’

‘I know what you mean. I didn’t get on with her either when we started working together. We’d fight like cat and dog. Hell, we still have our spats. But she’s still a damn good professional all the same.’

‘She thinks a lot of you, you know. I made the mistake of criticizing you and she came down on me like a ton of bricks.’

‘She’s very maternal. It can be a pain in the ass at times.’

‘Is that what you call it?’ Laidlaw replied, an eyebrow raised quizzically.

There were two knocks on the door before Graham could muster a reply. A pause then another two knocks.

‘That’s Dave,’ Graham said. ‘He said he’d be up. I’ll get him to find out where Sabrina’s staying.’

Graham unlocked the door. Jenkins entered, followed by two Arabs in jeans and open-necked shirts.

Both were armed with Russian Makarov pistols.

‘I’m sorry, Mike,’ Jenkins said, giving Graham a despairing look. ‘They caught me unawares. They were in the opposite room.’

‘Shut up!’ one of the Arabs snapped in a thick English accent. ‘You are Mike Graham?’