Алистер Маклин - Time of the Assassins

‘I knew it. A kindred spirit,’ she said softly to herself.

‘Pardon?’

‘Nothing,’ she said then looked up as Doyle returned with her bourbon. ‘Mr Giresse was also a runaway. Small world.’

‘Very small,’ Doyle replied tersely then placed the bourbon in front of her. His eyes darted towards Bernard. There was something about the man he didn’t trust. And his instincts were rarely wrong. ‘Where you from?’

‘Beirut,’ Bernard replied, holding Doyle’s stare. He suddenly smiled. ‘How much is the drink?’

‘I’m paying for Rosie’s drinks tonight,’ Doyle replied quickly.

‘Please, I insist,’ Bernard said then took a five-dollar note from his wallet and placed it on the counter.

‘Have one yourself.’

‘No, thank you,’ Doyle replied and left the note on the counter when he walked off to serve another customer.

‘What’s wrong with your friend?’ Bernard asked, slipping the note back into his wallet.

Rosie shrugged. ‘He gets like this sometimes. I suppose I would, too, if I had to serve all the creeps that come in here every night.’

‘Thank you,’ Bernard retorted.

‘You know what I mean,’ she replied then saw the smile on his face. ‘Stop teasing me.’

His face suddenly became serious. ‘Have you got somewhere to stay tonight?’

She instinctively looked across at Doyle. ‘I was hoping Kenny could put me up for a few days until I’d sorted things out with my parents. But he can’t. He’s got someone staying with him. There’s a couple of friends I know who might be able to give me a bed for the night. I’ll try them.’

‘And what if they can’t?’

She shrugged. ‘I’ll find a flop house somewhere. I’ve got a few bucks on me. But don’t tell Kenny: I told him I was broke.’

‘That’s crazy. You can’t go walking around New York by yourself at this time of night. Look, I’ve got a spare room. You can use it if you want.’

‘Thanks, but…’ she trailed off with an awkward shrug. ‘I mean, I don’t even know you.’

‘Likewise,’ Bernard replied. He bit his lip thoughtfully. ‘I’ll tell you what. Call your friends and see if they can put you up for the night. If they can’t you can either stay at the flat or else I’ll give you some money and drop you off at a hotel.’

‘Why are you doing this?’

‘My father raised me. I never knew my mother. He was the only family I had. He died when I was fourteen. So I ran off to Beirut to avoid being put into an orphanage. The first night there I was accosted by three men. I managed to get away but,’ he paused and touched the scar on his cheek, ‘they left me with a memento. It looks a lot better on me than it would on you. You got off lightly in the alley tonight. Don’t push your luck.’

She pondered his words then glanced at the pay phone in the corner of the bar. ‘You got any quarters?’

Bernard rifled through the change pouch in his wallet and handed her three quarters. ‘Is that enough?’

She nodded then climbed off her stool and crossed the room to the phone. She dialled the first number: no reply. Then she tried the second. It was answered by a man. Three’s company, she said to herself and hung up. When she turned round she found Doyle standing in front of her.

‘Here, take this,’ he said, pushing a ten-dollar note into her hand.

‘What’s this for?’

‘Taxi fare to my place. You can stay there tonight.’

‘But what about that guy?’

‘He’ll understand,’ Doyle replied.

‘Have you phoned to tell him I’m coming over?’

‘I tried but he’s not in. He’ll be at a club.’

‘I appreciate the offer, Kenny, but I can’t stay with you guys. It wouldn’t be right.’

‘Why not?’ Doyle demanded defensively. ‘You can pad out on the sofa.’

‘It just wouldn’t be right,’ she replied with a shrug and slipped the money back into his pocket.

‘So where are you going to stay?’

‘I’ll find a crash pad somewhere,’ she said, trying to reassure him.

‘I heard that Lebanese guy offer you a room at his place. Don’t go, Rosie. There’s something pseudo about him.’

‘Yeah, what?’ she demanded.

‘I don’t know. It’s just a gut feeling, that’s all.’

‘Oh, really?’ she retorted sharply. ‘He’s been a perfect gentleman ever since I met him. And you don’t find many of them in this dive.’

‘He’s trouble, Rosie.’

She shook her head angrily. ‘You’ve been acting weird ever since he started talking to me. What’s really bugging you, Kenny? Are you jealous that we’re getting along so well?’

‘Jealous?’ Doyle replied in disbelief. ‘Grow up, Rosie. I’m worried about you, that’s all.’

‘Yeah, well, don’t bother. I can look after myself.’ She spun on her heels and walked back to where Bernard was sitting. ‘I’ll take you up on that offer of a bed if it’s still going.’

‘Sure,’ Bernard replied.

‘Can we go, now?’

Bernard looked round at her. ‘Now? It’s only eight thirty.’

‘Then let’s go somewhere else.’ She glanced up at Doyle as he returned behind the bar. ‘This place has got distinctly chilly in the last couple of minutes.’

Bernard shrugged. ‘You’ll have to recommend somewhere. I’m a stranger in these parts.’

‘I know lots of places,’ she retorted then glared at Doyle before striding out of the bar.

Bernard watched her leave. It was beyond his wildest expectations. All he had intended to do was keep tabs on her in case he needed a hostage after the hit on Mobuto. Whitlock’s niece, the perfect weapon to foil UNACO. His American contact had told him where to find her. He didn’t know his name. He only knew him by his codeword, Seabird.

No, he couldn’t have asked for it to have turned out better. He pushed the Diet Cola away from him and climbed off the stool. It was then that he noticed Doyle watching him. He allowed himself a faint smile of satisfaction then slipped the five-dollar note under Rosie’s glass and left the bar.

Whitlock closed the door behind Eddie and Rachel Kruger then returned to the lounge and slumped dejectedly onto the sofa.

‘You did your best, C.W.,’ Carmen said, massaging his shoulders.

‘It wasn’t enough, was it?’ Whitlock replied. ‘Between us we must have been to every bar within a mile radius of Times Square. Nothing.’

‘That could be a good thing in itself. If someone is shielding her then she’ll probably have a bed for the night.’

‘God, I hope so,’ Whitlock said then got to his feet and moved to the balcony where he looked out over the illuminated New York skyline.

‘It’s almost midnight, C.W.,’ Carmen said from the doorway. ‘We’ve both got to be up early in the morning.’

‘I know,’ Whitlock replied but made no attempt to move away from the railing.

‘You’ve done everything you could to find her. She’s on her own now.’

‘I still say we should have called the police.’

‘We’ve been through this already. Eddie and Rachel decided against it. We have to respect that. She’s their daughter, not ours.’

‘If she was our daughter she wouldn’t be in this mess,’ Whitlock retorted.

‘Wouldn’t she?’

Whitlock looked round sharply at her then conceded the point with a shrug of the shoulders.

‘Come on, let’s go to bed.’

‘Take care of yourself, kid,’ Whitlock said softly then went inside and closed the sliding door behind him.

Robert Bailey was obsessed with security. He drove to work in a bulletproof Mercedes 500SL, changing his route daily. His personal bodyguards were always armed. His wife and two teenage daughters were ferried about by an armed chauffeur. And his house in the Georgetown suburb of Washington was a virtual fortress. Tripwires lined the top of the perimeter wall and armed dog-handlers patrolled the grounds twenty-four hours a day. Closed-circuit television cameras had been installed in every room and were monitored by guards from a control centre in the basement of the house-every room, that is, except his study.