Алистер Маклин - Time of the Assassins

‘Drugs are drugs,’ Hagen retorted.

‘So ban nicotine and alcohol,’ Whitlock snapped then got to his feet and moved to the window.

Hagen stood up. ‘Well, if you’ll excuse me, Sergei, I’ve got a press conference in twenty minutes.’

Kolchinsky walked with Hagen to the door. ‘I’m sorry about C.W., Sean. He’s upset, naturally. He and Rosie have always been close. She’s probably closer to him than she is to her own father.’

‘I’ll call you if anything comes up,’ Hagen said then shook Kolchinsky’s hand and walked into the kitchen to consult with his detectives.

‘We might as well go,’ Whitlock said behind Kolchinsky. ‘There isn’t anything we can do here anyway.’

‘You’re right; you’ve done enough already,’ Kolchinsky retorted angrily. ‘What got into you speaking to the deputy police commissioner like that? You were well out of turn.’

‘I’ll see you outside,’ Whitlock retorted and strode out of the apartment towards the lift.

‘C.W., wait up,’ Kolchinsky called out then hurried after him.

Whitlock held the lift and they descended to the foyer in silence.

‘Hagen and I have different values, Sergei,’ Whitlock said as they walked towards the entrance. ‘He wants to find a cop’s killer. I want to find Rosie. She’s out there somewhere and you can be sure she’s scared as hell. Whoever killed Doyle and those cops isn’t going to just let her go, is he? She’s a witness. It had crossed my mind that she might already be dead but I don’t really think that’s very likely now. Why take her away and kill her when he could have done the job here? No, I think he needs her for something. Why else take her with him? I’m scared for her, Sergei, really scared.’

Kolchinsky put a consoling hand on Whitlock’s arm then led the way down the steps into the street. He gave a curt ‘No comment,’ to a news reporter who was hovering hopefully for a story then ducked underneath the police tape and forced a path through the crowd to where the driver was waiting for them. Kolchinsky sent him off to fetch the car.

‘I’ll keep you posted on any new developments, C.W.,’ Kolchinsky assured him, ‘but there really isn’t much else either of us can do tonight. And you need to rest that arm.’

‘It’s OK,’ Whitlock replied.

‘Then why were you cursing every time someone touched it when we were making our way through the crowd?’ Kolchinsky smiled gently. ‘Of course it hurts. You need to rest it. Let Rogers handle the security tomorrow. It’s the President’s last engagement before he flies out and the Trade Center has to be one of the most security-conscious buildings in the state of New York.’

‘I want to be there,’ Whitlock said stubbornly.

‘You’ve already prepared a schedule for the security team. You don’t need to be there.’

‘I’m in charge of Mobuto’s security until he flies out of JFK tomorrow night. End of story.’

Kolchinsky shrugged helplessly. ‘I’m not going to argue with you. Ah, here comes your driver.’

Whitlock slipped his hand into his inside jacket pocket and withdrew a newspaper. ‘Ask the lab boys to dust it for prints.’

‘What?’ Kolchinsky replied in surprise.

‘It was down the side of the sofa in the flat. I lifted it when you walked Hagen to the door. Some of the prints will be smudged from its being in my pocket but they’re sure to pick up something, even if it’s only Rosie’s prints.’

Kolchinsky took the paper carefully from Whitlock. ‘This is against the law, you know.’

‘So is keeping files on the relatives of UNACO personnel,’ Whitlock replied poker-faced. ‘Have you got a copy of Rosie’s prints?’

‘No, but it won’t be difficult to get them. Now go on home.’

‘Call me tonight if the lab boys come up with something,’ Whitlock said then climbed into the back of the car.

Kolchinsky closed the door behind him then slapped the roof. The driver pulled away and moments later the Mercedes was swallowed up in the evening traffic. Kolchinsky looked back as the first of the bodies was loaded into one of the ambulances then turned away and walked towards his car.

Rosie woke with a splitting headache. She was lying on a single bed in a small room with a chest of drawers, an armchair and a small basin by the window. The curtains were drawn. She swung her legs slowly off the bed then sat forward, her face in her hands. It was then that she smelled the chloroform on her clothes. Then it all came back to her, a terrifying flashback: the two policemen, Kenny, then the blow on the back of the head.

When she had come round in the flat the man she knew as Marc had finished packing his belongings and the holdall and attaché case stood by the front door. He had been sitting against the wall, his knees drawn up in front of him, watching her. The automatic hung loosely in his right hand. He had told her that they were going to walk down to the street together where a car would be waiting for them. Any attempt to draw attention to themselves and he would kill her. After all, he had nothing to lose.

He had draped the jacket over his gun hand and carried the attaché case in the other. She had to carry the holdall. He had kept the barrel of the gun pressed firmly against her ribs until they reached the car parked in front of the building. The driver was a black man she had never seen before. The two men had spoken a language she didn’t understand, then she was bundled into the back of the car and a chloroform-soaked cloth had been clamped over her face. That was the last thing she remembered. Until now. She didn’t know where she was or how long she had been there. She rubbed her temples gingerly, trying to massage away the pain. What she would give for a headache tablet. She switched on the bedside lamp then got to her feet and moved to the door. It was locked. Then she went to the window.

She drew back the curtains. A pair of shutters had been secured over the window. She tried to open the window. It was stuck. She tried again. It wouldn’t budge. She looked about for something to break the glass. There wasn’t anything. She checked the chest of drawers – empty. She slumped dejectedly on the bed and struggled to hold back the tears. Suddenly there was the sound of a key being inserted in the door. It was unlocked and opened. Bernard entered the room and sat down in the armchair.

‘Where am I?’ Rosie demanded.

‘Safe,’ Bernard replied with a smile then glanced across at the chest of drawers. ‘That was good thinking, looking for something to break the window, but it wouldn’t have done you any good anyway. It’s reinforced glass.’

‘How did…’ she trailed off and looked about the room before glaring at Bernard. ‘Where’s the camera?’

‘Behind the mirror,’ Bernard said, gesturing towards it.

‘You’re sick,’ she snapped then winced as a sharp pain shot through her head.

Bernard held up two aspirin. ‘You look like you need these.’

‘Go to hell!’

Bernard chuckled. ‘I admire your spirit, Rosie. You’re quite a kid, you know that?’

‘Why are you holding me here?’

Bernard put the tablets on the chest of drawers then got to his feet. ‘You’re my insurance policy.’

‘What are you talking about? Insurance against what?’

‘What you don’t know won’t hurt you. Let’s keep it that way. I’d hate to see you end up like your friend Kenny. Strange as it may seem, I like you. You’re a good kid. Mixed up, but still a good kid. Take those tablets and come on through to the lounge when you feel better.’ Bernard paused in the doorway and looked back at her. ‘You remind me a lot of myself when I was your age.’ He smiled thoughtfully then disappeared out into the hall.