Алистер Маклин - Time of the Assassins

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he picked up the telephone and dialled an unlisted number then propped a pillow against the headboard and sat back against it, waiting for the call to be answered. When it was, there was only silence on the other end of the line.

‘It’s Columbus,’ Bernard said.

‘This is Seabird. I’ve been trying to contact you for hours. Where the hell are you?’

‘At the safe house off the Garden State Parkway.’

‘What?’ came the incredulous reply. ‘You weren’t cleared to stay there.’

‘I didn’t exactly have much time to pick and choose, did I? Or haven’t you heard about what happened at the apartment?’

‘Of course I heard,’ Seabird retorted angrily. ‘That was one of our best safe houses in the city. And thanks to you it’s been blown. Three bodies, two of them cops – what the hell happened there? And what’s this about Whitlock’s niece being involved?’

Bernard explained briefly about Rosie, her connection with Doyle and the reason the police had come to the apartment.

‘And why wasn’t I informed that you’re holding Whitlock’s niece?’ Seabird said once Bernard had finished speaking. ‘You could blow the whole operation.’

‘You weren’t informed because it doesn’t concern you. She’s my insurance in case something should go wrong tomorrow.’

‘Insurance against what? Do you honestly think UNACO will just let you walk away because you’ve got Whitlock’s niece? Credit them with some professionalism.’

‘Of course they won’t. But I can use her to buy time.’ Bernard swung his legs off the bed. ‘But we’re speculating here. Nothing will go wrong, I guarantee that.’

‘Why don’t I feel reassured?’

‘I need a favour, that’s why I called,’ Bernard said, then went on to explain what had happened earlier at the house. ‘I need another babysitter for the girl.’

‘Do you, now?’ came the sarcastic riposte. ‘And who the hell was this Elias anyway?’

‘The fifth member of the Zimbalan team.’

‘Fifth? I was told there were only four.’

‘I included a fifth man as backup. It seemed the sensible thing to do in case one of the others was killed or arrested before the operation began.’

‘You included him? This whole operation was devised after months of detailed planning. But that doesn’t seem to bother you, does it? You just do what the hell you want, don’t you? You work for us, in case you’d forgotten. And we tell you what to do. Is that understood?’

‘Sure,’ Bernard replied disinterestedly. ‘What about that babysitter?’

‘You’re not getting one!’

‘Then find yourself another assassin,’ Bernard replied and slammed the receiver back into the cradle.

The telephone rang moments later. Bernard picked it up. ‘Yes?’

‘Columbus?’

‘Yes.’

‘Don’t you ever do that to me again!’

‘Then we’d better come to an arrangement about a babysitter,’ Bernard said matter-of-factly.

‘Very well,’ came the bitter reply. ‘You’ll have one in the morning. That’s the best I can do.’

‘That’s fine. I only need him to watch the girl while I’m at the Trade Center.’

The line went dead.

Bailey sat thoughtfully in his study after he had replaced the receiver then reached for the bourbon beside him and took a sip. It was just as well he had already arranged to have Bernard eliminated after Mobuto’s death. A babysitter indeed! He glanced at his watch. Seven forty-five. Brett would already be at the hotel, having relieved Rogers at six that evening. He found the number of the United Nations Plaza and, when he got through, asked the switchboard operator to connect him to the room which had been specially set aside for the presidential bodyguards. It was answered by Brett.

‘It’s Bailey, can you talk?’

‘No,’ came the quick reply.

‘Can you get to another phone and call me back?’

‘Sure,’ Brett replied.

‘I’ll be waiting,’ Bailey said then replaced the receiver and drank down the remainder of the Scotch.

Brett called back five minutes later.

‘What time does Rogers relieve you?’ Bailey asked.

‘Eight tomorrow morning,’ Brett answered.

‘Right. When he gets there I want you to go straight from the hotel to the safe house off the Garden State Parkway. You know the one I mean?’

‘I should do, sir; I helped to lay the traps.’

‘Bernard’s there.’

‘But I thought he was staying at the apartment in Murray Hill?’ Brett replied.

‘He was until he shot two policemen there.’

‘Sweet Jesus, how did that happen?’

‘I’ll brief you tomorrow. All you have to worry about at the moment is getting to the safe house in the morning.’

‘I’ll be there, sir.’

‘He’s holding Whitlock’s niece as a form of insurance in case anything should go wrong at the Trade Center tomorrow. He wants you there to keep an eye on her while he’s away.’

‘Insurance? It sounds like he’s cracking, sir.’

‘No, he’s just being shrewd, like he always is. Do as he says then kill him when he returns to the house, irrespective of what’s happened at the Trade Center. We won’t be able to use him again after tomorrow anyway. But be careful. He’s smart. He’s sure to suspect we’ll go after him once this is over.’

‘And the girl?’

‘She’s a witness, isn’t she? But she mustn’t be harmed until you’ve killed him. As I said, he’s smart. He’s quite likely to have devised a method of approaching the house unseen. And if he sees she’s dead, he’ll pull out. Then we’ll have lost him.’

‘I understand, sir.’

‘Good. How’s my favourite President?’

‘He’s in a meeting with his colleagues from the embassy. They’ve been locked away in his suite for the last three hours. God knows what they’re discussing.’

‘It doesn’t really matter, does it? By this time tomorrow he’ll be dead.’

Brett chuckled. ‘Yes, sir, he will.’

Bailey smiled to himself then replaced the receiver. He left the study, secured the door behind him, then went downstairs to join his wife and children in the lounge.

Kolchinsky rubbed his eyes wearily then opened another of the files that had been left on Philpott’s desk for him. It was one of half a dozen in front of him, each containing an update on one of the UNACO Strike Force teams currently on assignment. They were compiled by duty analysts in the Command Centre. He read the first two paragraphs of the report then stifled a yawn and got to his feet. He wasn’t taking any of it in. He needed a break. Pouring himself a coffee from the dispenser behind him, he moved to the nearest of the black sofas and sat down. He lit a cigarette and was about to reach for his coffee when the interleading door between the office and the Command Centre slid open and an analyst entered carrying a folder.

‘Not another update, Hans?’ Kolchinsky said with a resigned sigh.

‘No, we’ve matched the prints taken from the newspaper you brought in earlier.’ Hans held the folder out towards Kolchinsky. ‘I think you’d better take a look for yourself, sir.’

Kolchinsky took the folder and opened it. Inside was a print-out of the computer file corresponding to the prints. The name was typed in capital letters across the top of the page: JEAN-JACQUES BERNARD. He closed the folder and placed it on the table.

‘Is there anything else, sir?’

‘No, thank you, Hans,’ Kolchinsky replied.

Hans returned to the Command Centre, activating the door behind him. Kolchinsky looked at the folder again. He knew he should be surprised but he wasn’t. He couldn’t explain the feeling. It was almost as if he had expected something like this, sub-consciously. Had he? He glanced across at the telephone on Philpott’s desk. Whitlock had asked him to call with any news on the fingerprints. But what good would it do waking Whitlock with that kind of news? He wouldn’t get to sleep again. And it wasn’t as if either of them could do anything about it. No, he’d tell Whitlock about it in the morning. He reached for the folder and inadvertently knocked the cup off the table, spilling coffee onto the carpet. He cursed angrily but when he bent down to retrieve the cup he noticed something attached to the underside of the table. At first he thought it was a spider or even a piece of gum but when he got closer he realized it was a microphone no bigger than a man’s coat button.