Алистер Маклин: Time of the Assassins

‘Do you want me to see to C.W. and Sabrina?’

‘Yes, put them on a Code Red standby. I want them here by two at the latest–’ Philpott stopped abruptly as a crushing pain seared through his chest, radiating out to his neck, jaw and arms. His cane fell from his grasp and he sagged forward against the wall.

Kolchinsky leaped from his chair and grabbed Philpott before he could fall to the floor. Philpott clutched his chest in agony. It felt as if it were going to burst. The pain was unbearable. His eyes watered as the pain increased. He tried to speak but he couldn’t get the words out. He thought he was about to die. At that moment he would have welcomed it, an escape from the agony burning through his chest.

Kolchinsky lowered him carefully to the floor then flicked on the intercom switch on the desk. ‘Sarah, call an ambulance. And hurry. The Colonel’s had a heart attack.’

He switched off the intercom before she could reply and hurried back to where Philpott lay. He remembered his first-aid training with the KGB – always keep the sufferer as warm and calm as possible. He took off his jacket and placed it over Philpott’s chest.

‘You’re going to be alright, Malcolm. Sarah’s calling for an ambulance.’

The pain had subsided to a tightness of the chest. He suddenly felt cold but he could also feel the sweat running down the sides of his face. He had known right away what had happened. His mother had suffered two heart attacks before the third one had killed her. He knew the symptoms. A coronary thrombosis, the doctor had called it. It was strange. He felt perfectly lucid yet he couldn’t speak. The words wouldn’t reach his lips.

Kolchinsky noticed Philpott trying to speak and squeezed his arm reassuringly. ‘Don’t try and say anything, Malcolm. You’re going to be alright.’

The door slid open and Sarah Thomas, Philpott’s secretary, hurried across to where Kolchinsky was crouched. ‘The ambulance is on its way. It should be here in about ten minutes.’

‘Have you told security it’s on its way?’

She nodded. ‘Can I do anything to help?’ she whispered.

Kolchinsky shook his head. ‘The worst’s over. He’s going to be alright, don’t worry.’ He turned towards her. ‘Get hold of Sabrina and C.W. Tell them I want them here by two this afternoon.’

Sarah returned to the outer office. Her hands were shaking when she picked up the receiver and dialled the number of Sabrina’s flat.

Sabrina wasn’t in her flat. She was taking in the boutiques on Fifth Avenue. It was her second-favourite pastime. Her favourite was listening to jazz, either live at one of her regular haunts, Ali’s Alley or the Village Vanguard, or sitting at home with the headphones on, listening to the likes of David Sanborn or the Yellow jackets. Sanborn was her idol and she tried to get to as many of his live gigs as possible when he was playing in New York. Jazz had become a way of life for her.

She was dressed casually in a pair of faded Levi jeans, brown ankle boots and a baggy white T-shirt. Her shoulder-length blond hair was hidden underneath a New York Yankees baseball cap, a present from Mike Graham. She was a stunning twenty-eight-year-old with a near perfect figure, which she kept in shape with regular aerobics classes, and she had a friendly, outgoing disposition. She had given up counting the number of marriage proposals she had turned down over the years. Her independence was too important to her. Moreover, any serious relationship could well jeopardize her position with UNACO. As far as her friends were concerned, she was a translator at the United Nations. None of them knew that she had been with the FBI for two years, where she had specialized in the use of firearms, before joining UNACO three years ago. She was still the only female field operative in the organization but her gutsy determination and self-confidence had won over her male colleagues who now regarded her as an equal. She could think of no greater compliment.

She paused in front of Barnes and Noble and pretended to look at the book display in the window. She was sure she was being followed. Not that she had seen anyone. It was just an instinct that came with the job. She waited a few moments then turned into East 48th Street, still pretending to look in the shop windows as she walked. She didn’t increase her pace – it would only alert her pursuer. But who was it?

She was more than capable of defending herself if the need arose, but what if her pursuer was someone who had recognized her from a previous UNACO assignment, someone out to blow her cover? That did frighten her.

She stopped again, this time in the doorway of a delicatessen, and reached into her bag for her sunglasses. She slid them on. Now she could use the shop windows to look behind her without arousing any suspicions. A movement caught her eye as she stepped back out onto the pavement but before she could react a black youth shot past her on rollerskates, snatching the bag out of her hand. He dodged between the startled shoppers, none of whom made any attempt to stop him. She immediately sprinted after him. He glanced over his shoulder and grinned at her, knowing she couldn’t catch up with him, but when he looked round he found himself heading straight for a display of fresh produce outside a delicatessen. He swerved sharply to the left but his leg hit the edge of the wooden stand and he fell heavily to the ground, spilling an assortment of fruit across the pavement. He scrambled to his feet and looked round nervously at Sabrina who was closing in fast on him. He set off again, his face now twisted in pain, and flung the bag to an accomplice in an alley twenty yards further on.

Sabrina ignored the fleeing youth on the rollerskates and went in pursuit of his accomplice. She followed him through a network of alleyways until he mistakenly darted into a cul-de-sac. He realized his mistake too late and when he turned back to the entrance Sabrina was already there, blocking his escape. She was breathing heavily, her hands on her hips. She met the youth’s eyes. He was a Puerto Rican, no older than twenty, with long, greasy black hair and a red headband. He pulled a switchblade from his pocket and opened it inches from his leg.

‘You want some?’ he asked, the switchblade extended menacingly towards her.

‘I don’t want any trouble,’ she said calmly then held out her hand towards him. ‘Give me the bag and that will be the end of it.’

The youth laughed then spat on the ground. ‘You want the bag, you come and get it.’

Sabrina shrugged and moved towards the youth. He dropped the bag then, tightening his grip on the switchblade, he waited until she was in range before lunging at her, the blade slashing the air inches from her face. Pity to cut such a pretty face but she’d asked for it. He grinned as he came at her again.

She waited until he stabbed at her then, using her left forearm to block his wrist, she followed up by slamming the heel of her right hand against his chin and kneeing him in the groin. He cried out in agony and stumbled back against the wall. The switchblade fell from his hand as he sagged to the ground, whimpering softly, his hands clutched between his legs. She picked up the bag, checked inside to see that everything was still there, and was about to confiscate the switchblade when she heard the sound of a police siren in the distance. She couldn’t be involved in a police investigation. The way in which she had dispatched her attacker would certainly make news.

She ducked into the adjoining alley. The siren was getting closer. She ran to the end of the alley and was about to scale the ten-foot wire fence when the bleeper attached to her belt suddenly shrilled into life. It was UNACO headquarters. Of all the times for them to call, she thought irritably. She switched it off then clambered over the fence, landing nimbly on her toes, and walked down another alley which brought her out onto Madison Avenue.