Алистер Маклин - Time of the Assassins

Bernard mounted the motorbike and headed back towards the boom gate. He turned off into a narrow alley at the side of the building and pulled up in front of an adjacent door. He climbed off the motorbike then unfastened the helmet and placed it on the seat. He also removed the leather jacket he was wearing and was about to drape it over the seat as well when the door was pushed open and a man emerged.

Bernard had never seen him before. He was the same height and build as himself and was wearing a pale blue shirt, navy trousers and a pair of black shoes – the same outfit as Bernard. He nodded in greeting to Bernard then pulled on the leather jacket and zipped it up. Then, after slipping the helmet over his head, he climbed onto the motorbike and headed off towards the boom gate.

‘Any problems?’

Bernard looked round sharply at Rogers who had appeared silently at the door behind him, the envelope in his hand.

‘No,’ Bernard replied.

‘Jesus, what happened to your eye?’

‘An accident,’ Bernard answered sharply.

‘Come inside.’

Bernard stepped past Rogers who immediately closed the door behind him and bolted it again. He found himself in a narrow corridor with several white-painted doors leading off from it. Rogers led the way to one of them then took a key from his pocket and opened it. Bernard went inside. It was a small room with a wooden chair and a battered locker in the corner.

‘Your clothes are in there,’ Rogers said, indicating the locker.

‘What is this place?’

‘These used to be storerooms up until a few months ago. Then all the stock was moved to bigger rooms closer to the conference centre. They’re all empty now. The cops have already checked them so you won’t have to worry about being disturbed.’ Rogers gave the key to Bernard. ‘Just make sure you lock the door behind me.’

‘Is Mobuto’s address still scheduled for two o’clock?’

Rogers nodded then looked at his watch. ‘It’s now twelve fourteen. You want to be in position no later than one forty.’

‘I’ll be there.’

‘You’ll have to hide that bruise. It’ll only draw attention to yourself. I’ll get you a pair of sunglasses.’

‘No need,’ Bernard said, taking a pair of sunglasses from his pocket.

‘OK,’ Rogers replied then moved to the door. ‘Good luck.’

‘Luck’s for amateurs,’ Bernard answered then pointed to the envelope Rogers was holding. ‘What’s in there?’

‘Nothing,’ Rogers replied with a grin then left the room and closed the door behind him.

Bernard locked the door then moved to the chair and sat down. All he had to do now was wait.

It had been Whitlock’s idea to have Mobuto brought to the Trade Center in a police helicopter. That way he would not only avoid the posse of journalists expecting him to arrive by car, but it would also thwart any planned hit from one of the adjacent buildings. SWAT snipers had been in position on the surrounding rooftops since daybreak and the helipad itself, situated on the roof of the Trade Center, had been under armed guard for the past twenty-four hours. He had deployed armed officers at all the strategic points inside the building and, with no reported sightings of Bernard, he was quietly confident that he had the situation under control.

Whitlock shielded his face with his hand as the helicopter pilot executed a perfect landing on the helipad.

Rogers hurried forward, his face screwed up against the swirling wind whipped up by the rotors, and opened the passenger door. Masala was the first out. He looked round slowly. Whitlock and Kolchinsky were standing by the door and four SWAT snipers were positioned at each corner of the roof. Satisfied, he nodded to Mobuto who clambered out of the helicopter and hurried, doubled over, towards Kolchinsky and Whitlock. Kolchinsky opened the door and Mobuto stepped inside, grateful to be out of the choppy wind. Whitlock and Masala followed him through the door. Kolchinsky gave the pilot a thumbs-up sign and the helicopter immediately rose off the helipad and moments later peeled away to the right, heading back towards Manhattan. He closed the door behind him and crossed to the four men at the end of the corridor.

‘Are you alright, sir?’

‘A little windswept, but otherwise I’m fine, thank you,’ Mobuto replied to Kolchinsky’s question. ‘What is the agenda for this afternoon? Is my speech still scheduled for two o’clock?’

‘Yes,’ Kolchinsky said, brushing down his double-breasted jacket. ‘And the cocktail party will be held immediately after your speech.’

‘Excellent. I look forward to hearing what the country’s leading financiers think of my proposed economic changes for Zimbala.’ Mobuto smiled to himself. ‘I hope they approve enough to give their backing to the investment programme I have in mind. Well, we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?’

‘The complex manager is waiting for us downstairs,’ Whitlock said to Mobuto. ‘He’s offered to give you a tour of the building if you’re interested.’

Mobuto looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got fifty minutes to kill before I’m due to make my speech. Yes, I’d be delighted to see the building.’

They took the lift down to the fourth floor where the manager and his senior aides had their offices. The manager, a short, dapper man in his late forties, was waiting in his office for them. The nameplate on his desk identified him as Anthony Lieberwitz.

‘Would you care for something to drink, sir?’ Lieberwitz asked after shaking Mobuto’s hand.

‘No, thank you. I had a coffee before I left the hotel.’

There was a knock at the door and the receptionist who had ushered them in moments earlier appeared again and announced that there was a Mr Bailey in her office. Lieberwitz told her to show him in.

Bailey forced a quick smile for the receptionist as he entered the room and the door was closed behind him. He nodded in greeting to Lieberwitz then turned to Mobuto and extended a hand in greeting. ‘Nice to see you again, Mr President.’

‘Glad you could come,’ Mobuto said, shaking Bailey’s hand.

‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.’ Bailey replied. He shook Kolchinsky’s hand then sat down in one of the vacant armchairs.

‘This came for you, sir,’ Rogers said, handing the envelope to Bailey.

‘Ah, thank you,’ Bailey said, taking the envelope from Rogers. ‘I was worried it might not turn up.’

‘It got here in good time, sir,’ Rogers replied.

Lieberwitz got up from behind his desk. ‘Mr President, would you care to see the rest of the building? We have a telescope on the top floor. The view of the city is quite breathtaking.’

‘I look forward to seeing it,’ Mobuto replied, getting to his feet.

The telephone rang.

‘Excuse me,’ Lieberwitz said then answered it. He put his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘It’s for you, Mr Kolchinsky.’

Kolchinsky took the receiver from Lieberwitz. ‘Hello.’

‘Mr Kolchinsky?’

‘Speaking. Is that you, Sarah?’

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘I’ve just spoken to Mike Graham. He’s with Sabrina at JFK. They touched down about ten minutes ago. It seems there’s been an accident near the airport which has completely blocked off the carriageway into the city. He’s asked for a helicopter to pick them up from the airport and take them to the Trade Center. He says it’s an emergency.’

‘Have one of our helicopters scrambled immediately and sent over to the airport.’

‘Who should I speak to about having it cleared for landing at JFK?’ she asked.

‘I’ll see to that, don’t worry. You just make sure the helicopter gets over there as soon as possible.’

‘Yes, sir.’