Алистер Маклин - Time of the Assassins

‘Did he say anything else?’

‘No,’ Sarah replied.

‘Thanks, Sarah.’ Kolchinsky replaced the receiver then looked round at Mobuto. ‘You’ll have to excuse C.W. and me. We won’t be joining you on the tour of the building. Something’s come up.’

‘Nothing serious, I hope?’ Mobuto said.

‘Nothing for you to worry about, Mr President,’ Kolchinsky replied with a reassuring smile.

Lieberwitz opened the door and Mobuto, Masala and Rogers went into the outer office. Bailey remained in his seat. Lieberwitz looked from Bailey to Kolchinsky then withdrew discreetly, closing the door behind him.

‘You’re missing the tour,’ Kolchinsky said, eyeing Bailey coldly.

‘Scramble one of your helicopters immediately and have it sent over to the airport? Why?’

‘That doesn’t concern you,’ Kolchinsky shot back.

‘If it concerns this case, it does.’

‘C.W., show Mr Bailey to the door.’

‘No need, I’m going,’ Bailey said, getting to his feet. ‘You’d better not be holding out on me, Kolchinsky. Because if you are you can be sure that will go in my report to the White House. And UNACO’s in enough trouble as it is without my adding to your problems.’

Whitlock closed the door behind Bailey. ‘Who was that on the phone?’

‘Sarah,’ Kolchinsky replied. ‘Michael and Sabrina have just got back from Zimbala. Michael wants a helicopter to fly them over here. He says it’s an emergency.’

‘An emergency? That has to mean Bernard’s already here. Did Mike say where Bernard intends to make the hit?’

Kolchinsky shook his head. ‘But they should be here before the President starts his speech.’

‘And if they’re not?’

‘We could stall for time, but we don’t even know if there is an assassin, whether it be Bernard or not, let alone where and when the hit’s going to be made.’

‘The security’s already been tightened in and around the main hall. I don’t know what else we can do.’

‘Nothing, for the moment.’ Kolchinsky banged his fist angrily on the desk. ‘Why couldn’t he have called us? He must know we’re here. Our hands are tied until they get here.’

‘He must have had his reasons,’ Whitlock replied.

‘Especially if it involves Bernard,’ Kolchinsky snapped. ‘I’ll see you down at the hall. I’ve got to call the airport to get the necessary clearance for our helicopter to land there.’

Whitlock left the room. Kolchinsky ran his hands over his face then sat down behind the desk and picked up the receiver.

Bernard finished applying the foundation and powder to the scar on his cheek then studied his reflection carefully in the cracked, full-length mirror attached to the inside of the open locker door. He smiled to himself. The scar was gone. Then, taking the cap from the bottom shelf of the locker, he placed it carefully on his head. Now the disguise was complete. He was just another New York cop. He picked up the identity tag that had been left in the locker for him and clipped it onto his jacket. He unlocked the door then opened it fractionally and peered out into the corridor. It was deserted. He left the room, locking it again behind him, then slipped on his sunglasses before walking to the stairs at the end of the corridor.

He glanced at his watch. One twenty-five. He climbed the stairs and found himself in another corridor.

He knew where he was from the plans he had studied in Beirut. He made his way to a door further down the corridor which led onto another set of stairs. He descended them to the next level. There, as in the plans, were a men’s and a ladies’ room, and they had been specially set aside for the police for the day. He entered the men’s room and smiled at the policeman standing in front of the urinal. He nodded in greeting. Bernard went to the nearest sink and washed his hands.

The policeman crossed to the row of sinks. He looked at Bernard’s reflection in the mirror that ran the length of the wall in front of them. ‘Hey, that’s some bruise you’ve got there.’

‘Happened last night,’ Bernard replied, affecting a New York accent. ‘Guy caught me by surprise with a baseball bat. But it’s nothing compared to what I did to his face.’

The policeman chuckled then wiped his hands on the roller towel. ‘I’m Hank Medford. Eighteenth Precinct.’

‘Jose Mendoza, Twenty-sixth.’ Bernard shook Medford’s hand. ‘So where have they got you working today?’

‘I’m up on the roof,’ Medford replied as they walked to the door.

‘It’s alright for some,’ Bernard said, holding the door open for Medford. ‘You’ve got the perfect weather to be outside.’

‘And you?’

‘Good question,’ Bernard muttered. ‘I’m helping out wherever they need an extra pair of hands. At least I get to see round the building.’

‘Big deal,’ Medford said facetiously.

‘Yeah,’ Bernard replied with a twisted grin. ‘I’ve just been told to get my ass over to the hall where Mobuto’s making his speech at two.’

‘I’ll walk with you. It’s on my way back to the roof anyway.’

‘Great,’ Bernard said, patting Medford on the back. Two cops together were far less likely to draw attention to themselves than a single cop would by himself, especially one wearing dark glasses to help conceal a badly bruised eye. And by pretending to know Medford, it would add further credibility to his deception, especially when they reached the hall.

They walked to the lift and, once inside, Bernard pushed the button for the sixth floor. He touched his cap to the two receptionists already in the lift but ignored their inquisitive eyes as he talked to Medford.

The receptionists got off on the fifth floor and both looked back at Bernard as the door closed over again behind them.

‘I’d say you made quite an impression,’ Medford said with a salacious grin.

‘So did the baseball bat. And that’s all they were interested in – how I got the bruise – nothing more.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘It was in their eyes.’ Bernard smiled at Medford’s puzzled frown. ‘You have a lot to learn about women, my friend.’

‘Not much chance of that. I’m married.’

The lift stopped again and the door opened onto the sixth-floor corridor.

Bernard stepped out of the lift then looked round at Medford. ‘See you around, Hank.’

‘Sure thing,’ Medford replied. ‘And keep away from baseball bats.’

Bernard waited until the doors had closed before turning to the policeman who had approached him. ‘I’m looking for Captain D’Arcy.’

‘He’s in the hall. If you’ve got a message for him, I’ll see that he gets it.’

‘I’ve been sent here as an extra pair of eyes on the catwalk. Mr Whitlock’s orders.’ Bernard took a sheet of paper from his pocket. ‘That’s his authorization.’

The policeman opened the letter and read it quickly. ‘OK. I’ll let Captain D’Arcy know you’re here. You’d better get up there. The President’s due here any time now.’

‘How do I get up there?’ Bernard replied, feigning ignorance.

‘Use that door over there,’ the policeman said, pointing further down the corridor. ‘Report to Sergeant Mason. He’s up there already.’

‘How many men have we got up there?’

‘Three.’

Bernard thanked the policeman and smiled to himself as he walked to the door. Everything was going according to plan. The door was unlocked. He went inside and locked it behind him with a key Rogers had given him. He found himself in a room behind two lengths of heavy grey curtain that hung at the back of the stage. The irritating sound of bland muzak came from inside the hall. He moved to the metal ladder mounted against the wall and climbed effortlessly to the catwalk situated fifty feet above the stage. A tall, blond-haired policeman challenged him as soon as he reached the catwalk. Bernard recognized him from the dossier Bailey had prepared for him at the outset of the operation.