Алистер Маклин - Time of the Assassins

‘Sergeant Mason?’ Bernard said as a matter of formality.

‘Yes,’ came the terse reply.

‘I’m Columbus,’ Bernard said, taking off his sunglasses.

‘What happened to your eye?’

‘An accident,’ Bernard replied dismissively. ‘What about the other two policemen who’re supposed to be up here with you?’

‘Unconscious.’

‘I’m impressed,’ Bernard said absently, his eyes already scanning the catwalk for the best angle for the shot.

‘They’ll be out for another couple of hours. Those were the instructions–’

‘Where’s the rifle?’ Bernard cut in.

‘It was brought up earlier. I’ll get it for you.’

Bernard waited until Mason had left then looked round him slowly. Everything was just as he had visualized it when he had studied the plans back in Beirut. The catwalk was hidden from the main body of the hall by the heavy grey curtains that hung from the ceiling to the floor on the sides of the room. He found the break in the curtains behind the stage and tweaked one of them aside so that he could look out over the hall. The first of the businessmen had already taken their seats close to the stage and were talking amongst themselves as they waited for their colleagues to arrive.

Bernard looked down onto the stage. The lectern was centrally positioned at the front, perfectly placed for a head shot. But he didn’t intend to wait until Mobuto reached the stage. He would pick him off as he entered the hall through the doors at the back of the room. That way all eyes would be on Mobuto and nobody would notice the slight movement in the curtains high above the stage. He let the curtain fall back into place then looked at his watch. One thirty-three. Bailey had already told him that Mobuto would reach the hall around one forty-five. Plenty of time. Mason returned with the black attaché case and gave it to Bernard.

‘OK. Keep an eye on the door,’ Bernard said.

As Mason turned away Bernard clasped his hands on either side of the man’s head and jerked it savagely to one side, breaking his neck. He grabbed Mason under the arms as his body went limp and eased him down noiselessly onto the catwalk. He was only carrying out Bailey’s orders – no witnesses. He unlocked the case and opened it. Inside were the sections of the Galil sniper rifle. After he had put the rifle together, he connected the Nimrod X 6 telescopic-sight-attachment and screwed the silencer onto the end of the barrel. He picked up the magazine, containing twenty rounds of subsonic ammunition, and carefully clipped it into place. He peered through the curtain again. More of the businessmen had filed into the hall but there was still no sign of Mobuto.

He carefully adjusted the telescopic sight until he had a perfect image of the doors. It would be a simple shot, one bullet through the head. That’s all it would take. But he couldn’t escape. He knew that. It would only take the authorities a few seconds to realize the bullet had come from the catwalk. And there was only one way to get off the catwalk, and that was down the ladder. He would never make it. But he had known that even before he accepted the assignment. So, once he had killed Mobuto, he would put the rifle down and wait for the police to arrest him. Not that he would be in custody for very long. Bailey had already paid off several senior policemen to arrange for Bernard to ‘escape’ later that night. He would then be driven to an abandoned airstrip where a plane would be waiting to take him back to Beirut.

It wouldn’t be in Bailey’s interests to double-cross him. He had only gone along with Bailey’s plan after he had written down a detailed account of all the CIA operations he had been involved in over the years which he had then passed onto a lawyer with instructions that it be forwarded on to the New York Times if anything were to happen to him before he made contact with the lawyer again. And Bailey had been made aware of the document’s existence. He knew he was safe as long as the document remained in the lawyer’s possession. And he would be in no rush to collect the document, no rush at all.

He looked at his watch. One forty. Mobuto could appear any time now. He picked up the rifle, wrapped the strap tightly around his arm, then rested the barrel lightly on the top railing, the telescopic sight trained on the doors. Now all he had to do was wait.

Kolchinsky and Whitlock were already waiting on the helipad as the UNACO helicopter came in to land. The cabin door was thrown open before the pads touched the ground and Graham jumped nimbly onto the helipad and ran, doubled over, to where they stood.

‘What the hell is going on?’ Kolchinsky demanded.

‘Bernard’s here. And he’s got a sniper rifle with him,’ Graham shouted above the noise of the rotors.

‘Mobuto’s due at the hall in a couple of minutes,’ Whitlock said, glancing at his watch. ‘We have to warn him.’

Kolchinsky opened his mouth to speak but Graham and Whitlock had already disappeared through the door behind him. Whitlock grabbed Graham’s arm and pointed to the fire escape. Graham pushed it open and they bounded down the stairs, two at a time, and arrived breathlessly at the sixth floor less than a minute later. Whitlock’s arm was throbbing from where it had banged against his chest but he ignored the pain as he emerged into the corridor. Mobuto was talking to Bailey at the door. Bailey looked up sharply at Whitlock then his eyes narrowed with uncertainty when he saw Graham appear behind him.

Bailey knew something was wrong. He had to get Mobuto into the hall. Fast. He was still opening the door when Graham slammed it shut with his palm.

‘What are you doing?’ Bailey snarled.

‘What’s going on, Clarence?’ Mobuto demanded, looking from Whitlock to Graham. ‘And who is this man?’

‘Mike Graham,’ Whitlock replied with evident satisfaction.

‘Mike Graham?’ Mobuto said in a startled voice. He held out his hand. ‘It’s a pleasure finally to meet you.’

‘Likewise,’ Graham said, shaking Mobuto’s hand quickly. He noticed D’Arcy standing beside Whitlock.

‘Are you the senior officer here?’

D’Arcy nodded.

‘Then arrest this son-of-a-bitch,’ Graham said, pointing to Bailey.

Rogers reached for his bolstered Smith & Wesson but his hand froze on the butt when he saw the Browning in Whitlock’s hand. He slowly withdrew his hand.

‘You touch me and you’ll be walking the beat for the rest of your days,’ Bailey snapped, glaring at D’Arcy.

‘Clarence, what is going on?’ Mobuto said in desperation.

‘Robert Bailey was the mastermind behind the plot to assassinate you, sir,’ Graham said. ‘Ngune and Bernard work for him.’

‘Is this true?’ Mobuto said, staring at Bailey.

‘Of course not,’ Bailey retorted angrily.

‘Are you calling the President’s brother a liar?’ Graham said, his eyes never leaving Bailey’s face.

‘Remy told you that?’ Mobuto asked Graham.

‘He told Tambese, and Tambese told us. Who do you believe? Bailey or your brother?’

‘There must be some–’

‘Arrest him!’ Mobuto said contemptuously, cutting across Bailey’s outburst.

Whitlock nodded to D’Arcy. ‘And take him while you’re at it,’ he said, indicating Rogers.

D’Arcy had the two men handcuffed. Whitlock gave instructions for them to be taken to a lounge further down the corridor then turned to D’Arcy and explained that Bernard was already in the building.

‘I think it would be unwise of you to go ahead with your address until we’ve rechecked the hall, sir,’ Graham said to Mobuto.

‘There’s only one area a sniper could use in the hall, and that’s the catwalk,’ D’Arcy said behind Graham.