Алистер Маклин - Time of the Assassins

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Hagen said, fidgeting nervously with his tie-pin.

‘So I was right, it is the tie-pin,’ Bernard said with a knowing smile. ‘I’d say you were in a catch-twenty-two situation right now. If you discard the mike, it’s obviously a sign of guilt. But if you leave it on, your colleagues are going to find out how you knew the location of the gun. It’s your choice, Hagen. Or should I call you Seabird?’

The blood drained from Hagen’s face and his hand was trembling when he picked up the glass from the table. He drank it down in one gulp.

‘Lost for words?’ Bernard said, sitting down on the sofa. ‘I can understand that. You certainly had me fooled. I thought Bailey was Seabird. I guess it was a natural assumption to make under the circumstances. But there it was when I hacked into Bailey’s personal computer earlier tonight: a whole file about Seabird. None other than the Deputy Commissioner of the New York Police Department, Sean Matthew Hagen. It certainly surprised me. But it makes sense when you think about it. Bailey’s inside man at the NYPD, a future police commissioner. Quite a coup for him. You were the one who had Forsythe bug UNACO headquarters, weren’t you? Not Bailey. And you would have arranged my escape had I been arrested after I’d killed Mobuto. You recruited Mason to help me at the Trade Center. Who would have questioned your decision to put Mason in charge of the police support-team on the catwalk? Clever, Hagen. Very clever. And you’d have got away with it as well if I hadn’t managed to access those files that Bailey had hidden away in the depths of his home computer. Fascinating reading. I’ve got it all on disc in case you’re still thinking of trying to bluff your way out of this. Call it an insurance policy – a very expensive insurance policy.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘Seabird. Who would have guessed?’

Hagen swallowed nervously and wiped the back of his hand across his clammy forehead. He tried to speak but his mouth was dry. He got to his feet and moved slowly, pathetically, to the drinks cabinet. His shoulders were hunched, his head drooping. He poured himself a stiff bourbon and gulped it down.

‘You came here tonight to kill me, didn’t you? Brett failed, so did Rogers. So it was left to you. What were you going to do? Make out that you managed to disarm me then shoot me with the Smith & Wesson? Then, by pocketing the Desert Eagle, you could have made out that I had the Smith & Wesson all along? Am I right?’

‘You’re a dead man, Bernard. Even if you do manage to get away from here, they’ll find you. They won’t stop looking for you.’

‘ “They” being the CIA?’

‘ “They” being the CIA’s top assassins. You’re good, Bernard, but you’re not in their league.’

‘No, probably not. But I’ve made plans to cover for that eventuality.’ Bernard got to his feet. ‘Well, I think you’ve outstayed your welcome, Hagen. I’m sure there are some people out there who’ll want some answers, starting with UNACO. I bet they’re pretty pissed off with you right now.’

Hagen hurled the empty glass at Bernard. It missed him by inches and smashed against the wall. Hagen then grabbed the bottle of bourbon and lunged at Bernard. Bernard ducked as Hagen lashed out wildly with the bottle and caught him with a vicious punch to the kidney. Hagen stumbled back against the door and the bottle fell to the floor.

Bernard levelled the automatic at Hagen. ‘Come to think of it, there would just be another cover-up, wouldn’t there? Like there was today. You’d be pensioned off quietly and that would be the end of it. No, you’re not going to get off that lightly. See you in hell, Hagen.’

Bernard shot Hagen through the chest. The force of the bullet slammed him back against the wall. The blood bubbled in his mouth and ran down his chin as he slid slowly to the floor, leaving a streak on the wall above him.

Bernard dialled the number of the telephone in the SWAT van. ‘Let me speak to Colonel Philpott,’ he said when it was answered.

‘This is Philpott,’ came the response seconds later.

‘I take it you heard our little conversation, Colonel?’

‘Is Hagen dead?’ Philpott demanded.

Bernard looked down at the crumpled figure by the door. ‘It certainly looks that way. But I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. He would have been immune from prosecution, just like me. Don’t even think of doing anything silly now, Colonel, like sending in the stormtroopers. Rosie would be the first to die. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Perfectly,’ Philpott hissed.

Bernard looked at his watch. Two seventeen a.m. Still two-and-a-half hours before he was due to leave for Cuba. It would only be a matter of time before the SWAT team discovered the broken cellar door.

And the door connecting the cellar and the kitchen was only protected by a flimsy bolt. No, it wasn’t safe here any more. He would have to rethink his strategy. ‘Stay by the phone, Philpott. I’ll call you again in a few minutes.’

‘Is Rosie–’

Bernard cut the connection before Philpott had time to finish. He left the receiver off the hook then crossed to the sideboard and opened the bottom drawer. Inside was a second telephone, a scrambled line. He placed it on the sideboard then sat down and dialled a number he had already committed to memory. It was answered immediately.

‘It’s Columbus,’ Bernard said.

‘What is it?’ came the suspicious reply.

‘The plans have been changed. Is the plane refuelled and ready for take-off?’

‘It’s been ready since yesterday. What’s happened?’

Bernard explained the situation briefly. ‘You told me you can fly anything, right?’

‘Yeah,’ came the hesitant reply.

‘Helicopter?’

‘Sure. I flew them in ’Nam.’

‘I want you to get over here as fast as you can. I’ll arrange to have a helicopter on standby. You can fly us to the plane then we can get out of here.’

‘Come over there? Are you crazy?’

‘Listen, Demerest, you’ve been well paid for your troubles – if anything, overpaid. But believe me, if I go down you’re coming with me. You’ll be inside for a long stretch.’

‘I want a Huey,’ Demerest said after a lengthy pause. ‘It’s the chopper I know best.’

‘I’ll arrange it,’ Bernard replied.

‘You said there were cops there. How the hell am I supposed to get past them?’

‘What car will you be driving?’

‘A Datsun.’

‘Colour?’

‘Light blue.’

‘I’ll see to it that you aren’t stopped. When you get here, drive round to the back of the house. Park as close to the back door as you can, understood?’

‘Understood,’ Demerest replied. ‘If this backfires…’

‘It won’t, as long as you play by my rules,’ Bernard said then dropped the receiver back into its cradle.

Philpott hung up after he’d finished talking to Bernard then looked at the others who had congregated outside the van. ‘He’s threatened to kill Rosie unless we get him a helicopter by three o’clock. It has to be a Huey. He was very insistent on that.’

‘We’ve got a Huey at Newark Airport,’ Kolchinsky said.

‘Can you fly it?’

Kolchinsky nodded. He’d flown almost every helicopter imaginable since he’d got his licence when he was still with the KGB.

Philpott looked at Stephens. ‘We could have it here by three.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ Stephens replied absently. He was still stunned by what he’d heard minutes earlier over the loudspeaker in the back of the van. Hagen worked for Bailey – a CIA stooge. Much as he had disliked the man, he wouldn’t have believed it unless he’d heard it with his own ears. The son-of-a-bitch!