Алистер Маклин - Death Train

The door slid back and Werner froze, momentarily taken aback by the sight of an armed nun. He smiled a second later, recognizing her, and took a hesitant step into the compartment, his arms raised. Kyle followed him in but his arms remained at his side.

‘Close the door and lock it,’ she commanded.

‘Do as she says,’ Werner said without taking his eyes off the Beretta pointing at his chest.

Kyle locked the door.

Her eyes flickered towards the communicating door. ‘If Hendrique tries to burst through there you’ll be the first to die.’

‘He has no intention of bursting in, my dear. You might be interested to know what he is doing in there, though. May I?’ Werner indicated the door with one of his raised hands.

‘Don’t move!’

‘Of course, only I thought you’d want to see your partner. Hendrique has orders to kill Graham if he hasn’t heard from us in two minutes.’ Werner glanced at his wristwatch. ‘A minute’s nearly up. Call my bluff if you want but Graham’s death will be on your conscience for the rest of your life.’

‘You open the door,’ she said to Kyle without taking her eyes off Werner.

Kyle drew back the bolt then tapped four times on the door. It was unlocked from the other side and Kyle opened it to reveal Graham bound and gagged on the couchette opposite the door, and Hendrique standing over him holding a Franchi SPAS shotgun inches from his chest.

‘What have you done to him?’ she asked anxiously.

‘A drug-induced sleep, that’s all,’ Werner said. ‘He was very aggressive, even with handcuffs on. You have thirty seconds to throw down your gun. Hendrique’s very punctual, especially when it comes to killing.’

Hendrique’s hooded eyes were challenging, his lips curled in a contemptuous sneer.

Her determination wavered. If she surrendered her gun she would be breaching one of UNACO’s fundamental principles, giving in to the demands of known criminals. And Graham had sacrificed his family to thwart a wave of terrorist bombings. She knew exactly what he would want her to do. Shooting Hendrique would be easy. But at what price if he killed Graham in return? As Werner had said, she would have to live with the decision for the rest of her life.

‘Twenty seconds.’

She pushed Werner aside and levelled the Beretta at Hendrique’s head. His response was to press the shotgun into Graham’s chest.

Kyle stepped forward to disarm her.

‘Leave her!’ Hendrique snarled. ‘We’ll settle this my way.’

Kyle backed off.

She looked at Graham, his head lolling on his chest, and tightened her grip on the Beretta.

‘Ten seconds.’

She swallowed nervously, her eyes riveted on Hendrique’s face.

‘Seven seconds,’

Her finger tightened on the trigger and Hendrique smiled faintly to himself.

‘Four seconds. Three, two, one–’

She let the Beretta drop from her hand. Kyle scooped it up and trained it on her back.

Hendrique traced the shotgun down Graham’s chest then pressed it into his stomach.

‘I’ve conceded, what more do you want?’

‘So you have,’ Hendrique replied and squeezed the trigger.

Click.

‘I learn so much about a person’s character by calling their bluff. It also makes the contest that little bit more interesting.’

‘You jeopardized–’

‘I jeopardized nothing.’ Hendrique cut across Werner’s outburst. ‘I knew she’d back down. There’s a touching loyalty amongst undercover agents, especially between partners.’

‘You want me to tie her up?’ Kyle asked.

‘Give me the gun first,’ Hendrique replied.

Sabrina chose her moment perfectly and brought her foot up into Kyle’s midriff just as he extended the Beretta towards Hendrique. She pivoted round to face Hendrique but found herself staring down the barrel of his Desert Eagle automatic.

‘It’s a question of speed. Can you get to it before I pull the trigger?’

‘If it’s loaded,’ she retorted, still holding the hem of her habit above her ankles.

‘You’re learning, but are you prepared to call my bluff again?’

She let the hem drop and Kyle, his face twisted in pain, manacled her hands behind her back then shoved her roughly on to the couchette beside Graham.

‘How did you know I was in your compartment?’ she asked.

Werner pushed aside his jacket to reveal a miniature transmitter attached to his belt. ‘It picks up a signal the moment the case is opened.’

‘So you left the case unlocked on purpose?’

‘That was the bait, although I was certainly surprised to see you back again. I thought another agent would have been sent out to replace you but I seem to have underestimated UNACO’s powers of persuasion.’

The surprise was mirrored in her eyes.

‘Oh yes, we know who you’re working for,’ Werner said triumphantly. ‘It took a while though to find out. UNACO isn’t exactly a household name.’

‘Why are you doing this, Stefan? You’ve got everything. Money, respect, and you own one of the most successful companies in Europe. And what about all those millions of underprivileged children who’ve benefited from your charitable foundations? I remember the documentary NBC did on you last year. Those African kids looked upon you as some kind of Messiah sent to give them hope for the future. I felt honoured to have known you. Was it all just a sham, the perfect cover? Who would suspect one of the world’s leading philanthropists of being an arms dealer?’

‘An arms dealer?’ Werner said with a chuckle. ‘Is that what UNACO thinks I am?’ His face became serious. ‘Those foundations did start out as a cover but now they’ve become something of an obsession. I feel as though I’m doing something constructive while I remain here in the West.’

‘You’re talking too much,’ Hendrique snapped.

Werner gave a resigned shrug. ‘It’ll come out soon enough.’

She looked from Hendrique to Werner. ‘You’re KGB?’

‘Correct.’ Werner patted the attaché case. ‘I was hoping I wouldn’t have to resort to this but you’ve left me with no choice. You know what’s inside the case, only you don’t know what’s inside the metal box. Let me show you.’

He punched the four digits on the keyboard and they appeared on the narrow screen above it. 1–9–6–7. The box sprung open. Inside was a radio transmitter, no bigger than a cigarette lighter, on a rolled gold chain. He put the attaché case to one side and leaned forward, the transmitter resting in his cupped hand.

‘I’m not going to insult your intelligence by beating about the bush. There are six metal kegs in the crate, as you no doubt guessed all along. Five of them contain plutonium. The sixth contains an explosive device. I couldn’t tell you how powerful it is because I haven’t actually seen it. All the kegs are the same weight so none of us knows which one contains the explosives. It was put together in a vacuum so it’s perfectly safe as long as it remains sealed. The slightest breath of air will trigger the mechanism inside.’ He lifted back the transmitter’s cap to reveal a small red button. ‘This is the only other way the device can be triggered. Press this button and–’ He threw up his hands. ‘You have a nuclear explosion to rival Nagasaki, only this time right in the heart of Europe. The fallout would have catastrophic results for generations to come.’

She stared at him in horror. ‘And you have the audacity to talk about doing something constructive by helping the underprivileged children?’

There was genuine hurt in his eyes. ‘Do you really think I’d want you to press the button, knowing the consequences? Do you? We wouldn’t gain anything by destroying the plutonium after all the trouble we’ve gone to in accruing it. We want to prevent a catastrophe as much as you do. After all, none of us would survive it.’