Алистер Маклин - Red Alert

‘I don’t believe this–’ Whitlock trailed off, his eyes blazing.

‘I can understand your resentment, Mr. Alexander–’

‘No you can’t,’ Whitlock interceded angrily. ‘You can’t begin to understand it. I’ve been abducted, drugged, framed, threatened and now tricked into wearing some booby-trapped wristwatch. I’ve agreed to go along with you what more do you want from me? If you want me to drive for you, Young, you neutralize this device first.’

Young shook his head.

‘It stays on until this is over. And as I’m the one who set the charge, I’m the only one who knows how to neutralize it. You’re stuck with it, Alexander. At least for the time being.’

‘And you go along with that?’ Whitlock asked Wiseman.

Wiseman nodded. ‘If that’s what Vie wants. It’s his operation, he calls the shots. I’ll merely be an observer, that’s all.’

‘I don’t trust you, Alexander. But at least this way I know I can depend on you to be where I want you when I want you. Unless, of course, you’re willing to lose your arm for the sake of forty thousand pounds. Personally I credit you with a bit more intelligence than that.’

The pilot’s voice came over the intercom asking them to fasten their seatbelts as he was about to start the final descent into Rome.

Whitlock snapped the belt shut across him then stared at the watch. They had him exactly where they wanted him. At least for the time being…

Philpott answered the telephone on his desk.

‘I’ve got a Major Lonsdale from Scotland Yard’s anti-terrorist squad on the line, sir,’ Sarah told him.

‘Put him through.’

She connected them, then replaced her receiver.

‘Colonel Philpott?’

‘Speaking. I’ve been expecting a call from you for the past two hours. What happened? Did C.W. get away all right?’

‘That all went fine. He should be touching down in Rome about now.’

‘So why the delay?’ Philpott asked.

Lonsdale explained what had happened, including the discovery of Humphries’ body by the local CID in Stoke Newington.

‘Are the boy and his mother all right?’ Philpott asked anxiously.

‘They’re both fine.’

‘Why did Young pick them?’

‘Harris knows the boy’s father, Wendell Johnson–’

‘Who’s Harris?’ Philpott cut in.

‘He was the other man Young hired to help him spring Alexander.’

‘The one you picked up yesterday?’

‘That’s right,’ Lonsdale replied. ‘It seems Young wanted a hostage to force the police guards to release Alexander. But he knew abducting someone in the street would be too dangerous. That’s when Harris came up with Mary Robson and her boy.’

‘Did Harris tell you this?’

‘Yes.’

‘How did Young get hold of the police car and the uniforms?’

‘He hired the uniforms from a theatrical company. He made a bogus call to the police to lure the police car on to a housing estate in Lambeth. The two of them overpowered the driver and left him tied up in an empty flat on the estate. Whitlock was sprung half an hour later.’

‘How did they get C.W. on to the plane?’

‘Wiseman’s private Lear jet was parked at an American airbase. The sentry on duty at the gate is certain there were only two men in Wiseman’s official car when it arrived at the base. Wiseman and the driver.’

‘Who must have been Young?’

‘The description certainly matches the American who helped spring Whitlock from the police van. We didn’t push it any further in case word got back to Wiseman. The logical conclusion is that Whitlock was in the boot, unconscious, when the car arrived at the base.’

‘I appreciate your help, Major Lonsdale.’

‘Not at all.’

‘I’ll call you to tell you when you can release Alexander back into the custody of the police.’

‘Fine. We’ll keep him entertained until then.’

Philpott hung up, then asked Sarah to get him Kolchinsky’s hotel in Rome.

Paluzzi had called Nikki Karos from Rome to find out whether he would be able to see them that afternoon. He had refused to elaborate further over the telephone and Karos had told him they were welcome to fly to the island to see him, though he doubted he would be of much assistance to them.

They had flown in a NOCS Cessna as far as the capital, Corfu, where they had transferred to an Alouette helicopter and completed the twelve miles to Karos’s mansion on the slopes of Mount Aji Deka, arriving mid-afternoon.

Marco executed a perfect landing within a few feet of the white Mercedes parked on the edge of the helipad. The driver stood beside it, a holstered Bernadelli visible on his belt. Graham and Paluzzi alighted from the helicopter. The driver took their Berettas, saying they would be returned when they left the island. He ushered them into the car, then got behind the wheel and drove the five hundred yards to the Spanish-style mansion which was set against the side of the mountain and supported by four thick concrete pylons driven down forty feet into the base of the rock. A butler, complete with white gloves, accompanied them to a glass-walled lift which ran up the end wall of the building.

He pressed a button and they were transported to the roof. The doors opened on to a spacious terrace dominated by an Olympic-size swimming pool. The butler retreated to bring drinks, and they crossed to a railing which ran the length of the terrace to examine the breathtaking view. The village and the tranquil Khalikiopoulos Lagoon stood in the foreground, with Mount Pantokrator, the island’s highest mountain, and the rugged Albanian ranges in the distance. It all seemed very peaceful.

Graham moved to the swimming pool and tested the water with his fingertips. It was warm. Then, as he stood up, he noticed the row of glass tanks built into the wall to the left of the lift. Each of the six tanks contained a pair of snakes. A plaque attached to each tank identified the species: Bushmaster, Eastern Diamondback Rattlesnake, Green Mamba, Gabon Viper, King Cobra and Saw-scaled Adder. Six of the most deadly species known to man.

‘Beautiful, aren’t they?’

Graham swung round to face the man who had emerged silently from the lift behind him. He was in his fifties with a large nose prominent in an asymmetrical face. He was dressed in a white suit with a panama tugged over his grey hair.

‘Karos. Nikki Karos,’ the man said, extending a hand towards Graham. ‘Paluzzi?’

‘Graham. State Department.’

‘Ah, the American,’ Karos replied, shaking Graham’s hand.

Paluzzi crossed to where they were standing and shook Karos’s hand.

‘The great survivors,’ Karos said, looking at the snakes. ‘Reptiles have been on this earth, in one form or another, for three hundred million years. From them came the dinosaur, the ichthyosaur, the plesiosaur and all the rest of those magnificent prehistoric creatures. From those prototypes came the mammals and the birds. And when man does finally destroy himself, the reptiles will still be here to start the evolutionary process all over again.’

‘Why snakes? Why not crocodiles or lizards?’

‘Where’s the beauty in the lumbering crocodile, Mr. Graham? Or the scurrying lizard? There is, however, immense beauty in the snake. The sleek, streamlined body. The speed with which it strikes its prey. I sit out here for hours watching them.’ Karos smiled. ‘I’m sorry, I know you didn’t come all this way to discuss snakes. Please, won’t you sit down.’

They crossed to a table beside the pool and each took a chair. It was pleasantly warm in the thin March sun. The butler returned with a tray and deposited their drink son the table, along with a plate of loukanika, small spicy sausages. It was only when Graham glanced after his retreating figure that he saw a second man standing by the lift, his arms folded across his chest. He was black and a muscular six-foot-five, with a shaven head and a gold sleeper in his left ear. He reminded Graham of an extra from one of Errol Flynn’s buccaneering films.