Алистер Маклин - Red Alert

Paluzzi followed Kolchinsky into the corridor and closed the door behind him.

‘I hope I’m not being intrusive, but what exactly happened to his family?’

Kolchinsky explained about the kidnapping as they walked back to the car.

‘And they were never found?’ Paluzzi asked.

Kolchinsky shook his head.

‘And he’s never cracked?’ Paluzzi asked as Kolchinsky settled himself into the passenger seat.

‘He won’t crack. Not Michael. He’s far too professional to ever let that happen.’

Paluzzi started the engine.

‘I don’t know what I’d do if that ever happened to my family.’

‘How can you know, unless, God forbid, it ever did happen.’

‘True enough,’ Paluzzi agreed thoughtfully, as they left the car-park.

‘How many children have you got?’ Kolchinsky asked, breaking the sudden silence.

‘Just the one. Dario. He’s eight months old. He’s already quite a handful.’

‘I can believe that. What does your wife do?’

‘Nothing at the moment. Dario’s proving to be a full-time job for her. She used to be a stewardess with Air France.’ Paluzzi pointed out the floodlit Colosseum as they passed it on their right. ‘Have you ever seen it from the inside?’

‘Several times. I lived here for eighteen months.’

‘You never told me that,’ Paluzzi replied in surprise.

‘It was when I was with the KGB. I was a military attaché here. It’s a good ten years ago now.’

‘Do you miss Russia?’

‘I don’t miss the winters,’ Kolchinsky said with a smile, then stared thoughtfully at the passing traffic. ‘I like to try and get back at least once a year to see my family and friends. It’s when I’m with them that I realize just how much I do miss the country. I intend to retire there when I leave UNACO.’

‘Then you’ll realize just how much you miss the West,’ Paluzzi said with a grin.

‘That’s true. Have you ever been to the Soviet Union?’

‘I haven’t,’ Paluzzi replied apologetically. ‘Claudine, my wife, has been there several times. She says it’s a beautiful country. I certainly want to go. It’s just a matter of finding the time.’

Paluzzi drove past San Marco, one of the oldest churches in Rome, and continued along Corso Vittorio Emanuele flanked by its impressive collection of Baroque and Renaissance monuments and pulled up opposite Sant Andrea della Valle, a large sixteenth-century Baroque church.

Kolchinsky checked his Tokarev pistol, then pushed it back into his jacket pocket and got out of the car. Paluzzi used the transmitter to lock the doors behind them.

They crossed the road to Sant Andrea della Valle and Paluzzi pointed out the dome towering behind the Valle Theatre on the left-hand side of the street. Sant’Ivo. They looked around carefully, both with the same apprehensive thought. There were too many people about. It was the perfect setting for a trap. If they were ambushed they couldn’t return fire for fear of hitting some innocent bystander. Kolchinsky paused in front of a confectionery shop, using the window as a mirror to scan the road behind him. He couldn’t see anything suspicious. Not that he knew what to expect. Paluzzi tapped him on the arm and indicated that they should move on. There was no safety in numbers, not when the Red Brigades were involved. They had no qualms about killing innocent people if it meant hitting back at the authorities they detested so much. He had seen it happen all too often in the past.

A burst of gunfire shattered the confectioner’s window into a starburst of tiny fragments of flying glass. Kolchinsky flung himself to the ground. When he raised his head he saw a middle-aged woman sprawled across the pavement in front of the window, her white blouse stained with blood. She was dead. The street emptied as panic-stricken bystanders fled, screaming. The gunman was in the back of a black Mercedes. Kolchinsky crawled to where Paluzzi was crouched behind a silver BMW, the Beretta gripped tightly in his hand.

‘He missed you by inches,’ Paluzzi whispered. ‘Did you see who it was?’

Kolchinsky nodded grimly.

Tommaso Francia brought the black Mercedes level with the BMW. He glanced at Carlo in the rearview mirror. They smiled at each other. Carlo stroked the Uzi’s trigger with his gloved finger. He had them. They couldn’t get away, not without him seeing them. He could wait. There was no rush.

Graham had followed Kolchinsky and Paluzzi into the hospital car-park where he had hailed a taxi and promised the driver a handsome reward if he managed to tail Paluzzi’s Alfa Romeo Lusso without being seen. The driver had grinned like an excited schoolboy and given Graham a thumbs-up sign, relishing the challenge.

The driver had slammed on his brakes to prevent the taxi from ploughing into the back of a Fiat Tipo when it braked sharply behind the black Mercedes. He couldn’t reverse, there was a tailback of cars behind the taxi. He was stuck. And very frightened.

Graham leapt from the back seat of the taxi, yanked open the front door, and hauled the startled driver out into the road. Then, climbing behind the wheel, he slipped the taxi into gear and swung out from behind the Fiat Tipo. There was a gap of ten yards between the Fiat and the Mercedes. Graham rammed the taxi into the back of the Mercedes. The momentum of the impact propelled Tommaso against the steering wheel. The engine stalled. Graham rammed the Mercedes again.

Tommaso cursed angrily as he struggled to restart the engine. The engine came to life and the tyres shrieked in protest as the car pulled away, heading for the Vittorio Emanuele Bridge. Graham gave chase.

Carlo fired a burst at the taxi. Graham ducked sideways as the bullets hit the windscreen, pock-marking the glass. He hit the windscreen frantically with his forearm, but it wouldn’t budge.

Carlo fired again, scoring hits on both the front tyres. The taxi spun out of control and smashed into the side of a parked car, hammering Graham’s head against the steering wheel. He immediately felt the blood seeping out from under the dressing and down the side of his face. He unbuckled his safety belt and reached groggily for the door handle. The door was pulled open from the outside and anxious passersby peered in at him. He didn’t understand what they were saying. A hand reached out to help him but he shrugged it off and sat back, his eyes closed. It felt as if hundreds of ball bearings were ricocheting around inside his head.

The pain was unbelievable. Eventually he opened his eyes, wiped the blood from the side of his face with the back of his hand, and gingerly eased himself out of the car. His legs were unsteady and he had to grab on to the open door to support himself.

Kolchinsky and Paluzzi pushed their way through the crowd to where Graham was standing.

‘Are you all right?’ Paluzzi asked anxiously.

Graham nodded.

‘What the hell were you doing?’ Kolchinsky demanded.

‘Saving your ass, in case you didn’t notice,’ Graham retorted, his face screwed up with the pain throbbing inside his head.

‘We were perfectly safe where we were.’

‘Not from where I was sitting. What if he’d shot at the petrol tank? You guys wouldn’t have known anything about it.’ Graham’s eyes flickered past Kolchinsky as the taxi driver reached the front of the crowd. ‘Now this is trouble.’

The driver clasped his hands to his head as he stared in horror at the taxi’s crumpled bonnet. A police car pulled up and two carabinieri got out. One of them immediately cleared the crowd of onlookers from the road and began to direct the tailback of congested traffic which had built up on both sides of the road. The second policeman, wearing the insignia of a sergeant, approached the taxi but held up his hand when the driver tried to speak to him. He stared at the bullet holes, the buckled hood and the shredded tyres before finally turning to the driver and asking if it was his car. The driver admitted it was but went on to explain volubly what had happened. The sergeant listened attentively, occasionally nodding his head, then told the driver to wait. He crossed to where Graham was leaning against the side of the taxi, a handkerchief pressed against the wound on his face. Paluzzi cut in front of the sergeant before he could speak and held up his ID card. The sergeant looked at it, then gestured to Graham and asked Paluzzi if he was also with the NOCS.