Алистер Маклин - Red Alert

Whitlock followed directions and they reached the via Marmorata within ten minutes. Young pointed out the illuminated sign, PARCHEGGIO, and Whitlock swung the car into the entrance, coming to a stop in front of the barrier. Whitlock took a ticket from the machine and the boom gate lifted. Young told him to drive to Level C. Whitlock negotiated the spiralling ramp cautiously and braked on reaching Level C. ‘Who, or what, are we looking for?’ he asked.

Young pointed to a white Fiat Uno parked beside one of the thick concrete pillars. Whitlock pulled up behind it.

‘That’s it,’ Young said, noticing a copy of the Daily American in the back of the car. ‘I won’t be long. Drive around in circles, I’ll signal when I’m ready.’

Whitlock watched Young get out of the car. The gunman was playing it close to the chest. Too close for his liking. He had already assumed that Young was meeting someone who had information on the Wiseman murder but what good would Whitlock be to UNACO touring around in the car waiting for Young to finish? He had to know what Young was planning.

There was only one option open to him: he must bug Young’s room. He already had the bug, it was just a matter of planting it…

‘I told you to drive around the level, I’ll signal you when I’m ready.’

Whitlock put the car into gear and drove off. Young pulled on a pair of black gloves as he stared after the car. How many times had he tried to dissuade Wiseman from recruiting Alexander? The hell he needed a wheel man. He could easily have incorporated both jobs into one. And be 100,000 richer into the bargain. But Wiseman had been adamant. Alexander was a necessary back-up. Typical, Wiseman thinking like a soldier. Young didn’t like the cocky Englishman but he had no choice but to put up with him for the duration of the assignment. Wiseman’s assignment. But once it was over he still had his ace to play.

The booby-trapped watch. He smiled to himself. What a tragedy if it happened to detonate accidentally…

‘Do you have a cigarette?’

Young turned to the man who had emerged from the shadows behind the Fiat Uno. He was in his mid-twenties with long, ragged black hair and a sallow, acne-scarred face. His name was Johnny Ramona. Young took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and extended it towards him.

Ramona took one and Young lit it for him.

‘I would pay you, but I only have this,’ he said, taking half a five-hundred-lire note from his jeans pocket. Young took the note and checked it against the half he had on him. They matched.

‘Did you get the information I wanted?’

Ramona nodded and gestured to the Fiat. ‘It’s safer if we talk inside.’

Young got into the passenger seat and immediately tilted the rearview mirror until he could see behind him.

Ramona got behind the wheel.

‘A cautious man, I see.’

‘It’s one way of staying alive. Well, what have you got for me?’

‘You have the money?’

Young took an envelope from his pocket, opened it to reveal the money, but jerked it away from Ramona’s grasping hand.

‘You’ll be paid when I have the information.’

Ramona gave him a twisted smile, sat back and took another drag on the cigarette.

‘The Red Brigades were behind the break-in at the plant.’

‘Try telling me something I don’t know,’ Young retorted sarcastically, then glanced in the rearview mirror as Whitlock drove past.

‘It was carried out by the Rome cell. The team leader was Riccardo Ubrino, one of the two senior cell commanders.’

‘Where’s this Ubrino now?’

Ramona shrugged. ‘Nobody knows. It is as if he has disappeared off the face of the earth. The only person who might know is Lino Zocchi, but there is no way of confirming that.’

‘Who is Zocchi?’

‘The brigade chief here in Rome. He is in prison but he cannot be contacted. There has been an outbreak of conjunctivitis there and all visits have been cancelled until further notice.’

‘You say this Ubrino is one of two senior cell commanders. Who’s the other one?’

‘Luigi Rocca.’

‘Would he know where Ubrino’s gone?’

Ramona shook his head. ‘He is as much in the dark as everyone else. And he is the acting brigade chief until Zocchi can be contacted again.’

‘So Ubrino’s answerable to Zocchi. Who’s Zocchi answerable to?’

‘Nicola Pisani, leader of the Red Brigades.’ Ramona took an envelope from his pocket and removed a sheet of paper from inside it. ‘This is the committee structure of the Red Brigades. Pisani is at the top. Zocchi and Calvieri are immediately beneath him–’

‘Who’s Calvieri?’ Young cut in quickly. ‘I’m sure I’ve heard that name before.’

‘He is the spokesman for the Red Brigades. He appears regularly on Italian television.’

‘Would he know where to find Ubrino?’

‘I doubt it. Ubrino is from Rome. Calvieri is brigade chief in Milan. They are two different factions within the Red Brigades. And there is no love lost between the two cities. Zocchi is a hard liner, Calvieri a moderate.’

‘But it’s possible?’

‘It is possible, but most unlikely.’ Ramona flicked the cigarette butt out of the window. ‘Well, now you have the information you wanted. The money?’

‘There’s something you didn’t tell me.’

Ramona frowned. ‘What?’

‘That you’re also a member of the Red Brigades.’

Ramona chuckled nervously. ‘Whoever told you this has got his facts wrong. I have never been with the Red Brigades.’

Young looked in the rearview mirror as Whitlock passed again, then turned back to Ramona.

‘No wonder you were so eager to help me. I get the information I want and at the same time the Red Brigades get to keep tabs on me.’

Ramona shook his head.

‘Honestly, mister. I have no ties–’ Young palmed a switchblade from his pocket and rammed it into Ramona’s ribs, twisting the blade violently up into the heart. He caught Ramona as he fell forward and pushed him back against the seat. He wiped the blade on Ramona’s sleeve, then pocketed the knife and got out of the car. He looked around slowly. There wasn’t anyone in sight. He took the envelope from Ramona’s hand and closed the door. He removed his gloves, folded them over, and slipped them into his jacket pocket.

At a signal, Whitlock picked him up and drove to the exit. He paid the attendant, then swung the car out into the road and returned to the hotel, remembering the route. Young would expect that of him. He parked in the same spot outside the boarding house.

‘Want a drink?’ Young asked, locking the door behind him.

‘I don’t drink.’

‘That’s right, you don’t,’ Young muttered. ‘I remember some of your buddies in London telling me that. So what’s wrong, why don’t you drink?’

Whitlock paused on the top step and looked down at Young.

‘My parents were alcoholics. Drink killed them. Does that answer your question?’

‘Suit yourself,’ Young replied with an indifferent shrug. ‘There’s a bar on the end of the block. I’m going to get myself a couple of beers. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.’

‘Then what?’

‘We go out again. Just be sure you’re ready.’

Whitlock watched Young walk off towards the bar, then looked at the booby-trapped watch. He had fifteen minutes to plant the bug in Young’s room. He hurried up to his own room, locking the door behind him, then took a suitcase from the cupboard and placed it on the bed. He had bought the suitcase, as well as two changes of clothing, that afternoon with some of the expenses money Wiseman had given him. He unzipped it and took out a canvas toilet bag. Inside were two microphones, a radio receiver, a micro-cassette player and a pair of small headphones. He had picked up the toilet bag from a contact that afternoon. He checked the microphones. One was a radio microphone. The other was a ‘spike mike’.