Алистер Маклин - Red Alert

He struggled to sit up, then clutched his wrist, feigning a look of intense pain, and had successfully palmed the switchblade by the time the youth prodded him with the Kalashnikov, telling him to stand up. A face appeared at the bedroom window. The youth instinctively looked up.

Young lunged at him, springing the blade in the second before he drove it into the unprotected body. He grabbed the Kalashnikov from the youth’s hands and sprayed the windows with gunfire, forcing the guard to dive for cover. He discarded the Kalashnikov, picked up his own submachine-gun and sprinted to the temporary sanctuary of the trees, where he undipped a two-way radio from his belt and told Whitlock that he was on his way. He looked back towards the house. Nothing moved. He made his way through the trees until he saw the main gates ahead of him.

Although he could see the small hut beside it, he couldn’t tell if there was anyone inside. He inched his way forward.

Then he saw the guard standing outside the gate. The remote control to activate the gates was clipped to his belt. Young cursed angrily under his breath. He was trapped. He only had one option open to him. He reluctantly undipped his two-way radio and called Whitlock again.

Whitlock put the two-way radio back on to the dashboard, got out of the car and walked slowly down the street, his hands dug into his pockets.

The guard saw him but made no attempt to conceal his Kalashnikov. Whitlock smiled at him in greeting, then took Young’s cigarettes from his pocket and pushed one between his lips. He made a show of patting pockets for matches, then crossed the road to where the guard was standing.

‘ Ha da accendere ,‘ he asked, using his limited Italian.

The guard shook his head and waved him away from the gates. Whitlock feigned to his left then pivoted round and caught the guard on the chin with a perfectly timed haymaker. The guard was unconscious before he hit the ground. Whitlock winced as he flexed his hand painfully. He removed the remote control from the guard’s belt and opened the gates.

Young slipped out into the street and Whitlock immediately closed the gates behind him. Young took the remote control from Whitlock, wiped it clean of fingerprints, then tossed it down the nearest drain. They ran back to the car. Whitlock started the engine and pulled out into the road. Young removed his gloves, balaclava and sweatshirt then reached behind him for a holdall from which he took a white T-shirt and pulled it on, tucking it into his trousers. He stuffed the gloves, balaclava, sweatshirt and the submachine-gun into the holdall then ruffled his blond hair and picked up his cigarettes from the dashboard.

‘Seems like you needed me after all,’ Whitlock said with evident satisfaction.

Young inhaled deeply on the cigarette but remained silent.

‘Can I at least know now who you hit?’ Whitlock bit back his anger when Young continued to say nothing. ‘It’s going to be in all the papers tomorrow.’

‘So ask the receptionist to reserve you a couple.’ Young wiped his forearm across his sweating face. ‘We have to dump the car. We can drop it off at the rental agency and get another one on the way back to the hotel.’

‘That’s too obvious. If the police do get a description of the car they’re sure to check with the rental agencies. Taking it back to the rental agency so soon after the crime would certainly arouse suspicion. I say we dump it in a car-park and hire a new one from a different agency in the morning.’

Young nodded in agreement and flicked his half-smoked cigarette out of the window. He closed his eyes and remained silent for the rest of the journey back to the boarding house.

Sabrina and Calvieri returned to the hotel and went straight to her room. Kolchinsky answered the door.

‘How’s Mike?’ she asked before Kolchinsky could say anything.

‘Ask him yourself,’ Kolchinsky said, gesturing behind him.

She winced at the discoloured bruise on the side of Graham’s face as she crossed to the bed and sat down beside him.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘I’m okay,’ he replied dismissively. ‘How did you get on?’

‘We didn’t,’ she replied, despondent, and told them what had happened.

‘Is there any chance of this Rocca discovering the truth ?’ Kolchinsky asked Calvieri.

‘No,’ Calvieri replied.

‘Only Signore Pisani and I know about the vial. And Signore Pisani won’t tell him anything.’

‘Rocca’s not a problem,’ Paluzzi said from his chair by the window. ‘He couldn’t find his way out of a floodlit alley without asking for directions. You have to understand that the entire Rome cell of the Red Brigades was geared around Zocchi. He was the kingpin. The decision-maker, if you like. Ubrino and Rocca are good lieutenants in that they were able to see that Zocchi’s orders were carried out successfully. But neither of them is capable of running a cell, least of all the one here in Rome. It’s by far the most complex of all the Red Brigades’ cells. That’s why there are so many rumours around at the moment. Rocca doesn’t have the ability or the experience to deal with the situation. Zocchi, on the other hand, would have quashed them within hours.’

‘Paluzzi’s right,’ Calvieri said grudgingly, then sat down in the chair on the other side of the window. ‘Zocchi ran Rome as a one-man show. The cell is in chaos now, as Sabrina saw for herself tonight. It’s going to take a lot of hard work to pull it round again.’

‘At least something good has come out of all this,’ Graham said, eyeing Calvieri coldly.

‘Sabrina tells me you knew Nikki Karos,’ Kolchinsky said, breaking the lingering silence.

Calvieri nodded.

‘I’ve had dealings with him in the past. Strictly on a business level. His sort are anathema to me. Capitalists, driven by greed and power. The very basis of corruption in our so-called “free society”.’

‘Spare us the lecture, Calvieri,’ Graham snapped. ‘What about the Francia brothers? Do you know them as well? Strictly on a business level, of course.’

Calvieri smiled faintly at Graham’s irony. ‘I know of them. But I’ve never met them, if that’s what you mean.’

The telephone rang.

Sabrina answered it, then put her hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Tony, it’s for you.’

Calvieri took the receiver from her. He was pale with shock when he replaced it a minute later.

‘What’s wrong?’ Kolchinsky asked.

‘Signore Pisani’s dead,’ Calvieri replied softly. ‘He was shot.’

‘What happened?’ Sabrina asked.

‘The details are still sketchy at the moment. All I know is that a masked gunman got into Signore Pisani’s house and shot him, Rocca and four other Brigatisti. The only clue we have is that the gunman’s accomplice was black.’ Calvieri shook his head in disbelief. ‘I only spoke to Signore Pisani a couple of hours ago. You’ll have to excuse me. I must get over there straight away to initiate our own investigation.’ He noticed the uncertainty in Kolchinsky’s eyes. ‘I’ll still be working with you. That hasn’t changed. It’s what Signore Pisani would have wanted. I’ll arrange for one of the other brigade chiefs to take charge but I need to be there until he arrives.’

‘Any idea when you’ll be back?’ Kolchinsky asked.

‘Hopefully by the morning.’ Calvieri took a notebook from his pocket, wrote down Pisani’s telephone number, and handed the sheet of paper to Kolchinsky.‘I’ll be there if you need me.’

Kolchinsky waited until Calvieri had closed the door behind him, then slumped into the vacant chair beside the window.

‘Black accomplice. No prizes for guessing who that was.’

‘But why Pisani?’ Paluzzi said with a frown. ‘He knew nothing about the break-in until it was broadcast on the radio the next day.’