Алистер Маклин - Red Alert

‘ Pronto , Tony Calvieri.’

‘You want to know who killed Pisani, don’t you?’

‘Who is this?’

‘I’ll meet you outside the hotel in two minutes. If you’re not there, I’ll assume you’re not interested and leave. Two minutes.’

‘How will I recognize you?’

‘I’ll recognize you.’

Young disconnected the line and replaced the phone in the case. He picked up the sniper rifle and leaned the barrel lightly on the window frame. He adjusted the sights until he had a perfect image of the doorman’s head in the crosshairs. Then, curling his finger around the trigger, he squeezed it gently. Click. He selected a 7.62 mm semi-jacketed soft point bullet from the case and fed it into the breech. Like any good sniper, he only needed one bullet. He rested the rifle on the window frame again and waited for Calvieri to appear.

A smile touched the corners of his mouth when, a minute later, the electronic doors parted and Calvieri emerged into the street. He tightened his grip on the rifle then lined up Calvieri’s forehead in the crosshairs. His finger rested lightly on the trigger but he held back from firing when Calvieri suddenly swung round towards the doors behind him. He looked to see who had distracted Calvieri’s attention. It couldn’t be. It was a woman, dressed differently, but closely resembling the prostitute he had seen in Whitlock’s room in Rome. His mind raced. Who was she? Was she a Brigatista? Why was she in Berne? What was her relationship with Calvieri? More to the point, what was her relationship with Alexander? Was Alexander working with Calvieri? Had Alexander compromised the assignment? Alexander had a lot of explaining to do. Then Young would kill him. He couldn’t afford to take any chances. But he had some unfinished business to attend to first. He lined up Calvieri’s forehead in the sights again. He slowly tightened his finger on the trigger.

The room was suddenly flooded with light.

‘Drop the gun,’ Escoletti ordered from the doorway.

Young used the reflections in the window to watch the figure behind him.

He had two options. Try and shoot him on the turn. Or throw down the rifle and take his chances from there. It was obvious that the gunman wanted him alive, otherwise he would already have put a bullet in his back. He laid the rifle down carefully in front of him then turned round slowly to face his assailant. He looked from the Bernadelli in Escoletti’s hand to the black bag on the floor beside him. It had to be the man Alexander had seen at the boarding house. A sudden thought crossed his mind. What if Alexander was working in league with him?

‘Who are you?’ Young asked. ‘Red Brigades?’

‘That’s right,’ Escoletti replied. ‘You should have quit while you were ahead. But, like so many before you, you underestimated the Red Brigades. We’re not the disjointed, ramshackle organization our Government would have the world believe. How do you think we were able to track you down to that boarding house in Rome? How do you think I was able to trace you here so quickly?’

‘So what happens now?’

‘You will be taken back to Italy and tried by a people’s court.’

‘And submitted to your proletarian justice, no doubt?’ Young said with a sneer. ‘You sound just like the Vietcong I was fighting eighteen years ago. Unenlightened, uneducated red scum.’

‘Who brought your country to its knees,’ Escoletti said with evident satisfaction. ‘The people triumphed over the fascisti , one of the greatest victories in socialist history.’

Whitlock appeared in the doorway behind Escoletti, a 5-inch length of lead piping in his hand. He pressed it into Escoletti’s back and told him to drop the gun. Escoletti stiffened but made no move to drop the Bernadelli.

Whitlock’s heart was racing. If Escoletti called his bluff and turned on him he would be dead. It was as simple as that. Escoletti finally let the Bernadelli fall to the floor. Young picked it up before Whitlock had a chance to get to it. Escoletti looked round at Whitlock, his eyes lingering on the lead piping in his hand. His face remained expressionless.

‘I’ll spare you the kangaroo court,’ Young said to Escoletti, and shot him through the head.

‘You didn’t have to kill him!’ Whitlock exclaimed, staring at the body sprawled at his feet.

‘That’s right,’ Young replied. ‘Close the door.’

Whitlock closed the door behind him and when he turned back to Young he found the Bernadelli trained on him.

‘I never did trust you,’ Young said, taking a step towards Whitlock. ‘As I said to you in Rome, it was General Wiseman who wanted you in on the operation. Not me. I could have handled it by myself, no trouble.’

‘I can see that,’ Whitlock said sarcastically. ‘You needed me to save your arse at Pisani’s house. And you needed me to save it again tonight.’

‘For which I’ll be eternally grateful,’ Young replied with equal sarcasm. His eyes narrowed. ‘Who was the woman with Calvieri?’

Whitlock frowned. ‘What woman? What are you talking about?’

‘That so-called prostitute who came to your room in Rome was out there talking to Calvieri not five minutes ago. Who is she?’

‘Is that what all this is about?’ Whitlock said, gesturing to the Bernadelli in Young’s hand. ‘You see a woman who looks like an Italian prostitute talking to Calvieri and you immediately jump to conclusions.’

‘They were one and the same, I’m sure of it. I’m hardly likely to forget a face or a figure like that in a hurry.’

‘What possible reason would that prostitute have for coming up here to Berne? It makes no sense at all. And if you thought about it logically, you’d agree.’

‘You’re good, I’ll grant you that. But you’re not good enough. If you haven’t told me who she is in five seconds’ time I’ll put a bullet in your left kneecap. I’m told the pain is unbearable. Another five seconds and I’ll put a bullet in your right kneecap. Then, if you still won’t talk, I’ll resort to the transmitter. I’m dying to try it out. It’s the first of its kind. If it’s any good I might just patent it. I’m sure the CIA would be interested.’

‘You’re mad,’ Whitlock said, staring at the glazed expression in Young’s eyes.

‘Five seconds. Starting now.’

‘Look, I don’t know who she is,’ Whitlock said in desperation, his eyes flickering towards the glass cabinets on the wall. They were out of reach. Even if he could have reached them, he would have had to smash the glass to get to the weapons. Young would have shot him long before he got there.

‘Two seconds,’ Young said, reaching his left hand into his jacket pocket for the transmitter.

Whitlock saw his chance. He lunged at Young, bringing the lead piping down across the back of his gun hand. Young cried out in pain and the Bernadelli fell to the floor. Whitlock grabbed Young’s wrist as he pulled the transmitter from his pocket and ran him backwards into the cabinet containing the two ceremonial tachi. The glass shattered and Whitlock slammed the back of Young’s hand against the shards still embedded in the frame. A piece of glass sliced across the back of Young’s hand and in his haste to pull away from the searing pain the transmitter slipped from his bloodied fingers. Whitlock made the mistake of taking his eyes off Young for a split second to kick the transmitter out of the way. Young butted Whitlock savagely in the face and followed through with two hammering body punches, dropping Whitlock to his knees. Young grabbed the nearest tachi, wrenched it out of its sheath, and, using both hands to grip the hilt, lashed out at Whitlock, who managed to hurl himself sideways a split second before the blade, missing him by inches, sliced through the mat where he had been kneeling. Whitlock brought his foot up sharply into Young’s midriff then, springing to his feet, he managed to draw the second tachi from its sheath before Young had time to catch his breath.