Алистер Маклин - Red Alert

They circled each other warily, the tachi held away from their bodies, neither of them prepared to make the first move. Young suddenly gripped the hilt firmly in both hands and scythed the blade at Whitlock, who parried the blow with the blunt edge of his tachi. Young lashed out again but this time Whitlock managed to evade the blade, which smashed into the second cabinet, spilling several of the ninja weapons on the floor around them. Young swivelled round as Whitlock aimed a thrust at his midriff and blocked the attempt. The two blades locked and Whitlock shoved Young against the wall, his arm shaking as he forced the two blades ever closer to Young’s face. Young lashed out with his foot, catching Whitlock on the knee. Whitlock stumbled back in pain, lost his footing on one of the mats, and fell to the floor. Young noticed the transmitter lying beside the door. He discarded the tachi and made a grab for it.

Whitlock knew he wouldn’t be able to reach Young before he pressed the button. He looked around in desperation for the Bernadelli. It was out of reach. His fingers touched something cold on the floor beside him. An eight-sided shuriken. It was his only chance. Young uncapped the transmitter’s protective seal and looked up triumphantly. Whitlock flung the shuriken. It struck Young high in the forehead, spraying blood across the wall behind him. The transmitter slipped from Young’s hand and the astonishment was still mirrored in his eyes when he fell forward on to the floor.

Whitlock got to his feet gingerly and retrieved the transmitter, which lay next to Young’s body. He secured the protective cap over the button again then crossed to the case by the window and used the cordless telephone to call Kolchinsky and tell him what had happened. Kolchinsky told him to go back to the boarding house where he was staying and he would arrange for a scientist to be sent down from Zürich to defuse the booby-trapped watch. Whitlock replaced the telephone in the case and walked to the door, where he paused to pick up the Bernadelli. It could come in useful. He pocketed it then looked around slowly at the havoc before closing the door behind him and padlocking it again.

Kolchinsky replaced the receiver and told Graham what had happened.

‘Is he all right?’ Graham asked once Kolchinsky had finished speaking.

‘Mercifully yes. I told him to go back to the boarding house.’

‘Surely he’d be of more use to us here?’

‘And let Calvieri see him?’

‘That’s being a bit overcautious, isn’t it?’

‘I don’t think so. Remember, the Red Brigades have got a good description of C.W. I’m not saying Calvieri would link him to the hit but it’s not worth taking that chance. It’s best if we keep him in the wings until we need him.’

‘I see your point,’ Graham admitted.

‘I want you to go down to the foyer and tell Sabrina what’s happened. I’ll let you know when Fabio and Commissioner Kuhlmann get back from Worb.’

‘What do you want us to do until they get back?’

‘There isn’t much you can do.’

‘What are you going to do about the bodies across the road?’

‘I’ll have to discuss that with Commissioner Kuhlmann when he gets back.’

‘And Wiseman?’ Graham asked, as Kolchinsky led him to the door.

‘That’s up to the Colonel. I’m going to call him now.’ Kolchinsky opened the door. ‘And Michael, leave Calvieri alone.’

‘When have I ever disobeyed an order, Sergei?’ Graham asked, feigning a look of innocence.

‘Frequently,’ Kolchinsky replied, closing the door.

Heads turned when Graham emerged from the lift but he ignored the curious looks as he scanned the foyer for Sabrina. She wasn’t there. He sighed irritably, then crossed to the reception desk and asked for her to be paged. She arrived at the desk within seconds of the call being made.

‘Where have you been?’ Graham asked, leading her away from the desk.

‘I was in the bar,’ she replied, ‘having a drink with Calvieri.’

‘Sounds cosy,’ he muttered.

She ignored the sarcasm. ‘Any news of C.W.?’

He told her briefly what had happened.

‘That’s a relief,’ she said. ‘I almost missed Calvieri when he came down here.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, I had this plan to call the switchboard from a house phone the moment I saw Calvieri and have him paged to the reception desk. I would have pretended to have been an anonymous caller with information on the Pisani murder. I could have kept him talking on the phone long enough for C.W. to deal with Young.’

‘So what went wrong?’

‘I was watching the lift. Calvieri must have used the stairs. You can’t see them from the house phones. I only saw him as he was about to leave the hotel.’

‘How did you get him back inside?’ Graham asked, glancing at the electronic doors.

‘How could I, without arousing suspicion? Fortunately he came back in when he saw me. It must have been close.’ She gestured in the direction of the bar lounge. ‘I’d better get back. Why not join us?’

‘No thanks, I’m pretty selective about who I drink with.’

‘And I’m not, is that it?’

‘I don’t drink with terrorists,’ he said sharply.

‘This is business, Mike, just remember that.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ An elderly couple looked at them, startled by her raised voice.

‘Is there a problem?’ Graham asked, staring at them coldly. They moved away.

‘I’m not going to have a slanging match with you out here, Mike. If you don’t want to come for a drink, that’s fine by me. I just wanted…’ she trailed off with a shrug and turned to leave.

He grabbed her arm. ‘You just wanted what?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she retorted, then shrugged off his hand and strode back into the bar.

Graham exhaled deeply, then went after her. They were seated at a table in the corner of the room. Calvieri saw him and beckoned him over. He pulled out a chair for Graham to sit down.

‘Mike! Come and join us. What will you have to drink?’

‘The coldest bottle of Perrier you’ve got,’ Graham said, glancing up at the waiter.

‘I see you changed your mind,’ Sabrina said, eyeing Graham sharply.

‘Yeah,’ Graham muttered, then sat back and looked distantly around the packed room.

The waiter returned with the Perrier water and a glass filled with ice. He placed them on the table in front of Graham.

‘Please, this is on me,’ Calvieri said, reaching out for the chit.

Quickly Graham grabbed the chit from the table and signed it. He looked across at Calvieri after the waiter had left.

‘You buy your own drinks. I’ll buy mine. That way there can be no misunderstanding.’

‘Ever since we met you’ve gone out of your way to condemn me for my beliefs. What makes you so sure you’re right?’

‘That’s a question you should put to the families of all those people the Red Brigades have murdered in the past twenty years,’ Graham replied, holding Calvieri’s gaze. ‘You might just learn something.’

‘We only hit legitimate targets, Mr. Graham. Politicians like Moro and Tarantelli. Or soldiers like General Giorgieri or your own Leamon Hunt, the director general of the Sinai Peacekeeping Forces we assassinated in 1984. Fascisti .’

Graham drank a mouthful of Perrier and sat forward, his arms resting on the table.

‘What about all those innocent bystanders, caught in the crossfire of your so-called fight against fascism? Are they also legitimate targets?’

‘It’s regrettable, but there will always be innocent casualties in this kind of conflict.’

Graham shook his head in disgust.

‘The standard terrorist reply. You know you can’t possibly condone it, so you evade the question.’