Алистер Маклин - Red Alert

‘I wish I could share your confidence,’ Paluzzi said, then turned to Kolchinsky. ‘Do you need me for anything else? I’ve some calls to make before I go to bed.’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ Kolchinsky replied.

‘What time do you want us in position, Sergei?’ Sabrina asked.

‘I’ll be there from eight o’clock. Any time after that.’ Kolchinsky took a map of Berne from under a dossier on the bedside table and handed it to her. ‘I’ve marked the street with a cross where I want the four of you to wait. It’s close to the highway.’

‘What about radios?’ Graham asked.

‘Fabio’s got one. It’s all you’ll need.’ Kolchinsky shot Graham a hard look. ‘As long as everyone obeys orders and stays together.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ Graham muttered, then stood up and stifled a yawn. ‘It’s been a long day and I, for one, am shattered.’

‘You’re not the only one,’ Sabrina agreed, getting to her feet.

‘Not so fast, young lady,’ Kolchinsky said.

‘You’ve still got to brief Calvieri before you go to bed.’

‘You’re all heart, Sergei,’ she replied with a grimace.

Kolchinsky saw Kuhlmann and Paluzzi to the door then turned back to Graham and Sabrina.

‘Strange how the human mind works. There we all were, tiptoeing about as if this wasn’t really a crisis. But behind the facade of professional detachment we were all asking ourselves the same questions. What if Ubrino slips the net and opens the vial? How many millions will die before an antidote is found? And we’d be among the first to be contaminated. Yet none of us has voiced our anxieties, myself included. Strange, isn’t it?’

‘That’s what I like about you, Sergei,’ Graham said, patting Kolchinsky on the back. ‘Your unfailing optimism.’

Kolchinsky smiled fleetingly, then exhaled deeply.

‘It’s going to be a long night. I know I’m not going to get any sleep.’

Sabrina glanced at Graham and noticed the uncertainty in his eyes. A mirror image of her own? Kolchinsky was right. None of them wanted to address the issue head on. Not even Graham. The most vociferous amongst them.

‘None of us will, Sergei, you can be sure of that,’ Graham said then disappeared out into the corridor.

Sabrina looked across at Kolchinsky who was standing with his back to her at the window then turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Whitlock stared at the food in front of him. Choucroute garnie, sauerkraut with boiled ham and Vienna sausages. One of his favourite dishes. He had bought it on the way back to the boarding house but when he had opened the carton in his room his appetite seemed to vanish. He just wasn’t hungry. He had prodded the food absently with his fork for the last hour without making any attempt to eat it. Now it was cold and unappetizing. He suddenly stabbed the fork into one of the sausages and pushed the carton away from him. He glanced at his watch. 10.40 p.m.

What did time matter? He stood up and crossed to the telephone on the bedside table. He picked up the receiver and rang the apartment in New York. He let it ring for a minute. No reply. How many times had he rung the number in the last hour? Ten? More like fifteen. And each time the same. He had rung Carmen’s work number half a dozen times as well, with the same result. He replaced the receiver, then walked to the window and looked down into the alley below him. A teenage couple were kissing in the shadows of a doorway. He turned away angrily and sat down again. He was out of his mind with worry. Where was Carmen? Her sister hadn’t seen her. Her friends hadn’t seen her. It was completely out of character for her to act like this. He had called all the main hospitals in New York but none of them had any record of her admittance.

He had even contacted the city mortuaries but again his enquiries had drawn a blank. He was desperate to talk to her. He suddenly banged his fist angrily on the table. He had to stop dwelling on Carmen’s disappearance and concentrate on the assignment. Damn his selfishness. He had to pull himself together. Quickly.

He picked up one of the keys on the table. It was for Young’s room. He had been meaning to search the room ever since he got back to the boarding house. Now was a perfect time. It would help him to take his mind off Carmen. Well, he could try. He left his room, looked the length of the deserted corridor, then moved to the adjacent door, unlocked it, and slipped inside. He closed the door behind him and switched on the light. The room was identical to his own. A double bed, a table, a chair, a chest of drawers and a washbasin beside the window. Even the garish wallpaper was the same. He searched the chest of drawers and found a passport in the bottom drawer in the name of Vincent Yannick. A Walther P5 lay beside the passport. It was a good, reliable handgun, used mainly by the West German and Dutch police forces and exported extensively to both North and South America. He still preferred the Browning for accuracy. Not that he had much choice. The Browning Sabrina had given to him in Rome was in the hands of the NOCS.

As was everything else they had left behind at the boarding house. He looked under the bed and pulled out the pale-blue holdall Young had taken from the locker at Berne’s Belpmoos Airport. He unzipped it. Inside were bundles of Swiss francs, all in used notes. He would give the money to Kolchinsky to hand over to UNICEF.

He looked around sharply when he heard the noise. It came from next door, from within his own room. He immediately thought of the scientist being sent from Zürich to deactivate the booby-trapped watch. But there was another possibility. A Red Brigades assassin. He peered out into the corridor. It was still empty. He closed the door silently behind him and approached his own room cautiously, the Walther gripped tightly in his hand. The door was ajar. He kicked it open and dropped to one knee, training the Walther on the figure standing by the window. The man was in his forties with short blond hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He raised his hands slowly.

‘Who are you?’ Whitlock demanded.

‘My name is Dr. Hans Gottfried,’ came the nervous reply. ‘Monsieur Rust sent me. I did knock on the door but there was no reply. That is why I came inside.’

Whitlock got to his feet and tucked the Walther into his belt.

‘I’m sorry if I startled you but I couldn’t afford to take any chances.’

Gottfried lowered his hands. ‘I quite understand.’

‘Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Coffee? That’s about all they serve here.’

‘Nothing, thank you. May I see the watch?’

Whitlock held out his arm. Gottfried studied the watch for some time, then asked to see the transmitter. He turned it around in his hand then undid the protective cap to expose the detonator button.

‘Don’t touch that!’ Whitlock shouted, his eyes wide in horror.

Gottfried smiled gently.

‘I do not intend to, I assure you. I was just looking at the design.’

Whitlock slumped on to the bed.

‘I’m sorry, I’m just on edge. I’ve been like this ever since I was tricked into wearing this damn thing. What if the strap came loose while I was asleep? What if Young went on drinking and inadvertently strayed more than three miles away from the boarding house? You could count the number of hours’ sleep I’ve had since Monday on one hand. I’m exhausted.’

‘I can well imagine,’ Gottfried said, picking up an attaché case from beside the bed. ‘You will sleep well tonight, I promise you that.’

How the hell could he sleep well not knowing where Carmen was? He stifled a yawn, then forced a quick smile when he noticed that Gottfried was watching him.

‘Do you know anything about the origins of the device?’ Gottfried asked, placing the case on the table.