Алистер Маклин - Red Alert

‘I don’t have the time to stand here and argue with you, Reinhardt. Vietri doesn’t concern us. Calvieri and Bellini do. I suggest you keep that in mind.’ Philpott moved to the door, then turned back to Kolchinsky. ‘I’m going to see Bellini before I meet the other leaders. I think it’s only right to put Calvieri’s demands to him first. I want the four of you to go through the blueprints while I’m gone and make a list of all the places where the vial could be hidden.’

‘It’ll be like looking for a needle in a haystack.’

‘I’m well aware of that, Mike, but it’s better than sitting around here for the next seven hours hoping that one of the cleaners will find it.’

Paluzzi waited until Philpott had left the room before crossing to the door.

‘I’ll be back in a moment. I have to call headquarters in Rome.’

‘To arrange for Vietri to meet with an accident?’ Kuhlmann said.

‘To arrange for Calvieri’s apartment in Milan to be taken apart, brick by brick if necessary. It might throw up a clue. Satisfied?’

Kuhlmann looked at Kolchinsky after Paluzzi had disappeared into the outer office.

‘Perhaps Malcolm was right after all. Perhaps the heat is getting too much for me these days.’

Kolchinsky maintained a diplomatic silence. He picked up the nearest blueprint, sat down and unrolled it across the desk.

Enzo Bellini was a small man in his early sixties with snow-white hair and a craggy face lined from the pressure of years in the forefront of Italian politics. He spoke no English. Cesare Camillo, a handsome man twenty years his junior, was acting as interpreter. Camillo was one of Bellini’s senior aides who was already being tipped as a future PCI leader. He had represented Bellini at the briefing called by Philpott and Kolchinsky that morning.

The two men sat facing Philpott in a small antechamber behind the conference hall. Bellini remained silent as Philpott, through Camillo, explained the first of Calvieri’s demands to him. His face was expressionless as he listened to Camillo, his hands gripping the table in front of him tightly.

Philpott waited until Camillo had finished translating his words, then sat back in the chair and stared at Bellini’s bowed head.

‘I thought I should tell you first rather than just announce it in front of the other leaders.’

Camillo translated. Bellini said nothing.

‘I’ve arranged to meet the others in five minutes’ time to put Calvieri’s demands to them. I need to know if Signore Bellini is prepared to accede to the demands before I see them.’

Bellini listened silently as Camillo translated Philpott’s request, then spoke in a barely audible voice, his eyes never leaving Philpott’s face.

‘Under the circumstances, Signore Bellini feels he has no alternative but to resign. It is a small price to pay for the safety of Europe and its peoples. I will represent Signore Bellini at this meeting. He feels he has nothing more to contribute.’

‘I understand,’ Philpott replied softly.

Bellini got to his feet and walked to the door. Philpott stared after him. A broken man. He had merely passed on Calvieri’s demand but he still felt a sense of guilt. It was a feeling he couldn’t seem to shake off.

Camillo closed the door behind Bellini, then turned to Philpott.

‘Calvieri seems to think that by forcing Signore Bellini to step down it will bring the chances of a coalition between the PCI and the Red Brigades that much closer to fruition. He couldn’t be more wrong. We may not be a popular government, but we are loyal to each other. And especially to Signore Bellini. We’ll close ranks at the top. The Red Brigades won’t get a look in. Our deputy Prime Minister, Signore Vietri, will see to that. He hates the Red Brigades more than anyone else in the cabinet. Calvieri’s in for a big surprise. A very big surprise.’

Philpott closed the folder in front of him. If it were up to him he would tell Camillo where Vietri’s true loyalties lay. But it wasn’t. He had already chided Kuhlmann for interfering in Italy’s domestic problems. Not that Camillo would believe him anyway. Not without proof. He suddenly remembered Paluzzi’s words. Alberto Vietri will never become Prime Minister of Italy. Camillo may yet be right. Calvieri could well be in for a big surprise.

The meeting had been convened in a soundproof room down the corridor from the conference hall. The fifteen leaders were all present, along with the aides who had represented them at the morning briefing (it cut out the need for translators for those leaders who didn’t speak English, minimizing the chances of a security leak).

Philpott felt like a headmaster as he stood in front of them detailing the demands he had received from Calvieri. There was a moment’s silence after he had finished speaking, then the room was filled with the sound of angry voices as the delegates conferred, outraged at the audacity of Calvieri’s demands. Philpott allowed them to let off steam. After all, they were politicians. Finally he clapped his hands, bringing them to order.

‘We have to discuss this rationally if we’re going to reach any kind of decision.’

‘Where is Signore Bellini?’ a voice called out.

Philpott looked at Camillo and indicated that he should answer.

‘Signore Bellini is meeting the rest of our delegation. He won’t be attending the opening ceremony. He feels it would be better if one of his senior ministers was there from the start. I have already informed the chairman.’ Camillo gestured to the Swiss President, who nodded in agreement. ‘He has asked me to represent him at this meeting.’

Philpott raised his hand before anyone could speak.

‘I can understand how you must all feel about the way Signore Bellini has been treated, but it’s neither the time nor the place to discuss it. We must address the second of Calvieri’s demands, the payment of a hundred million pounds to the five terrorist groups.’

The Dutch Prime Minister raised a hand to catch Philpott’s attention.

‘Do you believe he would press the button if his demands were not met?’

‘Yes,’ Philpott replied bluntly.

‘He’s a madman!’ someone called out.

There was a murmur of agreement.

Philpott shook his head.

‘No madman could have pieced together an operation like this. It’s been meticulously planned down to the last detail. Every loophole’s been plugged. We’re not dealing with some two-bit hoodlum here. He’s probably more intelligent than most of us in this room. And that’s not something I’d say lightly.’

‘Couldn’t your people launch a commando-style operation on the room and recover the vial?’ the Norwegian Prime Minister asked.

‘Out of the question,’ Philpott replied. ‘The room has no windows. The only way in is through the door. And that would have to be blown. When I left the room Calvieri had his finger on the button. All he would have to do is press it if we made any attempt to storm the room.’

‘These questions aren’t getting us anywhere,’ the British Prime Minister snapped irritably. ‘If Colonel Philpott thought there was a chance of recovering the transmitter intact he would have told us already. Obviously there isn’t. It’s something we have to accept. And the sooner we come to a decision, the sooner the wheels can be set in motion to get the vial back safely.’

Philpott nodded gratefully to the Prime Minister. They went back a long way. One of the Prime Minister’s first tasks on coming into office had been to forward Philpott’s curriculum vitae, together with a personal letter of recommendation, to the Secretary-General of UNACO for consideration as Director. He never knew whether the letter had helped to sway the Secretary-General’s decision but he had always been grateful for the Prime Minister’s unswerving belief in him. It had made his job that much easier.