Алистер Маклин - Red Alert

‘Yeah, I remember him. Lieutenant-Colonel Richard Wiseman, Marine Corps. A damn good soldier.’

‘He’s now General Wiseman of the First Ranger Battalion. And he’s out for revenge. I’m not going to go into detail, it’s all in the resume for you to read on the plane. Basically, he’s hiring a gunman and a driver to do the dirty work for him. We can’t afford to have them encroaching on the case. There’s too much at stake. It seems he’s chosen a Jamaican from London as the getaway driver. We’re going to put

our man in his place. And there’s only one field operative who fits the bill.’

‘C.W.,’ Sabrina said.

‘Right,’ Philpott replied, handing out two manila envelopes to Graham and Sabrina.

The envelopes contained the resume, which had to be destroyed after reading; airline tickets; maps of their ultimate destination; written confirmation of hotel accommodation; a brief character sketch of their contacts (if any) and a sum of money in lire. All field operatives also carried two credit cards for emergencies. There was no limit to the amount of money an operative could use during an assignment but it all had to be accounted for to Kolchinsky, with chits to back up the figure work when they returned to New York.

‘Your flight leaves in two hours. Sergei will be going with you to set up a base in Rome. I’ll be joining you as soon as I can. Jacques will run things from Zürich in my absence.’ Philpott activated the

transmitter on his desk to open the door. ‘Mike? Sabrina?’

They paused at the door to look back at him.

‘Good luck. I’ve got a feeling you’re going to need it.’

C. W. Whitlock replaced the receiver and looked round at his wife, Carmen, who was standing motionless on the balcony, her hands gripped tightly around the railing, the light evening breeze teasing her shoulder length black hair. She was a tall, slender Puerto Rican with a youthful beauty which belied her true age. She was forty. As he stared at her he realized just how much he loved her. But that wasn’t enough to save their crumbling marriage.

‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ he said behind her, looking across the Champs de Mars at the brightly lit Eiffel Tower which soared 984 feet into the clear night sky.

‘That was Jacques on the phone, wasn’t it?’ she asked softly.

‘Yes, he’s on his way up,’ he replied, putting an arm around her shoulders.

‘Don’t.’ She shrugged his arm off and returned to the bedroom.

He leaned his arms on the railing and looked down at the passing traffic on the Avenue de Bourdonnais. He was a 44-year-old Kenyan with sharp, angular features tempered by the neat moustache he had worn since his university days. After graduating with a BA (Hons) from Oxford he had returned to Kenya where he spent a short time with the army before joining the Intelligence Corps, remaining there for ten years and rising to the rank of Colonel. He had been one of Philpott’s first recruits in 1980.

There was a knock at the door.

‘I’ll get it,’ Carmen said.

Jacques Rust smiled at her when she opened the door. He activated his mechanized wheelchair and entered the room. He handed her the bouquet of red roses he was carrying.

‘Freshly picked from the jardin du Luxembourg,’ he said with a smile. ‘Well, I hope not. I bought them from a vendor I’ve known for years.’

She kissed him lightly on the cheek, the anger suddenly gone from her eyes.

‘Thank you, Jacques, they’re beautiful. I’ll put them in some water.’

‘Where’s C.W.?’

‘He’s on the balcony,’ she replied. ‘I’ll get him for you.’

Rust put his attaché case on the floor. He was a handsome 43-year-old Frenchman with pale blue eyes and short black hair. He had spent fourteen years with the French Service de Documentation Extérieure et de Contre-Espionnage before joining UNACO in 1980. He and Whitlock had worked as a team until the Secretary-General had given Philpott permission to increase the field operatives from twenty to thirty. Sabrina, because of her age and relative inexperience, had been put with them to form the original Strike Force Three. A year later he and Sabrina were on a stakeout at the Marseilles docks when they came under fire from the drug smugglers they had been watching. He was hit in the spine, leaving him paralyzed from the waist down. He was given a senior position at the Command Centre after his release from hospital, and was promoted to head the European operation when his predecessor was killed in a car crash. He was widely tipped to become the next UNACO Director when Philpott retired in four years’ time. That had already given rise to speculation that Kolchinsky would replace him in Zürich with Whitlock taking over as deputy director when he was retired from the field, also in four years’ time.

‘Hello, C.W.,’ Rust said when Whitlock entered the room.

‘Jacques,’ Whitlock replied, his handshake formal rather than friendly.

‘I’ll leave you two to it,’ Carmen said, emerging from the kitchen where she had put the roses in some water.

‘Where are you going?’ Whitlock asked.

‘Does it matter?’ she retorted.

‘Of course, it matters,’ Whitlock shot back. ‘I don’t want you walking the streets by yourself at this time of night.’

‘He’s right, Carmen,’ Rust said to her. ‘This part of the city’s crawling with. pickpockets and bag-snatchers.’

‘Don’t worry, I don’t intend to walk the streets by myself.’ She looked at Whitlock. ‘You know where I’ll be. If, of course, you remember our honeymoon.’

‘You know where she’s going?’ Rust asked once Carmen had left the room.

Whitlock nodded.

‘There’s a small bistro not far from here on the rue de Crenelle. We ate there most nights when we were here on our honeymoon. It’s ironic, isn’t it? We started our marriage in this room, now it looks like we’re going to end it here as well.’

‘Don’t talk like that, C.W. –’

‘Like what?’ Whitlock cut in sharply, his eyes blazing. ‘You know damn well why our marriage is in such a mess. She wants me out of the firing line at UNACO. I want to stay because I know I have a future with the organization. We chose Paris as neutral ground. No fights. No UNACO Three weeks to try and save our marriage. What happens? Three days after we get here you call to say that I’m on a Code Red standby. All leave’s been cancelled. She’s got every right to be mad, Jacques. Every right.’

Rust nodded sombrely. ‘I know what you’re saying, C.W. but we have to use Strike Force Three. More to the point, we have to use you.’

Whitlock sighed deeply and patted Rust on the shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Jacques, I didn’t mean to fly off the handle at you like that. I know we wouldn’t have been recalled unless the situation was critical. It’s just so frustrating not being able to make Carmen understand that.’

‘I don’t like it any more than you do, C.W. You know how fond I am of Carmen. I hate to see the two of you like this.’

‘I know,’ Whitlock said softly, then sat on the edge of the bed. ‘What’s the assignment?’

Rust told him about the break-in at the plant, the stolen vial, Ubrino’s demands and the death of Zocchi. ‘Mike and Sabrina will be handling that side of the case. You’re going undercover. We received a report today to say that Wiseman’s brother is out for revenge. He’s already hired a gunman to find his brother’s killer.’ He took a blue folder from his attaché case, opened it, and handed a photograph to Whitlock. ‘That’s the wheel man he wants to use. His name’s Reuben Alexander, a Londoner of Jamaican extraction. You’re going to take his place.’

‘But I don’t look anything like him. All we’ve got in common is that we’re black.’