Red Alert

Twelve

Rust sat behind his desk. In front of him was a folder containing the latest developments of Strike Force Nine’s operation in Paris. He had read it four times already but his mind refused to take any of it in. All he could think about was the vial. He looked at his watch: 3.30 p.m. An hour-and-a-half had elapsed since the cylinder had been taken away for examination. It could be another thirty minutes before the results were known. Perhaps longer. The waiting was killing him. He took a sip of coffee. It was cold. He spat it back into the cup and was about to make himself a fresh one when he heard a knock at the door.

He looked at the television monitor on his desk. It was Scheffer. He activated the door.

Philpott was on the telephone when Graham and Whitlock entered the office. He gestured for them to take a seat.

‘Thanks for letting me know, Jacques,’ he said finally then replaced the receiver and turned to face them.

‘The results have just come through. The vial contained water.’

‘I can’t say I’m surprised, sir,’ Whitlock replied. ‘As you said, it would have been too easy.’

‘Has Vlok told you what happened with the car?’ Graham asked.

‘Yes. I’ve notified the bomb squad. It’s in their hands now.’ Philpott looked at the desk clock. ‘There’s less than ninety minutes left before the deadline. I want you to rejoin your teams and continue the search for the vial.’

‘And what if we do find another one?’ Graham asked. ‘There won’t be time to send it to Zürich for analysis.’

‘I’ve asked Jacques to have a carbon-steel-plated Magnox flask sent down here from Zürich. It’s similar to the containers that are used for the disposal of highly toxic nuclear waste, only much smaller. The helicopter should get here within the next thirty minutes. Then if the vial is found, it can be sealed inside the flask, rendering it harmless.’

‘But what if it’s another red herring?’ Graham asked.

‘Let’s find it first,’ Philpott replied evasively, then bleeped Paluzzi and Marco to determine their positions so that Whitlock and Graham could rejoin them.

The telephone remained silent for the next twenty minutes. Then it rang twice in the space of five minutes. The first call was from Emile, the helicopter pilot, to say that he had arrived at the Offenbach Centre with the Magnox flask. Philpott told him to remain with the helicopter on the helipad.

The second call was from Michele Molinetti. Philpott couldn’t place the name.

‘Perhaps I should have said Captain Molinetti of the NOCS.’

‘Of course,’ Philpott replied, now remembering the name. ‘You’re at Calvieri’s flat in Milan, not so?’

‘That is correct.’

‘Have you found something?’ Philpott asked.

‘We have found an address book hidden in a secret compartment beneath the floorboards in his bedroom. All the names are of known terrorists here in Italy, except for one. There is no address with the name, just two telephone numbers. One home, one work. I checked the code with the operator, and it’s Zürich.’

‘Zürich?’ Philpott repeated, reaching for his pen. ‘I’ll get on to it right away.’

‘The name is Helga Dannhauser,’ Molinetti said, then went on to read out the two telephone numbers. ‘We have no record of her here in Italy. She could be linked to one of the other European terrorist groups, but none of us has ever heard of her.’

‘I appreciate the call, Captain.’

‘I only hope you have more luck than we’ve had. We had already checked out all the names, even before we found the book. We’re satisfied that none of them is linked to the case. Another dead end as far as we’re concerned.’

‘I’ll let you know if we come up with anything. I’ve got the number of Calvieri’s flat here somewhere.’

‘Colonel Paluzzi knows it anyway. Goodbye, sir, and good luck.’

Philpott replaced the receiver and immediately bleeped Paluzzi. Whitlock rang the office and Philpott asked him to send Paluzzi up to him straight away. When Paluzzi arrived Philpott told him about Molinetti’s call.

‘Helga Dannhauser?’ Paluzzi said thoughtfully as he stared at the sheet of paper Philpott had given to him. ‘The name doesn’t mean anything to me either.’

‘I want you to ring those numbers using the other phone. I would have done it myself but I think you’ll get further with your fluency in German.’

Paluzzi went into the outer office and sat down at the secretary’s desk.

He called the home number first. He let it ring for a minute but there was no reply. He then called the work number.

‘Guten tag, ZRF,’ a female voice answered.

‘Could I speak to Helga Dannhauser, please,’ Paluzzi said in German.

‘Do you know which department she’s in?’

‘I don’t, I’m sorry. A friend of hers gave me this number the last time she visited me in Berlin. She told me to look up Helga if I was ever in Zürich. To be honest, I don’t even know what ZRF stands for.’

‘Zürich Rundfunk Firma. It’s an independent television company. I can’t say I know any Helga Dannhauser but I’ll put you through to the personnel department. She may be new here.’

Paluzzi was put through to the personnel department. He was told that there had never been anybody by that name working at the station. He thanked the assistant and hung up. His body tingled with excitement. He knew he was on to something. He picked up the receiver again and rang police headquarters. He asked them to check the name Helga Dannhauser against the first number he had rung. The name was fed into the central computer and seconds later he was told that the number was registered to a Miss Ute Rietler. He dialled the number of the ZRF station again and asked to speak to Ute Rietler. This time the switchboard operator put him through to the news department. The phone was answered by a gruff male voice.

‘Could I speak to Ute Rietler, please?’

‘Ute’s not here,’ came the reply. ‘She’s in Berne covering the European summit.’

Paluzzi slammed the receiver back into the cradle, then leapt to his feet and raced into the inner office, where he poured out his findings to Philpott.

‘There has to be a connection,’ Paluzzi said in conclusion. ‘It’s too much of a coincidence.’

‘I agree. It could be a security measure on his part to list her under a false name.’ Philpott picked up the receiver and rang the press room. He asked to speak to Ute Rietler.

There was a lengthy pause before the receptionist came back on the line.

‘Miss Rietler returned to her hotel about twenty minutes ago. She won’t be back for another hour. Would you like to speak to one of her assistants?’

‘No, it’s a personal matter. Which hotel is she staying at?’

‘I don’t know, sir.’

‘Then find out, lass,’ Philpott thundered.

The flustered receptionist came back on the line a few seconds later.

‘The Ambassador, on Seftigenstrasse. Do you know where it is?’

‘I’ll find it, thank you.’

Philpott wrote the name of the hotel and the street on a sheet of paper and handed it to Paluzzi.

‘I want you and C.W. to get over there right away. She’s our last chance. And for God’s sake, hurry. There’re only forty minutes left before the deadline.’

Paluzzi stuffed the paper into his jacket pocket and hurried from the room.

Philpott sat back and looked at the telephone.

‘I think we’ve finally got you.’

Paluzzi found a parking space a block away from the Ambassador Hotel. They ran to the hotel, mounted the steps two at a time, then strode briskly across to the reception desk.

‘Can I help you?’ a blonde-haired receptionist asked with a glossy smile.

‘Ute Rietler, her room number please?’ Paluzzi said.

The receptionist punched the name into the computer.

‘Suite 240. I’ll tell her you’re here. Your names, please?’

‘It’s okay, we work with her,’ Paluzzi replied, forcing a smile. ‘She’s expecting us.’

‘It’s on the second floor. Turn right out of the lift.’ The receptionist turned her attention to another guest waiting impatiently to check in.

Both lifts were in use. They took the stairs. Whitlock paused on the second floor to look at his watch. There were twenty-one minutes left before Bellini was due to announce his resignation. He followed Paluzzi to Suite 240. Paluzzi rapped loudly on the door. No reply.

‘What if she’s not here?’ Whitlock whispered.

‘She’s got to be,’ Paluzzi replied, and knocked again.

‘Who is it?’ a female called.

‘Police.’

The door was opened on a chain.

‘Where’s your ID?’

Paluzzi produced a false carabinieri badge and held it up for her to see. Whitlock held up his false Scotland Yard card that had been made at the Test Centre in New York.

‘Italian police? British police? You have no jurisdiction here in Switzerland.’

‘We’re here for the summit. We’d like to ask you some questions, that’s all.’

For a moment they thought she would refuse to speak to them. Then the door closed, the chain was removed, and it was opened again to admit them. Ute Rietler was an attractive redhead who looked to be in her late twenties. It was clear, even in the white to welling robe she was wearing, that she had a stunning figure.

‘I hope we didn’t get you out of the bath,’ Paluzzi said.

‘I was just getting dried when you knocked,’ she replied, closing the door behind them. ‘I’m due back at the Offenbach Centre in forty minutes so I’m in a hurry. What is it you wanted to ask me?’

‘An old friend of yours,’ Paluzzi said, helping himself to a grape from the fruit bowl on the sideboard. ‘Tonino Calvieri.’

‘Who?’ she retorted with a frown.

Whitlock watched her carefully. She hadn’t reacted to the name at all. Not even a flicker of the eyes. But then she was ZRF’s leading anchorwoman. Philpott had phoned the information through to them on the earphone. And that meant she didn’t allow herself to get flustered. An act. And a good one at that.

‘You’ve never heard of Tonino Calvieri?’ Paluzzi said, leaning against the sideboard.

She dug her hands into her pockets and chewed her lip thoughtfully.

‘No, I don’t think so.’ She suddenly nodded her head. ‘Wait a minute, isn’t he that terrorist who’s just taken over as the new leader of the Red Brigades? We ran a short item on him a couple of days ago. What has he got to do with me?’

‘You tell us, Miss Rietler,’ Paluzzi said.

‘Tell you what?’ she snapped.

‘Why your phone number appears in his address book hidden in his apartment in Milan.’

‘This is too much–’

‘Where is the vial he gave you to hide?’ Paluzzi cut in sharply.

‘I’ve had enough of this badgering. I’m calling the hotel security.’

She disappeared into the bedroom and snatched up the receiver.

‘I’d put that phone down, Miss Rietler,’ Paluzzi said from the doorway. ‘Or should I call you Miss Dannhauser?’

Her body stiffened and her fingers tightened around the handset. The act was over. She replaced the receiver and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the carpet.

Paluzzi picked up a framed photograph from the bedside table and his eyes narrowed in sudden comprehension.

‘What is it?’ Whitlock asked, looking at the freckle-faced boy in the photograph.

‘He’s the spitting image of his father. And I thought I knew everything about Calvieri.’

‘That’s Calvieri’s son?’ Whitlock said in astonishment.

‘He couldn’t look more like his father if he tried,’ Paluzzi said, then looked down at Ute Rietler. ‘He gave you the vial, didn’t he?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she replied, but there was no conviction in her voice.

‘Ute, you’ve got to help us,’ Paluzzi said softly.

‘I can’t.’

‘Why?’ Paluzzi asked.

‘He said he’d expose my past unless I did what he wanted.’

‘You’re not making any sense, Ute,’ Paluzzi said. ‘Your past has already been exposed. We know about it. You must cooperate with us, it’s your only chance.’

‘I can’t,’ she repeated.

‘And what’s going to happen to your son when you’re jailed for life for conspiring with a terrorist? He’ll be taken into care. I doubt you’ll ever see him again. Is that what you want?’

There was a long silence. Ute Rietler was struggling with her inner emotions. When she finally spoke, it was in a barely audible voice.

‘It’s taped underneath the chassis of our outside broadcast van. It’s parked near the main gate.’

Whitlock bolted into the adjoining room to call Philpott.

‘I don’t know what’s in it, you must believe me,’ she pleaded. ‘Tony said it would be picked up by a member of another terrorist group some time today. That’s all he told me.’

‘When did you meet Tony?’

‘Rome, eight years ago. I went there to stay with some friends after my parents were killed in a car crash outside Bonn. I met him at a Red Brigades rally. We fell in love at first sight. At least that’s what I thought at the time. I found out later that I was just another in a long line of girlfriends. We’d only been seeing each other for a couple of months when I discovered I was pregnant. That’s when I came to my senses. I wanted my child to have a proper family, not be surrounded by anarchists and killers. Tony was very understanding but he refused to leave the Red Brigades. He said his place was with them. I decided then I wanted to start a new life so that Bruno would never have to know about his father. Tony helped me fake my own death, a boating accident in the Adriatic. I was listed as missing, presumed dead. He got me a new passport in the name of Ute Rietler and I decided to start afresh here in Switzerland. I cut my hair, dyed it and took to wearing contact lenses instead of glasses. I got a job with ZRF, and the rest I’m sure you know.

‘I never saw or heard from him again until he called me last week, asking for my help. I told him I didn’t want anything more to do with the Red Brigades but he threatened to splash my past across every tabloid in Europe if I didn’t agree to help him. What choice did I have? I went to his hotel last night and picked up a package from the reception desk. His instructions were with the metal cylinder. I never knew what was in it…’ Her voice faded to nothing and she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

‘You’re going to take Bruno into care, aren’t you?’

‘No,’ Paluzzi replied, and paused in the doorway to look back at her. ‘I promise I’ll do everything I can to keep your name out of this.’

She smiled weakly, then put her hands over her face and began to cry softly to herself.

In the other room Whitlock was standing by the window, staring absently at the traffic in the street below.

‘Ready?’ Paluzzi asked.

‘Sure.’ Whitlock crossed to where Paluzzi was waiting for him at the door. ‘What happened in there?’

‘I’ll tell you about it in the car,’ Paluzzi said, opening the door.

Whitlock stepped out into the corridor and instinctively glanced at his watch: 4.46 p.m.

Philpott sent Graham and Marco to get the vial. Vlok had arranged for a maintenance van to be parked at the back of the building for their use.

Marco got behind the wheel and started the engine. Graham climbed in beside him. Marco slipped the van into gear and drove to where the dozens of media pantechnicons were parked. He cruised the road leading to the boom gate as they scanned the pantechnicons for the one belonging to ZRF. He braked in front of the boom gate there was no sign of the one they were seeking. A guard approached the driver’s window and Marco asked him whether he knew where the ZRF vehicle was parked. The guard consulted the clipboard in his hand. He flicked through the sheets of paper, then leaned his arm on the open window and showed Marco its position on a plan he had made of the media vehicles the previous night. It was parked on the grass behind the row of vehicles nearest the road.

Marco thanked him, did a U-turn, and drove back ten yards before finding a space between two giant pantechnicons big enough to drive through. He braked immediately. The grass was seething with cables. They would have to continue on foot.

Graham jumped out and picked his way through the cables to a white vehicle with the letters ZRF painted in black on either side. Marco went after him and after looking around quickly he slid underneath the pantechnicon where Graham was already feeling around the edges of the chassis for the metal cylinder. Ute Rietler was hardly likely to have crawled right underneath and taped the vial to the centre of the vehicle’s underbelly.

They heard voices and tucked their legs out of sight seconds before a couple of engineers approached the back of the pantechnicon and climbed inside, closing the door behind them. Graham indicated for Marco to start at the front and work his way back. He would start from the back.

Marco nodded and leopard crawled to the front of the pantechnicon.

Graham reached the back section then removed a small torch from his pocket and switched it on. He played the beam across the chassis, concentrating on the edges. The door opened again. He switched off the torch. A man came out and paused at the foot of the steps, inches away from where Graham lay motionless on the grass. He shouted something in German and a moment later a packet of cigarettes was thrown to him. The man didn’t catch it and the packet landed on the middle step. For a horrifying moment Graham thought it was going to topple off the step and land next to him. It came to rest on the edge of the step. A hand appeared and picked it up. The man walked away from the pantechnicon, and Graham exhaled deeply. As he switched the torch on again, a hand touched his leg. He looked round sharply, cracking the back of his head painfully on the exhaust pipe. Marco held up a hand apologetically then patted the breast pocket of his maintenance overall.

‘You got it?’ Graham whispered.

Marco nodded. ‘It was taped under the mudguard.’

Graham wriggled his way out and rubbed the back of his head gingerly. A man suddenly emerged from the back of the pantechnicon beside the ZRF one. He paused on the bottom step and eyed them suspiciously.

Marco got to his feet, brushed the grass from his overall and shook his head sadly at the man.

‘You wouldn’t believe the amount of rust under there. It’s not fit to be on the road. I’d check under your van if I were you.’

The man watched them get back into the maintenance van, then shrugged and walked away. Marco started up the engine and reversed out fast into the road.

‘We’ve got nine minutes left to get the cylinder to the helicopter,’ Graham said.

‘Forget about the back entrance, we’ll never make it. Drive to the main entrance, it’s our only chance.’

‘We’ll never get through without setting off the metal detector,’ Marco replied.

‘We’ve got to do it.’

Marco sped round the perimeter of the car-park and pulled up in front of the main doors.

‘Run like hell,’ Graham told him. ‘And use the stairs, they could shut down the lifts before you reach the helipad.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Someone’s got to cover your back. Whatever happens to me, don’t turn back. Just keep running.’

Marco nodded. Graham patted him on the shoulder and they leapt out of the van. The doors parted electronically in front of them. Marco entered first. The metal detector buzzed. He broke into a run when a guard approached him. The guard shouted at him to stop. Graham shoulder-charged the guard as he reached for his bolstered pistol. The pistol spun from his hand. A second guard was instantly on the scene.

Graham tackled him, knocking him to the floor. He retrieved both pistols and sprinted after Marco. The two guards radioed for back-up.

There wasn’t much else they could do. Graham reached the stairs before any of the guards could get to him. Fortunately they hadn’t dared to shoot because the foyer was packed. He only paused for breath when he reached the fifth floor. There was still no sign of the guards. It surprised him. He took a deep breath, then bounded up the stairs, two at a time, until he reached the tenth floor landing. Still no guards.

What was going on? Were they waiting for him on the helipad? How would they know where he was headed? He pressed himself against the wall and pushed open the door leading out on to the helipad. No gunfire.

‘Michael?’ a voice called out from the helipad.

Graham recognized Kolchinsky’s voice. He was also the only person he knew who called him Michael.

‘Michael, is that you?’ Kolchinsky called out again.

Graham wiped the sweat from his forehead and stepped out on to the helipad. Vlok stood beside Kolchinsky and Marco, a two-way radio in his hand.

‘We thought you two might use the main entrance to save time,’ Kolchinsky said.

‘So when we heard that two maintenance workers were headed for the stairs we put two and two together and Dieter gave instructions to the guards to give you free passage to the helipad.’

‘You sure know how to spoil a guy’s fun, Sergei,’ Graham said with a half-smile.

Kolchinsky checked his watch. ‘You did it with four minutes to spare. You could have taken the lift after all. It would have been far less strenuous.’

Graham smiled as Kolchinsky crossed to the telephone to break the news to Philpott.

‘Wouldn’t you like to join us?’ Calvieri said to Sabrina and indicated the third chair in front of the television set.

‘The air’s a lot cleaner where I am,’ Sabrina retorted sharply.

‘Humour, even in defeat. I admire you for that.’ Calvieri sat down and rubbed his hands together. ‘I’ve been waiting for this moment ever since the PCI came to power two years ago. The public humiliation of Enzo Bellini.’

‘It’s five o’clock,’ Ubrino said, glancing at his watch. ‘He should be arriving any moment now.’

Calvieri nodded.

‘All that’s missing is a cigarette. I would die for one.’

‘Me too,’ Ubrino muttered, and helped himself to another peppermint from the packet he had taken from the drawer.

They watched the screen as the Swiss President emerged through a side door and crossed to a table where he sat down and surveyed the dozens of journalists seated in front of him. Cameras flashed incessantly. A journalist shouted out a question but the Swiss President immediately raised a hand for silence.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming here tonight,’ the President said in English. ‘I called this press conference to deal with the rumours that the Italian Prime Minister, Signore Enzo Bellini, is to step down through ill-health. It is true that he was taken ill this morning, which is when the rumours began, but I am glad to report that it is nothing more serious than influenza. I have just seen Signore Bellini and he has asked me to assure you that he will not be standing down, either today or at any time in the foreseeable future…’

‘What are you talking about?’ Calvieri shouted at the screen. He rubbed the back of his hand nervously across his mouth. ‘It’s part of the deal. Bellini must resign.’

The telephone rang.

Calvieri knocked over his chair in his haste to answer it.

‘I thought you’d like to see the start of the press conference before I called you,’ Philpott said.

‘What are you playing at, Philpott?’ Calvieri snarled, his breathing ragged. ‘I told you what would happen if either of my demands weren’t met. You’ve just made a very big mistake–’

‘We’ve found the vial.’

Calvieri’s eyes narrowed with uncertainty.

‘Where?’

‘In the workshop.’

Calvieri burst out laughing, such was his relief.

‘But we expected a red herring,’ Philpott continued. ‘That’s why we carried on with the search even after it had been found. Miss Rietler was very helpful when it came to finding the real vial. Or should I call her Miss Dannhauser? After all, that was the name in the address book we found under the floorboards in your flat.’

Calvieri’s face went pale. He fumbled for a chair and sat down slowly.

‘The lab results came through fifteen minutes ago,’ Philpott said, knowing he had to call Calvieri’s bluff. It was too late to turn back, even if he was wrong. And God help him if he were. ‘Our scientists have identified the compound as the virus. They didn’t attempt to defuse the magnetic charge on the side of the metal cylinder, just in case you’d booby-trapped it. The vial’s been removed from the cylinder for further tests. It’s quite harmless now.’

Calvieri wiped the sweat out of his eyes.

‘It’s not over yet, Colonel. We still have one ace left to play. Sabrina. She’s our ticket out of here. And don’t underestimate us, we don’t have anything left to lose. Not any more.’

‘If anything happens to Sabrina–’

‘It won’t, as long as you do as we say. I’ll call you back when we’ve decided on a plan of action. And don’t try anything stupid like storming the room. You wouldn’t want to have Sabrina’s death on your conscience, would you?’ Calvieri replaced the receiver and rubbed his hands over his face. He was devastated. He looked up at Ubrino.

‘They found out about Helga.’

‘How?’ Ubrino replied. ‘You said there was no way they could trace her.’

‘I know what I said,’ Calvieri snapped, raking his fingers through his hair. ‘They found her name and number in an old address book under the floorboards in my flat. I don’t remember putting it there. I thought I’d destroyed all my links with her. God, what have I done?’

‘It’s all collapsing around you and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it,’ Sabrina said with a satisfied smile. ‘You might as well give up now, Tony, you know you’re finished. Nobody likes a failure, not even the Red Brigades.’

‘Stazitta!’ Ubrino shouted, pulling the Beretta from his belt.

‘Leave her,’ Calvieri hissed and pushed the barrel of the gun towards the carpet. ‘We need her in order to get out of here.’

‘They could be stalling for time.’

Calvieri shook his head. ‘Then they would have postponed the press conference. No, they don’t intend to give in to our demands. That much is obvious.’

‘Then press the button.’

Calvieri took the transmitter from his pocket and stared at it in the palm of his hand.

‘The vial’s already been removed for analysis. What’s the use of blowing up an empty metal cylinder?’

‘You only have their word for it. What if they’re calling your bluff? Press the button. We have nothing left to lose. Press it.’

‘No!’ Calvieri yelled, his eyes blazing. ‘You’ve been working with Zocchi for too long. Even if the vial is still inside the metal cylinder, what can we hope to achieve by killing millions of innocent people? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.’

Ubrino looked at Sabrina.

‘She was right. You never intended to push it, did you?’

‘Never,’ Calvieri replied defiantly. ‘But they didn’t know that. If they had they wouldn’t have agreed to our demands in the first place. It was psychological pressure. Can’t you see that?’

‘I believed in you, Tony. And this is how you repay my trust.’ Ubrino levelled the Beretta at Calvieri. ‘Give me the transmitter.’

‘You’ll have to kill me first,’ Calvieri said in a challenging voice. ‘And you can’t do that, can you? You need me to get you out of here. You don’t have the brains to do it by yourself.’

Ubrino thought for a few moments, then shoved the Beretta back into his belt.

‘When this is over…’

‘Then you’ll kill me, sure,’ Calvieri replied with an indifferent shrug, reaching for the telephone to call Philpott.

‘What did he say, sir?’ Whitlock asked after Philpott had replaced the receiver.

‘He wants a helicopter ready in twenty minutes to fly them out. They’re taking Sabrina as a hostage.’ Philpott turned to Paluzzi. ‘I want you and your men to clear the helipad. Only our helicopter must be there.’ He gestured to Vlok. ‘Dieter, I want you to go with them to make sure it all runs smoothly.’

Vlok agreed, then hurried out with Paluzzi and his men.

‘Sergei, I want you and Mike to check the fifth floor. There shouldn’t be anybody there, but it’s best to be sure.’

Kolchinsky and Graham left the room.

Philpott turned to Kuhlmann.

‘Reinhardt, I want you to commandeer one of the lifts then put a guard on each floor to make sure that Calvieri and Ubrino have safe passage to the helipad.’

‘I’ll see to it,’ Kuhlmann said and went immediately to carry out the instruction.

‘Which leaves me,’ Whitlock said suspiciously. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Ever wanted to become a helicopter pilot?’

The telephone rang. Calvieri answered it.

‘You’re three minutes late.’

‘You made the conditions, not me,’ Philpott replied.

‘Is the helicopter ready?’

‘It’s ready.’

‘And the lift?’

‘It’s been stopped on the fifth floor, as requested.’

‘You make any move against us–’

‘You’ll kill Sabrina, you told me that before,’ Philpott cut in.

‘As long as we understand each other. She’ll be released, unharmed, once we reach our final destination. I’ll call you at the hotel tomorrow morning to tell you where to find her. Until then, ciao.’ Calvieri replaced the receiver and turned to Ubrino. ‘Bring her.’

‘Why don’t you bring her?’ Ubrino retorted.

‘Why don’t I just bring myself?’ Sabrina said, getting to her feet.

Ubrino grabbed her arm and pressed the Beretta against the side of her neck. Calvieri unlocked the door and eased it open. He then took hold of Sabrina’s other arm and they led her out into the deserted corridor.

All the doors were closed. The lift stood open at the end of the corridor. The silence was eerie. Ubrino dug his fingers into Sabrina’s arm and guided her towards the lift. Calvieri kept his eyes on the doors behind them, his Beretta at the ready. Not that he thought Philpott would try anything. There was a touching loyalty amongst his kind. A loyalty that was foreign to someone like Calvieri. His loyalty lay with the cause, not with its protagonists. He glanced at Ubrino.

Zocchi’s militancy had obviously rubbed off on him over the past few years. Ubrino had suddenly become a dangerous liability. He would kill him the moment they were airborne. He couldn’t afford to take any chances. But for the moment he needed Ubrino. Just as Ubrino needed him. A temporary bond was all that remained of a once close friendship.

Ubrino led Sabrina into the lift, the Beretta still pressed firmly against the side of her neck. Calvieri backed into the lift after them and closed the doors.

Whitlock sat behind the controls of the Lynx helicopter, Emile’s peaked cap tugged over his head. He looked across at the lift doors. Where were they?

He thought about the briefing in Vlok’s office. Philpott’s instructions had been simple. Rescue Sabrina, unharmed. It meant he would have to kill at least one of them. Perhaps both. Ubrino was certainly the more dangerous of the two. A psychotic killer. Calvieri was less of a threat. Although he was always armed, he had never been known to use his gun. He left the killings to his Brigatisti. Whitlock touched the Browning in his belt and looked slowly around the deserted helipad. The landing lights were on as the darkness descended across Berne. He shivered in the light wind which had sprung up in the last hour and absently adjusted his cap as he turned his attention back to the lift doors. Where were they?

The doors suddenly parted and Calvieri stepped out tentatively on to the helipad. He looked around slowly, then indicated for Ubrino to follow him. Ubrino emerged on to the helipad, Sabrina held tightly against him. Whitlock bit his lip anxiously. It was going to be a difficult shot. A mistake could cost Sabrina her life. That seemed to give him renewed confidence in himself.

Calvieri pointed to the rotors and turned his finger round in the air, indicating that he wanted Whitlock to start the engine. Whitlock remembered what Emile had shown him and pressed the starter switch. They were now less than ten yards away from the helicopter. He palmed the Browning from his belt. His hands were sweating. Calvieri reached the open door first and peered into the cabin. Satisfied it was empty, he clambered inside. Ubrino led Sabrina to the door and Calvieri grabbed her arm to help her up. Ubrino glanced around furtively, then gripped the door but as he pulled himself up Sabrina lashed out with her foot, catching him on the side of the head. He fell heavily on to the helipad, the Beretta spinning from his hand. Whitlock instinctively swung his Browning on Calvieri, then noticed out of the corner of his eye that Ubrino had got to his feet and was making for his fallen Beretta. For a split second Whitlock was caught in a dilemma. Then Sabrina shoulder-charged Calvieri, slamming him against the cabin wall. He grunted in pain and the Beretta slipped from his grasp. Whitlock kicked open the passenger door and shot Ubrino as he was aiming the Beretta at Sabrina’s back. The bullet struck Ubrino in the head and he was dead before he hit the ground. Whitlock turned the Browning on Calvieri, giving Sabrina the chance to kick the Beretta out on to the helipad.

Graham and Paluzzi, alerted by the gunshot, emerged from behind a door leading on to the stairs and ran across to the helicopter. Philpott, Kolchinsky and Kuhlmann appeared behind them. Graham retrieved the two Berettas, then ordered Calvieri out of the helicopter. Calvieri jumped on to the helipad and slowly raised his hands above his head. Paluzzi frisked him and pocketed the transmitter. He found the key for Sabrina’s handcuffs and unlocked them before helping her out of the helicopter. She took one of the Berettas from Graham and pushed it into her shoulder holster.

Whitlock cut the engine, then got out of the cockpit and looked across at Sabrina. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine,’ she replied, massaging her wrists where the handcuffs had dug into her skin. ‘Thanks, C.W.’

Whitlock smiled at her, then crossed to where Philpott was standing.

‘Good work, C.W.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Cuff him,’ Philpott said, nodding towards Calvieri.

‘Allow me,’ Sabrina replied, then took the handcuffs from Paluzzi and snapped them around Calvieri’s wrists.

‘Have you got a cigarette?’ Calvieri asked Kolchinsky. ‘I haven’t had one all afternoon.’

Kolchinsky took his cigarettes from his pocket, pushed one between Calvieri’s lips, and lit it for him. Calvieri took a long drag then raised his manacled hands and took the cigarette from his lips. He exhaled deeply, then looked across at Philpott.

‘I’m not taking this rap by myself. You’ll find Nikki Karos at his house on Corfu.’

‘Karos alive?’ Paluzzi snorted. ‘That’s ridiculous. Mike and I were there when he was killed.’

‘It was stage managed for your benefit,’ Calvieri said to Paluzzi.

‘We’ve had the house under surveillance–’

‘Don’t you think he knows that?’ Calvieri cut across Paluzzi. ‘Why do you think Boudien dismissed the staff? To make it look as if Karos was dead.’

‘We saw him die,’ Graham snapped.

‘I don’t know how he faked it, but Nikki Karos is alive. I should know, I spoke to him on his private line this morning.’

Philpott turned to Graham.

‘I want you and Sabrina to check it out. Emile can fly you there tonight.’

‘I’ll fly them over, Malcolm,’ Kolchinsky said. ‘Emile’s a courier, not a combat pilot. If Karos is alive, we could come under fire.’

‘Very well,’ Philpott replied after a moment’s thought.

He took Whitlock and Paluzzi to one side.

‘Commissioner Kuhlmann has agreed to give us two hours with Calvieri before we have to hand him over to the local police. I want you to get as much out of him as you can before they take him away.’

‘Where can we question him?’ Paluzzi asked.

‘Use Vlok’s office.’

‘What about Ubrino?’ Whitlock asked, glancing at the body.

‘The police will be here shortly. Commissioner Kuhlmann and I will stay here to tie up any loose ends. Now go on, get Calvieri out of here before they arrive.’

Whitlock and Paluzzi led Calvieri across the helipad and disappeared down the stairs.

Kolchinsky looked at his watch, then dropped his cigarette end and ground it underfoot.

‘It’s going to be a long haul. We’d better get started as soon as possible.’

‘How long will it take us to reach Corfu?’ Sabrina asked.

‘You’re my navigators, that’s for you to work out.’

Graham and Sabrina exchanged an expressive look as they followed Kolchinsky to the helicopter.

‘Sit down,’ Whitlock said to Calvieri, indicating the chair behind Vlok’s desk.

‘What about these?’ Calvieri asked, extending his manacled wrists towards Whitlock.

‘They stay, for the moment.’

‘So what’s the deal?’ Calvieri asked, sitting down.

‘Deal?’ Paluzzi asked suspiciously.

‘Why am I here? Why haven’t I been handed over to the local police?’

‘You’ll be handed over to them in two hours’ time,’ Whitlock told him. ‘That’s when you’ll be officially booked.’

‘And until then?’

‘Hopefully you’ll agree to cooperate with us,’ Whitlock said. ‘It would certainly benefit you in the long run if you did.’

‘And what exactly does this “cooperation” entail?’

‘A signed confession,’ Paluzzi replied brusquely.

‘And what’s in it for me? I’m hardly going to be pardoned, am I?’

‘A reduction in sentence,’ Whitlock said.

Calvieri sat back and smiled to himself.

‘So I’ll get three life sentences instead of four. Not much of an incentive, is it?’

Paluzzi placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Calvieri’s face.

‘You’re going to spend part of your sentence in an Italian jail. And that means you’re going to need protection. All I have to do is make one phone call and all the Red Brigades prisoners will be transferred to other jails before you even get there. Can you imagine what those neo-fascist prisoners would do to you? And the warders won’t lift a finger–’

‘You’ve made your point.’ There was fear in Calvieri’s eyes. He chuckled nervously. ‘You certainly know how to negotiate, Paluzzi.’

Paluzzi moved to the door.

‘I’ll get some paper from the other office.’

‘Paluzzi?’ Calvieri called out after him. ‘I could use another cigarette.’

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Paluzzi replied as he closed the door behind him.

Whitlock sat on the sofa and looked at Calvieri.

‘What made you team up with Karos? You two are complete opposites.’

‘It was a case of us needing each other. I needed him to finance the operation and he needed the money to start a new life in some other part of the world. I don’t know the whole story, but it seems there were several contracts out on his life. He knew it would only be a matter of time before he was hit.’

‘So he orchestrated his own “death” in front of the authorities to make it seem all the more convincing?’

Calvieri nodded. ‘He knew it would take the pressure off him, giving him the chance to start afresh away from Corfu.’

‘What would his cut have been?’

‘Twenty million.’

‘Where would it have come from? You wanted the hundred million split between five terrorist groups…’ Whitlock trailed off and nodded to himself. ‘Of course, you only intended to give to four of them. The fifth was just a cover for Karos.’

‘That’s right. The Red Army Faction in West Germany were never in on the deal. Karos had his own contact in Berlin who would have collected the money for him.’

‘Who hired the Francia brothers?’ Whitlock asked.

‘Karos. They’d worked for him before. I’ve never even met them. I spoke once to Carlo on the phone to stage the shooting in Venice, that’s all. It helped to draw the suspicion away from me.’

Whitlock frowned.

‘There’s one thing I still don’t understand. How did you manage to warn Ubrino that Mike, Sabrina and Fabio were on their way to the chalet?’

‘I had a transmitter in my pocket which I carried with me at all times. Ubrino had the receiver in the chalet. We agreed that I would only use it in an emergency. He contacted the Francia brothers and, well, the rest you know.’ Calvieri sat forward, his manacled hands clasped together on the desk.

‘You were Anderson, weren’t you? I knew it the moment I saw you properly on the helipad. The description matched perfectly. So who was Yardley?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Whitlock replied, holding Calvieri’s stare.

‘No, I suppose not,’ Calvieri muttered, then slumped back in his chair.

When Paluzzi returned he placed a pad, a pack of cigarettes and a lighter on the desk in front of Calvieri. He then unlocked Calvieri’s handcuffs and handed him a pen.

‘Now start writing.’