Time of the Assassins

TWELVE

Whitlock pressed the combination into the bellpush then opened the door and entered. He was surprised to find Kolchinsky sitting behind Sarah's desk. Kolchinsky indicated that he should close the door behind him.

'What's this all about, Sergei?' Whitlock asked, stifling a yawn. 'It's seven thirty in the morning.'

'Sit down, C.W.,' Kolchinsky said, gesturing to the burgundy-coloured couch against the wall.

'Why here? What's wrong with the office?'

'It's bugged,' Kolchinsky replied.

'Bugged?' Whitlock said in amazement. 'But that's impossible. Dave Forsythe checks these rooms every morning for bugs.'

'Which means he's the only person who could have planted it.'

'Dave? Come on, Sergei, he's one of the most senior technicians in the command centre.'

'I read through his personnel file before you got here.' Kolchinsky held up a sheet of computer paper. 'This is the print-out. You probably know we recruited him from the CIA.'

'Yes, I know he came over from Langley,' Whitlock replied.

'Do you know who he was working for when he resigned?'

Whitlock's eyes narrowed suspiciously. 'I've got a horrible feeling you're going to say Robert Bailey.'

'The same. He'd been Bailey's electronic guru for seven years.'

Whitlock slumped back on the couch. 'So Bailey's known everything that's been said in the office. Did you find any other bugs?'

'No, I personally checked all the rooms this morning. They're clean.'

'I'm surprised he didn't bug the telephones as well.'

'Too dangerous,' Kolchinsky replied. 'He knows the Colonel and I regularly check the phones ourselves. And anyway, if Sabrina called me I always briefed you on what she said.'

'Where is the bug?'

'Under the coffee table.'

'What are you going to do?' Whitlock asked.

'Nothing, yet. I don't want to alert Bailey. Let's get the President safely on his plane first. I'll confront Dave in the morning. But until then act as if nothing's wrong.'

Whitlock nodded. 'This certainly supports the theory that Bailey's behind this whole operation. Why else would he want the office bugged? This way he could pass everything on to Bernard to ensure he's always kept one step ahead of Mike.'

'Yes, Bailey has to be behind it,' Kolchinsky replied. 'But how to prove it is going to be another matter altogether. We're talking about the Deputy Director of the CIA. He's already being tipped as a future

American President. And that means he's got a lot of influential friends across the board. We can't make any accusations without the proof to back them up. And right now we don't have that proof. Even if Dave Forsythe confesses to bugging the office for Bailey, it's not enough to prove involvement in a conspiracy to kill a foreign head of state.'

'Whatever happens, we're going to be left with egg on our faces,' Whitlock said grimly. 'It's been a serious breach of security for an organization that supposedly doesn't exist.'

'What if the bug has been planted for a newspaper?'

'Then you'll be spending Christmas standing in a food queue in some Moscow street and I'll be on the first plane back to Kenya.' Whitlock got to his feet and winced as he tried to adjust the sling supporting his injured arm. 'It's not a newspaper. It has to be Bailey. It's too much of a coincidence for it not to be.'

Kolchinsky sighed deeply then pointed to Whit-lock's arm. 'How is it?'

'A bit stiff,' Whitlock replied with a dismissive shrug.

'I assume you haven't heard anything from Sabrina in the last twenty-four hours?'

The question caught Whitlock by surprise but he was quick to regain his composure. 'No,' he lied, shaking his head. 'Nothing at all. Hasn't she contacted you?'

'The last time I spoke to her was yesterday morning after the attempt on her life. She was thinking then about going down to Kondese to spring Remy Mobuto from jail. I told her to get on the next flight back here. The last thing we need is for UN AGO to get involved in a civil war. Since then nothing. I'm worried about her, C.W. It's not like her to disobey an order. I've made enquiries through the American embassy but she hasn't been admitted to any hospitals out there. She just seems to have disappeared.'

'She's probably on her way back now,' Whitlock replied, hating himself for his deceit. But he had given her his word to keep silent.

'I hope so,' Kolchinsky said then got to his feet and moved round to the front of the desk.

'She can look after herself, Sergei," Whitlock said, noticing the concern on Kolchinsky's face.

'It's not that,' Kolchinsky replied, shaking his head. 'The lab boys came back with positive ID on a set of prints from that newspaper you lifted from the flat last night.'

'And?' Whitlock asked, his voice suddenly anxious.

'They're Bernard's.'

'Oh, my God,' Whitlock said despairingly. 'When did you find this out?'

'Last night.'

'Why didn't you call me?' Whitlock demanded.

'It wouldn't have done any good. You'd have just lain awake all night worrying about it.'

'I was awake most of the night with this arm anyway. You're right, though, there's nothing I could have done.' Whitlock sat down again then looked up at Kolchinsky. 'Bailey must have tipped Bernard off about Rosie. How else could Bernard have found out who Rosie was and where to find her?'

'I think it would be better if you stayed away from the Trade Center today, C.W. I don't want any confrontations with Bailey until the President's out of American airspace.'

'Bailey's going to be at the Trade Center this afternoon?'

'Yes, he arrived in New York last night.'

'There won't be any confrontations, that I promise you. I'm not Mike. I can keep my emotions in check.'

'I still don't see why you want to be there. You've already made the security arrangements with the NYPD. Let them handle it. And I'll be there to keep an eye on things.'

'So will I,' Whitlock said. 'Mobuto may be a pain in the arse at times but I'm still in charge of his security. I'd never forgive myself if anything were to happen to him while I was swanning about at home.'

'O K,' Kolchinsky replied.

'Is there anything we can do to try and find Rosie before Mobuto leaves for the Trade Center?'

'I had Strike Force Nine check out all known CIA safe houses in and around the New York area. They didn't come up with anything. But those were only the ones we knew about. There are sure to be others. Bernard might not even be at a safe house. All we can do now is wait for him to make the first move.'

'And you think he'll try something at the Trade Center?'

'It's possible, if Sabrina's theory's right about him being the third man.' Kolchinsky shrugged. 'There are so many unanswered questions at the moment. But we have to take every precaution. I had a photofit made up of Bernard and sent over to the NYPD. It'll be circulated to all the officers on duty at the Trade Center today. There are already metal detectors positioned at all public entrances and all other doors will be guarded by uniformed officers. It's not foolproof by any means, but it'll make it that bit harder for him if he does intend to try and hit the President this afternoon.'

'You know something, Sergei, I'll be glad to see the back of him tonight.'

'You're not the only one,' Kolchinsky replied with a weak smile. 'Have you eaten this morning?'

'I had a coffee while I was getting dressed.'

'Fancy some breakfast at the Plaza? We'll chalk it up to expenses.'

'I wouldn't say no,' Whitlock said. 'I've got a feeling this is just the start of a very long day.'

'My thoughts exactly. Come on, let's go.'

Bernard was watching the morning news when the doorbell rang. He picked up his Desert Eagle automatic from the table and went to the door. He peered through the spyhole. It was Brett. He unlocked the door.

'Jesus, what happened to your face?' Brett asked, staring at Bernard's half-closed eye.

'The girl tried to escape.'

'And she did that to you?' Brett said, unable to keep the smile from his face. 'A sixteen-year-old kid?'

'She caught me with the door,' Bernard replied sullenly.

'You're going to stand out like a sore thumb at the Trade Center.'

'You let me worry about that.'

'Hey, it's not just your ass on the line.'

'I don't need a lecture from one of Bailey's flunkeys,' Bernard snarled.

Brett glared at Bernard then brushed past him into the hall. 'Where's the girl now?'

'In the bedroom,' Bernard replied, closing the front door. 'She won't give you any trouble, she's handcuffed to the radiator.'

'Which door?'

'First on the right.'

Brett opened the door and entered the room.

'A visitor?' Rosie said facetiously then looked across at Bernard who was standing in the doorway. 'You should have told me your boyfriend was coming over.'

'You can cut the cute remarks,' Brett snapped then left the room and closed the door behind him. 'When are you leaving?'

'Now. And don't bother making her anything to eat; she won't touch it. She hasn't eaten since I brought her here yesterday.'

'What if she wants to go to the toilet?'

'Then let her go. There aren't any windows in the bathroom if that's what you're worried about.' Bernard took the key for the handcuffs from his pocket and gave it to Brett. 'You've been up all night, haven't you?'

'Yeah, I came straight over here from the hotel.'

'Put your head down for a few hours, you'll feel better for it.' Bernard noticed Brett's frown. 'You don't think I stayed up all night, do you? She's not going anywhere.'

'Is there an alarm?'

'It's by the front door. But there's no need to activate it. Like I said, she's not going anywhere.'

'I'd feel better if it were on.'

'Suit yourself,' Bernard replied then picked up the holdall and walked to the front door.

'What time will you be back?' Brett asked as Bernard opened the door.

'When the job's done,' Bernard replied. 'Don't wait up,' he added with a faint smile then left, closing the door behind him.

'I'll be waiting,' Brett said softly then unholstered his Smith & Wesson 645 and aimed it at the door. 'You can count on it, my friend.'

'Why weren't we told about this?' Kolchinsky demanded, dropping a folder onto the table.

'And good morning to you, too,' Mobuto replied with a hint of sarcasm as he looked up at Kolchinsky who had brushed past Masala moments earlier when he answered the door. He leaned forward in his chair and opened the folder. Inside were several sheets of computer paper. He scanned the first paragraph of the top page then sat back and folded his arms across his chest. 'It's a resume of the offensive we launched against Ngune last night. Forgive me if I'm a little slow on the uptake this morning, Mr Kolchinsky, but why should I have told you about this?'

'Because two of our operatives could still be out there,' Kolchinsky shot back.

'They were, up until a few hours ago,' Mobuto replied. 'They're now on their way back to New York. Surely you knew that?'

'How did you know their movements?' Kolchinsky asked, ignoring Mobuto's question.

'Colonel Tambese told me.'

'Who?'

'David Tambese, the man I've appointed as the new head of the armed forces.'

'Has he had them under surveillance?'

'Surveillance?' Mobuto replied with a look of puzzlement. 'They were working together. Your operatives, Mike and Sabrina, helped David get my brother out of Branco. He told me he couldn't have done it without their help.'

Kolchinsky sat down slowly, his eyes never leaving Mobuto's face. 'Michael and Sabrina were working together?'

Mobuto nodded. 'With David Tambese. I purposely kept the plans of the offensive a secret because I couldn't risk Ngune finding out beforehand. Only David and I knew about them. Mike and Sabrina were as much in the dark as you were.'

'No, I don't believe they were,' Kolchinsky said after a thoughtful pause, barely able to contain his anger. 'How long have you known that Michael and Sabrina were working as a team?'

'Yesterday, when David told me that he'd intercepted Mike and his friend Laidlaw near the airport. Ngune had been tipped off that they would be going to the airport and he'd dispatched a suicide squad to deal with them.'

'Did he say why they were going to the airport?'

'Sabrina had left a message at the airport to tell them where she was staying.'

'Which means she was already working with Michael in Beirut,' Kolchinsky said softly to himself.

'Pardon?'

'Nothing, I was just thinking out loud.'

Mobuto leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees. 'Didn't you know they were working with David?'

'I've never even heard of David Tambese!' Kolchinsky snapped then held up a hand in apology. 'I'm sorry, it's not your fault. I'm grateful you brought this to my attention.'

'I hope I haven't put them in any trouble,' Mobuto said with genuine concern. 'They saved my brother's life, and that's something I'll never forget.'

Kolchinsky sat back in the chair and stared at the folder on the table. There were so many questions that needed to be answered. But the one that stood out above all others was how long Sabrina had been lying to him. When did she and Graham first make contact in Beirut? He knew she must have had her reasons for holding out on him. She and Whitlock had always been the two operatives he had trusted implicitly. But he wouldn't pass judgement on her, not yet. She had the right to answer for her actions in person. He could wait. Tambese? The name suddenly entered his mind. He had never heard of him until Mobuto mentioned the name. So it was fair to assume that Sabrina wouldn't have heard of him either before she arrived in Zimbala, and she would never work that closely with someone unless she had first had him vetted. All vetting procedures went through the command centre. But that could have been risky. What if word had got back to him? No, she would have had to confide in someone close, someone she knew she could trust. And he knew exactly who that was.

'Would you excuse me?' Kolchinsky said, getting to his feet.

'Of course,' Mobuto replied then closed the folder and offered it to Kolchinsky. 'I'm sorry I didn't give UN AGO prior warning about the offensive last night, but I had to take every precaution in case of a leak. I'm sure you understand.'

'Yes, of course,' Kolchinsky replied, almost absently, then took the folder from Mobuto and moved to the door.

'Where can I reach you if any more news comes through from Zimbala?' Mobuto called out after him.

'I'll be at the Trade Center,' Kolchinsky said. 'I've got a few things to discuss with C.W.'

'I gave her my word.'

'And I thought the only conspiracy around here was against the President,' Kolchinsky retorted angrily. 'Now I find there's been another one, against me. Not only that, it involved the two people I trusted above all others at UN A CO. You've disappointed me, C.W., you really have.'

Whitlock remained silent. What could he say — he had no defence. He had known it would have to come out. If only it had remained under wraps until Mobuto had left the country. Then the assignment would have been deemed a success and the damage would have been minimal. Well, so he had thought until now. Had it been Philpott he would have been reprimanded and that would have been the end of the matter. Philpott encouraged initiative in the field. But he should have known better with Kolchinsky. Everything had to be done by the book. His years in the KGB had taught him that, and nothing would change those views. He was too damn pedantic! But Whitlock wisely chose not to voice his thoughts. He was in enough trouble as it was. He only hoped Philpott would see the situation in a different light, but that would mean undermining Kolchinsky, and Philpott respected Kolchinsky too much to do that. The outlook was bleak, whatever way he looked at it. Yet, given the same circumstances, he would have done it again. Sabrina was his partner, and he had too much respect for her to go back on his word.

'Don't you have anything to say?' Kolchinsky asked, breaking the lingering silence.

'What do you want me to say, Sergei? I admit I've been helping Mike and Sabrina without your authorization. But I still believe I did the right thing.'

'What if they had been caught? UN AC O personnel involved in a civil war? We'd have been crucified by the UN. We're an anti-crime organization. The Charter states quite clearly that UN AGO is not to involve itself in the politics of any country. I'm sure you're familiar with the section in question.'

'Then why are we guarding Mobuto?' That's political.'

'His life is threatened. It makes no difference that he's a politician. It's still a criminal offence.'

'Remy Mobuto was kidnapped against his will,' Whitlock retorted. 'That's a criminal offence.'

'Of course it is,' Kolchinsky replied, 'but his release was linked directly to the government offensive against the rebels. That's what makes it political. And Michael and Sabrina were in the thick of it.'

'They didn't know about the offensive when they went into Branco to free Mobuto's brother, he told you that himself.'

'And a lot of good that would have done them if the offensive had failed and they had fallen into rebel hands.'

'Their actions weren't political, Sergei, you know.that. They were told that Remy Mobuto had information that could be vital to the case. What were they supposed to do, pass up the chance to get that information?'

'They were supposed to have gone through the proper channels for a start.'

'Would you have sanctioned the break-in at Branco?'

'I would have told them to hold back and let Tambese and his men go into Branco. Then they could have questioned Remy Mobuto once he was out. That way it couldn't have been misconstrued as a political move.' Kolchinsky rubbed his hands over his face. 'But it's too late for that now. The Secretary-General's going to kick up a stink when he finds out what's happened.'

'Will we be suspended?' Whitlock asked.

'That will be up to the Secretary-General. But if we can see the President off safely tonight that will certainly count in your favour. When did you last speak to Sabrina?'

'When she asked me to check on Tambese.'

'So we don't know whether they found out anything from Remy Mobuto,' Kolchinsky said.

'Didn't Mobuto say anything when you spoke to him?'

'I didn't ask him. I was hoping you would have heard from Sabrina in the last few hours. I'm going back to the hotel now to speak to him again.' Kolchinsky closed the folder in front of him then picked it up and got to his feet. 'I'm especially disappointed in you, C.W. This is hardly the sort of behaviour I'd expect from the next Deputy Director of UNACO.'

'I'm still a field operative, Sergei. My loyalties lie with Mike and Sabrina. I'm sorry if you can't see that.'

Kolchinsky walked to the door then looked back at Whitlock. 'I only hope this doesn't affect your promotion.'

'You'll have my letter of resignation if it does,' Whitlock replied matter-of-factly.

Kolchinsky held Whitlock's unyielding stare for several seconds then turned and left the room without another word.

The Trade Center had been built off the Shore Parkway in Brooklyn; it had cost nearly one-and-a-half-million dollars at a time when New York was crippled by mounting debts which had given rise to the theory that it had been financed largely by mob money. The mayor at the time had been quick to denounce these rumours, too quick, according to most New Yorkers. Then, when a local tabloid ran an article about it under the headline 'Mafia House', the name had stuck. It had become an expensive white elephant over the years, despite its location overlooking Jamaica Bay and its proximity to John F. Kennedy International Airport.

The visit of Jamel Mobuto had brought with it an unexpected publicity boost for the building. The two attempts on his life had made him one of the most newsworthy faces in the country and although he was not due to arrive at the Trade Center for another forty minutes, the front lawn was already seething with reporters and cameramen jostling for positions, all hoping for a third attempt on his life that could be captured on film for their newspapers and television news-bulletins. And they all had the same thought in the back of their minds. Third time lucky…

Had they known the purpose of the rider on the red and white Honda 5000: that pulled up at the boom gate a hundred yards away from where they were encamped, they would have felt that their prayers had been answered.

An armed guard stepped out of the hut and approached the motorbike. 'Can I help you?' he asked brusquely.

Bernard lifted the front of his visor fractionally, careful to ensure that the guard couldn't see the bruise around his eye. 'I'm from Harris Bond Couriers. I have a letter here for a Robert Bailey. He is expecting it.'

'Is he attending the conference?' the guard asked.

'Hey, I'm just the dispatch rider. I was told to bring the letter here to "Mafia House".'

The guard returned to the hut and picked up a clipboard off the desk. He paged through it until he found Bailey's name. An extension number was written beside it. He rang the number. It was answered by Rogers who told him that Bailey hadn't yet arrived but that he was expecting a letter from Washington. The guard replaced the receiver and activated the boom gate.

'Leave the letter with the guard at the entrance, he'll see that Mr Bailey gets it.'

Bernard gave the guard a thumbs-up sign and drove off. He pulled up in front of the entrance and left the motorbike idling as he hurried across to the nearest guard and handed the envelope to him. The guard checked the name against the print-out on his clipboard then nodded and disappeared into the building. Bernard mounted the motorbike and headed back towards the boom gate. He turned off into a narrow alley at the side of the building and pulled up in front of an adjacent door. He climbed off the motorbike then unfastened the helmet and placed it on the seat. He also removed the leather jacket he was wearing and was about to drape it over the seat as well when the door was pushed open and a man emerged.

Bernard had never seen him before. He was the same height and build as himself and was wearing a pale blue shirt, navy trousers and a pair of black shoes — the same outfit as Bernard. He nodded in greeting to Bernard then pulled on the leather jacket and zipped it up. Then, after slipping the helmet over his head, he climbed onto the motorbike and headed off towards the boom gate.

'Any problems?'

Bernard looked round sharply at Rogers who had appeared silently at the door behind him, the envelope in his hand.

'No,' Bernard replied.

'Jesus, what happened to your eye?'

'An accident,' Bernard answered sharply.

'Come inside.'

Bernard stepped past Rogers who immediately closed the door behind him and bolted it again. He found himself in a narrow corridor with several white-painted doors leading off from it. Rogers led the way to one of them then took a key from his pocket and opened it. Bernard went inside. It was a small room with a wooden chair and a battered locker in the corner.

'Your clothes are in there,' Rogers said, indicating the locker.

'What is this place?'

'These used to be storerooms up until a few months ago. Then all the stock was moved to bigger rooms closer to the conference centre. They're all empty now. The cops have already checked them so you won't have to worry about being disturbed.' Rogers gave the key to Bernard. 'Just make sure you lock the door behind me.'

'Is Mobuto's address still scheduled for two o'clock?'

Rogers nodded then looked at his watch. 'It's now twelve fourteen. You want to be in position no later than one forty.'

Til be there.'

'You'll have to hide that bruise. It'll only draw attention to yourself. I'll get you a pair of sunglasses.'

'No need,' Bernard said, taking a pair of sunglasses from his pocket.

'OK,' Rogers replied then moved to the door. 'Good luck.'

'Luck's for amateurs,' Bernard answered then pointed to the envelope Rogers was holding. 'What's in there?'

'Nothing,' Rogers replied with a grin then left the room and closed the door behind him.

Bernard locked the door then moved to the chair and sat down. All he had to do now was wait.

It had been Whitlock's idea to have Mobuto brought to the Trade Center in a police helicopter. That way he would not only avoid the posse of journalists expecting him to arrive by car, but it would also thwart any planned hit from one of the adjacent buildings. SWAT snipers had been in position on the surrounding rooftops since daybreak and the helipad itself, situated on the roof of the Trade Center, had been under armed guard for the past twenty-four hours. He had deployed armed officers at all the strategic points inside the building and, with no reported sightings of Bernard, he was quietly confident that he had the situation under control.

Whitlock shielded his face with his hand as the helicopter pilot executed a perfect landing on the helipad. Rogers hurried forward, his face screwed up against the swirling wind whipped up by the rotors, and opened the passenger door. Masala was the first out. He looked round slowly. Whitlock and Kolchinsky were standing by the door and four SWAT snipers were positioned at each corner of the roof. Satisfied, he nodded to Mobuto who clambered out of the helicopter and hurried, doubled over, towards Kolchinsky and Whitlock. Kolchinsky opened the door and Mobuto stepped inside, grateful to be out of the choppy wind. Whitlock and Masala followed him through the door. Kolchinsky gave the pilot a thumbs-up sign and the helicopter immediately rose off the helipad and moments later peeled away to the right, heading back towards Manhattan. He closed the door behind him and crossed to the four men at the end of the corridor.

'Are you alright, sir?'

'A little windswept, but otherwise I'm fine, thank you,' Mobuto replied to Kolchinsky's question. 'What is the agenda for this afternoon? Is my speech still scheduled for two o'clock?'

'Yes,' Kolchinsky said, brushing down his double-breasted jacket. 'And the cocktail party will be held immediately after your speech.'

'Excellent. I look forward to hearing what the country's leading financiers think of my proposed economic changes for Zimbala.' Mobuto smiled to himself. 'I hope they approve enough to give their backing to the investment programme I have in mind. Well, we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?'

'The complex manager is waiting for us downstairs,' Whitlock said to Mobuto. 'He's offered to give you a tour of the building if you're interested.'

Mobuto looked at his watch. 'I've got fifty minutes to kill before I'm due to make my speech. Yes, I'd be delighted to see the building.'

They took the lift down to the fourth floor where the manager and his senior aides had their offices. The manager, a short, dapper man in his late forties, was waiting in his office for them. The nameplate on his desk identified him as Anthony Lieberwitz.

'Would you care for something to drink, sir?' Lieberwitz asked after shaking Mobuto's hand.

'No, thank you. I had a coffee before I left the hotel.'

There was a knock at the door and the receptionist who had ushered them in moments earlier appeared again and announced that there was a Mr Bailey in her office. Lieberwitz told her to show him in.

Bailey forced a quick smile for the receptionist as he entered the room and the door was closed behind him. He nodded in greeting to Lieberwitz then turned to Mobuto and extended a hand in greeting. 'Nice to see you again, Mr President.'

'Glad you could come,' Mobuto said, shaking Bailey's hand.

'I wouldn't have missed it for the world.' Bailey replied. He shook Kolchinsky's hand then sat down in one of the vacant armchairs.

'This came for you, sir,' Rogers said, handing the envelope to Bailey.

'Ah, thank you,' Bailey said, taking the envelope from Rogers. 'I was worried it might not turn up.'

'It got here in good time, sir,' Rogers replied.

Lieberwitz got up from behind his desk. 'Mr President, would you care to see the rest of the building? We have a telescope on the top floor. The view of the city is quite breathtaking.'

'I look forward to seeing it,' Mobuto replied, getting to his feet.

The telephone rang.

'Excuse me,' Lieberwitz said then answered it. He put his hand over the mouthpiece. 'It's for you, Mr Kolchinsky.'

Kolchinsky took the receiver from Lieberwitz. 'Hello.'

'Mr Kolchinsky?'

'Speaking. Is that you, Sarah?'

'Yes,' she replied. 'I've just spoken to Mike Graham. He's with Sabrina at JFK. They touched down about ten minutes ago. It seems there's been an accident near the airport which has completely blocked off the carriageway into the city. He's asked for a helicopter to pick them up from the airport and take them to the Trade Center. He says it's an emergency.'

'Have one of our helicopters scrambled immediately and sent over to the airport.'

'Who should I speak to about having it cleared for landing at JFK?' she asked.

Til see to that, don't worry. You just make sure the helicopter gets over there as Soon as possible.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Did he say anything else?'

'No,' Sarah replied.

'Thanks, Sarah.' Kolchinsky replaced the receiver then looked round at Mobuto. 'You'll have to excuse C.W. and me. We won't be joining you on the tour of the building. Something's come up.'

'Nothing serious, I hope?' Mobuto said.

'Nothing for you to worry about, Mr President,' Kolchinsky replied with a reassuring smile.

Lieberwitz opened the door and Mobuto, Masala and Rogers went into the outer office. Bailey remained in his seat. Lieberwitz looked from Bailey to Kolchinsky then withdrew discreetly, closing the door behind him.

'You're missing the tour,' Kolchinsky said, eyeing Bailey coldly.

'Scramble one of your helicopters immediately and have it sent over to the airport? Why?'

'That doesn't concern you,' Kolchinsky shot back.

'If it concerns this case, it does.'

'C.W., show Mr Bailey to the door.'

'No need, I'm going,' Bailey said, getting to his feet. 'You'd better not be holding out on me, Kolchinsky. Because if you are you can be sure that will go in my report to the White House. And UN A C O's in enough trouble as it is without my adding to your problems.'

Whitlock closed the door behind Bailey. 'Who was that on the phone?'

'Sarah,' Kolchinsky replied. 'Michael and Sabrina have just got back from Zimbala. Michael wants a helicopter to fly them over here. He says it's an emergency.'

'An emergency? That has to mean Bernard's already here. Did Mike say where Bernard intends to make the hit?'

Kolchinsky shook his head. 'But they should be here before the President starts his speech.'

'And if they're not?'

'We could stall for time, but we don't even know if there is an assassin, whether it be Bernard or not, let alone where and when the hit's going to be made.'

'The security's already been tightened in and around the main hall. I don't know what else we can do.'

'Nothing, for the moment.' Kolchinsky banged his fist angrily on the desk. 'Why couldn't he have called us? He must know we're here. Our hands are tied until they get here.'

'He must have had his reasons,' Whitlock replied.

'Especially if it involves Bernard,' Kolchinsky snapped. Til see you down at the hall. I've got to call the airport to get the necessary clearance for our helicopter to land there.'

Whitlock left the room. Kolchinsky ran his hands over his face then sat down behind the desk and picked up the receiver.

Bernard finished applying the foundation and powder to the scar on his cheek then studied his reflection carefully in the cracked, full-length mirror attached to the inside of the open locker door. He smiled to himself. The scar was gone. Then, taking the cap from the bottom shelf of the locker, he placed it carefully on his head. Now the disguise was complete. He was just another New York cop. He picked up the identity tag that had been left in the locker for him and clipped it onto his jacket. He unlocked the door then opened it fractionally and peered out into the corridor. It was deserted. He left the room, locking it again behind him, then slipped on his sunglasses before walking to the stairs at the end of the corridor.

He glanced at his watch. One twenty-five. He climbed the stairs and found himself in another corridor. He knew where he was from the plans he had studied in Beirut. He made his way to a door further down the corridor which led onto another set of stairs. He descended them to the next level. There, as in the plans, were a men's and a ladies' room, and they had been specially set aside for the police for the day. He entered the men's room and smiled at the policeman standing in front of the urinal. He nodded in greeting. Bernard went to the nearest sink and washed his hands.

The policeman crossed to the row of sinks. He looked at Bernard's reflection in the mirror that ran the length of the wall in front of them. 'Hey, that's some bruise you've got there.'

'Happened last night,' Bernard replied, affecting a New York accent. 'Guy caught me by surprise with a baseball bat. But it's nothing compared to what I did to his face.'

The policeman chuckled then wiped his hands on the roller towel. 'I'm Hank Medford. Eighteenth Precinct.'

'Jose Mendoza, Twenty-sixth.' Bernard shook Medford's hand. 'So where have they got you working today?'

'I'm up on the roof,' Medford replied as they walked to the door.

'It's alright for some,' Bernard said, holding the door open for Medford. 'You've got the perfect weather to be outside.'

'And you?'

'Good question,' Bernard muttered. 'I'm helping out wherever they need an extra pair of hands. At least I get to see round the building.'

'Big deal,' Medford said facetiously.

'Yeah,' Bernard replied with a twisted grin. 'I've just been told to get my ass over to the hall where Mobuto's making his speech at two.'

Til walk with you. It's on my way back to the roof anyway.'

'Great,' Bernard said, patting Medford on the back. Two cops together were far less likely to draw attention to themselves than a single cop would by himself, especially one wearing dark glasses to help conceal a badly bruised eye. And by pretending to know Medford, it would add further credibility to his deception, especially when they reached the hall.

They walked to the lift and, once inside, Bernard pushed the button for the sixth floor. He touched his cap to the two receptionists already in the lift but ignored their inquisitive eyes as he talked to Medford. The receptionists got off on the fifth floor and both looked back at Bernard as the door closed over again behind them.

'I'd say you made quite an impression,' Medford said with a salacious grin.

'So did the baseball bat. And that's all they were interested in — how I got the bruise — nothing more.'

'How can you be so sure?'

'It was in their eyes.' Bernard smiled at Medford's puzzled frown. 'You have a lot to learn about women, my friend.'

'Not much chance of that. I'm married.'

The lift stopped again and the door opened onto the sixth-floor corridor.

Bernard stepped out of the lift then looked round at Medford. 'See you around, Hank.'

'Sure thing,' Medford replied. 'And keep away from baseball bats.'

Bernard waited until the doors had closed before turning to the policeman who had approached him. 'I'm looking for Captain D'Arcy.'

'He's in the hall. If you've got a message for him, I'll see that he gets it.'

'I've been sent here as an extra pair of eyes on the catwalk. Mr Whitlock's orders.' Bernard took a sheet of paper from his pocket. 'That's his authorization.'

The policeman opened the letter and read it quickly. 'OK. I'll let Captain D'Arcy know you're here. You'd better get up there. The President's due here any time now.'

'How do I get up there?' Bernard replied, feigning ignorance.

'Use that door over there,' the policeman said, pointing further down the corridor. 'Report to Sergeant Mason. He's up there already.'

'How many men have we got up there?'

'Three.'

Bernard thanked the policeman and smiled to himself as he walked to the door. Everything was going according to plan. The door was unlocked. He went inside and locked it behind him with a key Rogers had given him. He found himself in a room behind two lengths of heavy grey curtain that hung at the back of the stage. The irritating sound of bland muzak came from inside the hall. He moved to the metal ladder mounted against the wall and climbed effortlessly to the catwalk situated fifty feet above the stage. A tall, blond-haired policeman challenged him as soon as he reached the catwalk. Bernard recognized him from the dossier Bailey had prepared for him at the outset of the operation.

'Sergeant Mason?' Bernard said as a matter of formality.

'Yes,' came the terse reply.

'I'm Columbus,' Bernard said, taking off his sunglasses.

'What happened to your eye?'

'An accident,' Bernard replied dismissively. 'What about the other two policemen who're supposed to be up here with you?'

'Unconscious.'

'I'm impressed,' Bernard said absently, his eyes already scanning the catwalk for the best angle for the shot.

'They'll be out for another couple of hours. Those were the instructions — '

'Where's the rifle?' Bernard cut in.

'It was brought up earlier. I'll get it for you.'

Bernard waited until Mason had left then looked round him slowly. Everything was just as he had visualized it when he had studied the plans back in Beirut. The catwalk was hidden from the main body of the hall by the heavy grey curtains that hung from the ceiling to the floor on the sides of the room. He found the break in the curtains behind the stage and tweaked one of them aside so that he could look out over the hall. The first of the businessmen had already taken their seats close to the stage and were talking amongst themselves as they waited for their colleagues to arrive.

Bernard looked down onto the stage. The lectern was centrally positioned at the front, perfectly placed for a head shot. But he didn't intend to wait until Mobuto reached the stage. He would pick him off as he entered the hall through the doors at the back of the room. That way all eyes would be on Mobuto and nobody would notice the slight movement in the curtains high above the stage. He let the curtain fall back into place then looked at his watch. One thirty-three. Bailey had already told him that Mobuto would reach the hall around one forty-five. Plenty of time. Mason returned with the black attache case and gave it to Bernard.

'O K. Keep an eye on the door,' Bernard said.

As Mason turned away Bernard clasped his hands on either side of the man's head and jerked it savagely to one side, breaking his neck. He grabbed Mason under the arms as his body went limp and eased him down noiselessly onto the catwalk. He was only carrying out Bailey's orders — no witnesses. He unlocked the case and opened it. Inside were the sections of the Galil sniper rifle. After he had put the rifle together, he connected the Nimrod X 6 telescopic-sight-attachment and screwed the silencer onto the end of the barrel. He picked up the magazine, containing twenty rounds of subsonic ammunition, and carefully clipped it into place. He peered through the curtain again. More of the businessmen had filed into the hall but there was still no sign of Mobuto.

He carefully adjusted the telescopic sight until he had a perfect image of the doors. It would be a simple shot, one bullet through the head. That's all it would take. But he couldn't escape. He knew that. It would only take the authorities a few seconds to realize the bullet had come from the catwalk. And there was only one way to get off the catwalk, and that was down the ladder. He would never make it. But he had known that even before he accepted the assignment. So, once he had killed Mobuto, he would put the rifle down and wait for the police to arrest him. Not that he would be in custody for very long. Bailey had already paid off several senior policemen to arrange for Bernard to 'escape' later that night. He would then be driven to an abandoned airstrip where a plane would be waiting to take him back to Beirut.

It wouldn't be in Bailey's interests to double-cross him. He had only gone along with Bailey's plan after he had written down a detailed account of all the CIA operations he had been involved in over the years which he had then passed onto a lawyer with instructions that it be forwarded on to the New York Times if anything were to happen to him before he made contact with the lawyer again. And Bailey had been made aware of the document's existence. He knew he was safe as long as the document remained in the lawyer's possession. And he would be in no rush to collect the document, no rush at all.

He looked at his watch. One forty. Mobuto could appear any time now. He picked up the rifle, wrapped the strap tightly around his arm, then rested the barrel lightly on the top railing, the telescopic sight trained on the doors. Now all he had to do was wait.

Kolchinsky and Whitlock were already waiting on the helipad as the UN AGO helicopter came in to land. The cabin door was thrown open before the pads touched the ground and Graham jumped nimbly onto the helipad and ran, doubled over, to where they stood.

'What the hell is going on?' Kolchinsky demanded.

'Bernard's here. And he's got a sniper rifle with him,' Graham shouted above the noise of the rotors.

'Mobuto's due at the hall in a couple of minutes,' Whitlock said, glancing at his watch. 'We have to warn him.'

Kolchinsky opened his mouth to speak but Graham and Whitlock had already disappeared through the door behind him. Wiutlock grabbed Graham's arm and pointed to the fire escape. Graham pushed it open and they bounded down the stairs, two at a time, and arrived breathlessly at the sixth floor less than a minute later. Whitlock's arm was throbbing from where it had banged against his chest but he ignored the pain as he emerged into the corridor. Mobuto was talking to Bailey at the door. Bailey looked up sharply at Whitlock then his eyes narrowed with uncertainty when he saw Graham appear behind him. Bailey knew something was wrong. He had to get Mobuto into the hall. Fast. He was still opening the door when Graham slammed it shut with his palm.

'What are you doing?' Bailey snarled.

'What's going on, Clarence?' Mobuto demanded, looking from Whitlock to Graham. 'And who is this man?'

'Mike Graham,' Whitlock replied with evident satisfaction.

'Mike Graham?' Mobuto said in a startled voice. He held out his hand. 'It's a pleasure finally to meet you.'

'Likewise,' Graham said, shaking Mobuto's hand quickly. He noticed D'Arcy standing beside Whitlock. 'Are you the senior officer here?'

D'Arcy nodded.

'Then arrest this son-of-a-bitch,' Graham said, pointing to Bailey.

Rogers reached for his bolstered Smith & Wesson but his hand froze on the butt when he saw the Browning in Whitlock's hand. He slowly withdrew his hand.

'You touch me and you'll be walking the beat for the rest of your days,' Bailey snapped, glaring at D'Arcy.

'Clarence, what is going on?' Mobuto said in desperation.

'Robert Bailey was the mastermind behind the plot to assassinate you, sir,' Graham said. 'Ngune and Bernard work for him.'

'Is this true?' Mobuto said, staring at Bailey.

'Of course not,' Bailey retorted angrily.

'Are you calling the President's brother a liar?' Graham said, his eyes never leaving Bailey's face.

'Remy told you that?' Mobuto asked Graham.

'He told Tambese, and Tambese told us. Who do you believe? Bailey or your brother?'

'There must be some — '

'Arrest him!' Mobuto said contemptuously, cutting across Bailey's outburst.

Whitlock nodded to D'Arcy. 'And take him while you're at it,' he said, indicating Rogers.

D'Arcy had the two men handcuffed. Whitlock gave instructions for them to be taken to a lounge further down the corridor then turned to D'Arcy and explained that Bernard was already in the building.

'I think it would be unwise of you to go ahead with your address until we've rechecked the hall, sir,' Graham said to Mobuto.

'There's only one area a sniper could use in the hall, and that's the catwalk,' D'Arcy said behind Graham. 'And we've got that covered.' He looked at Whitlock. 'It seems that extra man you sent could come in useful after all.'

'What extra man?' Whitlock replied suspiciously.

'The policeman you sent over ten minutes ago. He had a letter of authorization signed by you.'

'I never sent a man over,' Whitlock shot back.

'Bernard,' Graham hissed. 'I'm going up there, C.W. Give me your Browning. And that two-way radio on your belt.'

'Take Captain D'Arcy and some of his men as backup,' Whitlock said, handing the Browning and the radio to Graham.

'No,' Graham replied quickly then put a hand on Whitlock's arm. 'If he is there, I want to take him myself.'

'Alive, preferably,' Whitlock said.

Graham moved to the door. 'It's locked,' he called out.

'It shouldn't be,' D'Arcy said, approaching the door.

'You got a key?'

D'Arcy took a set of keys from his pocket. 'I don't know which one it is.'

Graham tried several of the keys before he found the right one. He unlocked the door then handed the keys back to D'Arcy.

'Are you sure you don't want any backup?' D'Arcy asked.

Graham shook his head then eased the door open and slipped into the room, closing it again behind him. He looked up at the catwalk but couldn't see anything, or anyone, from where he stood. He moved silently to the metal ladder and, tucking the Browning firmly into his belt, began to climb, slowly and carefully, towards the catwalk. He paused three-quarters of the way up the ladder and pulled the Browning from his belt. When he reached the top he raised his head fractionally above the level of the catwalk floor. Bernard was kneeling on his right knee with the rifle resting lightly on the railing for added stability. His body was at a forty-five-degree angle to the ladder and his head bent low over the top of the rifle. Graham was on his blind side. Graham kept the Browning trained on him as he climbed the last few rungs before he reached the catwalk. What if Bernard turned and fired when challenged? Graham knew it was a possibility. Could he afford to take that chance? He could kill Bernard with one shot. That's all it would take. Then his revenge would be complete. His finger tightened on the trigger as he aimed the Browning at Bernard's head. One shot. He thought of Carrie and Mikey. They deserved justice. Then he thought of Ngune's execution in Kondese and how much it had appalled him. Shot in cold blood. It would be the same if he shot Bernard without giving him the chance to surrender. Could he live with that on his conscience? He eased the pressure on the trigger.

'Drop the gun, Bernard,' Graham said softly but firmly, his body tensed in anticipation of Bernard's reaction.

Bernard raised his head and looked round slowly. He wasn't surprised that it was Graham. It was almost as if he had expected it to be him, the face that had haunted him ever since the incident in Libya. He had lost count of the times he had woken in the night, his body soaked with sweat, Graham's face still fresh in his mind. But it wasn't a nightmare any more. Now it was real. He knew Graham wouldn't kill him, not unless in self-defence. That much was obvious. He had already discounted any thoughts of trying to fire on the turn — not against someone of Graham's calibre. He would be dead before he even had a chance to move the rifle. And with Graham there, it meant Mobuto would already have been warned not to enter the hall, certainly not until the situation had been resolved one way or the other. And he still had the escape plan as backup. Bailey couldn't afford not to fulfil his side of the bargain, even if Mobuto were still alive. He unwound the strap from around his arm and laid the rifle carefully at his feet.

'Put your hands on your head and step away from the railing,' Graham ordered.

Bernard did as he was told. Graham undipped the two-way radio with his left hand and told Whitlock to have a couple of policemen waiting for Bernard at the foot of the ladder. He clipped the radio back onto his belt then gestured towards the ladder. His finger tightened on the trigger as Bernard passed him.

'Bernard?' Graham called out as Bernard reached the top of the ladder. He waited until Bernard had looked round before speaking again. 'Was it a clean kill?'

'Yes, I believe it was,' Bernard replied then began to slowly descend the ladder towards the waiting policemen. He was handcuffed when he reached the ground before being led away, flanked by two policemen.

Graham climbed down the ladder again. 'The rifle's still up there,' he said to D'Arcy who immediately dispatched one of his men to fetch it.

Sabrina hurried over to where Graham was standing. 'Mike, are you OK?' she asked softly.

'Yeah, sure,' he replied quickly then looked past her as Kolchinsky entered the room. 'Here comes trouble.'

'With a capital T,' she said, glancing round as Kolchinsky approached them.

'I want to see you both in my office in an hour,' Kolchinsky said sharply.

'We'll be there,' Sabrina assured him.

Kolchinsky's eyes flickered from Sabrina to Graham. 'Why didn't you kill him when you had the chance? It's what you set out to do.'

'It's what I set out to do,' Graham agreed. 'But Sabrina talked me out of it when we were in Zimbala.'

'Well, that's something in your favour,' Kolchinsky said to her then walked back towards the door.

'I never talked you out of it,' she said once Kolchinsky was out of earshot. 'I tried, but you wouldn't listen.'

'Maybe I did,' Graham replied. 'But that's not the point. I called the plays in Beirut and now I've got to deal with the consequences. I'm not going to let you be dragged down with me.'

'We work as a team, Mike. And that means we face the ups and downs of the partnership together.'

'No, not this time, Sabrina,' he replied then crossed to the door and disappeared back out into the corridor.

'Hi,' Sarah said as Sabrina entered the office. 'Welcome back.'

'Thanks,' Sabrina said with a grin. 'Is Sergei in?'

Sarah nodded then flicked the intercom button on her desk. 'Sabrina here, Mr Kolchinsky.'

'Send her in,' came the terse reply.

Kolchinsky activated the door for Sabrina and closed it again behind her.

'Isn't Mike here yet?' she asked, glancing at her watch.

'He's been and gone,' Kolchinsky replied.

'But I thought you wanted to see us together,' Sabrina said, frowning.

'That was what I had in mind.' Kolchinsky indicated the nearest of the two black couches. 'Sit down.'

She sat down slowly, her eyes never leaving Kolchinsky's face. 'Something's wrong, Sergei. What is it?'

Kolchinsky shifted uncomfortably in his chair then reached for his cigarettes on the desk and lit one. 'Michael handed in his resignation this afternoon.'

She clasped her hands over her face and shook her head slowly to herself.

'I said he handed it in. I didn't say I accepted it.'

She sat back and looked across at him. 'Will you accept it?'

'That will all depend on the findings of the internal investigation the Secretary-General's asked me to set up to look into the way the three of you conducted yourselves during the operation.'

'How long will that take?'

'A couple of days.' Kolchinsky tapped a folder on his desk. 'Michael's already given me a detailed account of what happened in both Beirut and Zimbala. I want your report on my desk by tomorrow afternoon at the latest.'

'You'll have it.'

'The investigation team will want to question you personally after you've submitted your report to make sure your account tallies with those forwarded by Michael and C.W.' He opened the folder, removed several sheets of paper which were stapled together in the top left-hand corner and held them out towards her. 'This is a photocopy of Michael's report. Make sure your account tallies with his. It's your one chance of getting out of this with your job and your credibility intact.'

She took the report hesitantly from him. 'Why are you doing this, Sergei? If anyone finds out you've given this to me you'd be in a lot of trouble.'

'Michael told me you'd try and cover for him. I can believe that. At least if you stick to the same story you'll minimalize the damage not only for yourself, but for Michael as well. I've already spoken to C.W. and he suggested the two of you work together on your reports tonight. I think it's a good idea.' He pointed to the copy of Graham's report in her hand. 'You and C.W. will have to share that one. And make sure you shred it when you've finished using it. As you said, I'd be in a lot of trouble if that were to fall into the wrong hands.'

'Does the Colonel know about this?' she asked, holding up the report..

'No, and let's keep it that way.'

'Thanks, Sergei,' she said with a smile.

'This doesn't mean I'm any less angry at the way in which the three of you conducted this whole operation, especially you and C.W. I'm very disappointed in both of you.'

'There wasn't any other way, Sergei.'

'So Michael kept saying. It's not a very convincing excuse, is it?'

'I guess not,' she replied glumly.

'We'll discuss it at length once all your reports are on my desk.'

She got to her feet. 'Where are Mike and C.W. now?'

'C.W.'s with the President at his hotel. I don't know where Michael is. He said he wanted some time on his own, which is understandable under the circumstances.'

'What about Bailey, Bernard and Rogers? Anything from them yet?'

'Still nothing. It's obvious that Bailey and Rogers won't say a thing until they've been fully briefed on their rights by top Agency lawyers. Bernard's already been charged with the double murder of the two policemen in Murray Hill but he's taken his lawyer's advice and hasn't said a word since being taken into custody. C.W.'s out of his mind with worry about Rosie. I presume he's told you about her?'

She nodded. 'Isn't there anything we can do to find her?'

'We've checked all the known CIA safe houses in and around the New York area. She isn't at any of them. I spoke to the CIA Director earlier and he's promised to fax us the list he has at Langley. We'll check them out as well but we could still come up with a blank. All senior Agency officials have a number of safe houses that only they know about. If Rosie is being held at one of Bailey's safe houses then we won't be able to find her without his cooperation.'

'Which could mean some kind of deal?' Sabrina said bitterly.

Kolchinsky shrugged. 'I don't know. The Colonel's on his way to Washington now to meet with the CIA Director.'

'I didn't know the Colonel was back at work,' she said in surprise.

'He left hospital last night. He was supposed to be resting at home but with all this going on he's decided to come back to work.'

'What did his doctor say?'

'I don't think his doctor knows. Well, not yet. But you know the Colonel, once he decides to do something, nothing will stop him.'

'Until he has another heart attack.'

'It's his choice, Sabrina.'

'I guess so,' she said tight-lipped. 'Is there anything else?'

'Not for the moment,' Kolchinsky replied. 'Meet me in the foyer of the Plaza at seven. President Mobuto asked if he could see you and Michael before he flies out later tonight. Michael's already asked to be excused. That's why it's important that you make an appearance.'

Til be there,' she said then paused at the door and looked round at Kolchinsky. 'By the way, what was this about Dave Forsythe? C.W. said something about his working for Bailey?'

'That's right. He obviously bugged the office so that Bailey could keep Bernard informed on the latest developments in Zimbala.'

'What will happen to him?'

'He's already been dismissed.'

'Will he be prosecuted?'

'And cause us further embarrassment? No, but he's finished anyway. None of the top intelligence agencies will take him on after what happened here. He can't be trusted. He'll end up running an electrical store in some backwater. That will be punishment enough.'

'I guess so,' she said thoughtfully then left the room.

Kolchinsky closed the door behind her then lit another cigarette and returned to his paperwork.

A light drizzle had set in over the city by the time Sabrina reached the hotel. She parked her champagne-coloured Mercedes Benz 500 SEC close to the hotel and as she strode briskly towards the entrance, her stiletto heels clicking noisily on the sidewalk, she knew she was attracting the appreciative glances of the men on both sides of the street. Not that she gave them the satisfaction of looking back. That would only encourage them. It would also be a sign of vanity, and she despised vanity in any form.

She was relieved finally to reach the hotel and as she entered the foyer she looked around slowly, hoping to see Kolchinsky. He was sitting with Whitlock close to the lift. Whitlock immediately got to his feet and waved to catch her attention. She smiled back at him then crossed to where he was standing and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Kolchinsky nodded to her in greeting then looked at his watch. She was fifteen minutes early. He knew that was for his benefit. Good. Keep her on her toes. He took another sip of coffee.

'You look lovely,' Whitlock said, appraising her dark beige suit and eye-catching jungle-print blouse. 'Thanks,' she said. 'How's the arm?' 'Still a bit sensitive, but it's on the mend.' 'Have you heard anything from Mike?' she asked, looking from Whitlock to Kolchinsky.

Kolchinsky shook his head. 'He said he'd call me in the morning, but he wanted to be alone tonight. I can understand that. Coming face to face with Bernard as he did this afternoon must have brought all the memories of Carrie and Mikey flooding back again.'

'He'll be OK,' Whitlock said with a reassuring smile when he noticed the look of uncertainty on her face.

'I know,' she replied softly.

Kolchinsky finished his coffee then got to his feet. 'I'll ring the President's room and find out if he's ready to see us yet.'

Sabrina watched Kolchinsky cross to the reception desk then turned back to Whitlock. 'Any news of Rosie?'

'No,' Whitlock said grimly. 'Bernard and Bailey are still refusing to co-operate with the authorities, and they're the only ones who know where Rosie's being held.'

'I'm sorry, C.W. I only wish there were something I could do to help. I know how much Rosie means to you.'

'She's the daughter I never had,' Whitlock said with a sad smile. 'Well, that's what Carmen says. Rosie and I have always been close. Eddie's never been much of a father to her. That's why she turns to me if she needs to talk to someone. Not that she bares her soul very often. She's like Mike — the maverick.'

Kolchinsky returned and pressed the button for the lift. 'The President's waiting for us.'

They rode the lift to the thirtieth floor. Masala was waiting in the corridor for them. He ushered them into the lounge where Mobuto was seated, an open folder on the coffee table in front of him. Mobuto looked up and dismissed Masala with a flick of his hand.

'Good evening,' Mobuto said, getting to his feet. 'Is Mike Graham not with you?'

'Mike couldn't make it, I'm afraid,' Sabrina replied. 'He sends his apologies.'

'You must be Sabrina Carver. I'm sorry I didn't get to meet you at the Trade Center this afternoon.' Mobuto's eyes never left her face as he shook her hand. 'David Tambese was right. You are beautiful.'

'Thank you,' she said, easing her hand gently from his lingering grip.

'How's your brother?' Kolchinsky asked, breaking the sudden silence.

'He left hospital this morning. He should be back at work in the next couple of days.' Mobuto gestured towards the chairs. 'Please, won't you sit down? Would anyone like a drink?'

They sat down but declined his offer.

'Do you mind if I smoke?' Kolchinsky asked.

'Not at all,' Mobuto replied then crossed to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a small Scotch. 'The reason I asked to see you tonight was so that I could thank you personally for all you've done for me, and my country, in these last three days. I thought it would be better if we met here rather than at the airport. It's sure to be teeming with reporters. And I know how much UNACO values its secrecy.'

'We appreciate your discretion,' Kolchinsky replied, reaching for an ashtray.

'I actually had a speech prepared for this moment but the more I thought about it, the more I realized just how pretentious that would have been.' Mobuto looked at Whitlock. 'You saved my life on more than one occasion. And that bullet could just as easily have killed you as winged you.' He turned to Sabrina. 'You and Mike pushed aside all thoughts of personal safety to help David get Remy out of Branco. You didn't have to do it, but you did. I owe the three of you a debt of gratitude that can never be repaid. Words seem very hollow at a time like this, but I can assure you that I shall be eternally grateful for what you did and for the professional way in which you did it. Thank you.' He took two small red boxes, each no bigger than a compact case, from his pocket and handed them to Whitlock and Sabrina. Their names were written in gold lettering across the lids. They exchanged glances then carefully opened the boxes. Both contained a gold medallion with a portrait of Mobuto's face on one side and, on the reverse, an inscription bearing their names and the date of issue. 'The Zimbalan Medal,' he told them, 'for outstanding bravery in the face of adversity. It's only eve. been awarded half-a-dozen times in the last forty years. Those are the first to be issued bearing my face as the new President of Zimbala. And it's the first time the Zimbalan Medal has ever been awarded to a foreigner. I would be honoured if you would accept them on behalf of my government and my people.'

The UN AGO Charter stipulated that no operative could accept any form of payment or gratuity from an individual, or from a government, which could be used to discredit the operative, or the organization, at a later date. But did a medal constitute such a gratuity? Whitlock and Sabrina looked at Kolchinsky, waiting for his reaction. He knew that if the medals were sold they could, theoretically, lead a trail back to U N A C O. But these were two of his most dependable operatives, despite their deception of the past few days. They were hardly likely to pawn the medals. And he was also well aware that if he did have the medals returned, it would not only embarrass Mobuto in front of them, but also in front of his own government who had obviously agreed to let him present the medals in the first place. Although it was a delicate situation, he was satisfied that no part of the Charter would be breached under the circumstances. He nodded his consent. Both then thanked Mobuto for the honour that he, and his government, had bestowed upon them.

Mobuto removed a third box from his pocket and handed it to Sabrina. 'That's for Mike Graham. Will you see that he gets it?'

'Of course,' she replied, pocketing the box.

The telephone rang.

'Excuse me,' Mobuto said, picking up the receiver. He spoke briefly in Swahili then replaced the receiver again. 'The Zimbalan ambassador and his delegation have just arrived. You'll have to excuse me. I'm only sorry we didn't have more time to talk.'

Til wait here and see the President to the airport,' Kolchinsky said to Whitlock. 'You and Sabrina can get started on your reports.'

Whitlock looked at his watch. It was only another hour before Mobuto would be leaving for the airport. 'If you're sure that's O K?'

'I wouldn't have offered if it wasn't,' Kolchinsky shot back. 'Now go on, you've got a long night ahead of you.'

'It's been a pleasure to finally meet you, sir,' Sabrina said, shaking Mobuto's hand.

'The pleasure's been all mine. And again, thank you.' Mobuto turned to Whitlock. 'I owe you my life, Clarence. And to a Zimbalan, that means I will be forever in your debt. If there is ever anything I can do for you — '

'There is,' Whitlock cut in.

'Name it,' Mobuto replied, holding Whitlock's stare.

'Stop calling me Clarence!'

Mobuto chuckled and patted Whitlock on the back. 'I'm sorry, it's just that I always knew you as Clarence when we were at Oxford together.'

'We've both changed since then, but you more than me. And for the better, I might add.'

'Insolent to the last,' Mobuto said with a smile. 'Goodbye, C.W.'

'Goodbye, Mr President,' Whitlock replied then followed Sabrina to the door.

'Where do you want to work on the reports?' Sabrina asked, closing the door behind them.

'Eddie and Rachel are probably with Carmen at our apartment right now,' Whitlock said as they walked to the lift. 'It would save a lot of hassle if we could go to your place.'

'Sure, as long as we can stop off for a take-away on the way over. I haven't eaten since I got off the plane this afternoon and I'm starving.'

'I'm also a bit peckish now that you mention it,' Whitlock said, stepping into the lift after her. 'And as Sergei said, it's going to be a long night.'

. 'Don't remind me,' she said as the doors closed.

Kolchinsky arrived back at his apartment in the Bronx just before midnight. He switched on his answering machine then went through to the kitchen to make himself a coffee. There was only one message on the tape. He was to call Philpott as soon as he got home. He finished making the coffee then unhooked the receiver from his wall-phone in the kitchen and rang Philpott's home number. Philpott answered it immediately.

'Malcolm, it's Sergei. I got your message. What's wrong?'

'I got a call from the police commissioner half an hour ago,' Philpott told him. 'Bailey, Bernard and Rogers were released without charge earlier this evening.'

'On whose authority?' Kolchinsky asked, pulling up a stool and sitting down.

'It seems that Morgan Chilvers, the CIA Director, got on to the White House after I'd finished talking to him this afternoon. He spoke directly to the President who was adamant that he wanted to avoid a scandal at all costs, especially one involving a senior Agency figure like Bailey. But Bailey couldn't be released without the other two being released as well. So that's what happened.'

'What about the murder charges against Bernard?'

'Overruled. The commissioner kicked up a big stink but as Chilvers pointed out, none of this was ever released to the press. They could afford a cover-up,' Philpott replied angrily.

'Where is Bernard now?'

'I've no idea. I was only given the news after they were released. So there was no chance to put a tail on him.'

Kolchinsky shook his head in frustration. 'This is the sort of thing that used to happen in Russia twenty years ago.'

'There is a slim chance of us picking up Bernard's trail again. We've got Rogers under surveillance at his house in Yorkville. It's my guess that Bailey will want Bernard out of the way as soon as possible before we can get to him. And he's sure to use Rogers or Brett to do the job.'

'Where's Brett?'

'That's the problem. He's not at home. As I said, it's a slim chance. But I still think Rogers will come into it one way or the other. All we can do now is wait.'

'What should I tell C.W.?'

'Nothing yet. Let's give Rogers some slack and see what he does with it. I'll call you if Rogers does make a move. Well, goodnight, Sergei.'

'Night, Malcolm,' Kolchinsky said softly and replaced the receiver.