Time of the Assassins

FOURTEEN

Jack Rogers sat in his favourite armchair by the window, his hand resting lightly on the telephone. His mind was in turmoil. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd called the safe house in the last hour. And always the same. He picked up the receiver and dialled the number again. Still no reply. He looked at his watch. It was already one fifteen in the morning. Where was Brett? Why hadn't he called? Had Bernard got to him?

Rogers slipped on his shoulder holster then pulled on his jacket over it. He checked his Smith & Wesson then bolstered it. He picked up the car keys off the hall table and left the house, closing the door silently behind him. He shivered as he walked down the footpath to the gate. But it wasn't cold — an omen? He dismissed the idea. He didn't believe in that nonsense. He got into his Fiat and started the engine. Then, after checking the side mirror, he pulled out into the road.

Dave Swain, a former presidential bodyguard, had been with UNACO for five years. He was the leader of Strike Force Seven. He sat behind the wheel of a Mazda which was parked fifty yards away from the Rogers's house. He'd been there since ten thirty the previous evening. Philpott's orders. An empty coffee carton lay beside the half-eaten hamburger on the dashboard. The radio was on and he was tapping his fingers on the wheel to the beat of the music when Rogers emerged from the house. He immediately radioed in to the command centre to let them know that Rogers was on the move. He switched off the radio and activated the tracking device on the seat beside him. It would pick up the signal from the homer he had attached to the underside of the Fiat. He gave Rogers a thirty-second start then followed him at a discreet distance.

The man in the black Sedan, which was parked at the end of the street, stubbed out his cigarette then started up the engine and followed the Mazda.

The telephone rang.

Kolchinsky rolled over in bed and patted the bedside table with his hand until he found the receiver.

'Sergei?'

'Yes,' Kolchinsky replied sleepily. 'Malcolm, is that you?'

'Yes,' Philpott replied. 'I've just had a call from the duty officer at the command centre. Dave Swain followed Rogers to a house off the Garden State Parkway. Rogers parked out of sight of the house and approached it on foot. Then Dave heard a burst of gunfire. When he went to investigate he saw Rogers lying in a clearing close to the house.'

'Where's David now?'

'He's got the house under surveillance. I don't want him to do anything until we get reinforcements to the area.'

'Who are you bringing in? Strike Force Seven?'

'No, Strike Forcfe Three. It's their operation. I've already told the duty officer to call C.W., Mike and Sabrina. They're meeting you outside the UN in twenty minutes. I'm going on ahead to talk to Dave.'

'I'm on my way,' Kolchinsky said, pulling the duvet to one side.

'I've sent a car over to pick you up,' Philpott told him. 'It should be with you in a few minutes.'

'Thanks, Malcolm.'

'See you at the house,' Philpott replied then the line went dead.

Kolchinsky replaced the receiver, stifled a yawn, then hauled himself to his feet. He took a cigarette from the packet on the bedside table, lit it, then got dressed and went outside to wait for the car.

'What the hell are they doing here?' Graham demanded angrily, pointing to the row of police cars parked at the entrance to the approach road that led to the safe house.

'We're about to find out,' Sabrina replied, braking gently as a policeman stepped out into the road and waved down the car. She stopped beside him and opened her window. 'What's going on?'

'Who are you?' the policeman demanded.

Kolchinsky, who was sitting in the passenger seat, reached across to show his ID card. The policeman checked it then looked at Graham and Whitlock, who were sitting in the back of the car, before handing the card back to Kolchinsky.

'You can go through,' the policeman said to Sabrina.

'You still haven't told us what the hell's going on?' Graham snapped. 'What are you guys doing here?'

'There's a senior SWAT officer down there,' the policeman replied, pointing to the approach road. 'He'll brief you.'

'There's a SWAT team here?' Kolchinsky said incredulously. 'That's all we need.'

Sabrina engaged the gears and turned down the approach road.

'There's the Colonel,' Kolchinsky said, pointing to Philpott who was standing with Swain beside a SWAT van.

Sabrina pulled up behind the van then climbed out of her car and smiled at Philpott. 'It's good to see you back on your feet, sir. How are you feeling?'

'I was feeling fine until I got here.' Philpott gestured around him. 'It's like a bloody circus.'

'What's going on, sir?' Graham asked, closing the back door behind him.

Philpott shot Swain a dirty look. 'Dave was followed by one of the SWAT boys. That's why they're here. I'll see you in my office tomorrow morning, nine o'clock sharp.'

Swain nodded sullenly then walked to his Mazda and got behind the wheel. He started the engine then turned the car round and drove back towards the highway.

Philpott turned to Whitlock. 'I spoke to Bernard on the phone soon after I got here. He's got Rosie in there.'

'Is she alright?' Whitlock asked anxiously.

'Yes. He let me speak briefly to her. She's fine, considering the circumstances. She's a remarkable girl, C.W. You should be very proud of her.'

'She's a great kid,' Whitlock replied. 'Has Bernard made any demands yet?'

'Not yet.'

'What about Rogers?' Kolchinsky asked.

'Dead. Bernard let the SWAT team take the body away…" Philpott trailed off as an unmarked police car turned into the approach road. 'Well, this is a surprise.'

'Who is it, sir?' Sabrina asked.

'Sean Hagen, Deputy Commissioner of the N YPD. What brings him out at this ungodly hour?'

Hagen waited until the driver opened the door for him then climbed out. He was wearing a grey overcoat over his suit and had a trilby tucked firmly over his head.

'I didn't realize you had such little confidence in your men, Sean,' Philpott said as Hagen approached him.

'The SWAT unit falls directly under my command,' Hagen replied, digging his hands into his pockets. 'Who do you think ordered the tail on your man? It's the only way we could find Bernard again. Like you, we lost him when he was released from custody.'

'And now you've come to supervise his execution, is that it?' Philpott said coldly.

'I'm here to liaise with my men,' Hagen shot back angrily. 'What's UN AGO doing here?'

This is still a UN AGO operation, Sean. And that puts me in overall command. I want your SWAT team out of here. Their presence is putting Rosie Kruger's life in danger.'

'I can't do that, Malcolm. Rosie Kruger was kidnapped here in New York. This is our jurisdiction. I've already spoken to Lieutenant Stephens, the officer in charge of the SWAT team, and he's indicated that, because of the situation, he's prepared to work with UN AGO to help secure the release of Miss Kruger. But that's as far as it goes. They won't be pulled out until this situation's been resolved.'

'This has got nothing to do with jurisdictions, has it, Sean?' Kolchinsky said, struggling to contain his anger. 'You don't give a damn about Rosie, do you? All you're interested in is avenging the death of the two officers Bernard shot at the apartment. You're still smarting from what happened tonight. And now that you know he'll never be allowed to stand trial, it only leaves you with one alternative. You'll have to kill him.'

'That may be the way they do it in Russia, Sergei, but not in this country,' Hagen said after a moment's silence. 'I want to see Miss Kruger released, unharmed, just as much as you do. And with that in mind, I'm prepared to go in there and negotiate with Bernard on a one-to-one basis. I'm sure we can resolve this situation without bloodshed.'

'Who's to say that Bernard will even want to talk to you?' Philpott countered.

'There's only one way to find out,' Hagen replied then rapped on the back of the van. The door was opened from the inside and he gave the order to get Bernard on the line. He waited until the communications officer had got through before climbing into the back of the van and taking the receiver from him. 'Bernard?'

'Yes. Who's that?'

'My name's Hagen. I'm the Deputy Commissioner of the New York Police Department.'

'Sean Hagen. I am honoured.'

'You know me?' Hagen retorted.

'Of you,' Bernard replied. 'What do you want?'

'To talk. In person.'

'Why?'

'I would have thought that was obvious,' Hagen said, glancing at Philpott. 'I want to resolve this without bloodshed.'

'That makes two of us,' There was a lengthy pause. 'Come in alone. Unarmed. The door will be unlocked. But I warn you, Hagen, any attempt by your SWAT team to storm the house and Rosie dies. I don't have anything to lose, not any more.'

'No attempt will be made to storm the house, you have my word on that.'

The line went dead.

Hagen replaced the receiver and climbed out of the van. 'He's agreed to see me. At least it's a start. Do you know where I can find Lieutenant Stephens? I want to have a word with him before I go in.'

'He's with his men on the edge of the clearing,' Philpott answered.

'Thank you,' Hagen said.

'Excuse me, sir,' the communications officer called out after Hagen. 'Do you want me to make up a wire for you?'

'Yes, good idea,' Hagen replied then walked towards the wood.

Philpott was about to shout a warning about the animal traps when Hagen stopped abruptly as he neared the edge of the wood. He nodded to himself, then turned away and continued walking down the road.

Kolchinsky noticed the frown crease Philpott's brow. 'What is it, Malcolm?'

'Nothing,' Philpott replied with a dismissive shrug.

Philpott watched Hagen until he disappeared from sight around a bend in the road. Why had he suddenly changed his mind about entering the wood? Why would he purposely take the long way round to reach the clearing? Did he already know about the animal traps? It seemed unlikely as Stephens had only been told about them when one of his men had almost stood on one. And Philpott only knew about them through Stephens. He knew there was probably a logical explanation for Hagen's actions but he still felt uneasy. It was a feeling he couldn't seem to shake off.

'The only way Bernard leaves that house is in a body bag. Understood?'

No, Mark Stephens didn't understand. And what the hell was Hagen doing there anyway? Stephens, who was in his early thirties, had been with the NYPD's SWAT unit for five years, the last eighteen months of those as a lieutenant. He had been trained to deal with hostage situations. It was his job. And now his authority was being undermined by Hagen's interference. But what could he do? Hagen was officially the commander-in-chief of the NYPD's SWAT unit. And that meant his word was law. He knew the men, himself included, held Hagen in contempt — a desk man who only ever showed his solidarity with them when they were being praised for a successful operation.

'I asked you a question, Lieutenant,' Hagen said sharply.

Stephens removed his black peaked cap and ran his hand over his short blond hair. 'That depends on the circumstances, sir.'

'What circumstances?'

'If we can get a clear shot at him. There's a sixteen-year-old kid in there as well. Her safety is my main concern.'

'Your main concern is preventing Bernard from leaving the house alive.'

'Sir, he has hostage — '

'I don't give a damn about his hostage,' Hagen cut in, his eyes blazing. 'She's a drug addict, for Christ's sake. What's her life compared to the lives of the two officers that son-of-a-bitch gunned down in cold blood? I had to break the news to their wives. Spare a thought for them, Lieutenant. And spare a thought for those kids who'll never see their fathers again.'

Stephens had never seen Hagen so agitated. It was unnerving. What the hell had got into him? He knew the rules. And now he was willing to bend and twist them in some warped pursuit of revenge. Stephens wanted nothing to do with it, even if it meant losing his command. He wouldn't be party to killing an innocent teenager.

'Think about it, Lieutenant. Your future in this unit may depend on it. I'll try and talk Bernard into releasing the girl, but if he refuses, then the order will be given to storm the house. And if you won't give it, I will. Now give me that bullhorn.'

Stephens bit back his fury and handed Hagen the bullhorn he was holding. He looked around. At least his men were out of earshot. He certainly wouldn't give the order to storm the house, not without first hearing Bernard's demands. But would his men stand by him? Hagen could have them all suspended for insubordination. Was it worth putting his men's careers at risk? He suddenly found himself caught in two minds, and he hated himself for it.

'Bernard, I'm coming in,' Hagen shouted through the bullhorn. 'I'll be unarmed. And alone.' He handed the bullhorn back to Stephens. 'Think about your future, Lieutenant. Who knows, there could even be a promotion in it for you.'

Stephens bit his Up to prevent himself from telling Hagen where to shove his promotion. Instead he undipped his two-way radio from his belt and told his men that Hagen was about to approach the house, adding that if any of them got a clear shot of Bernard they were to take him out. He knew it was wishful thinking. The man was very professional. And professionals rarely make mistakes. Hagen removed his overcoat and hat then stepped out into the clearing and walked slowly towards the house.

Stephens looked round as Philpott and Whitlock appeared behind them. Philpott nodded in greeting then introduced Whitlock as Rosie's uncle. Stephens wondered how they would have reacted if he told them what Hagen had in mind if he failed to persuade Bernard to surrender. Some chance of that happening anyway! How he hoped he was wrong…

Hagen reached the gate and paused to look at the house. It was in complete darkness, as it had been ever since the SWAT team took up their positions on the edge of the clearing. The gate squeaked as he opened it. Well, now Bernard would definitely know he was there. He walked up the path and was about to mount the steps to the porch when the outside light came on. He froze mid-step, his eyes riveted on the closed door, waiting. He remained like that for several seconds, almost as if in a trance, then climbed the steps and moved slowly to the door. He was about to try the handle then thought he'd better warn Bernard that it was him, and not one of the SWAT team. He knocked on the door.

'Bernard, it's Hagen.'

'It's open,' came the reply from inside the house.

Hagen pushed the handle down and opened the door. The light from the porch illuminated the hallway. He stepped inside, almost reluctant to close the door behind him. The light was his sanctuary.

'Close the door,' Bernard called out from the lounge at the end of the hallway.

Hagen closed the door, severing the light. He had lost his sanctuary.

'I've got the girl with me, Hagen,' Bernard said.

'Any tricks and she's dead. Now switch on the hall light and step away from the door.'

Hagen did as he was told.

Bernard emerged from the lounge alone, the Desert Eagle in his hand. It was aimed at Hagen's stomach.

'Where's the girl?' Hagen demanded.

'Safe,' Bernard replied, moving towards Hagen. He locked the door then frisked Hagen quickly and professionally.

'I told you I was unarmed,' Hagen said once Bernard had finished.

'So you did,' Bernard replied with a sneer.

'I want to see the girl.'

'She's in there,' Bernard replied, pointing to the bedroom. 'And don't switch on the light.'

Hagen opened the bedroom door. Rosie, who had regained consciousness less than an hour earlier, was still manacled to the radiator. She had been gagged. She stared at Hagen, her eyes wide and questioning.

'I'm Deputy Commissioner Hagen, Rosie. We're doing everything in our power to try and secure your release. Don't worry, we won't let anything happen to you.'

'How touching. Now close the door.'

'Hold in there, Rosie,' Hagen said with a reassuring smile then closed the door again. 'Let's talk in the lounge, shall we?'

'Sure,' Bernard replied with a shrug. 'But no lights. We'll manage with the reflection from the hall light. After you, Hagen.'

Hagen glanced at the automatic in Bernard's hand then reluctantly turned his back on him and entered the lounge. He made for the armchair by the window and sat down.

'I assume you're carrying a mike of some sort,' Bernard said from the doorway. 'The tie-pin?'

'No.'

'No, you're not wired, or no it's not the tie-pin?'

'Both.'

'Why don't I believe you?' Bernard said then shrugged. 'But then it doesn't bother me whether you're wired or not. It might just backfire on you, though.'

'What?' Hagen said with a frown.

'Drink?' Bernard said, indicating the drinks cabinet against the far wall.

'Yes,' Hagen said, nodding slowly. 'Bourbon, if you have one.'

'Of course,' Bernard replied, crossing the room to the drinks cabinet.

'What did you mean just now about its backfiring on me if I were wired?' Hagen asked.

Bernard used his free hand to pour the drink then placed it on the table beside Hagen's chair. He crossed to the door then turned his back momentarily on Hagen and looked out into the hallway. When he swung round Hagen was clawing desperately at the underside of the chair.

'Looking for this?' Bernard said, taking a Smith 8t Wesson from his pocket. 'Good place to hide a gun for an emergency, but I found it when I first got here. Question is, how did you know there was supposed to be a gun bolstered under that particular chair? A chair that you made for as soon as you entered the room.

Now, if you are wired, which I'm sure you are, your colleagues are no doubt waiting for you to clear up this obvious misunderstanding. Well?'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' Hagen said, fidgeting nervously with his tie-pin.

'So I was right, it is the tie-pin,' Bernard said with a knowing smile. 'I'd say you were in a catch-twenty-two situation right now. If you discard the mike, it's obviously a sign of guilt. But if you leave it on, your colleagues are going to find out how you knew the location of the gun. It's your choice, Hagen. Or should I call you Seabird?'

The blood drained from Hagen's face and his hand was trembling when he picked up the glass from the table. He drank it down in one gulp.

'Lost for words?" Bernard said, sitting down on the sofa. 'I can understand that. You certainly had me fooled. I thought Bailey was Seabird. I guess it was a natural assumption to make under the circumstances. But there it was when I hacked into Bailey's personal computer earlier tonight: a whole file about Seabird. None other than the Deputy Commissioner of the New York Police Department, Sean Matthew Hagen. It certainly surprised me. But it makes sense when you think about it. Bailey's inside man at the NYPD, a future police commissioner. Quite a coup for him. You were the one who had Forsythe bug UN AGO headquarters, weren't you? Not Bailey. And you would have arranged my escape had I been arrested after I'd killed Mobuto. You recruited Mason to help me at the Trade Center. Who would have questioned your decision to put Mason in charge of the police support-team on the catwalk? Clever, Hagen. Very clever. And you'd have got away with it as well if I hadn't managed to access those files that Bailey had hidden away in the depths of his home computer. Fascinating reading. I've got it all on disc in case you're still thinking of trying to bluff your way out of this. Call it an insurance policy — a very expensive insurance policy.' He shook his head slowly. 'Seabird. Who would have guessed?'

Hagen swallowed nervously and wiped the back of his hand across his clammy forehead. He tired to speak but his mouth was dry. He got to his feet and moved slowly, pathetically, to the drinks cabinet. His shoulders were hunched, his head drooping. He poured himself a stiff bourbon and gulped it down.

'You came here tonight to kill me, didn't you? Brett failed, so did Rogers. So it was left to you. What were you going to do? Make out that you managed to disarm me then shoot me with the Smith 8c Wesson? Then, by pocketing the Desert Eagle, you could have made out that I had the Smith & Wesson all along? Am I right?'

'You're a dead man, Bernard. Even if you do manage to get away from here, they'll find you. They won't stop looking for you.'

'"They" being the CIA?'

'"They" being the CIA's top assassins. You're good, Bernard, but you're not in their league.'

'No, probably not. But I've made plans to cover for that eventuality.' Bernard got to his feet. 'Well, I think you've outstayed your welcome, Hagen. I'm sure there are some people out there who'll want some answers, starting with UNACO. I bet they're pretty pissed off with you right now.'

Hagen hurled the empty glass at Bernard. It missed him by inches and smashed against the wall. Hagen then grabbed the bottle of bourbon and lunged at Bernard. Bernard ducked as Hagen lashed out wildly with the bottle and caught him with a vicious punch to the kidney. Hagen stumbled back against the door and the bottle fell to the floor.

Bernard levelled the automatic at Hagen. 'Come to think of it, there would just be another cover-up, wouldn't there? Like there was today. You'd be pensioned off quietly and that would be the end of it. No, you're not going to get off that lightly. See you in hell, Hagen.'

Bernard shot Hagen through the chest. The force of the bullet slammed him back against the wall. The blood bubbled in his mouth and ran down his chin as he slid slowly to the floor, leaving a streak on the wall above him.

Bernard dialled the number of the telephone in the SWAT van. 'Let me speak to Colonel Philpott,' he said when it was answered.

'This is Philpott,' came the response seconds later.

'I take it you heard our little conversation, Colonel?'

'Is Hagen dead?' Philpott demanded.

Bernard looked down at the crumpled figure by the door. 'It certainly looks that way. But I wouldn't lose any sleep over it. He would have been immune from prosecution, just like me. Don't even think of doing anything silly now, Colonel, like sending in the stormtroopers. Rosie would be the first to die. Do I make myself clear?'

'Perfectly,' Philpott hissed.

Bernard looked at his watch. Two seventeen a.m. Still two-and-a-half hours before he was due to leave for Cuba. It would only be a matter of time before the SWAT team discovered the broken cellar door. And the door connecting the cellar and the kitchen was only protected by a flimsy bolt. No, it wasn't safe here any more. He would have to rethink his strategy. 'Stay by the phone, Philpott. I'll call you again in a few minutes.'

'Is Rosie — '

Bernard cut the connection before Philpott had time to finish. He left the receiver off the hook then crossed to the sideboard and opened the bottom drawer. Inside was a second telephone, a scrambled line. He placed it on the sideboard then sat down and dialled a number he had already committed to memory. It was answered immediately.

'It's Columbus,' Bernard said.

'What is it?' came the suspicious reply.

'The plans have been changed. Is the plane refuelled and ready for take-off?'

'It's been ready since yesterday. What's happened?'

Bernard explained the situation briefly. 'You told me you can fly anything, right?'

'Yeah,' came the hesitant reply.

'Helicopter?'

'Sure. I flew them in 'Nam.'

'I want you to get over here as fast as you can. I'll arrange to have a helicopter on standby. You can fly us to the plane then we can get out of here.'

'Come over there? Are you crazy?'

'Listen, Demerest, you've been well paid for your troubles — if anything, overpaid. But believe me, if I go down you're coming with me. You'll be inside for a long stretch.'

'I want a Huey,' Demerest said after a lengthy pause. 'It's the chopper I know best.'

Til arrange it,' Bernard replied.

'You said there were cops there. How the hell am I supposed to get past them?'

'What car will you be driving?'

'A Datsun.'

'Colour?'

'Light blue.'

Til see to it that you aren't stopped. When you get here, drive round to the back of the house. Park as close to the back door as you can, understood?'

'Understood,' Demerest replied. 'If this backfires…"

'It won't, as long as you play by my rules,' Bernard said then dropped the receiver back into its cradle.

Philpott hung up after he'd finished talking to Bernard then looked at the others who had congregated outside the van. 'He's threatened to kill Rosie unless we get him a helicopter by three o'clock. It has to be a Huey. He was very insistent on that.'

'We've got a Huey at Newark Airport,' Kolchinsky said.

'Can you fly it?'

Kolchinsky nodded. He'd flown almost every heli-

copter imaginable since he'd got his licence when he was still with the KGB.

Philpott looked at Stephens. 'We could have it here by three.'

'Yeah, sure,' Stephens replied absently. He was still stunned by what he'd heard minutes earlier over the loudspeaker in the back of the van. Hagen worked for Bailey — a CIA stooge. Much as he had disliked the man, he wouldn't have believed it unless he'd heard it with his own ears. The son-of-a-bitch!

Til get over to the airport straight away,' Kolchinsky said. 'Will you clear everything with the necessary people?'

'Yes, don't worry about that,' Philpott replied. 'Sabrina, take Sergei in your car.'

'I'll get one of the police cars to take me,' Kolchinsky said. 'With the siren on, it won't take us long to reach the airport.'

'It'll be even quicker in Sabrina's car. It's fast and she knows how to handle it. I'll see to it that you're given a free passage to the airport.'

Sabrina held up the keys and grinned at Kolchinsky. 'Well, what are we waiting for?'

Kolchinsky shot Philpott a despairing look then hurried after her. ^

'I have some calls to make,' Philpott said then indicated the telephone in front of him. 'May I use it?'

'Yes, of course,' Stephens replied.

'They are private calls,' Philpott said to the communications officer who was hovering behind him.

Stephens nodded to the communications officer who climbed down the metal steps and closed the door behind him. He waited until the man was out of earshot then told Whitlock what Hagen had said before he went into the house.

'It makes sense,' Whitlock said thoughtfully. 'But I doubt he cared any more about those two officers than he did about Rosie. He'd obviously been sent here by Bailey to kill Bernard. That's why he was so insistent that Bernard leaves the house in a body bag. Bernard knows too much about the CIA and their operations.'

'Hagen was right about the CIA sending an assassination squad after Bernard, especially now that he's got the disc,' Stephens said. 'That would be sure to blow the lid off some of the CIA's most covert operations if it were ever made public.'

'Which is exactly why I think he'll be given a wide berth from now on, at least until the disc's been recovered,' Whitlock replied. 'Bernard's nobody's fool. He'll have stashed the disc away somewhere safe so that if the CIA do hit him, it'll be made public. And that's the last thing Bailey would want to happen.'

'I'd have to go along with C.W. on that,' Graham said. 'Bailey can't afford to have those files made public, even if he has left the CIA by then. The whole point of their release tonight was to cover up a potential scandal. But if this is made public, he won't be able to hide behind the cover-up any more. There would be a public outcry if those responsible weren't brought to trail, starting with Bailey.'

'You're forgetting one thing. He still has to leave the house to get to the helicopter,' Stephens said, looking at each of them in turn. 'If any of my men gets a clear shot, they'll take him out. Those are their orders. Then let's see what happens to Mr Bailey and his precious files.'

'If anything happens to Rosie as a direct result of your team you can be sure I'll come after you,' Whitlock said in a soft, menacing voice. 'You bear that in mind, Lieutenant.'

'These men are highly trained, Mr Whitlock,' Stephens shot back defensively. 'They'll only fire if they're one hundred per cent sure of hitting their target.'

'For your sake, I hope you're right,' Whitlock said then walked back towards the van.

It was a side of Whitlock that Graham had never seen before — cold, cynical, threatening. He hadn't realized until then just how close Whitlock was to Rosie. Had he not known better, he would have sworn that Whitlock was her father, not just her uncle. He smiled sadly to himself. Whitlock would make a great father. Well, perhaps one day. Hell, he was only in his mid-forties. Yeah, a great father…

Philpott removed a pair of headphones and placed them on the table in front of him. 'Sergei's on his way. He should get here within the next ten minutes.'

Whitlock looked at his watch. Two forty-six a.m. 'Is Sabrina with him?'

'No, she driving back. If she were to suddenly emerge from the helicopter after it landed, Bernard might think it was some sort of trap. I don't care how much of a professional he is, right now he'll be on edge. It's only natural with a dozen highly trained snipers just waiting for him to make a mistake. So there's no use in adding to the tension.'

Whitlock sat down next to Philpott and looked across at Graham who was sitting on the top step, his back against the open door, sipping hot coffee from a plastic cup.

Graham sensed he was, being watched and glanced round at Whitlock. 'You should try the coffee sometime. In fact, have this one.'

Whitlock smiled as Graham extended the plastic cup towards him. 'That good, huh?'

'Hell, no,' Graham retorted then tossed the remainder of the coffee into the bushes behind the van. 'Why is bad coffee always associated with cops? Making a drinkable cup of coffee should be part of their basics.'

Philpott smiled faintly then picked up the receiver and dialled the house. Bernard answered. 'You told me to let you know when the helicopter was on its way.'

'Is it a Huey?' Bernard demanded.

'Yes. Where do you want it to land?'

'As close to the house as possible. Then your pilot's to shut down the engine, switch off all lights, and withdraw. I'm using my own pilot. He's on his way over here now. He'll be driving a light blue Datsun. He's not to be stopped. Is that clear?'

'Quite clear,' Philpott replied contemptuously. 'When will Rosie be released?'

'When I'm satisfied I haven't been tricked by either you or the CIA. Strange as it may seem, Colonel, I don't want to see her hurt any more than you do. She's a great kid. Don't make me do something we'll all regret.'

'How will I know when you've released her?'

'You'll be the first to know, Colonel, you can be sure of that.' Then the line went dead.

Bernard glanced at his watch as he heard the sound of the helicopter in the distance. Two fifty-seven a.m. Good timing. He switched off the hall light then went into the front bedroom and, pressing himself against the wall, tweaked back the curtain and peered cautiously out across the clearing. Although it was in darkness he knew the SWAT team would be positioned on the edge of the wood, their sniper rifles fined with the latest in high-tech infra-red sights. He couldn't afford to make the slightest mistake or they'd cut him down without a moment's hesitation. It seemed to give him added confidence. No cop was going to kill him.

The helicopter suddenly appeared from behind the wood and came to within a few feet of the front gate before descending carefully to the ground. Kolchinsky cut the engine, switched off the lights, then unstrapped himself and got out. He looked towards the house then turned away and strode briskly to where Philpott was waiting for him at the edge of the clearing. Bernard let the curtain fall back into place then left the room. Philpott had kept his side of the bargain, so where the hell was Demerest?

Warren Demerest touched the brakes when he saw the row of police cars in the distance, their lights flashing menacingly in the semi-darkness. He took the balaclava off the dashboard and pulled it over his head then continued for another hundred yards to where a policeman stood in the middle of the road, a flashlight in his hand. He shone the flashlight into the car. The beam lingered on the balaclava. Demerest swallowed nervously. What if Bernard had already been caught or killed? Jesus, he'd never thought of that. Another conviction and they'd throw away the key. Well, that's what the governor had told him when he'd been released from San Quentin at the beginning of the year. The policeman, who had been instructed by Stephens to let the car through, stepped back and pointed to the approach road. Demerest put the car into gear and headed down it. He passed the van and several¯members of the SWAT team in their black uniforms. They were all armed. What the hell had Bernard got him into here? Well, it was too late to turn back now. He turned up the narrow driveway at the side of the house, just as Bernard had instructed, and drove round the back, pulling up within a foot of the back door. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Stay in the car? Go into the house? Where was Bernard?

The door opened fractionally. 'Kill the lights,' Bernard hissed from inside.

Demerest switched off the lights.

'Get in here!' Bernard snapped.

Demerest climbed out of the car and slipped into the kitchen. Bernard had handcuffed himself to Rosie. He held the automatic in his free hand.

'Hey, man, careful with that thing,' Demerest said nervously, indicating the automatic which was pointed at his midriff.

Take off the balaclava,' Bernard said softly.

Demerest pulled it off to reveal his face. He was in his late thirties with cropped brown hair and a gold sleeper in his left ear. 'Satisfied?' he said sharply.

'Get that blanket,' Bernard said pointing to the blanket on the table. 'Drape it over Rosie and me then lead us out to the car. 'We'll ride in the back. They won't risk a shot if they can't see me.'

Demerest tugged the balaclava back over his face then, glancing quickly at Rosie, unfolded the blanket and covered them with it. Bernard pulled Rosie to him and pressed the automatic into her ribs. She winced as the barrel dug into her but said nothing. She wouldn't give Bernard the satisfaction of knowing he was hurting her.

'Let's go,' Bernard snapped from under the blanket.

Demerest wiped the sweat from his face. He knew there would be rifles trained on the back door. What if they opened fire when he opened it?

'Demerest, what the hell's going on?' Bernard snarled. 'I said, let's go.'

'OK,' Demerest replied irritably.

He eased the door open and held his breath as he stepped outside. No gunfire. So far, so good. He grabbed Bernard's arm through the blanket and led them to the car. He opened the back door. Bernard kept Rosie close to him as he ducked into the back seat, making it impossible for the snipers to distinguish between the shapes under the blanket. Demerest slammed the door shut behind them. He got in behind the wheel and looked in the rear-view mirror. Bernard and Rosie were lying on the back seat,

the blanket over them. No sniper would risk a shot. Demerest still felt vulnerable. They could take him out at any time — one bullet, that's all it would take.

'Start the car, dammit!' Bernard shouted. 'And no lights.'

Demerest muttered an apology as he grated the gears. His hands were shaking. He tried again. This time he found first gear. He turned the car round and headed back down the driveway but instead of branching off onto the approach road he headed towards the silhouette of the Huey on the edge of the clearing.

'Park as close as you can to the helicopter,' Bernard told him.

Demerest pulled up beside the cabin door and killed the engine. He climbed out of the car and glanced towards the wood. He could see some figures standing in the shadows. Obviously not from the SWAT team. They would be invisible in their black uniforms. That only unnerved him even more. How many unseen guns were aimed at him at that very moment? He pushed the thought from his mind. He was scared enough as it was. He pulled open the cabin door and peered inside. There was a small set of metal steps close to the door. He unhooked them from the wall and placed them in front of the door.

'Ready,' he told Bernard through the open driver's window.

'Open the back door.'

Demerest did so and Bernard wriggled backwards, taking Rosie with him. A hand pushed her head down as she felt her foot touch the ground. The hand remained on her head until she was out of the car.

'There's some steps in front — '

A bullet ricocheted off the side of the helicopter, inches above Demerest's head. Bernard froze as he forced himself not to pull the trigger. He felt Rosie's body stiffen against his. She closed her eyes, waiting for him to kill her. Demerest was down on one knee, his eyes wide with fear. They heard the shouted order from the direction of the wood. Then silence.

'Bernard?' Stephens yelled through the bullhorn. 'Don't harm the girl. It was an accident. There'll be no more shooting.'

Bernard winced as the sweat seeped into his eyes. He eased his finger off the trigger but kept the automatic pressed into her ribs. He heard himself sigh. It had been that close. He'd so nearly lost his ace.

'Demerest?' he hissed. 'Demerest?'

'I'm here,' Demerest said, straightening up.

'Lead us to the steps,' Bernard ordered.

Demerest took Bernard's arm through the blanket and talked them up the steps into the back of the helicopter. He kicked the steps away, slammed the "door shut then scrambled into the cockpit and started up the engine.

Bernard discarded the blanket and, careful to remain flat on the cabin floor, he unlocked the handcuff from his wrist and secured it around a metal pipe that ran the length of the wall. He wiped the sweat from his face and inhaled sharply as his thumb brushed against the wound above — his eye. 'How long before we can take off?' he called out to Demerest.

'Almost ready,' came the reply.

Bernard allowed himself a faint smile of satisfaction. He looked across at Rosie. She stared back at him, her face expressionless.

Then the helicopter began to rise.

Graham and Whitlock had used the cover of darkness to slip away unnoticed from the others but by the time they had reached the back of the house the car was already heading away down the driveway. They waited until it had turned off into the clearing before breaking cover and sprinting to the steps at the side of the house. It was then that Whitlock had discovered the body of Brett slumped against the half-open cellar door. Graham had remained crouched at the top of the steps, out of sight of the car which had by then pulled up next to the helicopter.

Although armed, he knew the Beretta would be of little use from that range. There were snipers all around the house who would take Bernard out if he did make a mistake. If. But Graham knew Bernard better than any of them. Bernard wouldn't make a mistake. Which was why he and Whitlock had come up with an alternative plan. Whitlock, because of his injured arm, could only be a bystander. It simply added to his frustration. But he wanted to be with Graham when they put their plan into operation. They had a bond, an alliance. Bernard had escaped after Carrie and Mikey had gone missing. And now he was threatening to do the same again. Only this time he was using Rosie. And they knew her life would be worthless if he did manage to flee the country and start up a new life somewhere else. He had to be stopped.

Whitlock put a hand lightly on Graham's shoulder. Graham gave him a thumbs-up then broke cover and sprinted towards the helicopter as it began to slowly lift off the ground.

Demerest only saw Graham out of the corner of his eye when he was within ten yards of the helicopter. He instinctively applied more pressure on the collective-lever pitch to force the helicopter to climb further away from the ground. Graham, realizing he wouldn't reach the nearest landing pad from the ground, scrambled onto the Datsun's bonnet, then onto its roof, before launching himself at the pad. The fingers of his right hand touched the cold steel. He clamped his hand in a vice-like grip around the pad as the helicopter continued to rise further away from the ground. His arm felt as if it were going to be pulled out of its socket. Slowly, carefully, he brought up his left hand and his fingers curled around the pad, easing the pressure off his right arm. He began swaying from side to side then, when he felt he had enough momentum, he heaved himself upwards and managed to hook his right leg around the pad. Then he looked down. The helicopter was already a hundred feet above the ground and still climbing.

Demerest continued to glance anxiously out of the side window at Graham, mesmerized by the agility he'd used to haul himself up onto the landing pad. Bernard, who had already been alerted by Demerest, had his automatic at the ready, waiting. He knew instinctively it was Graham. It was exactly the sort of stunt he would pull. The man had a death wish. But he couldn't do anything until the helicopter was clear of the wood — and the snipers. And that was giving Graham valuable seconds to stabilize himself on the landing pad. Bernard knew what he had to do when he pulled open the door. His fingers tightened around the automatic.

Demerest had initially wanted to drag the pads through the tops of the trees to try and dislodge Graham from the helicopter. Bernard had quickly ruled the idea out as too dangerous. What if one of the pads snagged on a thick branch? It could result in the helicopter losing altitude and ploughing into the trees. Demerest see-sawed the helicopter from side to side, desperately trying to pitch Graham off the pad-to no avail. Graham clung resolutely on, waiting, almost cat-like, for the moment when Bernard would open the door. The trees ended abruptly at the edge of the freeway. Demerest called out to Bernard that they were clear of the wood.

Bernard reached out a hand then yanked open the door. He was still raising the automatic to fire when Rosie slammed the sole of her boot against the side of his face, ripping open the bruise above his eye. He screamed in agony and the automatic fell from his grasp as he stumbled backwards, his hand clasped over his eye. The blood poured down through his fingers onto his shirt. He caught her with a vicious backhand slap which slammed her against the side of the cabin, knocking a wooden box off the wall above her.

He was still reaching for the fallen automatic when Graham launched himself through the doorway and felled him with a low football tackle. Bernard landed heavily on the floor and the automatic skidded towards the open door. It came to rest a foot away from the door. Graham pulled his Beretta from his shoulder holster but Bernard managed to grab his wrist and force the barrel up towards the ceiling. He slammed the back of Graham's hand against the side of the cabin and the Beretta fell from his fingers. He caught Graham with a hammering jab to the side of the face, rocking his head back against the floor. Graham lashed out with his elbow, catching Bernard squarely on his gashed eyebrow. Bernard recoiled in agony but was quick to react when Graham reached for the fallen Beretta.

They grappled for possession of the automatic but as Bernard tore it from Graham's hand, Graham butted him viciously in the face, again catching him on the eyebrow. Bernard stumbled and as he fell the Beretta spun from his hands and disappeared through die open doorway. He brought his foot up sharply into Graham's stomach and as Graham buckled forward he caught him with a hammering punch to the face. Graham fell to his knees, his eyes watering from the force of the punch. Bernard dived for the Desert Eagle. Graham knew he could never reach Bernard before he recovered the automatic.

'Hey, catch,' Rosie shouted to Graham.

Graham turned to Rosie. She was holding the Very pistol which had fallen out of the box when it landed on the floor. She threw it to him. He didn't even know if it was loaded, but there wasn't time to find out. Bernard was already turning, the automatic in his hand. Graham aimed the Very pistol at him and pulled the trigger. The aluminium-cased cartridge slammed into Bernard's chest with the force of a hammer. He was rocked back on his heels and lost his balance as he stepped out of the doorway. He clawed frantically at the side of the cabin but his bloodied fingers couldn't get a grip on the smooth surface and his eyes widened in horror as he fell backwards. The wind tore the scream from his lips as he plunged to his death.

Graham picked up the Desert Eagle which had slipped out of Bernard's hand as he fell and pressed it into the back of Demerest's neck. 'Go back to the house.'

'Sure thing, man,' Demerest said nervously. 'I don't want any trouble.'

'Give me your piece,' Graham demanded.

'I ain't carrying,' Demerest replied, shaking his head vigorously. 'I never carry. I'm just a flier, man.'

Graham was convinced Demerest was telling the truth. 'Give me the radio.'

Demerest unhooked the radio and handed it to Graham who called Philpott to let him know that they were returning to the safe house. He closed the cabin door then sat down beside Rosie and tilted her head gently as he looked at the discoloured bruise that was already beginning to form on her left cheek.

'I'm OK,'she said softly.

'Did you load it?' Graham asked, gesturing to the Very pistol on the floor in front of them.

She nodded. 'I wanted to shoot him myself but I couldn't bring myself to pull the trigger. I'm sorry.'

Graham smiled gently at her. 'What are you apologizing for? You saved my life, Rosie. Thanks.'

'Who are you?'

'My name's Mike.'

'Mike Graham?'

'Yeah, how did you know?'

She took a cassette from her pocket and handed it to him. 'Bernard — that is his name, isn't it?' Graham nodded. 'Well, he gave it to me before we left the house. He said I was to give it to my uncle when I saw him again. He was to give it to you.'

'Did he say what was on the tape?'

She shook her head.

Graham sat back against the side of the cabin and turned the cassette around slowly in his fingers. His name had been printed in capital letters on both sides in black pen. It had to contain something about Carrie and Mikey. But it didn't make any sense. Bernard wasn't the sort of man to gloat. It wasn't in his nature. So why had he made the cassette for him? The question lingered in his mind for the rest of the journey back to the safe house.

The helicopter was surrounded by members of the SWAT team when it landed in the clearing. Demerest closed down the engine then unbuckled his safety belt and clambered out of the cockpit. He was immediately handcuffed and led away towards a police car.

The door was pulled open from the outside and Whitlock peered anxiously into the cabin. Rosie smiled at him then bit her lip as a tear trickled down her face. Graham helped Whitlock into the cabin then went off to find something to use to cut Rosie free.

'Thank God you're safe,' Whitlock said, hurrying over to her.

She hugged him and suddenly the tears began to spill down her face. Whitlock took a handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to her. She smiled selfconsciously as she wiped her eyes.

'Who hit you?' he asked, a sudden anger entering his voice. 'Bernard?'

She nodded. 'I'm OK. What happened to your arm?'

'It's nothing,' he replied with a dismissive shrug. 'Your parents are going to be over the moon when they find out you're safe. So will Carmen. We've all been out of our minds with worry.'

'Is it still alright if I come and stay with you and Carmen for a few days? Just until I feel strong enough to face my parents again.'

'The spare bed's already made up,' Whitlock replied. 'You can stay as long as you want, you know that.'

'Knock, knock,' Graham said, peering into the cabin.

'Come in, Mike,' Whitlock said, looking round at Graham.

Graham climbed back into the helicopter, a small hacksaw in his hand. 'We'll have you out of here in no time, Rosie.'

'How come you two know each other?' Rosie asked as Graham crouched down beside her.

Graham glanced at Whitlock, waiting for him to answer. It was up to him to decide whether he was going to tell her about UNACO. In some ways Graham felt she deserved an explanation but he wouldn't say anything, not without Whitlock's lead.

Whitlock gave her a knowing smile. 'You get to meet a lot of different people in the diplomatic corps. I first met Mike at a reception at the UN. We've bumped into each other a few times since then. Mike called me when they'd found out where Bernard was holding you. I got over here as quick as I could.'

'Are you a cop?' she asked Graham.

Graham stopped cutting to look up at her. 'Yeah, a sort of a cop.'

'A sort of a cop?' she queried. 'What kind of an answer's that?'

'The only one you're getting,' Graham replied then went back to cutting through the handcuff around her wrist.

'I can take a hint,' she said.

It took Graham another minute to cut through the handcuff. He plied apart the two halves and she pulled her wrist free.

'Well, are you ready for a hot bath, a good meal and a long sleep in a warm bed?' Whitlock asked her.

'You bet,' she replied, rubbing her chafed wrist.

'Come on then,' Whitlock said, helping her to her feet.

'Thanks, Mike,' she said softly then kissed him lightly on the cheek.

'Get out of here,' he said good-humouredly.

She followed Whitlock to the door then looked back at Graham. 'Are you an undercover cop?' d

'Yeah, a sort of an undercover cop,' Graham replied poker-faced.

She smiled. 'Bye, Mike.'

'See you, Rosie,' Graham replied with a smile.

Sabrina waited until Whitlock and Rosie had been helped out of the helicopter before looking in at Graham. 'You're crazy, do you know that?'

'Sure, I know that,' Graham replied, nodding his head. 'How come it's taken you so long to realize it?'

'Why didn't either of you say anything before you went off like that?'

'I'm sure the Colonel would have sanctioned what we had in mind, aren't you? I take it he's pretty pissed off about what we did.'

'He's only pissed off that neither of you told him what you were going to do. He actually seems quite pleased with the outcome. He wants to see you. Now.'

Graham moved to the door and was about to jump to the ground when something caught his eye on the floor in the corner of the cabin. He went over for a closer look.

'What is it?' Sabrina asked.

'It's a computer disc,' he replied then picked it up and looked round at her. 'Are you thinking what I'm thinking?'

'Aha,' she said, slowly nodding her head. 'Bernard's insurance policy.'

'It must have fallen out of his pocket when we were fighting. This is quite a coup for UN AGO.'

'Especially as the CIA don't even know we've got it,' Sabrina added.

'And knowing the antagonism that exists between / the Colonel and Langley, you can bet your life he's going to keep it that way.'

'We'll have to return it to them, of course,' Philpott said, taking the disc from Graham.

'Return it to them?' Graham said in disbelief. 'I don't understand, sir. We could monitor all the operations on this disc for years to come without Langley's ever knowing about it.'

'We will,' Philpott replied. 'These covert operations are obviously very important to the company so it's highly unlikely that they'll be terminated after Bailey's gone. They'll just be assigned to a new controller, possibly Bailey's successor. But if Langley know we're monitoring these operations, they'll want to make sure that none of their agents are compromised. And that's where we can turn it to our advantage. Our silence will have a price. I think you'll find that they'll be a lot more co-operative in the future. And let's face it, that can't be a bad thing, can it?'

'No, sir,' Graham replied with a knowing smile.

Philpott slipped the disc into his pocket. 'Now, about this little escapade of yours.'

'It was my idea, sir,' Graham said.

'Strange, those were C.W.'s exact words as well. Whose idea it was is irrelevant. What does bother me is that neither of you said anything before you sloped off. I thought you'd have both learned your lesson by now about keeping things from Sergei and me. Obviously you haven't.'

'You wouldn't have sanctioned it anyway, sir.'

'That's not the point, Michael,' Kolchinsky said sharply. 'We're your superiors. Not that that seems to have made much impression on any of you these past few days, especially you. It's because of your maverick tendencies that Strike Force Three is the subject of this internal investigation.'

'Bernard killed my family, Sergei — my wife and my five-year-old son. What the hell was I supposed to do when I heard he'd been seen in Beirut?' Graham held up his hand before Kolchinsky could answer. 'Yeah, I know, tell you. Then you could have made the necessary arrangements to have him taken into custody. Then what? Would they have extradited him to face charges over here? You know they wouldn't. He'd probably have been put on a plane bound for Libya and been given a hero's welcome when he got there. I don't expect you to understand the torment I've been through these last two years.

'Hell, I'm not going to stand here and explain myself to you, Sergei. I did what I thought was right not only for the memory of my family but also for my own piece of mind. My only regret is that I had to drag Sabrina and C.W. into it as well. That's why I resigned — to spare them any further trouble. And if you've got any sense you'll accept my resignation and put an end to the matter.' '

'Your resignation is on my desk,' Philpott said, holding Graham's stare. 'And it'll be considered more carefully when the results of the investigations are known. Until then, you're still part of this organization. And that means co-operating fully with the investigation. You'll each be interviewed individually this afternoon. The panel will use my office as a base. So be there at two o'clock sharp.'

'When will the results be known?' Sabrina asked.

'Late this afternoon. I'm dining with the Secretary-General tonight. We'll discuss the findings then.'

Sabrina glanced at her watch. Three forty-seven a.m. She stifled a yawn. 'Can we get some sleep now, sir?'

'Yes, go on. I won't see you this afternoon. I'll be in Washington talking to Morgan Chilvers, the CIA Director. But Sergei will be at the UN. We'll all meet again in my office at nine o'clock tomorrow morning to discuss the implications of the findings. By then I'll also know how the Secretary-General stands on the issue. Sabrina, will you give Mike a lift back to his hotel?'

'Sure,' she replied. 'Does C.W. know about the meeting tomorrow morning?'

'Yes, I told him before he took Rosie home.' Philpott's eyes flickered towards Graham. 'You did well tonight, Mike.'

'Rosie's safe, that's all that matters now,' Graham looked at Sabrina. 'Ready?'

She nodded then said good night to Philpott and Kolchinsky before hurrying after him.

'You got a tape deck in your car?' Graham asked.

'No, only a CD player. Why?'

He took the cassette from his pocket and showed it to her. 'Bernard gave this to Rosie before they left the house. It's for me. It has to be something about Carrie and Mikey.'

'I've got a tape deck at the apartment. You can listen to it there.'

He looked at his watch. 'You sure you don't mind?'

'Don't be silly,' she replied, unlocking the driver's door.

'Thanks, I appreciate it.'

She climbed into the car and opened the passenger door for him. He slipped the cassette back into his shirt pocket then got in beside her. She drove back up the approach road and rejoined the highway.

'Thanks,' Graham said, taking the cup of hot chocolate from Sabrina and placing it on the table beside him. 'It's a nice place you've got here.'

'Liar,' she said with a grin.

'Sure, it's a bit arty for my taste but it's still a lot better than I thought it would be — seriously. I'll tell what does impress me, though: your CD collection. You've got some good jazz there.'

'You know how much I love jazz music,' she said, glancing down at the row of compact discs on the shelf beside the player. Her eyes shot to the cassette on the table. Til leave you alone to listen to the tape. I'll be in the kitchen when you're through.'

'Yeah, thanks,' he replied then waited until she had left the room before pressing the 'play' button. He sat down, his arms resting on his knees, his eyes riveted on the cassette as it turned slowly on the spools.

'When you receive this tape, Graham, I'll have already left the country with the intention of starting up a new life in some distant corner of the world. I know you'll never stop looking for me and, frankly, I can't say I blame you. I know you've always held me personally responsible for what happened to your wife, Carol, and your son, Michael. This tape isn't an attempt to try and exonerate myself. I can't. I'll always be partly responsible for their deaths, I know that. But you have the right to know what really happened that afternoon outside your apartment in New York.

'I was in Libya at the time on the orders of the CIA — or Robert Bailey, to be more specific. As you no doubt know by now, he's been my handler ever since I first started working for the company. The reason I was there was because Salim Al-Makesh, who was then a senior advisor in Abu Nidal's Black June movement, had come up with a plan to mount a bombing operation across the United States. The idea was to hit, amongst others, shopping malls, sports stadiums and school buildings — in other words, a soft target campaign. The CIA found out about it through a mole they had in the Black June movement but he was killed under mysterious circumstances before he could pass on all the information to them. Whether he was murdered, or whether he died accidently, was never established. But the CIA were worried because they still didn't know exactly where and when the bombs were due to go off. That's why I was sent to meet with Al-Makesh — to fill in the missing dates so ù that the bombers could be arrested when they arrived in the United States.

'We'd been talking for about forty minutes, without much success I might add, when we first heard that you, and your men, had surrounded the base camp. But at the time we had no idea who you were or where you'd come from. So I called Bailey in Washington and told him what was happening. He knew that if Al-Makesh were killed, the CIA would have lost their last chance to prevent the bombing campaign. I don't know how he found out but it wasn't five minutes later when he rang back to say that it was a unit of the US anti-terrorist squad, Delta. Then I knew we were in trouble. Apart from the two of us, there were another eight men at the base-no match for a crack Delta unit. Bailey said he would "arrange something". Those were his exact words. He called back a few minutes later to say that the Delta unit would be pulled out. That was great news — until you attacked. Al-Makesh ordered his men to stand and fight then he took me to an underground tunnel and we managed to get out only minutes before your unit overran the camp.

'I called Bailey that night to find out what had gone wrong. That's when he told me what had really happened. He had found out that a Delta unit was in the area, under your command, but he couldn't risk telling your commanding officer that I was a CIA asset without compromising my position. He knew it was your first operation as a unit leader and, understandably, he thought you might crack, given the right pressure. Your wife and son were kidnapped on his orders to force you to give the order to pull back. I know several eyewitnesses claimed that three Arabs, all wearing balaclavas, were involved in the kidnapping because they were sure the men had been speaking a language similar to Arabic. It was Arabic but they weren't Arabs. They were Americans speaking Arabic: Bailey's men — Paul Brett, Jack Rogers and a third man called Kennedy, Rick Kennedy. He was killed in a light plane crash a few months ago.

'Your wife and son were brought here, to this safe house. That's why I came here after I was forced to leave the apartment in Murray Hill. It's the only other CIA safe house that I know of in the United States. I don't know whether Bailey ever intended to let them go but it seems your wife went for one of the men after he'd manhandled your son and in the ensuing struggle she managed to unmask him. They couldn't let either of them go after that. Both were shot that same day and their bodies buried at the back of the house. I don't know exactly where but it was somewhere close to the house. That's what happened, Graham. I don't expect you to take my word for it. There's a file in Bailey's computer entitled "Operation Delta". It's all there. I'm sure your Colonel Philpott will be given access to it by the CIA.

'You must be wondering right now why I made this tape for you. Well, I can answer that in one word — respect. Like me, you're a field man, and one of the best by all accounts. Bailey's a desk man who manipulates the lives of the people around him. He may have been my controller, but that didn't mean I had to respect him. How could I? You, though, gained my respect the moment you gave the order to attack. You believed in your principles enough to sacrifice your own family for them. That's the mark of a true soldier.

'But having said that, the past can never be undone. We both have to live with what happened that day. Each of us has our own guilt to bear. And no matter what happens, we'll have to carry that guilt to our graves. Assalam alaikum.'

Graham sat back in the chair and rubbed his hands slowly over his face. He knew the anger would come, in time. But at that moment all he felt was relief, relief that the last pieces of the jigsaw had finally slotted into place. At last, he knew the truth. The pain and the anguish of the past two years were at an end. But most importantly of all, Carrie and Mikey could now be laid to rest in sacred ground. Carrie had always been the religious one of the family, and he knew she would have wanted it, not only for herself, but for Mikey as well — together, side by side for ever.

He switched off the tape deck, pocketed the cassette, then picked up his cup and went through to the kitchen. Sabrina was sitting at the pine table.

'Are you OK?' she asked softly.

'Yeah,' he replied then went on to quickly outline the gist of what Bernard had said on the cassette.

'I'm sorry, Mike,' she said softly when he'd finished speaking.

'I always knew they were dead. I can't explain why, though. I guess it's just a feeling you have when you're as close as I was to them. What's always preyed on my mind these last couple of years was the fact that they'd never had a proper burial. But now I can rectify that. Then I can visit the graves every week and be with them again.' He shrugged uncomfortably. 'I know that sounds kind of corny…'

'Only to you. You've never allowed your feelings to surface since they disappeared, have you? You've always made yourself out to be the hard, uncaring maverick. Well, that's the image you wanted to portray, and it's worked with most people. It even worked with me, at first. But not now. I've seen the other side of Mike Graham. And he's not as hard as he likes the world to believe.'

'Yeah?' he said then put the cup down on the table. 'It's late. I'd better be going.'

'There's a spare room. It's only ever used when my parents come up from Miami.'

'No, I want to get back to the hotel. But thanks anyway.'

'OK. I'll get my keys.'

Til get a cab. You need your beauty sleep.'

'Don't be silly — '

'I'm taking a cab.' Graham indicated the cup on the table. 'Thanks for the hot chocolate.'

She nodded then got up and walked him to the front door. 'Are you sure I can't give you a lift? It's no trouble.'

'I'm sure.' He opened the door then looked back at her. 'See you this afternoon.'

She kissed him lightly on the cheek. 'Night, Mike.'

'Yeah,' he muttered and closed the door behind him.