Red Alert

Three

Tuesday

The BA 707 touched down at Heathrow at midnight, ten minutes behind schedule. Whitlock took a taxi to the address in East Acton he had been given in his brief. It turned out to be a red-brick bungalow with a low wooden fence running the length of a small, neat garden. The gate squeaked as he opened it. An old intelligence trick. He instinctively looked around. The street was deserted. He took a key from his pocket and unlocked the front door, dumping his overnight bag at the foot of the hall stand. He switched the light on and took in the unobtrusive patterned carpet, the pale-blue walls and the framed photograph of the Queen which hung between the two doors to his right. The first door led into a lounge. The second led into a bedroom.

He glanced at his watch. 11.45. He had no idea when the anti-terrorist squad were going to brief him. Tonight? Tomorrow morning? It was up to them to contact him. He certainly wasn’t going to wait up for them. He picked up his overnight bag and headed for the bedroom, turning on the light at the wall switch as he went in.

The man in the armchair facing the door was in his mid-thirties with a pale complexion and cropped blond hair. The automatic in his right hand was aimed at the centre of Whitlock’s chest. Whitlock recognized it as a Browning high power, a favourite handgun of the British special forces. He dumped his bag on the bed.

‘Are Scotland Yard’s anti-terrorist squad always so cordial to foreign visitors, Major Lonsdale?’

The man picked up a photograph of Whitlock from the table beside him, looked at it, then put it down again, laying the Browning on top of it.

‘You can never be too careful these days,’ he said with a grin, then got to his feet, hand extended. ‘George Lonsdale.’

Whitlock shook his hand.

‘Your accent intrigues me,’ Lonsdale said. ‘Eton? Harrow?’

‘Nothing so grand, I’m afraid. Radley.’

‘Really? I’m an Old Etonian myself.’ Lonsdale clapped his hands together. ‘Well, how much have you been told about the London operation?’

‘Only that you’d be my contact once I got here.’

‘I guessed as much. Let’s go through to the lounge, we can discuss the details in there.’ Lonsdale slipped the Browning into his shoulder holster then picked up a folder from the table and led the way. He switched on the light and indicated the drinks cabinet in the corner of the room. ‘What’s your poison?’

‘I wouldn’t say no to a scotch and soda. No ice.’

‘Coming up,’ Lonsdale replied, crossing to the cabinet. ‘We always keep a bit of alcohol in our safe houses. It can get pretty frustrating being cooped up in a place like this for days on end. We find that alcohol helps to relieve the tension.’

‘As long as it’s taken in moderation.’

‘You sound like a commercial for AA,’ Lonsdale said with a smile and handed Whitlock his drink. He raised his own glass. ‘Here’s to a successful operation.’

‘I’ll drink to that,’ Whitlock replied, taking a sip of his whisky.

Lonsdale sat down facing him. ‘How much do you know about Alexander?’

‘I read his background history on the plane. What I don’t know about him isn’t worth finding out. One thing does puzzle me, though. If Wiseman doesn’t know what Alexander looks like, how can this Young be sure he’s springing the real Alexander from the prison van?’

‘Young’s hired a couple of locals who’ve worked with Alexander in the past It Young’s insurance against snatching the wrong man. One of them, Dave Humphries, is on our payroll. It was him who tipped us off about Young in the first place.’

‘But if they both know what Alexander looks like, where does that leave me?’

‘It’s all been taken care of, don’t worry. Humphries has agreed to identify you as Alexander in exchange for a small financial incentive.’

‘What about the other man?’

‘He won’t be there. In fact, he’s sitting in a police cell right now. And he’ll remain there on suspicion of some trumped-up charge until after the breakout in the morning. It’s too late for Young to draft in a new accomplice so it will just be the two of them.’ Lonsdale removed a silver cigarette case from his inside jacket pocket and offered it to Whitlock, who declined with a raised hand. Lonsdale lit one for himself and pocketed the case again. ‘Our original idea was to change vans en route to the Old Bailey but the problem is, we don’t know where Young intends to spring you. It could be at any point along the way. We’re going to have to be there from the start.’

‘How many men in the van?’

‘Two of us up front. We’re also using our own men to act as your fellow prisoners. The last thing we need is a mass breakout.’

‘What time are we due out of the police station?’

‘The hearing’s scheduled for two. I haven’t finalized the exact time of departure with the station commander yet but it should be around eleven-thirty.’

‘What about Alexander?’

‘He’ll be our guest for a few days. We’ll hand him back to the prison authorities when we get the nod from your chaps.’

‘How have they taken it?’

Lonsdale chuckled. ‘They’re well pissed off, because it’s going to look like they lost Alexander. Too bad, it’s something they’ll have to accept.’

Whitlock pointed to the folder. ‘Has anything come through on Young?’

Lonsdale nodded. ‘I read it while I was waiting for you. Some partner you’ve got there. Seems he ran with a New York gang until he was eighteen when he was drafted into Vietnam. He turned out to be an exceptional soldier, and after the US pulled out in ’75 he joined the French Foreign Legion. Spent eight years with them, then deserted and went to Central America to fight against the Sandinistas. He now works with the death squads in El Salvador.’ He handed the fax from the Command Centre to Whitlock, then stood up and moved to the window. He turned back to Whitlock. ‘Married?’

Whitlock’s fingers instinctively tightened around his glass. He put it down on the table, hoping Lonsdale hadn’t noticed. ‘For six years.’

‘What does your wife do?’

‘She’s a paediatrician. How about you?’

‘I’ve been married for eleven years. Cathy used to be a teacher, but now she’s a full-time mother. Jill’s nine, Holly’s five. Cathy’s expecting again in October. We already know it’s going to be a boy this time. Quite are lief I’m beginning to get outvoted on everything at home. At least we men will be able to stick together. Have you any children?’

Whitlock shook his head. Just as well, he thought to himself.

‘What time will you be here?’ he asked.

‘About ten. That will give us plenty of time to get to the police station.’ Lonsdale drank down the rest of his Scotch in one gulp. ‘I’ll leave the folder with you and pick it up in the morning. I’ll see myself out. Good night.’

Whitlock returned to the bedroom after Lonsdale had left the house. He thought about Carmen as he got ready for bed. He had an insane impulse to ring her but he quickly talked himself out of it. He switched off the light and climbed into bed, pulling the sheets up to his chin. What was going to happen to them? He knew he would lose her if he stayed with UNACO. It was inevitable. She was always worried about him when he was on assignment: worry which was affecting her work. Or so she claimed. But what was the alternative? Leave UNACO to set up some security consultancy that advised Fifth Avenue boutique owners how best to protect their premises? That wasn’t for him. He loved the challenge of his work. He only wished he knew how to convince Carmen. He stifled a yawn, turned over, and closed his eyes. Within minutes he was asleep.

The streets of Rome were still quiet when Kolchinsky parked the hired Peugeot 405 in front of a small cafeteria on the via Nazionale. Sabrina looked through the passenger window.

‘Canzone Caffè, that’s it all right.’

Graham, who was seated in the back, glanced at his watch. ‘Two minutes to seven. Perfect timing.’

Kolchinsky switched off the engine. They got out and locked the doors behind them. The card hanging in the window read Chiuso. Closed. He waited until a couple had walked past then knocked sharply on the door. A corner of the red curtain which spanned the window was pulled back and a moment later the door was unlocked and opened. It was locked again behind them. Apart from the man who had let them in, there was only one other person in the room. He was seated at one of the tables, a copy of Paese Sera spread out in front of him. An empty coffee cup stood on the next table.

‘Please, come in,’ he said, without looking up from the newspaper.

‘Major Paluzzi?’ Kolchinsky said, approaching the table.

The man held up his hand, continuing to study the page in front of him. He finally shook his head and sat back in the chair, a bemused smile touching the corners of his wide mouth.

‘I hate the stock market. That’s the third day in a row that my shares have gone down. I should have listened to my father when he told me to dump them.’ He suddenly grinned and got to his feet, pushing back the chair, his hand extended. ‘Fabio Paluzzi, Nucleo Operativo Centrale di Sicurezza.’

They each shook his hand in turn.

Paluzzi was thirty-six years old with a gaunt, pallid face which, together with his cropped brown hair, made him look more like an emaciated prisoner on a hunger strike than one of the most respected officers in the elite Italian anti-terrorist squad, the NOCS, better known as the ‘Leatherheads’ because of the leather hoods they often wore in combat.

‘Please, sit down,’ Paluzzi said, indicating the table. ‘Have you eaten this morning?’

‘We had dinner on the plane,’ Kolchinsky replied, pulling up a chair.

‘You mean breakfast?’

‘Dinner, breakfast, it’s the same thing. We’re six hours behind you in New York.’ Sabrina stifled a yawn as if to make her point.

‘It’s really disorientating.’

‘I can believe it. How about some coffee?’

‘The magic word,’ Kolchinsky replied. ‘We checked into the Quirinale Hotel, dumped our things, and dashed over here. Not even time for a coffee.’

‘That’s easily rectified,’ Paluzzi said, and signalled to the man who had let them in. He held up three fingers. ‘Tre tazze di caffè.’

The man pointed to Paluzzi’s empty cup.

‘Si, grazie,’ Paluzzi said, nodding his head. He gestured after the retreating man. ‘Giancarlo’s completely deaf. He used to be with the NOCS. His eardrums were shattered in a freak accident when a limpet mine detonated prematurely during an underwater exercise. He bought the café when he was discharged from hospital. I thought it would be the perfect place for us to meet. He can lip-read, but don’t worry, he can’t understand a word of English. We can talk freely in front of him.’

‘Where did you learn to speak English?’ Sabrina asked.

‘My mother’s English,’ Paluzzi replied. He took a telex from his pocket and gave it to Kolchinsky. ‘Your Colonel Philpott asked me to give you this. It came through about four hours ago.’

Kolchinsky unfolded the telex and read it.

Sabrina read it, then handed it to Graham.

‘But this is playing straight into their hands,’ Graham said, tapping the paper with his finger.

‘Once they know what’s really in the vial it could push it even further underground. Who knows what they might use it for in the future?’

‘I think we should hear what Major Paluzzi has to say before we start jumping to conclusions,’ Kolchinsky said.

Paluzzi waited until Giancarlo had deposited the four cups of coffee on the table.

‘I’ve already spoken to Nicola Pisani, the leader of the Red Brigades. He’s agreed to co-operate fully with us.’

‘And you believe him?’ Graham asked incredulously.

‘How much do you know about the Red Brigades, Mr. Graham?’

‘Enough to know that I wouldn’t trust the bastards an inch.’

‘I know them inside out. I should do after eight years. It was my idea in the first place to contact Pisani.’ Paluzzi held up his hand when Graham opened his mouth to speak. ‘Give me a chance and I’ll explain to you why I did it. We have a senior Brigatista on our payroll. A brigade chief, to be exact. He gets to attend all the executive committee meetings. He told us that Pisani called an emergency meeting yesterday. It turned out that the break-in hadn’t been sanctioned by the committee. In fact, the first Pisani knew about it was when he turned on his radio yesterday morning and heard that the Red Brigades had claimed responsibility for it. It was obvious that Zocchi was behind it–’

‘Why?’ Graham challenged.

‘Two reasons. Firstly, because Riccardo Ubrino was involved. He’s been Zocchi’s right-hand man for the last six years. They were inseparable.’

‘Couldn’t Ubrino have pulled it off by himself?’ Kolchinsky asked.

Paluzzi shook his head. ‘It was too well planned. Ubrino’s a hatchet man, he doesn’t have the brains to plan a raid like that. Zocchi did.’

‘And the second reason?’ Sabrina asked.

‘It’s a bit more complicated. Pisani found out at the beginning of the year that he had cancer. The doctors doubt he’ll see out the year. This has naturally sparked a bitter power struggle amongst the brigade chiefs to appoint his successor. It came down to two men: Zocchi and Tonino Calvieri, Milan’s brigade chief. Calvieri is a so-called “moderate”. He has the unanimous support of the other brigade chiefs. He’s been Pisani’s blue-eyed boy for years. But Zocchi had the money behind him. The Rome cell is wealthier than all the other cells put together. And that meant he had the backing of many of the rich irregulars.’

‘Irregulars?’ Kolchinsky asked.

‘It’s what the Brigatisti call sympathizers. They don’t have a say at committee level but they can easily make their presence felt by withholding donations if they don’t agree with committee policy. And if enough donations are withheld, it would cripple the organization financially.’

‘Was this happening?’ Kolchinsky asked.

‘It was being threatened. And that was something Pisani had to take into consideration when choosing his successor. Then Zocchi was arrested for his part in the attempted murder of a Rome judge. The other brigade chiefs were only too pleased to see the prison gates close behind him. They certainly wouldn’t have wanted to spring him. Which leaves Zocchi himself.’

‘I still don’t see why Pisani has agreed to co-operate with us,’ Sabrina said.

‘Because the vial could end up being used against him, and the committee, forcing them to concede power to the Rome cell.’ Paluzzi held out his hand towards Graham. ‘As you said, who knows what use they might find for it in the future.’

‘But Zocchi’s dead,’ Sabrina said.

‘But Ubrino isn’t, and the Rome cell regard him as Zocchi’s natural successor. That frightens Pisani and his brigade chiefs enough for them to agree to help us get the vial back.’

‘Surely they could negotiate with him themselves? Then, once they had the vial, they could kill him and install this Calvieri.’

‘Nice scenario, Mr. Graham, but you’re overlooking a couple of points. Firstly, they don’t know where Ubrino is, that much we do know from our mole. And secondly, by killing him, the donations from foreign irregulars could dry up. But if we were to kill him, or jail him, for that matter, they would have neatly sidestepped the responsibility. As far as they’re concerned, the vial’s a small price to pay if it means keeping the Red Brigades intact.’

Graham drank the remainder of his coffee and replaced the cup in the saucer. ‘I’ve got to hand it to you, Paluzzi, you know your business.’

‘That’s why I was assigned to help you. I know how their devious minds work. And Pisani’s sending us their most devious mind of all to help us find the vial. Calvieri.’

‘I thought you said he was a moderate?’

‘He is, Miss Carver, and that’s what makes him all the more dangerous. He and Zocchi were like chalk and cheese. Zocchi, the brash, arrogant radical who used violence against anyone opposing the cause. And Calvieri, the polite, mild-mannered intellectual. He speaks five languages fluently and has been in charge of their PR department for the past four years. At least with Zocchi you knew what to expect. But not with Calvieri. It’s impossible to know what’s going on in his mind. It’s no wonder he’s held in such high regard in the Brigades.’

‘When do we meet him?’ Kolchinsky asked.

‘Eight o’clock at the Quirinale.’

Kolchinsky finished his coffee. ‘Any news of the helicopter that was used by Zocchi’s killers?’

‘Still nothing. But we are certain it wasn’t a genuine police helicopter. The markings on the fuselage were false.’

‘What about the wounded terrorist?’ Kolchinsky asked.

‘Conte? He’s still in a critical condition in hospital. The doctors removed eight bullets from his body. It’s a miracle he’s still alive.’ Paluzzi took another sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to Kolchinsky. ‘The ballistics report on the bullets taken from Conte and Nardi. They all came from the submachine-gun found next to Nardi’s body. It was clean, so we can only presume that Ubrino had instructions to kill his team once he had the vial in his possession.’

‘What can you tell us about Ubrino?’ Sabrina asked. ‘We don’t have much on him at the Command Centre.’

‘Grew up in the same slums as Zocchi. Believed passionately in the cause from an early age. Zocchi recruited him. He started out as Zocchi’s personal bodyguard but slowly worked his way up through the ranks to his present position of senior cell commander. That meant he was only answerable to Zocchi. We know he’s been personally responsible for at least four murders and countless kneecap-pings here in Rome but we’ve never had enough evidence to make it stick. He’s always had Zocchi to bail him out of trouble.’ Paluzzi glanced at his watch. ‘I think we should go if we’re going to make the Quirinale by eight.’

Kolchinsky was the first on his feet and he led the way out to the Peugeot.

A receptionist at the Quirinale Hotel told them that Calvieri had checked in less than half an hour earlier. She gave them his room number and they rode the lift to the third floor where Paluzzi rapped sharply on the bedroom door. Calvieri opened it and gestured for them to enter his room.

He was a handsome 41year-old with finely chiselled features, piercing blue eyes and a neatly trimmed brown moustache. His long dark brown hair was combed away from his forehead and secured in a ponytail behind his head.

He closed the door after them and stopped in front of Paluzzi. They each tried to stare the other out like two boxers before a big fight, both oblivious to those around them. Kolchinsky was about to speak but Graham put a hand on his arm to silence him. The movement broke Paluzzi’s concentration and he turned away sharply, furious with himself for allowing his feelings to surface so easily. He introduced them to Calvieri. Kolchinsky and Sabrina shook Calvieri’s extended hand. Graham refused.

‘What organization do you work for?’

‘That doesn’t concern you, Mr. Calvieri,’ Kolchinsky replied as he crossed to one of the armchairs and sat down. ‘Let’s just say we’re working with Major Paluzzi and leave it at that.’

‘Very well,’ Calvieri replied, the resentment obvious in his face.

Kolchinsky took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offered one to Paluzzi, who refused with a quick shake of his head. Calvieri took one. Kolchinsky lit it for him, then his own, and discarded the match in the ashtray beside him.

‘Has Pisani briefed you?’ Paluzzi asked, sitting on the bed beside Graham.

Calvieri nodded. ‘I called him when I got here. He wanted to be here in person but he wasn’t up to it. He’s deteriorating fast. The doctors are doubtful he’ll see out the year. At this rate he won’t see out the summer. You did tell them about him?’

‘They know,’ Paluzzi replied.

‘He asked me to put myself completely at your disposal. We’re just as concerned as you are about getting the vial back safely.’

‘That’s good coming from you,’ Graham snapped. ‘It’s a bit late to lock the stable door. The horse bolted two days ago.’

‘It was an unauthorized operation, Mr. Graham. The committee didn’t know anything about it until the following day.’

‘And that’s your excuse? Your organization is in such a shambles that the right hand doesn’t know what the left hand is doing any more?’

Calvieri inhaled deeply on the cigarette and moved to the window. A school bus had stopped on the other side of the street. He could see several of the children inside laughing as they play-fought on the back seat. How many of them would die if the virus were to be released into the atmosphere? He turned away, unable to look at their innocent faces.

‘Where do you think Ubrino’s hiding?’ Kolchinsky asked Calvieri.

‘I’d say he is still in Rome. His friends are here. They’ll shield him. Unfortunately, the Rome cell has always been the maverick in the organization. That’s how someone like Zocchi became their brigade chief. It could never have happened in any of the other cities.’

‘He could also be in Venice,’ Paluzzi said.

‘Venice?’ Calvieri asked in surprise.

‘He was posted up there for a few months a couple of years ago. It’s about the only time he and Zocchi were ever apart.’

‘I didn’t know he was ever in Venice. It proves how mysterious the man can be.’

‘I doubt he’d have gone to Venice, though,’ Paluzzi concluded after a moment’s thought. ‘It’s a moderate stronghold, that’s why he didn’t last there very long. No, I’d have to go along with Calvieri. He’s almost certainly still here in Rome.’

‘I used to be the senior cell commander here twelve years ago,’ Calvieri said. ‘I’ve still got contacts in the city. I’ve already told them to find out what they can. If Ubrino’s here, they’ll pass the information on to me. The problem will be trying to pin him down. He knows he’ll have to keep moving to stay one step ahead of us.’

‘I suggest you split up into teams,’ Kolchinsky said. ‘Sabrina, you work with Calvieri. And stick to him like a leech.’

Calvieri shrugged. ‘That’s fine by me.’

‘Her Italian’s as good as your English, that’s why I’ve paired her with you.’ Kolchinsky turned to Graham. ‘You work with Major Paluzzi.’

‘How’s your Italian?’ Paluzzi asked Graham. ‘Non-existent.’

‘We’ll manage,’ Paluzzi said with a smile.

Kolchinsky picked up his attaché case and got to his feet. ‘You’ll have to excuse me. I have several phone calls to make.’

‘So have I,’ Calvieri said. ‘Hopefully one of my contacts will have come up with something by now.’

‘Where do we start?’ Graham asked Paluzzi.

‘Neo-Chem Industries. My men have been there all night. I think it’s time to see what they’ve found.’

Paluzzi parked his white Alfa Romeo Lusso in the carpark opposite the plant’s main entrance. They got out and he used a transmitter to lock the doors behind them. They crossed the carpark and mounted the steps leading into the foyer. The front of the reception desk had been boarded up to hide the bullet holes. The wall behind it had already been redecorated. In fact, the only sign of the break-in was the chipped pillar in the middle of the foyer. Paluzzi identified himself to the receptionist and asked her to have his deputy report to the foyer. He then crossed to where Graham was standing beside the pillar.

‘What were your men doing here last night?’ Graham asked.

‘Trying to find out who was paying Wiseman for the virus. They concealed themselves in the building late yesterday afternoon and waited until the management team had left before going through each of their offices in turn.’

‘How did they get past the closed-circuit television cameras?’

Paluzzi gave him a knowing smile. ‘Some of these systems can go on the blink at the most inopportune moments.’

‘Point taken.’

‘We’re sure to take some flak when the MD finds out what’s happened but we’ll weather the storm. We always do.’

The lift doors opened and a tall, dark-haired man emerged into the foyer. Graham doubted he was much older than Sabrina. Paluzzi introduced him as Lieutenant Angelo Marco, his personal adjutant for the past seven months.

‘Pleased to meet you, sir,’ Marco said, shaking Graham’s hand.

‘Call me Mike,’ Graham told him.

‘Well, did you find anything?’ Paluzzi asked.

‘Yes, sir, but we’re going to have a job proving it.’ Marco jabbed his thumb upwards. ‘We’ve got a more immediate problem on our hands. The MD’s been ranting and raging at me ever since he got here an hour ago. He said he wanted to see you the moment you arrived.’

‘What did you find?’

Marco pushed the button for the lift. ‘The senior sales manager has received four payments of eighty million lire in the past year. And each time he withdrew sixty-four million lire, in cash, on the same day that the cheques were cleared through his account.’

The lift arrived.

‘How much is eighty million lire in dollars?’ Graham asked.

‘It’s about twenty-five thousand dollars,’ Marco said, pressing the button for the top floor. He looked at Paluzzi. ‘The cheques were all issued by Nikki Karos.’

‘Karos?’ Paluzzi said thoughtfully. ‘That’s interesting.’

‘Who’s this Karos?’ Graham asked.

‘One of the wealthiest arms dealers in the Aegean,’ Paluzzi replied. ‘He does most of his business in the Middle East.’

‘So if this sales manager was the middleman between Karos and Wiseman, who’s to say Karos wasn’t acting on behalf of a Middle Eastern client? Iran? Iraq? One of the Lebanese factions? The list’s endless.’

‘That’s what we’ve got to find out,’ Paluzzi replied. ‘But first we’ve got to pacify an angry MD.’

The doors parted and they emerged into a beige-carpeted corridor. Marco led them to a door and entered without knocking. The secretary looked up from her typewriter. Her smile faltered when she saw Marco. Paluzzi rapped loudly on one of the double doors and entered the inner office without waiting for a reply.

The managing director sat behind a large oak desk. The nameplate identified him as Daniel Chidenko.

‘I’m Major Paluzzi, I believe you wanted to see me?’

The secretary hurried into the room. ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Chidenko, they just walked in–’

‘It’s okay, Margarita,’ Chidenko cut in, his hand raised. ‘It’s not your fault.’

The secretary left the room, closing the door behind her.

‘You don’t have to speak English to me, Major. I may be American but I am fluent in your language.’

‘Mr. Graham here doesn’t speak Italian.’

Chidenko removed a cigarette from the silver box on his desk and lit it. ‘Mike Graham. Our head office in New York told me you were coming.’

‘I’m impressed,’ Graham replied. ‘At least there’s one efficient employee in the company. You should have them transferred out here.’

Chidenko ignored Graham’s sarcasm and looked at Paluzzi. ‘I want to know on whose authority your men broke into the seven offices on this floor, including my own, and went through the contents of the wall safes.’

‘Mine,’ Paluzzi replied.

‘May I see a search warrant?’

‘I don’t need one,’ Paluzzi replied defiantly.

‘Really?’ Chidenko tapped the ash from his cigarette into the glass ashtray on his desk. ‘You’ve been trying to link one, or more, of my management team to Wiseman ever since you took charge of this case instead of getting out there and finding the vial. Well, this time you’ve gone too far. You’ve broken the law and I’ll see to it that you’re taken off the case and replaced with someone who’s prepared to get his priorities right.’

‘Before you do that, Lieutenant Marco has something to show you.’

Marco took the papers he had found in the senior sales manager’s wall safe and handed them to Chidenko.

‘They’re bank statements,’ Chidenko said.

They’re also evidence linking Vittore Dragotti to Wiseman and the virus,’ Marco said.

‘Show me,’ Chidenko said, holding up the papers.

‘These payments have been traced to Nikki Karos,’ Marco said, pointing out the relevant entries on each of the bank statements.

‘And who’s Nikki Karos?’

‘An arms dealer with powerful connections in the Middle East,’ Paluzzi replied.

‘So Vittore did some business with him,’ Chidenko said, hands outstretched. ‘What does that prove?’

‘The money was deposited in his private account,’ Marco stressed.

‘A gift. It happens all the time in this business.’

‘We think it was a payoff.’

‘So arrest him,’ Chidenko challenged. ‘Then let’s see what a court will make of your “evidence”.’

‘No one’s going to be arrested yet. All we want to do is talk to him,’ Paluzzi said.

‘Fine, I’ll have one of our lawyers come over.’

‘No lawyers,’ Paluzzi replied.

Chidenko’s hand rested lightly on the receiver. ‘You certainly believe in flouting the law, Major. First your men break in here without a search warrant and now you want to interrogate one of my managers but refuse to allow him access to a lawyer. I know his rights, and that means having a lawyer present when you confront him with this flimsy evidence of yours.’

Paluzzi crossed to the desk. ‘Get him a lawyer, but I promise you every national paper will carry a front-page story tomorrow morning linking a senior manager at Neo-Chem Industries to an arms dealer whose past deals involving Sarin and Tabun have left hundreds of thousands dead in the Gulf War. It won’t look very good coming so soon after the break-in, will it?’

Chidenko sat back in his chair. ‘Is Vittore here yet?’

‘Not yet, but one of my men is waiting for him in his office.’

The telephone rang. Chidenko grabbed the receiver, listened momentarily, then held it out towards Graham.

‘It’s for you.’

‘Graham speaking.’

‘Mike, it’s Sabrina. Calvieri’s got word from one of his contacts that Ubrino’s been seen in Venice. We’re going up there to check it out. I’ll see you back at the hotel.’

‘Okay. But, Sabrina–’ Graham struggled to find the words to express himself. ‘Take every precaution,’ he said finally in a gruff voice. ‘I don’t trust that bastard an inch.’

‘I will. See you later. Bye.’

Graham replaced the receiver and almost immediately the telephone rang again. Chidenko picked up the receiver again, his eyes darting around the room as he listened in silence. He put his hand over the mouthpiece.

‘Vittore’s here.’

‘We’re on our way,’ Paluzzi said.

Chidenko passed on the message and had to restrain himself from slamming the handset back into the cradle. He stood up and brushed an imaginary fleck of dust from his jacket.

‘Let’s get this over with, shall we? Then I’m going to make sure you’re kicked off the case.’

‘You’re not coming with us, if that’s what you think,’ Paluzzi shot back.

‘I’ve had about all I can take from you, Paluzzi–’

‘I don’t like pulling rank, but you’re forcing my hand,’ Paluzzi cut in sharply. He took an envelope from his pocket and slapped it down on the desk.

‘Read that.’

‘What is it?’ Chidenko demanded.

‘Read it and you’ll find out.’

Chidenko removed a sheet of paper from the envelope and read it. He looked up once, then sank slowly into his chair.

‘There’s a telephone number at the top of the page if you want to take the matter any further. If not, I’ve got work to do.’

Chidenko replaced the paper inside the envelope and handed it silently back to Paluzzi.

Graham followed Paluzzi into the corridor.

‘What the hell’s in the envelope?’

‘A letter, signed by the Prime Minister, which, roughly translated, gives me carte blanche to use any methods I deem necessary to recover the vial. It also says that any complaints about my methods should be reported to him in person.’

‘So why didn’t you show it to Chidenko straight away? It would have saved us all a lot of trouble.’

‘I don’t like to tempt fate. That’s why I only use it as a last resort.’

Graham stopped in the middle of the corridor.

‘What do you mean, you don’t like to tempt fate?’

‘It’s a forgery. The notepaper’s genuine, we get that from a mole inside the Prime Minister’s office. We write the text ourselves, depending on the nature of the assignment.’

‘And you do it for every assignment?’

‘Every difficult assignment. And let’s face it, they don’t come much more difficult than this one. As I said, it’s only used as a last resort.’

‘Has anyone ever challenged its authenticity?’

‘Not up to now. But I’m sure there will be a first time. That’s when I’ll start thinking about writing my memoirs.’

‘I like it,’ Graham muttered thoughtfully. ‘I wonder how I can get hold of some White House stationery?’

Marco looked out from a doorway. ‘Are you coming, sir?’

Paluzzi patted Graham on the shoulder. ‘Come on, Mike.’

Dragotti was standing in front of his open wall safe checking through his personal papers, when Graham and Paluzzi entered the room.

‘Looking for these?’ Paluzzi asked, holding up the bank statements.

Dragotti looked round, momentarily startled by Paluzzi’s use of English. He closed the safe and approached Paluzzi.

‘Who are you?’

Paluzzi introduced himself and said that Graham was from the company’s headquarters in New York, sent out to help with the investigation. Marco spoke softly to Paluzzi, then left the room, closing the door behind him.

‘Where’s Signore Chidenko?’

‘Busy,’ Paluzzi replied. ‘Now sit down, we’ve got some questions to ask you.’

‘I’m not answering any of your questions until I know why my wall safe was opened last night. It’s an outrage.’

‘Call Chidenko, he knows what’s going on.’

Dragotti picked up the receiver hesitantly and rang Chidenko’s office. He turned away from them as he spoke softly into the mouthpiece.

‘What did Chidenko say?’ Paluzzi asked once Dragotti had finished his conversation.

‘He told me to cooperate with you. What do you want to know?’

‘Why has Nikki Karos been paying eighty million lire into your account every month for the past four months?’ Paluzzi demanded, dropping the bank statements on the desk in front of Dragotti. ‘And why did you withdraw eighty percent of the money in cash on the same day that each of the cheques was cleared?’

‘We had a business deal,’ Dragotti replied, fingering the nearest bank statement nervously. ‘I should have known it would backfire on me. I told him to pay me in cash but he wouldn’t hear of it. He insisted on payment by cheque.’

‘Karos never deals in currency,’ Paluzzi told Graham. ‘It’s an idiosyncrasy that’s lost him a lot of business in the past.’ He turned back to Dragotti. ‘So you kept twenty percent as a commission and paid the balance to Wiseman in cash?’

‘Wiseman?’ Dragotti replied in surprise. ‘I had nothing to do with Wiseman.’

‘Don’t lie!’ Paluzzi snapped.

‘I’m not lying. Have you ever heard of phosgene?’

‘Of course,’ Paluzzi replied. ‘It’s a nerve gas made up from a mixture of chlorine and phosphorus.’

Dragotti nodded. ‘Karos was put in touch with me because he needed large quantities of chlorine for one of his clients so that they could make phosgene themselves.’

‘Who?’ Graham demanded.

‘He never told me. All I knew was that he had a source for phosphorus and he needed the chlorine to complete the deal. I have a reliable contact who could supply him with as much chlorine as he needed, at a knockdown price. That’s what he paid me for.’

There was a tap on the door and Marco entered. He spoke softly to Paluzzi, then took up a position by the door. Paluzzi crossed to the desk, picked up the bank statements and pocketed them.

‘It’s over, Dragotti. Karos has confessed.’

‘To what?’ Dragotti asked apprehensively.

‘To paying you to act as the middleman between Wiseman and himself.’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ Dragotti retorted.

‘We had him picked up earlier this morning. He held out for the first hour but he finally agreed to talk in exchange for a reduced sentence. And from what he’s said about you, I doubt you’ll get out of jail before you’re sixty.’

‘You’re lying,’ Dragotti said, a desperation already beginning to creep into his voice.

‘We’re prepared to offer you the same deal.’ Paluzzi glanced at Marco. ‘Read him his rights.’

Dragotti yanked open the middle drawer of his desk and pulled out an RF83 revolver, but when he looked up he found Paluzzi and Marco aiming their Berettas at him.

‘Drop the gun,’ Paluzzi ordered, his finger tightening on the trigger. ‘Drop it!’

Dragotti’s plan had backfired. He hadn’t known that they would be armed. There was no escape, not now.

‘Drop it,’ Paluzzi repeated.

‘Then what?’ Dragotti said in a hollow voice. ‘Thirty years inside?’

‘Karos hasn’t confessed to anything. We haven’t even arrested him. It was a trick to try and make you confess,’ Paluzzi told him.

‘I don’t believe you,’ Dragotti said, shaking his head slowly.

‘Put down the gun, Vittore, and we’ll talk,’ Paluzzi said.

Dragotti gave Paluzzi a half-smile, then pushed the barrel of the revolver against the roof of his mouth and pulled the trigger. Blood splattered across the window behind the desk and Dragotti slumped to the floor. Paluzzi hurried across to where he lay and felt for a pulse.

There wasn’t one. He looked up at Graham and Marco and shook his head, then, taking off his jacket, he placed it over Dragotti’s mutilated face.

Chidenko and several of his managers burst into the office.

‘What happened?’ Chidenko demanded, staring at Dragotti’s body.

‘He shot himself,’ Graham replied.

‘This isn’t some sort of sideshow!’ Paluzzi shouted angrily. ‘Go back to your offices.’

Chidenko persuaded his colleagues to leave, then crossed to where Dragotti lay and reached down to lift the jacket.

‘You don’t want to look,’ Graham said, grabbing his wrist.

Chidenko jerked his hand free and lifted the cloth. Stumbling backwards a few feet, he clasped his hand over his mouth in a struggle to keep himself from vomiting. When he finally turned back to Graham his face was pale.

‘I never realized a handgun could cause so much damage.’

‘It can if it’s loaded with .38 slugs.’

Marco returned to the office. ‘The ambulance is on its way.’

‘What now?’ Graham asked Paluzzi.

‘I’ll get hold of the local carabinieri. If we can hand over the suicide to them without too many hitches we should be in Corfu by mid-afternoon.’

‘What’s in Corfu?’

‘Not what. Who. Nikki Karos.’