Time of the Assassins

NINE

Carmen looked up in surprise when Whitlock entered the lounge. 'What are you doing up, C.W.? Those sleeping tablets were supposed to have knocked you out until morning.'

'I never took them,' Whitlock replied, easing himself into his favourite armchair.

'I don't believe it,' she retorted then closed the book she was reading and placed it on the table beside her. 'You need rest. Why else do you think I asked the doctor to prescribe you such a strong sedative?'

'I'm on standby, Carmen. What if there were an emergency? What use would I be laid out cold until morning?'

She shook her head in desperation. 'Your arm's in a sling, for God's sake. What use would you be anyway? I know this might come as something of a shock to you, but UN AGO can function without you. Now, please, take those tablets and go to bed.'

'Stop fussing, Carmen, I'm OK,' he retorted then inhaled sharply through clenched teeth when he bumped his arm against the chair.

'So I see.' She got to her feet. 'OK, if you won't listen to me as your wife, then will you at least listen to me as a doctor?'

'I'm not one of your kid patients,' he said irritably.

'No, you're not! At least they have the sense to listen to me when I tell them to take their medicine.' She snatched the book off the table and disappeared into the kitchen.

He crossed to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a small whisky before returning to the armchair. He had certainly been tempted to take the sleeping pills, if only to escape from the guilt he felt inside, a guilt that stemmed from deceit. It had started when Sabrina rang him from Zimbala to get Mobuto to vouch for Joseph Moredi. Then she had called him again to get a clearance on Colonel David Tambese. He had secretly obtained the necessary information from a computer file in the command centre. In return for his help, she had confided to him that she and Graham were working together to find Remy Mobuto. But Kolchinsky had forbidden her to go near Kondese. It had to be their secret.

Whitlock had been caught in two minds. She was acting in direct violation of an order. And that could lead to her being suspended. Moreover, he would be part of it if he kept the information to himself. But they were his partners, and he had given his word not to tell Kolchinsky. At first he felt he had done the right thing. But the guilt had taken effect like a slow-acting poison and now it weighed heavily on his mind. He knew all he had to do was call Kolchinsky to clear his conscience. But he had given his word. No, he would stand by them, even if it went against him. He was still a field operative. He would only be transferred to the management side at the end of the year. His loyalty was still to Graham and Sabrina. It didn't ease his conscience, but at least he felt his actions were justified. But if they screwed up…

The telephone rang, interrupting his train of thought.

'C.W.?'

'Sergei?' Whitlock replied, immediately recognizing Kolchinsky's voice.

'How's the arm?'

Whitlock glanced towards the kitchen door. 'It's OK, thanks. What's up? I'm sure you didn't call just to ask me about my arm.'

'No,' Kolchinsky agreed. 'It's about your niece, Rosie.'

'How do you know about Rosie?' Whitlock shot back in surprise.

'I'm not going to explain it over the phone. I've sent a car over for you. It should be there in about twenty minutes.'

'Sergei, is she alright?' Whitlock demanded.

'I don't know,' Kolchinsky replied.

'You don't know?' Whitlock retorted sharply. 'Why are you being so damn evasive?'

Kolchinsky sighed deeply down the line. 'A T-shirt with her name on it was found in a flat in the Murray Hill district. Three bodies were also found in the flat. Two of them were policemen. But Rosie wasn't there. That's all I know at the moment. I'm on my way down there now.'

'Whose flat was it?'

'We don't know, not yet,' Kolchinsky replied. Til see you there, C.W. And don't say anything to her parents until we've established what really happened.'

'Sure,' Whitlock muttered then replaced the receiver and looked up at Carmen who had been standing in the doorway for the duration of the call. 'I've got to go out.'

'It's Rosie, isn't it?'

Whitlock nodded then got to his feet.

'What's happened to her?'

'That's what I'm hoping to find out,' Whitlock replied then squeezed her arm reassuringly before walking into the bedroom.

The whole street had been cordoned off by the police by the time Whitlock arrived. The driver pulled up next to Kolchinsky who was standing a few yards away from the growing crowd of onlookers struggling behind the police tape to get a better view of the entrance to the apartment block. Word had already spread among them of at least three murders inside the building, and all they wanted to see now were the bodies being brought out to the two ambulances parked close to the steps leading up into the foyer.

Kolchinsky opened the back door and Whitlock climbed out. The driver, who had already been told by Kolchinsky to wait for Whitlock, drove away in search of a parking space. Whitlock held his injured arm close to his chest as he followed Kolchinsky to the front of the crowd. A patrolman, who had already been told by a superior to give Kolchinsky authorized access to the area, immediately pulled up the tape to allow the two men through.

Whitlock grabbed Kolchinsky's arm once they were out of earshot of the crowd. 'I want some answers before we go in there. Firstly, how did the police know to get in touch with you about Rosie?'

'We have files on the relatives of all UN AGO personnel, both here and abroad. A list of those names is in the hands of Interpol, the FBI and the NYPD. We can't afford to take any chances, C.W.'

'That's a violation of their civil rights,' Whitlock shot back as they continued to walk towards the building.

'Spare the lecture, C.W. It's in their interests as much as ours. If they get into trouble with the law, we need to know about it to prevent the possibility of the organization being compromised in the ensuing investigation. And in certain cases, we can pull strings to have the charges dropped for the same reason.'

'And who has access to these files?'

'Jacques Rust at our headquarters in Zurich, the Colonel and myself. They're completely confidential; that's why we've never told any of the staff about them. But you're an exception. You'll have access to them when you join the management team at the end of the year. You need to know about them.'

'And what if I wasn't joining the management team at the end of the year?' Whitlock countered.

Kolchinsky smiled faintly. 'Then you wouldn't be here, would you?'

'Are these relatives ever tailed?'

'If we feel it's necessary, yes.'

'And Rosie?'

'No,' Kolchinsky replied softly as they mounted the steps.

A policeman opened one of the glass doors for them and they stepped into the foyer.

Kolchinsky pressed the button for the lift. 'In retrospect, I should have had her tailed. Who knows, perhaps this could have been averted. Truth is, I didn't even know she had violated her bail restrictions until tonight. I thought she was still in the custody of her parents.'

They got into the lift and Kolchinsky pressed the button for the third floor.

'Did you know she was here?' Kolchinsky asked suddenly.

'No, but I knew she wasn't at home. She walked out the day she was released into her parents' custody. She had an argument with her father. He and I went looking for her in Times Square, that's where she usually hangs out, but we couldn't find her. If we'd called in the police she'd have been done for bail violation, and that would almost certainly have made the difference between a suspended sentence and a jail sentence.'

'I'd already had a word with the commissioner. The charges were to have been dropped, even with a bail violation. But that was before this. It's out of my hands now, C.W. I'm sorry.'

Whitlock nodded grimly but said nothing. The lift stopped at the third floor and Kolchinsky identified himself to a uniformed policeman who told him where the deputy police commissioner was waiting for them. Kolchinsky thanked him and led the way into the flat.

Whitlock stopped in the entrance and looked down at the two dead policemen before following Kolchinsky into the lounge. The man seated in the armchair was in his early fifties with fine brown hair and a rugged, leathery face.

'Sergei, how are you?' the man asked in a surprisingly gentle voice.

Kolchinsky shook the extended hand. 'C. W. Whitlock, Deputy Commissioner Sean Hagen. C.W. works for us. He's also Rosie's uncle.'

'Pleased to meet you, sir,' Whitlock said, also shaking the extended hand.

'Sit down, won't you?' Hagen said, indicating the sofa opposite him.

'What happened, Sean?' Kolchinsky asked, taking the proffered seat.

Hagen rubbed his hands over his face then explained about the note Doyle had left with his friend which had been forwarded on to the police after Doyle had failed to keep a rendezvous that afternoon.

'And the two patrolmen came here looking for Doyle?' Kolchinsky said.

Hagen nodded. 'They were shot in cold blood, Sergei. Neither of them even had time to draw his weapon. Both were married with kids.' His eyes instinctively flickered towards Whitlock. 'I want their killer brought to book, and I'll leave no stone unturned in doing it.'

'You think Rosie shot them?' Whitlock fired back in amazement. 'A sixteen-year-old kid? She's never picked up a gun in her life.'

'C.W., that's enough,' Kolchinsky said softly, but firmly, and put a hand lightly on Whitlock's arm.

'No, I don't think your niece shot them, Mr Whitlock,' Hagen said at length. 'All three murders were professional hits.'

'Who was the third victim?' Kolchinsky asked. 'Doyle?'

'Yes. He was shot several hours before the two patrolmen. He was killed in the hall then taken into the bedroom and put under the bed. We found bloodstains on the carpet in the hall.'

'What about fingerprints?' Whitlock asked.

'We've already lifted several sets. The only ones to be positively identified so far are your niece's. I've got a team working around the clock trying to match the other sets.'

'If you need any help — '

'No,' Hagen cut across Kolchinsky's words. He sighed deeply. 'But thank you anyway. We'll trace them ourselves.'

'And no other clues?' Whitlock asked.

'Only that a neighbour saw your niece leave here with a tall man about five o'clock this afternoon. She couldn't describe him because he was wearing dark glasses, a fedora and a leather jacket with the lapels up. But apart from that, nothing. Which only strengthens my belief that this was a professional job. It could have been the work of a hitman from one of the drug cartels, who knows? Your niece was mixed up in that scene, wasn't she?'

'She smoked a bit of pot, that's all. Christ, you make it sound as if she was a mule or a pusher for one of the cartels.'

'Drugs are drugs,' Hagen retorted.

'So ban nicotine and alcohol,' Whitlock snapped then got to his feet and moved to the window.

Hagen stood up. 'Well, if you'll excuse me, Sergei, I've got a press conference in twenty minutes.'

Kolchinsky walked with Hagen to the door. 'I'm sorry about C.W., Sean. He's upset, naturally. He and Rosie have always been close. She's probably closer to him than she is to her own father.'

Til call you if anything comes up,' Hagen said then shook Kolchinsky's hand and walked into the kitchen to consult with his detectives.

'We might as well go,' Whitlock said behind Kolchinsky. 'There isn't anything we can do here anyway.'

'You're right; you've done enough already,' Kolchinsky retorted angrily. 'What got into you speaking to the deputy police commissioner like that? You were well out of turn.'

Til see you outside,' Whitlock retorted and strode out of the apartment towards the lift.

'C.W., wait up,' Kolchinsky called out then hurried after him.

Whitlock held the lift and they descended to the foyer in silence.

'Hagen and I have different values, Sergei,' Whitlock said as they walked towards the entrance. 'He wants to find a cop's killer. I want to find Rosie. She's out there somewhere and you can be sure she's scared as hell. Whoever killed Doyle and those cops isn't going to just let her go, is he? She's a witness. It had crossed my mind that she might already be dead but I don't really think that's very likely now. Why take her away and kill her when he could have done the job here? No, I think he needs her for something. Why else take her with him? I'm scared for her, Sergei, really scared.'

Kolchinsky put a consoling hand on Whitlock's arm then led the way down the steps into the street. He gave a curt 'No comment,' to a news reporter who was hovering hopefully for a story then ducked underneath the police tape and forced a path through the crowd to where the driver was waiting for them. Kolchinsky sent him off to fetch the car.

Til keep you posted on any new developments, C.W.,' Kolchinsky assured him, 'but there really isn't much else either of us can do tonight. And you need to rest that arm.'

'It's OK,'Whitlockreplied.

'Then why were you cursing every time someone touched it when we were making our way through the crowd?' Kolchinsky smiled gently. 'Of course it hurts. You need to rest it. Let Rogers handle the security tomorrow. It's the President's last engagement before he flies out and the Trade Center has to be one of the most security-conscious buildings in the state of New York.'

'I want to be there,' Whitlock said stubbornly.

'You've already prepared a schedule for the security team. You don't need to be there.'

Tm in charge of Mobuto's security until he flies out of JFK tomorrow night. End of story.'

Kolchinsky shrugged helplessly. Tm not going to argue with you. Ah, here comes your driver.'

Whitlock slipped his hand into his inside jacket pocket and withdrew a newspaper. 'Ask the lab boys to dust it for prints.'

'What?' Kolchinsky replied in surprise.

'It was down the side of the sofa in the flat. I lifted it when you walked Hagen to the door. Some of the prints will be smudged from its being in my pocket but they're sure to pick up something, even if it's only Rosie's prints.'

Kolchinsky took the paper carefully from Whitlock. 'This is against the law, you know.'

'So is keeping files on the relatives of UN AGO personnel,' Whitlock replied poker-faced. 'Have you got a copy of Rosie's prints?'

'No, but it won't be difficult to get them. Now go on home.'

'Call me tonight if the lab boys come up with something,' Whitlock said then climbed into the back of the car.

Kolchinsky closed the door behind him then slapped the roof. The driver pulled away and moments later the Mercedes was swallowed up in the evening traffic. Kolchinsky looked back as the first of the bodies was loaded into one of the ambulances then turned away and walked towards his car.

Rosie woke with a splitting headache. She was lying on a single bed in a small room with a chest of drawers, an armchair and a small basin by the window. The curtains were drawn. She swung her legs slowly off the bed then sat forward, her face in her hands. It was then that she smelled the chloroform on her clothes. Then it all came back to her, a terrifying flashback: the two policemen; Kenny; then the blow on the back of the head.

When she had come round in the flat the man she knew as Marc had finished packing his belongings and the holdall and attache case stood by the front door. He had been sitting against the wall, his knees drawn up in front of him, watching her. The automatic hung loosely in his right hand. He had told her that they were going to walk down to the street together where a car would be waiting for them. Any attempt to draw attention to themselves and he would kill her. After all, he had nothing to lose.

He had draped the jacket over his gun hand and carried the attache case in the other. She had to carry the holdall. He had kept the barrel of the gun pressed firmly against her ribs until they reached the car parked in front of the building. The driver was a black man she had never seen before. The two men had spoken a language she didn't understand, then she was bundled into the back of the car and a chloroform-soaked cloth had been clamped over her face. That was the last thing she remembered. Until now. She didn't know where she was or how long she had been there. She rubbed her temples gingerly, trying to massage away the pain. What she would give for a headache tablet. She switched on the bedside lamp then got to her feet and moved to the door. It was locked. Then she went to the window. She drew back the curtains. A pair of shutters had been secured over the window. She tried to open the window. It was stuck. She tried again. It wouldn't budge. She looked about for something to break the glass. There wasn't anything. She checked the chest of drawers — empty. She slumped dejectedly on the bed and struggled to hold back the tears. Suddenly there was the sound of a key being inserted in the door. It was unlocked and opened. Bernard entered the room and sat down in the armchair.

'Where am I?' Rosie demanded.

'Safe,' Bernard replied with a smile then glanced across at the chest of drawers. 'That was good thinking, looking for something to break the window, but it wouldn't have done you any good anyway. It's reinforced glass.'

'How did…' she trailed off and looked about the room before glaring at Bernard. 'Where's the camera?'

'Behind the mirror,' Bernard said, gesturing towards it.

'You're sick,' she snapped then winced as a sharp pain shot through her head.

Bernard held up two aspirin. 'You look like you need these.'

'Go to hell!'

Bernard chuckled. 'I admire your spirit, Rosie. You're quite a kid, you know that?'

'Why are you holding me here?'

Bernard put the tablets on the chest of drawers then got to his feet. 'You're my insurance policy.'

'What are you talking about? Insurance against what?'

'What you don't know won't hurt you. Let's keep it that way. I'd hate to see you end up like your friend Kenny. Strange as it may seem, I like you. You're a good kid. Mixed up, but still a good kid. Take those tablets and come on through to the lounge when you feel better.' Bernard paused in the doorway and looked back at her. 'You remind me a lot of myself when I was your age.' He smiled thoughtfully then disappeared out into the hall.

She moved to the open door but the black man who had driven the car suddenly appeared in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest. He ran his eyes the length of her body then grinned to himself. She stepped away from the door then went to the chest of drawers and picked up the tablets. She poured some water into the plastic mug on the basin and washed down the aspirin.

Bernard called out to the man. When Rosie looked round he had disappeared from the doorway. She peered cautiously out into the hall. It was deserted. Then she noticed the door at the end of the hall. It had to be the front door. But was it locked? There was only one way of finding out. She could hardly contain her excitement as she hurried towards it. It was only on a Yale lock but when she unlocked it, it only opened a couple of inches. Damn, it was on a chain as well. She hadn't seen that.

'Rosie!' Bernard shouted from the doorway of the lounge.

She didn't look round. She fumbled desperately with the chain, half expecting to be ripped away from the door at any moment. She managed to unhook the chain and waited until he had almost reached her then, sidestepping his outstretched hand, she jerked the door back as hard as she could. The edge caught him in the face and he stumbled back against the wall, blood pouring from a gash above his right eye. She darted out and slammed the door behind her. She found herself on a porch. A wood surrounded the house as far as the eye could see but there was a two-hundred yard clearing before she reached the first of the trees. She bounded down the stairs, ran down the narrow path, and wrenched open the gate before sprinting across the clearing towards the trees.

Bernard pulled open the door and emerged onto the porch. The front of his shirt was already streaked with blood and his sleeve was stained from where he had used it to wipe the blood from his face. The second man appeared behind him and aimed his Walther?38 at Rosie.

Bernard pushed the man's arm down angrily. 'Put the gun away, Elias!' He hurried to the gate and cupped his hands around his mouth. 'Rosie, listen to me. Don't go into the woods. They're full of animal traps.'

She kept running.

'Rosie, don't go in there!'

Elias came up behind Bernard and handed him a torch. 'Animal traps?' he said in hesitant English then closed his hands together to represent the jaws of a trap snapping shut.

'Yes. The wood's full of them. If she stands on one of those it could take her foot off.'

'What can we do?' Elias asked, switching to Arabic.

'We go after her,' Bernard retorted then sprinted towards the section of the woods where he had seen Rosie disappear seconds earlier.

Elias stared after Bernard, reluctant to go near the trees.

Bernard stopped and looked round angrily at Elias. 'Go round the side, cut her off,' he shouted breathlessly then continued to run towards the trees.

Elias swallowed nervously. What was worse, the animal traps or Bernard's wrath if he refused to obey him? It wasn't a difficult choice. He moved towards the trees.

Rosie paused for breath when she reached the edge of the trees. The wood looked dark and forbidding by the light of the moon. She had heard Bernard's warning but had it been a bluff? Or was he telling the truth? She had once seen a television documentary on the appalling injuries incurred by animals who had been caught in these traps. It had left her in tears. She looked back at the approaching silhouette of Bernard. She had to make a decision — and quickly. She had to go on. She picked up a branch then began to move further into the wood, using the branch to prod the ground in front of her. One mistake and she could be crippled for life. If, in fact, there were traps. But she couldn't afford to take the chance. She ducked behind a tree and listened carefully for the sound of Bernard behind her. It was silent. Not that she was surprised. He was obviously a professional. If only she could find somewhere to hide until daybreak. Then she could make her way safely through the wood. She was about to move further in the wood when she saw a light cut through the darkness to her left. She pressed herself against the tree, not daring to even wipe the sweat from her face.

She tried to blink it away as it stung her eyes. The beam scythed across the darkness then went out as suddenly as it had come on.

'Rosie?' Bernard called out.

The voice came from behind her. The torch light had come from a different direction. Were they trying to close in on her from different directions? She wiped her forearm across her face then moved tentatively to her right, the branch still scraping the ground in front of her. It was noisy, but there was nothing she could do about it. She heard a rustle in front of her and ducked behind a tree a split-second before the torch beam sliced through the darkness again, panning the trees around her. Elias shouted something in Swahili and she heard him approaching the tree. Had he seen her? Or was he trying to force her to break cover? The footsteps came closer then stopped and the torch went out. Where was he? She swallowed nervously and ran her tongue across her dry lips. The silence was agonizing. Where the hell was he? Keeping her back pressed firmly against the tree, she turned her head slightly and peered cautiously into the darkness behind her. Nothing. At least he wasn't on the other side of the tree. Then she heard another noise, this time to her right. It had to be Bernard. But did they know where she was? She forced herself to control her ragged breathing. She had to keep silent. It was her only chance. Then a torch beam shone onto a cluster of trees thirty yards away from her. They didn't know where she was! She felt a surge of relief flow through her. Bernard called out her name again. It came from the direction of the torch beam. The light became fainter as he moved further into the wood.

She screamed in terror as someone grabbed her arm from behind and yanked her away from the tree. Elias switched on his torch then shouted to Bernard that he'd caught her. His voice seemed to bring her out of her shock. She lashed out with the branch, catching him on the side of the face. The Walther fell to the ground as he clutched his face in agony. She turned to run but he grabbed her roughly round the neck and threw her to the ground, winding her. He kept the torch beam trained on her as he felt in the darkness for the Walther. There was a sickening crunch of bone as the jaws of a trap, hidden under a pile of leaves, snapped over his wrist. He screamed in agony and the torch fell from his grasp as he slumped to his knees where he clawed desperately at the serrated edges of the trap in a frantic attempt to release his mangled wrist. Bernard reached them and shone his torch onto the trap. Rosie turned away sharply and clutched her stomach as she vomited against the tree.

'Help me!' Elias screamed at Bernard in Arabic.

'Why? You're no use to me now,' Bernard said disdainfully and shot him through the head.

Rosie huddled against the tree as the gunshot echoed across the silent wood. Bernard grabbed her arm roughly and hauled her to her feet. She purposely averted her eyes from the body at her feet.

'Have you finished playing games now?' Bernard snapped, bolstering his automatic.

She could only nod mutely.

'Then let's get out of here before we have another accident,' he said then tightened his grip on her arm and marched her back to the house.

'That's better,' Bernard said after he had handcuffed her to the radiator in the bedroom.

She tugged angrily at the handcuffs then slumped back against the wall. He left the room, closing the door behind him, and went to the main bathroom to attend to the cut above his eye. The bleeding had stopped and the area around the eye was already swollen and puffy. It would be closed by morning. He wet a cloth and dabbed it gingerly against his eyebrow. The wound turned out to be deeper than he had originally thought. He washed his hands and face then found some disinfectant and cotton wool in the wall cabinet above the basin. He sprinkled some of the disinfectant onto the cotton wool then pressed it against his eyebrow. His face remained expressionless as the disinfectant seeped agonizingly into the wound. He discarded the swab then went to his bedroom and changed into a clean shirt.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he picked up the telephone and dialled an unlisted number then propped a pillow against the headboard and sat back against it, waiting for the call to be answered. When it was, there was only silence on the other end of the line.

'It's Columbus,' Bernard said.

'This is Seabird. I've been trying to contact you for hours. Where the hell are you?'

'At the safe house off the Garden State Parkway.'

'What?' came the incredulous reply. 'You weren't cleared to stay there.'

'I didn't exactly have much time to pick and choose, did I? Or haven't you heard about what happened at the apartment?'

'Of course I heard,' Seabird retorted angrily. 'That was one of our best safe houses in the city. And thanks to you it's been blown. Three bodies, two of them cops — what the hell happened there? And what's this about Whitlock's niece being involved?'

Bernard explained briefly about Rosie, her connection with Doyle and the reason the police had come to the apartment.

'And why wasn't I informed that you're holding Whitlock's niece?' Seabird said once Bernard had finished speaking. 'You could blow the whole operation.'

'You weren't informed because it doesn't concern you. She's my insurance in case something should go wrong tomorrow.'

'Insurance against what? Do you honestly think UN AGO will just let you walk away because you've got Whitlock's niece? Credit them with some professionalism.'

'Of course they won't. But I can use her to buy time.' Bernard swung his legs off the bed. 'But we're speculating here. Nothing will go wrong, I guarantee that.'

'Why don't I feel reassured?'

'I need a favour, that's why I called,' Bernard said, then went on to explain what had happened earlier at the house. 'I need another babysitter for the girl.'

'Do you, now?' came the sarcastic riposte. 'And who the hell was this Elias anyway?'

'The fifth member of the Zimbalan team.'

'Fifth? I was told there were only four.'

'I included a fifth man as backup. It seemed the sensible thing to do in case one of the others was killed or arrested before the operation began.'

'You included him? This whole operation was devised after months of detailed planning. But that doesn't seem to bother you, does it? You just do what the hell you want, don't you? You work for us, in case you'd forgotten. And we tell you what to do. Is that understood?'

'Sure,' Bernard replied disinterestedly. 'What about that baby-sitter?'

'You're not getting one!'

'Then find yourself another assassin,' Bernard replied and slammed the receiver back into the cradle.

The telephone rang moments later.

Bernard picked it up. 'Yes?'

'Columbus?'

'Yes.'

'Don't you ever do that to me again!'

'Then we'd better come to an arrangement about a babysitter,' Bernard said matter-of-factly.

'Very well,' came the bitter reply. 'You'll have one in the morning. That's the best I can do.'

'That's fine. I only need him to watch the girl while — I'm at the Trade Center.'

The line went dead.

Bailey sat thoughtfully in his study after he had replaced the receiver then reached for the bourbon beside him and took a sip. It was just as well he had already arranged to have Bernard eliminated after Mobuto's death. A babysitter indeed! He glanced at his watch. Seven forty-five. Brett would already be at the hotel, having relieved Rogers at six that evening. He found the number of the United Nations Plaza and, when he got through, asked the switchboard operator to connect him to the room which had been specially set aside for the presidential bodyguards. It was answered by Brett.

'It's Bailey, can you talk?'

'No,' came the quick reply.

'Can you get to another phone and call me back?'

'Sure,' Brett replied.

Til be waiting,' Bailey said then replaced the receiver and drank down the remainder of the Scotch.

Brett called back five minutes later.

'What time does Rogers relieve you?' Bailey asked.

'Eight tomorrow morning,' Brett answered.

'Right. When he gets there I want you to go straight from the hotel to the safe house off the Garden State Parkway. You know the one I mean?'

'I should do, sir; I helped to lay the traps.'

'Bernard's there.'

'But I thought he was staying at the apartment in Murray Hill?' Brett replied.

'He was until he shot two policemen there.'

'Sweet Jesus, how did that happen?'

Til brief you tomorrow. All you have to worry about at the moment is getting to the safe house in the morning.'

Til be there, sir.'

'He's holding Whitlock's niece as a form of insurance in case anything should go wrong at the Trade Center tomorrow. He wants you there to keep an eye on her while he's away.'

'Insurance? It sounds like he's cracking, sir.'

'No, he's just being shrewd, like he always is. Do as he says then kill him when he returns to the house, irrespective of what's happened at the Trade Center. We won't be able to use him again after tomorrow anyway. But be careful. He's smart. He's sure to suspect we'll go after him once this is over.'

'And the girl?'

'She's a witness, isn't she? But she mustn't be harmed until you've killed him. As I said, he's smart. He's quite likely to have devised a method of approaching the house unseen. And if he sees she's dead, he'll pull out. Then we'll have lost him.'

'I understand, sir.'

'Good. How's my favourite President?'

'He's in a meeting with his colleagues from the embassy. They've been locked away in his suite for the last three hours. God knows what they're discussing.'

'It doesn't really matter, does it? By this time tomorrow he'll be dead.'

Brett chuckled. 'Yes, sir, he will.'

Bailey smiled to himself then replaced the receiver. He left the study, secured the door behind him, then went downstairs to join his wife and children in the lounge.

Kolchinsky rubbed his eyes wearily then opened another of the files that had been left on Philpott's desk for him. It was one of half a dozen in front of him, each containing an update on one of the UN AGO Strike Force teams currently on assignment. They were compiled by duty analysts in the Command Centre. He read the first two paragraphs of the report then stifled a yawn and got to his feet. He wasn't taking any of it in. He needed a break. Pouring himself a coffee from the dispenser behind him, he moved to the nearest of the black sofas and sat down. He lit a cigarette and was about to reach for his coffee when the interleading door between the office and the Command Centre slid open and an analyst entered carrying a folder.

'Not another update, Hans?' Kolchinsky said with a resigned sigh.

'No, we've matched the prints taken from the newspaper you brought in earlier.' Hans held the folder out towards Kolchinsky. 'I think you'd better take a look for yourself, sir.'

Kolchinsky took the folder and opened it. Inside was a print-out of the computer file corresponding to the prints. The name was typed in capital letters across the top of the page: JEAN-JACQUES BERNARD. He closed the folder and placed it on the table.

'Is there anything else, sir?'

'No, thank you, Hans,' Kolchinsky replied.

Hans returned to the Command Centre, activating the door behind him. Kolchinsky looked at the folder again. He knew he should be surprised but he wasn't. He couldn't explain the feeling. It was almost as if he had expected something like this, sub-consciously. Had he? He glanced across at the telephone on Philpott's desk. Whitlock had asked him to call with any news on the fingerprints. But what good would it do waking Whitlock with that kind of news? He wouldn't get to sleep again. And it wasn't as if either of them could do anything about it. No, he'd tell Whitlock about it in the morning. He reached for the folder and inadvertently knocked the cup off the table, spilling coffee onto the carpet. He cursed angrily but when he bent down to retrieve the cup he noticed something attached to the underside of the table. At first he thought it was a spider or even a piece of gum but when he got closer he realized it was a microphone no bigger than a man's coat button. It had two prongs on the back which had been used to secure it to the wood. He made no attempt to remove it. No, that would only alert the person who had planted it there. And there was only one man who could have done it, Dave Forsythe, whose job it had been for the last year to check the Command Centre, Philpott's office and Sarah's office for bugs when he came on duty every morning. He was one of the senior electronic experts in the organization.

Kolchinsky could hardly believe it, but the proof was there. And how long had it been there? How long had the organization been compromized? He got to his feet and picked up the folders. He'd read the rest of them at home. At least there he wouldn't feel betrayed. He used the sonic transmitter to activate the door, switched off the light in Philpott's office, then closed the door behind him.