Time of the Assassins u-6

by Alastair Macneill

  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.
<
br />   '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.

  TEN

  Tambese's arms ached and he was sweating profusely. But at least the goggles stopped the sweat from seeping into his eyes. That would have made the situation even more unbearable. Apart from the goggles, he was also wearing a pair of thick, insulated gloves and the blowpipe in his right hand was attached to the two oxyacetylene tanks strapped to his back. He was anchored to the wall-mounted ladder underneath the manhole cover by the rope which had been looped through his belt and secured to the sides of the ladder. Although uncomfortable, it left his hands free, and that was essential for the job he was doing.

  Using the blueprint taken from the city hall, it had taken them almost seventy minutes to negotiate their way through the labyrinth of sewer tunnels to finally reach the manhole that led up directly into the prison grounds. They had decided to go in around two thirty that morning. That had left them a good two hours to devise the best method of cutting through the cover without alerting either the guards manning the watchtowers or their colleagues sleeping in the building which stood only a few yards away from the manhole.

  They had found out from the blueprint that the manhole cover was protected by a time lock which they had to assume was regulated from the control room inside the prison compound so that it would be impossible to cut through it without triggering some sort of alarm. That meant they would have to cut a section from within the framework of the cover itself. They knew the guards couldn't see the manhole from the watchtower. Furthermore, it faced onto a windowless wall so the flame wouldn't be the problem. It would be the noise. That had narrowed their options considerably.

  It was Graham who had come up with the most viable solution. The cover would have to be removed in segments. That way it would only need one person on the ladder. Tambese had insisted on doing the job. If, by chance, the flame was seen, he would be challenged, giving them time to flee. It was, after all, his friend they were going to spring from jail. Graham had suggested they take it in turns on the ladder but Tambese had refused to back down. They had done more than enough already to help him. He would do it alone.

  Tambese shook the sweat from his face and glanced down at Graham and Sabrina who were sitting on the ledge with their backs to him to protect their eyes from the brilliant flame. They each had their Uzis in their laps. He had been tempted to take up Graham's offer of help several times in the past twenty-five minutes but now that he was on the last of the six sections he was just glad it was nearly over. He used his free hand to hold the metal as he cut through the last few inches, then, as it came away in his hand, he reached through z6i the opening and placed the segment with the others that lay in a circle around the manhole.

  He switched off the blowpipe then called out softly to Graham who immediately got to his feet and untied the rope from the ladder. Tambese climbed down to the ledge and gratefully unloaded the tanks from his back. He put the apparatus in the holdall and tossed the goggles and gloves in after it. Graham used the canister of carbon dioxide to cool the rim of the cover then replaced it in the holdall. He waited until Tambese and Sabrina had climbed out of the sewer before passing the hold
all up to them. He climbed up the ladder then hauled himself through the opening and joined the others who were standing with their backs to the wall. Tambese peered cautiously around the side of the building at the two tall, forbidding watchtowers on either side of the main gate two hundred yards away from the barracks. He could make out the silhouettes of the two armed guards in the reflection of the spotlight mounted above the gate. He dropped to his haunches and took the De Lisle carbine from the holdall.

  'Give me the rifle,' Sabrina whispered.

  'No, I'll do it. I have done this kind of thing before, you know.'

  'Let Sabrina do it,' Graham said softly behind Tambese. 'She's the best sniper I've ever seen. And that's not something I'd say lightly.'

  'This is my operation,' Tambese retorted. 'I call the shots.'

  'It might be your operation, but it's my ass on the line,' Graham hissed. 'Let Sabrina do it.'

  'I wouldn't have offered to do it if I thought I'd screw up,' Sabrina said to Tambese, trying to diffuse the sudden tension between the two men. 'Trust me, David.'

  Tambese was caught off guard by her use of his first name. He sighed deeply then stood up and shrugged helplessly. 'It seems I'm outvoted here.'

  Sabrina took the rifle from Tambese, attached the suppressor to the end of the barrel, then moved to the edge of the building and looked up at the watchtowers. It was a heavy responsibility on her shoulders but she was confident she could take them out silently. She wrapped the strap tightly around her arm then raised the butt to her shoulder and trained the barrel on the guard furthest away from her. She curled her finger around the trigger. The guard suddenly turned away from the railing and walked to the front of the watchtower. Now he was partially hidden behind one of the wooden struts. She couldn't risk the shot. She lowered the rifle fractionally and eased her finger off the trigger. Tambese noticed the gesture but Graham grabbed his arm and shook his head before Tambese could say anything.