Red Alert

PROLOGUE

On an undisclosed date in September 1979 the Secretary-General of the United Nations Chaired an extraordinary meeting .attended by forty-six envoys who, between them, represented virtually every country in the world. There was only one pointon the agenda: the escalating tide of international crime. Criminals and terrorists were able to strike in one country then flee to another, but national police forces were prevented from crossing international boundaries without breaching the protocol and sovereignty of other countries. Furthermore, the red tape involved in drafting extradition warrants (for those countries that at least had them) was both costly and time-consuming and many an unscrupulous lawyer had found loopholes in them, resulting in their clients being released unconditionally. A solution had to be found. It was agreed to set up an international strike force to operate under the aegis of the United Nations' Security Council. It would be known as the United Nations Anti-Crime Organization (UNACO). Its objective was to 'avert, neutralize and/or apprehend individuals, or groups engaged in international criminal activities'.* Each of the forty-six envoys was then requested to submit a detailed curriculum vitae of a candidate its government considered

* UNACO Charter, Article x, Paragraph

5

to be suitable for the position of UNACO Director, with the Secretary-General making the final choice.

UNACO's clandestine existence came into being on March x98o.

ONE

Neo-Chem Industries' Italian plant was situated near the

. Az4 motorway, halfway between Rome and Tivoli. The

complex, hidden from the road by a pine grove planted

in the 95os when the land belonged to the army, was

surrounded by a 15ofoot perimeter fence and patrolled by

• armed guards, most of whom were exopolicemen lured

away from the Carabinieri by the company's lucrative

wage prospects.

Pietro Vannelli was an exception. He had been a security guard all his working life.. It was all he knew. He was fifty-three years old and had been with Neo°Chem -Industries since the plant had opened eight years earlier.

Six months ago he had been transferred from ground patrol to the less demanding graveyard shift at the main gate. At firsi he had been grateful for the move, only too glad to leave the exercise to the younger men. But he soon grew disillusioned. Nothing ever happened. He missed mingling with his colleagues; the jokes, the shared cigarettes, but most of all the poker games held twice a week in one of the warehouses. All he seemed to do now was sit in the hut and read a succession of cheap paperbacks to pass the time. He had been told there was no chance of getting his old job back, so he had made some discreet enquiries about vacancies for nightwatchmen in the city. It would only be a matter of time before the replies came through the post.

A pair of headlights pierced the darkness beyond the gate. It would either be a member of staff who had forgotten some work or someone seeking directions into Rome. Why else would anyone bother to take the signposted road at that time of night? He picked up his torch, tugged his peaked cap over his thinning grey hair, then opened the door and stepped out into the cold night air. A yellow Fiat Regata stopped in front of the gate. The girl who got out was in her early twenties, the same age as his own daughter, with an attractive figure and long red hair. Her face was bruised and blood seeped from the corner of her mouth. Her faded jeans were smeared with mud and her white sweatshirt was torn at the left shoulder. Tears glistened on her discoloured cheeks. He used a sonic transmitter to open the gate.

'What happened?' he asked in horror.

" 'Please. help-me,'- she whispered in a barely audible voice. 'They're going to kill me.'

'Who?' he said, shining the to.rch into the darkness behind her.

Nothing.

She suddenly darted past him and disappeared into the hut. He hurried after her. She was cowering in a corner, her hands clenched tightly under her chin, her eyes wide with fear.

'It's all right, you're safe now,' he said with a comforting smile.

He turned back to the door, intending to dose the gate, and found himself facing a silenced L34 Az Sterling submachine-gun. The man holding it was Riccardo Ubrino, a swarthy 34-year-old with greasy blk hair and a stubbled chin. The man behind him was similarly armed. Paolo Conte was in his early twenties with curly.brown

8

and wire-rimmed glaSses, He wore a brown uniform identical to Vannelli's.

'Carla, get his gun,' Ubrino ordered, indicating

!i annelh s holstered auger GPxoo.

:i .Carla-Cassalo scrambled to her feet, unholstered the Lf gun, and gave it to Ubrino. He tucked it into his belt, then

i unslung a second submachine-gun from his shoulder and

: handed it to her.. " ,

" , 7,-! I see you re admiring my handiwork,' Ubrino said

to Vannelli and cast a sidelong glance at Carla's face.

: 'RealistiC,meat theiSn't it? I use,d,,to work in the make-up depart

at Teatro Opera. You,d be amazed what dell

can be done with a little imagination.

I II: 'Who are you?' Vannelli asked, desperately stalling for

time. He had to get to the alarm bell underneath the desk

behind him.

Red Brigades,' Carla told him.

'What do you want?' Vannelli's right hand was now touching the desk, his fingers feeling for the button.

Ubrino pressed the tip of the silencer against Vannelli's face. 'Spare a thoight for your family before you raise the alarm. Especially your daughter. She's getting married next month, isn't she? I'd hate anything to happen to her before the wedding.'

Vannelli.swallowed and brought his hand back into

view.

Ubrino smiled faintly and patted Vannelli's cheek. 'Wise decision. I want you to call your colleague in the reception foyer. Boschetto, isn't it?'

Vannelli merely nodded.

fear in the corner of the hut. YouYve already called the il !i!- 'Tell him about the young woman who's cowering with

police ihut you'd feel a lot better if she were to wait in the foyer for them.' Ubrino grabbed Vannelli,s wrist as he

9

reached for the telephone. 'And remember your daughter when you make the call.'

withVannellithis.' jerked his hand free. 'You won't get away

'Just call him!' Carla snapped; pressing the Sterling into Vannelli's back.

'Boschetto knows my voice. Kill me and you'll never get inside the building.'

'That's where you're wrong,' Carla said with a sneer. 'Paolo was at drama school with me. He's been studying your voice for the last few weeks. He may not have perfected it but Boschetto wouldn't know the difference over the phone."

Ubrino pushed Carla's submachine-gun away from Vannelli's back. 'She's right. We've each got something to contribute to the mission. The Red Brigades never carry passengers. Not that we'll need to use Paolo, will we? I'm sure your. daughter will look lovely on her wedding day.'

Vannelli snatched the receiver from Ubrino. He had no difficu, lty in convincing Boschetto to let him bring the girl to the foyer.

'Bring the car inside,' Ubrino said to Conte after Vannelli had replaced the receiver. 'Then we can close the gate. Hurry.'

Vanneili saw Vittorio Nardi for the first time when he took Conte's place at the door. He immediately remembered Ubrino's words: We've each got something to contribute to the mission. Nardi was the same build and height as Vannelli and, in the brown uniform, could pass .for him at a distance. Vannelli knew then he was going to d
ie.
He was still teaching for the alarm when UbrinO shot him in the back. The force of the bullet knocked him against the wall and he fell heavily to the floor. Obrino

him and checked for a .pulse. There wasn't

one.

:. Conte pushed past Nardi into the hut, his eyes wide I!i with horror. 'You said there wouldn;t be any killing. You i!sai'd we'd only have to knock the guards out.' .,.,- 'You better start growing up, kid ' 'Shut up, Nardi!" Ubrino cut in sharply, then led Conte

m the hut. 'It's your first mission, isn't it?'

-: ,Co-n!You lln°dded'learn that 'it mission

I -s one thing to plan a on

!.paper but quite another to put it into practice. Things

J.-happen that we can't foresee in the planning stage.

Vannelli went for the button. If I hadn't shot him he'd

have raised the alarm and we'd have had to abort the

You can see that, can't you?'

Conte nodded again. 'It's just that...' He swallowed

hard.

'You've never seen a dead body before? Neither. had I

until I joined the Red Brigades.' Ubrino:,patted Conte on

the back. 'Come on, they're waiting for us in the car.'

Nardi sat behind the wheel, his peaked cap tilted for ward to obscure his face. Carla sat beside him, the Sterling

on the floor at her feet. Ubrino and Conte climbed into

the back of the Regata and ducked out of sight, just as

they all had done when Carla had driven up to the gate.

Nardi started the car and drove up the winding approach

road leading to the plant's main reception area. There

wasn't a guard in sight. It was what they had expected.

Sunday nights were always reserved for poker and at that

moment two-thirds of the security staff were in one of the

warehouses huddled around a makeshift table, consisting

of two wooden crates pushed together, playing out their

first hand of the night. The games invariably went on

until the small hours of the morning. They had made an

II

arrangement that Vannelli and Boschetto would call them if any of the senior management arrived unexpectedly at the plant, as had happened a couple of times in the last month. It cost each player twenty thousand life for every session (the money being divided equally between Vannelli and Boschetto)but they regarded it as a small price to ensure they weren't caught.

Nardi parked in front of the building and got out of the car. Boschetto opened the glass doors with a transmitter then hurried down the steps to where Nardi was standing with his back to him. Nardi, who had been monitoring Boschetto's approach in the reflection of the driver's window, swung round to face him, Ruger in hand. Boschetto opened his mouth to speak but Nardi motioned him to remain silent. Boschetto's eyes flickered towards the gun but he did as he was told. Carla alerted the others and they scrambled out of the car. Ubrino undipped the transmitter from Boschetto's belt then hit him on the back of the head with the butt of his Ruger. Nardi caught Boschetto as he slumped forward unconscious. He laid him on the ground then got back into the car and returned to the main gate. Ubrino got Conte to help him carry Boschetto behind a hedge to one side of the steps.

'Let Carla into the foyer,' Ubrino said, handing the transmitter to Conte.

'What about you?'

TII be with you in a minute. I thought I heard a noise. I'm going to check it out.'

Conte looked down at Boschetto. 'You don't think he'll wake up-'

'He won't wake.up!' Ubrino hissed sharply. 'We'll be long gone by the time he comes round. Now go on, Carla's waiting.'

waited until Crla and Come had entered the before he pressed the Sterling against the back of .oschetto's head and squeezed the trigger. Blood splatd over his shoes. He cursed under his breath wiped shoes on Boschetto's jacket, then hurried up the steps

/-i Did you see anybody? Conte asked, activat/ng the

r behind Ubrino.

:--:No, just.my im-anation. You're not the only one ffcring from nerves. Ubrino led Conte behind the recep' in desk, and indicated the row of closed-circuit television -screens. The first sign of any guards, you call me.'

: "I will,' Conte replied quickly.

i!i Obrino attached an earpiece to the two-way radio on

his belt then crossed to where Carla was waiting for him

-at the top of the stairs, his rubber.soled shoes silent on the black-and-white tiled floor. They descended the stai and he paused to get his bearings, picturing the architect s blueprint in his mind. He pointed to another flight of stairs at the end of the corridor. It leddown to the laboratories. He allowed himself a faint smile of satisfaction when he saw the sign on the wall at the foot of

the stairs: ,,- LABORATORIES I -- x7 LABORATORIES

xS-- 40--.

They wanted ZT. It turned out to be a white door with the words vaoFssoa r.vm wsEl˘, printed across it in black. He paused at the door to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Carla instinctively touched his arm. She had been his lover for the past year. He knew she was in love with him. She had told him enough times but he had reciprocated the sentiments merely because he knew that was what she wanted to hear. She was young and attractive, like many before her, but he would have no qualms about ditching .her.

He opened the door without knocking, He had pected to find-himself in a laboratory with rows of workbenches and charts plastered across the walls; instead this was an office, neatly furnishedwith a collection of framed diplomas on the wall. He reminded himself that David Wiseman was the plant's senior scientific adviser: an administrator, not a research chemist. And administrators work in offices.

Wiseman sat behind the desk. He was a 49-year:old American with wiry black hair and a neatly trimmed black beard. His eyes widened in horror when Carla appeared in the room behind Ubrino.

'It's just make-up,' Ubrino assured him.

"Why?' Wiseman asked in Italian.

- "That doesn't concern you,' Ubrino retorted, then : rossed to the desk. 'Have you got the vial?'

Wiseman took a sealed metal cylinder, the size of a .cigar case, from one of .the drawers and held it up for Ubrino to see. The vial was inside the cylinder. 'A hundred thousand dollars isn't enough. Not after all the risks I've had to-take to produce this for you in secret.'

Carla stepped forward and aimed the Sterling at Wiseman's chest.

Uhrino pushed the barrel away from Wiseman. 'Let him speak. As he said, he was the one who took all the risks.'