Red Alert (13 page)

'But Tommaso Francia was too late to silence him before you and Mike got to Corfu so he tried to kill all three of you?' Kolchinsky concluded.

Paluzzi shook his head. 'I don't go along with that. He could have killed us when we were in the pool. We were sitting ducks. It was obvious he was only after Karos.'

'It's like what happened in Venice,' Sabrina said to Kolchinsky. 'It's as if they wanted us to escape.'

'It doesn't make any sense,' Kolchinsky muttered, then ^stubbed out his cigarette and got to his feet. 'It's seven ^o'clock. I want to see Michael before we go to Sant'Ivo.'

'I'll get these dossiers on Boudien and the Francia brothers translated into English for you.'

'I can do that,' Sabrina said, scowling at Kolchinsky. |f It's not as if I'll have much else to do in my room, is it?'

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Kolchinsky took the two folders from Paluzzi and handed them to Sabrina. Paluzzi gave her a sympathetic smile, then phoned Marco to say that he and Kolchinsky were on their way to Sant'Ivo, and that Marco was to go home and get some sleep. He replaced the receiver and got to his feet.

'Are you armed?' he asked Kolchinsky.

Kolchinsky shook his head.

'Take my Beretta,' Sabrina said. She unholstered it from the back of her jeans and offered it to Kolchinsky.

'You hold on to that, Miss Carver. I'll draw a handgun from the armoury for Mr Kolchinsky.'

She reholstered the Beretta. 'Can we drop the Miss Carver bit? You make me feel like an old spinster. It's Sabrina.'

'And I'm Sergei,' Kolchinsky added.

Paluzzi smiled. 'What type of gun do you use, Sergei?'

'Tokarev T-3 3, but I can make do with whatever you've got.'

'I can get you a Tokarev, no problem,' Paluzzi assured him, and immediately called the armoury to arrange for > one to be sent to the office. 'It'll be up in a minute,' he; said, coming round from behind the desk.

Marco appeared in the doorway. 'Are you sure you! don't want me to come with you to Sant'Ivo, sir?'

'No. Now go and get some rest. I'll call you if I ne you, you can be sure of that.'

'Can you let me out?' Sabrina asked Marco. 'I'd be get back to the hotel and see what Calvieri's come up will while I've been here.'

'And don't forget to tell the switchboard to put any < from C.W. through to you until 1 get back,' Kolchins reminded her.

'I won't,' she replied, following Marco out of the re

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Paluzzi signed for the Tokarev pistol when it was brought to the office, then they left the building and drove to the San Giovanni Hospital on the via d'Amba Aradam opposite San Giovanni in Laterano, the basilica which is the cathedral of Rome, In the hospital foyer Paluzzi approached the reception desk to ask for directions to Graham's private ward. It was on the third floor overlooking the Villa Celimontana, a park bordering the Colosseum.

Kolchinsky knocked and entered. Graham was sitting up against the headboard, a pillow cushioning his back. He immediately folded the copy of the International Daily News he had been reading and tossed it on to the chair beside the bed. The discoloured bruise on the left-hand side of his face was partially hidden by the thick dressing protecting the stitches close to his leye.

'How are you feeling, Michael?' Kolchinsky asked, jrushing the newspaper from the chair as he sat down, his eyes fixed on Graham's face.

'I'm fine, honestly,' Graham replied, pushing back the beets. He was dressed in his jeans and the clean white F-shirt Paluzzi had got from the hotel for him. 'I'm ready. fve just got to put on my shoes.' 'Ready for what?' Kolchinsky asked sharply. 'Didn't Fabio tell you about Sant'Ivo?' 'Of course he told me,' Kolchinsky retorted. 'You're going, if that's what you think. You're staying right here you are, at least until tomorrow morning.' 'There's nothing wrong with me, Sergei!' Graham apped angrily.

Kolchinsky sighed deeply. 'Why must you always fight bority? The doctors wouldn't have asked you to stay overnight unless they thought it was necessary.

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Strange as it may seem, Michael, they do know what's best for you under the circumstances.'

'Oh yeah? That's exactly what those psychiatrists said after Carrie and Mikey were kidnapped. We know what's best for you, Mr Graham. Like hell they did. They didn't know a damn thing. To them I was just another numbered dossier that was opened when they got to work in the morning and closed again when they went home at night. They didn't have to live with the guilt twenty-four hours a day. I did. They didn't understand what I was going through. They just thought they did. If they could have produced a psychiatrist who had lost his family under similar circumstances to mine then I'd have been quite prepared to listen to him because he would have known what I was going through. It's exactly the same here. Let them produce a doctor who's had a similar injury to mine and I'll listen to him. Damnit, Sergei, who the hell do they think they are, saying they know what's best for me? It's my body. It's my mind. And I know I'm okay.'

Kolchinsky rubbed his face wearily. 'Then discharge yourself. But that doesn't mean you're coming with us. Go back to the hotel. Sabrina's there.'

'Wonderful,' Graham muttered. 'She'll be mothering me the moment I walk through the door.'

'It's her way of showing that she cares about you," Kolchinsky said, pushing the chair back angrily and getting to his feet. 'We'll see you back at the hotel.'

Paluzzi followed Kolchinsky into the corridor and closed the door behind him. 'I hope I'm not being intrusive, but what exactly happened to his family?'

Kolchinsky explained about the kidnapping as they walked back to the car.

'And they were never found?' Paluzzi asked.

Kolchinsky shook his head.

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'And he's never cracked?' Paluzzi asked as Kolchinsky settled himself into the passenger seat.

'He won't crack. Not Michael. He's far too professional to ever let that happen.'

Paluzzi started the engine. 'I don't know what I'd do if that ever happened to my family.'

'How can you know, unless, God forbid, it ever did happen.'

True enough,' Paluzzi agreed thoughtfully, as they left the car-park.

'How many children have you got?' Kolchinsky asked, breaking the sudden silence.

'Just the one. Dario. He's eight months old. He's already quite a handful.'

'I can believe that. What does your wife do?'

'Nothing at the moment. Dario's proving to be a full time job for her. She used to be a stewardess with Air France.' Paluzzi pointed out the floodlit Colosseum as they passed it on their right. 'Have you ever seen it from the inside?'

'Several times. I lived here for eighteen months.'

'You never told me that,' Paluzzi replied in surprise.

'It was when I was with the RGB. I was a military attache here. It's a good ten years ago now.'

'Do you miss Russia?'

'I don't miss the winters,' Kolchinsky said with a smile, then stared thoughtfully at the passing traffic. 'I like to try and get back at least once a year to see my family and friends. It's when I'm with them that I realize just how much I do miss the country. I intend to retire there when I leave UNACO.'

'Then you'll realize just how much you miss the West,' Paluzzi said with a grin.

'That's true. Have you ever been to the Soviet Union?'

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'I haven't,' Paluzzi replied apologetically. 'Claudine, my wife, has been there several times. She says it's a beautiful country. I certainly want to go. It's just a matter of finding the time.'

Paluzzi drove past San Marco, one of the oldest churches in Rome, and continued along Corso Vittorio Emanuele flanked by its impressive collection of Baroque and Renaissance monuments and pulled up opposite Sant'Andrea della Valle, a large sixteenth-century Baroque church. Kolchinsky checked his Tokarev pistol, then pushed it back into his jacket pocket and got out of the car. Paluzzi used the transmitter to lock the doors behind them.

They crossed the road to Sant'Andrea della Valle and Paluzzi pointed out the dome towering behind the Valle Theatre on the left-hand side of the street. Sant'Ivo. They looked around carefully, both with the same apprehensive thought. There were too many people about. It was the perfect setting for a trap. If they were ambushed they couldn't return fire for fear of hitting some innocent bystander. Kolchinsky paused in front of a confectionery shop, using the window as a mirror to scan the road behind him. He couldn't see anything suspicious. Not that he knew what to expect. Paluzzi tapped him on the arm and indicated that they should move on. There was no safety in numbers, not when the Red Brigades were involved. They had no qualms about killing innocent people if it meant hitting back at the authorities they detested so much. He had seen it happen all too often in the past.

A burst of gunfire shattered the confectioner's window into a starburst of tiny fragments of flying glass. Kolchinsky flung himself to the ground. When he raised his head he saw a middle-aged woman sprawled across the pavement in front of the window, her white blouse stained

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with blood. She was dead. The street emptied as panic stricken bystanders fled, screaming. The gunman was in the back of a black Mercedes. Kolchinsky crawled to where Paluzzi was crouched behind a silver BMW, the Beretta gripped tightly in his hand.

'He missed you by inches,' Paluzzi whispered. 'Did you see who it was?'

Kolchinsky nodded grimly.

Tommaso Francia brought the black Mercedes level with the BMW. He glanced at Carlo in the rearview mirror. They smiled at each other. Carlo stroked the Uzi's trigger with his gloved finger. He had them. They couldn't get away, not without him seeing them. He could wait. There was no rush.

Graham had followed Kolchinsky and Paluzzi into the hospital car-park where he had hailed a taxi and promised the driver a handsome reward if he managed to tail Paluzzi's Alfa Romeo Lusso without being seen. The driver had grinned like an excited schoolboy and given Graham a thumbs-up sign, relishing the challenge.

The driver had slammed on his brakes to prevent the taxi from ploughing into the back of a Fiat Tipo when it braked sharply behind the black Mercedes. He couldn't reverse, there was a tailback of cars behind the taxi. He was stuck. And very frightened.

Graham leapt from the back seat of the taxi, yanked open the front door, and hauled the startled driver out into the road. Then, climbing behind the wheel, he slipped the taxi into gear and swung out from behind the Fiat Tipo. There was a gap of ten yards between the Fiat and the Mercedes. Graham rammed the taxi into the back of the Mercedes. The momentum of the impact propelled

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Tommaso against the steering wheel. The engine stalled. Graham rammed the Mercedes again. Tommaso cursed angrily as he struggled to restart the engine. The engine came to life and the tyres shrieked in protest as the car pulled away, heading for the Vittorio Emanuele Bridge. Graham gave chase. Carlo fired a burst at the taxi. Graham ducked sideways as the bullets hit the windscreen, pock marking the glass. He hit the windscreen frantically with his forearm, but it wouldn't budge.

Carlo fired again, scoring hits on both the front tyres. The taxi spun out of control and smashed into the side of a parked car, hammering Graham's head against the steering wheel. He immediately felt the blood seeping out from under the dressing and down the side of his face. He unbuckled his safety belt and reached groggily for the door handle. The door was pulled open from the outside and anxious passersby peered in at him. He didn't understand what they were saying. A hand reached out to help him but he shrugged it off and sat back, his eyes closed. It felt as if hundreds of ballbearings were ricocheting around inside his head. The pain was unbelievable. Eventually he opened his eyes, wiped the blood from the side of his face with the back of his hand, and gingerly eased himself out of the car. His legs were unsteady and he had to grab on to the open door to support himself.

Kolchinsky and Paluzzi pushed their way through the crowd to where Graham was standing.

'Are you all right?' Paluzzi asked anxiously.

Graham nodded.

'What the hell were you doing?' Kolchinsky demanded,!

'Saving your ass, in case you didn't notice,' Graham | retorted, his face screwed up with the pain throbbir, inside his head.

'We were perfectly safe where we were.'

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'Not from where I was sitting. What if he'd shot at the i petrol tank? You guys wouldn't have known anything | about it.' Graham's eyes flickered past Kolchinsky as the 1 taxi driver reached the front of the crowd. 'Now this is 1 trouble.'

The driver clasped his hands to his head as he stared in horror at the taxi's crumpled bonnet. A police car pulled up and two carabinieri got out. One of them immediately cleared the crowd of onlookers from the road and began to direct the tailback of congested traffic which had built up on both sides of the road. The second policeman, wearing the insignia of a sergeant, approached the taxi but held up his hand when the driver tried to speak to him. He stared at the bullet holes, the buckled hood and the shredded tyres before finally turning to the driver and asking if it was his car. The driver admitted it was but went on to explain volubly what had happened. The sergeant listened attentively, occasionally nodding his head, then told the driver to wait. He crossed to where Graham was leaning against the side of the taxi, a handkerchief pressed against the wound on his face. Paluzzi cut in front of the sergeant before he could speak and held up his ID card. The sergeant looked at it, then gestured to Graham and asked Paluzzi if he was also with the NOCS.

Paluzzi shook his head. 'He's an American, working with us. That's all you need to know.'

The sergeant glared at Paluzzi. 'We'll see about that. You think you're above the law, don't you?'

'Spare me the lecture,' Paluzzi said, pocketing his ID. |'You don't have the necessary clearance to be told what's Igoing on.'

'I don't give a damn about your clearance,' the sergeant |snapped, glancing across at Graham. 'He could have killed

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someone. That concerns me. And that's why Tn him in for questioning.'

'How old are you, sergeant?' r

'Twenty-eight. Why?'

'You've got your whole career ahead of you. screw it up by getting involved in something that'i over your head.'

'Is that a threat?' the sergeant hissed under his 1

Paluzzi looked around him as he considered the j tion. He finally met the sergeant's eyes again. 'Let i it another way. You take the American in and I'll; it personally that you lose your stripes.'

'For doing my job? You'll have to do better than I

Paluzzi took the fake Prime Minister's letter pocket and handed it to the sergeant. 'I don't think! to do much better than that, do you?'

The sergeant read the letter, refolded it and ha back to Paluzzi. 'I don't seem to have any choice,'. What happens now?'

'I'm taking him to hospital. He needs that cut 1 I'll get a full statement from him and have it sent to* first thing in the morning.'

'That's against regulations.'

Til get it cleared with your superiors, you don't! to worry about that.'

'And the taxi driver?'

'He'll be compensated in full.' Paluzzi handed sergeant a business card. 'Any problems, call me.' "':

The sergeant pocketed the card, eyed Paluzzi temptuously, then pushed past him to supervise the; of the tow truck.

Kolchinsky looked round as Paluzzi approached \ 'Any trouble?'

'Nothing serious.'

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at about the woman back there?' Graham asked. || e's dead. I'm going back there now to straighten || put with the carabinieri.' Paluzzi handed the car i a Kolchinsky. 'You drive. Drop me off at the Piazza, | I take Mike to the hospital.' | ť you want me to come back for you?' | 3, I'll get one of my night staff to fetch me. I'll see | i at the hotel.' I fane.' Kolchinsky opened the driver's door and looked 1 the car roof at Paluzzi. 'Sabrina should be at the | I if we're not back by the time you get there.' | aluzzi nodded and got into the back of the car. Sraham climbed in beside Kolchinsky. 'Still mad at me, | rishchr

Jchinsky sighed deeply and shook his head slowly to :lf. He put the car into gear and pulled away from kerb.

12-7

SIX

Whitlock stared distastefully at the takeaway in front of him that he had sent out for. It was supposed to be bistecca alia pizzaiola, steak in a tomato and herb sauce. More like bistecca al'olio. It was swimming in oil. He prodded the steak with the fork and shook his head in disgust. His stomach grumbled. He was hungry, he had to admit it. The alternative was eating with Young in the dining-room. Suddenly the steak looked appetizing. He opened the second carton, containing peas and courgettes, and tipped them into the first beside the steak. As he ate his mind wandered back over the hours since his arrival in Rome.

Wiseman had been met unexpectedly at the airport by a senior officer from his old unit, the ist Marine Division, which was stationed at NATO's southern command in Verona. He had told Wiseman that a staff car, and driver, would be at his disposal for the duration of his stay in Rome. Wiseman had declined the offer, saying he was in Italy as a civilian, not as a soldier. He had accepted the offer of a lift to the Hassler-Villa Medici Hotel where, after thanking the officer for his kindness, he had hired a car for himself, then retired to his suite. The officer had taken the hint and discreetly withdrawn.

That was the gist of what Young had told him when he called Wiseman to report that they had checked into the boarding house. Whitlock hated the place. It was

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small, dirty and smelly. He could hear the incessant blare of a radio in one of the adjoining rooms and he was sure that a woman he had passed on the landing was a prostitute. She was certainly dressed like one. Not that he cared. He was only interested in Carmen. He had rung the hotel in Paris that afternoon, only to be told that she had checked out the previous evening. He had then called the apartment in New York but the telephone had just rung. He even tried her work number but there had been no reply there either. He rang her sister in New York. She hadn't seen Carmen since she and C.W. had left for Paris. She had a lot of friends in New York but they would be the last people she would turn to at a time like this. She was like him in that respect, she kept her personal problems to herself. What if she had packed her things and left the apartment? The idea had certainly crossed his mind but he had rejected it along with all his other little theories. It wasn't in her nature to do that. She knew he would only worry if he couldn't contact her, even if she didn't want to speak to him. So where was she . .. ?

'Alexander?'

Whitlock looked round, startled by the voice behind him. Young stood in the doorway.

Try knocking next time,' Whitlock snapped, turning back to his food.

'I did, but you didn't respond,' Young said, closing the door behind him. He sat on the edge of the bed and gestured to the takeaway on the table. 'Why didn't you eat downstairs? The food's a lot better than that.'

'I'd say that depends on the company,' Whitlock retorted, cutting the last piece of steak in half.

'I'd watch my mouth if I were you, Alexander.'

Whitlock finished eating, then twisted his chair round to face Young. 'What do you want?'

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Young stood up and handed the keys to the hired Seat Ibiza to Whitlock. 'We're going out.'

'Where?'

'The underground car-park on the via Marmorata.'

'Who are we meeting?'

'That doesn't concern you,' Young spat.

'I'm up to my neck in this thing, thanks to you. The least you can do is let me know what's going on.'

Young grabbed Whitlock by his shirt, hauled him to his feet and slammed him against the wall. Whitlock resisted the temptation to break the grip and put Young on his back. He had to let Young believe he had the upper hand.

'Let's get something straight from the start, Alexander. I didn't ask for you. It was the General's idea to bring you in on this, not mine. He was the one who thought I should have agetaway driver. So don't think you're indispensable, because you're not. I can do this with or without you. It makes no difference to me one way or the other.'

'It's nice to know you're wanted,' Whitlock muttered.

'Just remember, I'm the one with the transmitter. You step out of line and I'll use it,' Young snarled, pushing Whitlock away from him.

Whitlock bit back his anger and followed Young into the corridor. They descended the stairs into the foyer. The plump receptionist smiled at them as they passed then returned to her knitting. The red Seat Ibiza was parked directly outside, and Whitlock unlocked the driver's door, got in, then leaned over and unlocked the passenger door for Young. On a map he took from his inside pocket Young pointed out the route he had already outlined in red pen.

Whitlock followed directions and they reached the via Marmorata within ten minutes. Young pointed out the

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illuminated sign, parcheggio, and Whitlock swung the car into the entrance, coming to a stop in front of the barrier. Whitlock took a ticket from the machine and the i; boomgate lifted. Young told him to drive to Level C. ; Whitlock negotiated the spiralling ramp cautiously and j braked on reaching Level C. i 'Who, or what, are we looking for?' he asked. a

Young pointed to a white Fiat Uno parked beside one of the thick concrete pillars. Whitlock pulled up behind * it. 1

'That's it,' Young said, noticing a copy of the Daily f American in the back of the car. 'I won't be long. Drive I around in circles, I'll signal when I'm ready.' j

Whitlock watched Young get out of the car. The gun-f man was playing it close to the chest. Too close for his | liking. He had already assumed that Young was meeting I someone who had information on the Wiseman murder | - but what good would Whitlock be to UNACO touring j around in the car waiting for Young to finish? He had to know what Young was planning. There was only one option open to him: he must bug Young's room. He already had the bug, it was just a matter of planting it...

'I told you to drive around the level, I'll signal you when I'm ready.'

Whitlock put the car into gear and drove off. Young pulled on a pair of black gloves as he stared after the car. How many times had he tried to dissuade Wiseman from recruiting Alexander? The hell he needed a wheelman. He could easily have incorporated both jobs into one. And be 100,000 pounds richer into the bargain. But Wiseman had been adamant. Alexander was a necessary back-up. Typical, Wiseman thinking like a soldier. Young didn't like the cocky Englishman but he had no choice but to put up with him for the duration of the assignment. Wiseman's

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assignment. But once it was over he still had his ace to play. The booby-trapped watch. He smiled to himself. What a tragedy if it happened to detonate accidentally ...

'Do you have a cigarette?'

Young turned to the man who had emerged from the shadows behind the Fiat Uno. He was in his mid-twenties with long, ragged black hair and a sallow, acne-scarred1 face. His name was Johnny Ramona. Young took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and extended it towards him.

Ramona took one and Young lit it for him. 'I would pay you, but I only have this,' he said, taking half a five-hundred-lire note from his jeans pocket.

Young took the note and checked it against the half he had on him. They matched. 'Did you get the information I wanted?'

Ramona nodded and gestured to the Fiat. 'It's safer if we talk inside.'

Young got into the passenger seat and immediately tilted the rearview mirror until he could see behind him.

Ramona got behind the wheel. 'A cautious man, I see.'

'It's one way of staying alive. Well, what have you got for me?'

'You have the money?'

Young took an envelope from his pocket, opened it to reveal the money, but jerked it away from Ramona's grasping hand. 'You'll be paid when 1 have the information.'

Ramona gave him a twisted smile, sat back and took another drag on the cigarette. 'The Red Brigades were behind the breakin at the plant.'

'Try telling me something I don't know,' Young retorted sarcastically, then glanced in the rearview mirror as Whitlock drove past.

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'It was carried out by the Rome cell. The team leader was Riccardo Ubrino, one of the two senior cell commanders.'

'Where's this Ubrino now?'

Ramona shrugged. 'Nobody knows. It is as if he has disappeared off the face of the earth. The only person who might know is Lino Zocchi, but there is no way of confirming that.'

'Who is Zocchi?'

'The brigade chief here in Rome. He is in prison but he cannot be contacted. There has been an outbreak of conjunctivitis there and all visits have been cancelled until further notice.'

'You say this Ubrino is one of two senior cell commanders. Who's the other one?'

'Luigi Rocca.'

"Would he know where Ubrino's gone?'

Ramona shook his head. 'He is as much in the dark as everyone else. And he is the acting brigade chief until Zocchi can be contacted again.'

'So Ubrino's answerable to Zocchi. Who's Zocchi answerable to?'

'Nicola Pisani, leader of the Red Brigades.' Ramona took an envelope from his pocket and removed a sheet of paper from inside it. 'This is the committee structure of the Red Brigades. Pisani is at the top. Zocchi and Calvieri are immediately beneath him -- '

'Who's Calvieri?' Young cut in quickly. 'I'm sure I've heard that name before.'

'He is the spokesman for the Red Brigades. He appears regularly on Italian television.'

'Would he know where to find Ubrino?'

'I doubt it. Ubrino is from Rome. Calvieri is brigade chief in Milan. They are two different factions within the

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Red Brigades. And there is no love lost between the two cities. Zocchi is a hardliner, Calvieri a moderate.' '

'But it's possible?'

'It is possible, but most unlikely.' Ramona flicked the cigarette butt out of the window. 'Well, now you have the information you wanted. The money?'

'There's something you didn't tell me.'

Ramona frowned. 'What?'

'That you're also a member of the Red Brigades.'

Ramona chuckled nervously. 'Whoever told you this has got his facts wrong. I have never been with the Red Brigades.'