Time of the Assassins (19 page)

'They were put in when the Security Police got here. It was one way of cutting down on guards.'
The guard behind Tambese told him to be quiet. He looked up at his colleague and as they spoke Tambese's face became increasingly grim.
'What is it?' Sabrina hissed out of the corner of her mouth.
'They're deciding what to do with us. The one up there says we're curfew-breakers and should be shot now. The one behind us wants to call Branco and tell Ngune.'
Again Tambese was told to be quiet. The guard pulled the hat off Sabrina's head, spilling her hair onto her shoulders. He shouted something to his colleague and the two men laughed.
'What did they say?' she asked Tambese who had got to his feet again.
'You don't want to know,' he replied.
The butt of the kalashnikov slammed into Tambese's back again as punishment for speaking to her. He stumbled and fell to the floor. The guard
aimed the kalashnikov at him, his finger curled around the trigger. Sabrina lashed out with her foot, catching him on the wrist. The kalashnikov spun from his hand. The guard above them swung his gun on Sabrina's back. Tambese knew he could never reach the Uzis before the guard pulled the trigger. He lunged at Sabrina and knocked her to the ground. The guard on the roof opened his mouth and a trickle of blood seeped down his chin then he fell through the skylight, landing with a deafening thud on the wooden floor. There were two bullet holes in his back. Tambese and the remaining guard both made a grab for the fallen kalashnikov. The guard got to it first. He lashed out with the butt and caught Tambese on the side of the face. Tambese reeled backwards like a groggy boxer who had been rocked by a punishing right hook. The guard swung the kalashnikov on Sabrina who was still reaching for her Uzi. Then he saw a movement above him. He was still raising the kalashnikov when Graham shot him twice in the chest. The bullets punched him back against the wall and he slid lifelessly to the floor.
Graham crouched at the edge of the skylight. 'You guys O K down there?'
Sabrina retrieved the Uzis then looked up at Graham. 'What kept you?'
'That's gratitude for you,' Graham retorted.
'Did you find the manhole?' Tambese asked, gingerly rubbing his cheek.
'Yeah, with great difficulty. The nearest is a couple of streets away. That's what took me so long. That, and dodging half a dozen patrols. You got the plans yet?'
'Not yet,' Tambese replied. 'But it won't take me long.'
Sabrina piled her hair up on her head and pulled the hat back onto her head. She shouldered her Uzi then climbed up to the roof. Tambese rifled through the remaining drawers until he found the blueprint. He stuffed it down the front of his shirt then he, too, climbed back up to the roof. Graham pulled up the rope and Sabrina closed the window over the skylight,
'How long before they'll be missed?' Sabrina asked, looking through the window at the bodies below them.
'The next shift comes on at six in the morning. We'll be long gone before then.'
Graham untied the rope from the flagpole then looped it over his shoulder and followed Tambese and Sabrina down the ladder.
'How far is the prison from here?' Sabrina asked once they had reached the ground.
'About three miles, due east,' Tambese replied then pulled the blueprint out from under his shirt and put it in the holdall. 'We'll look at it when we get to the sewers. At least there we won't be constantly on the lookout for rebel patrols.' He took the rope from Graham and replaced it in the holdall. 'Ready?'
Graham nodded then broke cover and sprinted a hundred yards to the safety of a low hedge at the bottom of the garden. He scanned the length of the deserted street then gestured for them to follow. They ran to the hedge and crouched down beside him. Graham was about to get to his feet when he heard the sound of an approaching car engine. They lay flat on
the ground until it faded into the distance. Graham got to his haunches again and peered over the hedge. He nodded and ran to the gate, wincing as it creaked open. Then he beckoned them forward and led them across the road, up a narrow alley linking the two adjoining streets. He held up his hand as they reached the end of the alley and peered cautiously the length of the second street. It was deserted. He pointed to the manhole cover in the road fifty yards away from where they stood.
Tambese put the holdall on the ground and flexed his hand where the straps had dug into his flesh. He was about to pick it up again when Sabrina tugged his sleeve and tapped her chest with her finger. She picked it up. It was heavy. But then it would be, she reminded herself. Inside were the oxyacetylene tanks. Graham looked round at them then slipped out into the street, careful to keep close to the buildings in case they needed the cover of a doorway.
They were twenty yards from the manhole when the man emerged from the shadows of an alley on the other side of the street. Tambese immediately recognized him as the same man who had urinated in the bushes at the city hall. He had another bottle of liquor in his hand. It fell from his fingers the moment he saw them and he was still reaching for his shouldered kalashnikov when Tambese shot him. Graham sprinted over to him and felt for a pulse. He looked up and shook his head.
'I thought you said they never patrolled on foot,' Sabrina said to Tambese once they had crossed to the body.
'They don't,' Tambese replied grimly.
'Which means his buddies will be back for him,' Graham concluded.
'We've got to hide the body,' Sabrina said, looking around for a suitable place.
Graham snapped his fingers. 'The sewer.'
Til get the cover,' Tambese said, already running towards the manhole.
Graham wiped the sweat from his forehead then anxiously looked the length of the street, knowing the jeep could return at any time or another patrol could appear. He hooked his hands under the man's arms and Sabrina grabbed his legs and they carried him over to where Tambese was struggling to prise open the cover.
'Hurry up!' Graham hissed.
'I'm doing my best,' came the sharp riposte.
Graham laid the body on the ground and crouched down beside Tambese. Between them, they managed to lift the cover and lay it silently on the road. Sabrina dragged the body to the edge of the opening and Graham helped her tip it into the sewer. It struck the water with a loud splash. Then silence. Tambese peered into the darkness. There was a set of rungs embedded in the wall leading down to the sewer. He eased himself through the opening and descended to a ledge. The stench was awful. Graham went next.
Sabrina was about to follow when she remembered the holdall. She hurried over to the mouth of the alley but as she picked it up she heard the sound of an engine approaching at speed. She knew she would never reach the manhole in time and, looking across at
Graham, gestured for him to pull the cover back over the opening. He hauled it into place seconds before the truck turned into the street.
Sabrina melted into the darkness of the alley, the holdall in one hand, the Uzi in the other. She ducked behind a row of metal drums and clamped her hand over her face to block out the putrefying smell of the rubbish that surrounded her. The truck pulled up in front of the alley and the driver shouted the dead man's name. The second man, in the passenger seat, pointed to the broken bottle then threw up his arms in despair and climbed out of the truck. The driver tossed him a torch and Sabrina crouched down as the beam cut through the darkness. It hit the drum in front of her, casting a shadowy light on the ground in front of her.
Then she saw it: a large, bloated black rat gnawing at a piece of stale bread that lay inches away from her foot. She inhaled sharply, not daring to move as the beam continued to play across the drums. It reminded her vividly of the incident when, as a child, she had been inadvertently locked in a cellar and for the next two hours all she had heard in the darkness was the incessant scurrying of the rats around her. It had left her with a deep-rooted fear of all rodents which had almost killed her while on assignment in Yugoslavia. She had broken cover after discovering that a box she and Graham were crouched behind was infested with rats. Graham had saved her life by tackling her a split-second before a bullet would have hit her.
The man finally switched off the torch and walked back to the truck. He spoke briefly to the driver and
climbed back into the passenger seat. The driver cursed angrily then started the engine and drove off. Sabrina waited until the engine had faded into the distance before getting to her feet. The sudden movement startled the rat and it disappeared through a hole in the wall behind her. She was sweating. Rats still frightened her, but at least now she was able to control her emotions. And that discipline had certainly saved her life. She picked up the holdall and moved cautiously to the entrance of the alley. The street was deserted. She hurried over to the manhole and knocked on the cover. It was pushed back and Graham's head appeared above the level of the road.
'You OK?' he asked anxiously.
She nodded and handed the holdall to him. He passed it on to Tambese then pressed himself against the wall to let Sabrina climb down to the ledge. She took the torch from the holdall and switched it on. The first object the beam picked out was a dead rat floating in the water.
'There's a lot of them down here,' Tambese said behind her.
'I can live with that,' she replied nonchalantly.
Graham smiled to himself then pulled the cover back into place.

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.