Time of the Assassins (27 page)

Whitlock remained silent. What could he say - he had no defence. He had known it would have to come out. If only it had remained under wraps until Mobuto had left the country. Then the assignment would have been deemed a success and the damage would have
been minimal. Well, so he had thought until now. Had it been Philpott he would have been reprimanded and that would have been the end of the matter. Philpott encouraged initiative in the field. But he should have known better with Kolchinsky. Everything had to be done by the book. His years in the KGB had taught him that, and nothing would change those views. He was too damn pedantic! But Whitlock wisely chose not to voice his thoughts. He was in enough trouble as it was. He only hoped Philpott would see the situation in a different light, but that would mean undermining Kolchinsky, and Philpott respected Kolchinsky too much to do that. The outlook was bleak, whatever way he looked at it. Yet, given the same circumstances, he would have done it again. Sabrina was his partner, and he had too much respect for her to go back on his word.
'Don't you have anything to say?' Kolchinsky asked, breaking the lingering silence.
'What do you want me to say, Sergei? I admit I've been helping Mike and Sabrina without your authorization. But I still believe I did the right thing.'
'What if they had been caught? UN AC O personnel involved in a civil war? We'd have been crucified by the UN. We're an anti-crime organization. The Charter states quite clearly that UN AGO is not to involve itself in the politics of any country. I'm sure you're familiar with the section in question.'
'Then why are we guarding Mobuto?' That's political.'
'His life is threatened. It makes no difference that he's a politician. It's still a criminal offence.'
'Remy Mobuto was kidnapped against his will,' Whitlock retorted. 'That's a criminal offence.'
'Of course it is,' Kolchinsky replied, 'but his release was linked directly to the government offensive against the rebels. That's what makes it political. And Michael and Sabrina were in the thick of it.'
'They didn't know about the offensive when they went into Branco to free Mobuto's brother, he told you that himself.'
'And a lot of good that would have done them if the offensive had failed and they had fallen into rebel hands.'
'Their actions weren't political, Sergei, you know.that. They were told that Remy Mobuto had information that could be vital to the case. What were they supposed to do, pass up the chance to get that information?'
'They were supposed to have gone through the proper channels for a start.'
'Would you have sanctioned the break-in at Branco?'
'I would have told them to hold back and let Tambese and his men go into Branco. Then they could have questioned Remy Mobuto once he was out. That way it couldn't have been misconstrued as a political move.' Kolchinsky rubbed his hands over his face. 'But it's too late for that now. The Secretary-General's going to kick up a stink when he finds out what's happened.'
'Will we be suspended?' Whitlock asked.
'That will be up to the Secretary-General. But if we can see the President off safely tonight that will
certainly count in your favour. When did you last speak to Sabrina?'
'When she asked me to check on Tambese.'
'So we don't know whether they found out anything from Remy Mobuto,' Kolchinsky said.
'Didn't Mobuto say anything when you spoke to him?'
'I didn't ask him. I was hoping you would have heard from Sabrina in the last few hours. I'm going back to the hotel now to speak to him again.' Kolchinsky closed the folder in front of him then picked it up and got to his feet. 'I'm especially disappointed in you, C.W. This is hardly the sort of behaviour I'd expect from the next Deputy Director of UNACO.'
'I'm still a field operative, Sergei. My loyalties lie with Mike and Sabrina. I'm sorry if you can't see that.'
Kolchinsky walked to the door then looked back at Whitlock. 'I only hope this doesn't affect your promotion.'
'You'll have my letter of resignation if it does,' Whitlock replied matter-of-factly.
Kolchinsky held Whitlock's unyielding stare for several seconds then turned and left the room without another word.
The Trade Center had been built off the Shore Parkway in Brooklyn; it had cost nearly one-and-a-half-million dollars at a time when New York was crippled by mounting debts which had given rise to the theory that it had been financed largely by mob money. The mayor at the time had been quick to
denounce these rumours, too quick, according to most New Yorkers. Then, when a local tabloid ran an article about it under the headline 'Mafia House', the name had stuck. It had become an expensive white elephant over the years, despite its location overlooking Jamaica Bay and its proximity to John F. Kennedy International Airport.
The visit of Jamel Mobuto had brought with it an unexpected publicity boost for the building. The two attempts on his life had made him one of the most newsworthy faces in the country and although he was not due to arrive at the Trade Center for another forty minutes, the front lawn was already seething with reporters and cameramen jostling for positions, all hoping for a third attempt on his life that could be captured on film for their newspapers and television news-bulletins. And they all had the same thought in the back of their minds. Third time lucky...
Had they known the purpose of the rider on the red and white Honda 5000: that pulled up at the boom gate a hundred yards away from where they were encamped, they would have felt that their prayers had been answered.
An armed guard stepped out of the hut and approached the motorbike. 'Can I help you?' he asked brusquely.
Bernard lifted the front of his visor fractionally, careful to ensure that the guard couldn't see the bruise around his eye. 'I'm from Harris Bond Couriers. I have a letter here for a Robert Bailey. He is expecting it.'
'Is he attending the conference?' the guard asked.
'Hey, I'm just the dispatch rider. I was told to bring the letter here to "Mafia House".'
The guard returned to the hut and picked up a clipboard off the desk. He paged through it until he found Bailey's name. An extension number was written beside it. He rang the number. It was answered by Rogers who told him that Bailey hadn't yet arrived but that he was expecting a letter from Washington. The guard replaced the receiver and activated the boom gate.
'Leave the letter with the guard at the entrance, he'll see that Mr Bailey gets it.'
Bernard gave the guard a thumbs-up sign and drove off. He pulled up in front of the entrance and left the motorbike idling as he hurried across to the nearest guard and handed the envelope to him. The guard checked the name against the print-out on his clipboard then nodded and disappeared into the building. Bernard mounted the motorbike and headed back towards the boom gate. He turned off into a narrow alley at the side of the building and pulled up in front of an adjacent door. He climbed off the motorbike then unfastened the helmet and placed it on the seat. He also removed the leather jacket he was wearing and was about to drape it over the seat as well when the door was pushed open and a man emerged.
Bernard had never seen him before. He was the same height and build as himself and was wearing a pale blue shirt, navy trousers and a pair of black shoes - the same outfit as Bernard. He nodded in greeting to Bernard then pulled on the leather jacket and zipped it up. Then, after slipping the helmet over his head, he
climbed onto the motorbike and headed off towards the boom gate.
'Any problems?'
Bernard looked round sharply at Rogers who had appeared silently at the door behind him, the envelope in his hand.
'No,' Bernard replied.
'Jesus, what happened to your eye?'
'An accident,' Bernard answered sharply.
'Come inside.'
Bernard stepped past Rogers who immediately closed the door behind him and bolted it again. He found himself in a narrow corridor with several white-painted doors leading off from it. Rogers led the way to one of them then took a key from his pocket and opened it. Bernard went inside. It was a small room with a wooden chair and a battered locker in the corner.
'Your clothes are in there,' Rogers said, indicating the locker.
'What is this place?'
'These used to be storerooms up until a few months ago. Then all the stock was moved to bigger rooms closer to the conference centre. They're all empty now. The cops have already checked them so you won't have to worry about being disturbed.' Rogers gave the key to Bernard. 'Just make sure you lock the door behind me.'
'Is Mobuto's address still scheduled for two o'clock?'
Rogers nodded then looked at his watch. 'It's now twelve fourteen. You want to be in position no later than one forty.'
Til be there.'
'You'll have to hide that bruise. It'll only draw attention to yourself. I'll get you a pair of sunglasses.'
'No need,' Bernard said, taking a pair of sunglasses from his pocket.
'OK,' Rogers replied then moved to the door. 'Good luck.'
'Luck's for amateurs,' Bernard answered then pointed to the envelope Rogers was holding. 'What's in there?'
'Nothing,' Rogers replied with a grin then left the room and closed the door behind him.
Bernard locked the door then moved to the chair and sat down. All he had to do now was wait.
It had been Whitlock's idea to have Mobuto brought to the Trade Center in a police helicopter. That way he would not only avoid the posse of journalists expecting him to arrive by car, but it would also thwart any planned hit from one of the adjacent buildings. SWAT snipers had been in position on the surrounding rooftops since daybreak and the helipad itself, situated on the roof of the Trade Center, had been under armed guard for the past twenty-four hours. He had deployed armed officers at all the strategic points inside the building and, with no reported sightings of Bernard, he was quietly confident that he had the situation under control.
Whitlock shielded his face with his hand as the helicopter pilot executed a perfect landing on the helipad. Rogers hurried forward, his face screwed up against the swirling wind whipped up by the rotors,
and opened the passenger door. Masala was the first out. He looked round slowly. Whitlock and Kolchinsky were standing by the door and four SWAT snipers were positioned at each corner of the roof. Satisfied, he nodded to Mobuto who clambered out of the helicopter and hurried, doubled over, towards Kolchinsky and Whitlock. Kolchinsky opened the door and Mobuto stepped inside, grateful to be out of the choppy wind. Whitlock and Masala followed him through the door. Kolchinsky gave the pilot a thumbs-up sign and the helicopter immediately rose off the helipad and moments later peeled away to the right, heading back towards Manhattan. He closed the door behind him and crossed to the four men at the end of the corridor.
'Are you alright, sir?'
'A little windswept, but otherwise I'm fine, thank you,' Mobuto replied to Kolchinsky's question. 'What is the agenda for this afternoon? Is my speech still scheduled for two o'clock?'
'Yes,' Kolchinsky said, brushing down his double-breasted jacket. 'And the cocktail party will be held immediately after your speech.'
'Excellent. I look forward to hearing what the country's leading financiers think of my proposed economic changes for Zimbala.' Mobuto smiled to himself. 'I hope they approve enough to give their backing to the investment programme I have in mind. Well, we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?'
'The complex manager is waiting for us downstairs,' Whitlock said to Mobuto. 'He's offered to give you a tour of the building if you're interested.'
Mobuto looked at his watch. 'I've got fifty minutes to kill before I'm due to make my speech. Yes, I'd be delighted to see the building.'
They took the lift down to the fourth floor where the manager and his senior aides had their offices. The manager, a short, dapper man in his late forties, was waiting in his office for them. The nameplate on his desk identified him as Anthony Lieberwitz.
'Would you care for something to drink, sir?' Lieberwitz asked after shaking Mobuto's hand.
'No, thank you. I had a coffee before I left the hotel.'
There was a knock at the door and the receptionist who had ushered them in moments earlier appeared again and announced that there was a Mr Bailey in her office. Lieberwitz told her to show him in.
Bailey forced a quick smile for the receptionist as he entered the room and the door was closed behind him. He nodded in greeting to Lieberwitz then turned to Mobuto and extended a hand in greeting. 'Nice to see you again, Mr President.'
'Glad you could come,' Mobuto said, shaking Bailey's hand.
'I wouldn't have missed it for the world.' Bailey replied. He shook Kolchinsky's hand then sat down in one of the vacant armchairs.
'This came for you, sir,' Rogers said, handing the envelope to Bailey.
'Ah, thank you,' Bailey said, taking the envelope from Rogers. 'I was worried it might not turn up.'
'It got here in good time, sir,' Rogers replied.
Lieberwitz got up from behind his desk. 'Mr President, would you care to see the rest of the
building? We have a telescope on the top floor. The view of the city is quite breathtaking.'
'I look forward to seeing it,' Mobuto replied, getting to his feet.
The telephone rang.
'Excuse me,' Lieberwitz said then answered it. He put his hand over the mouthpiece. 'It's for you, Mr Kolchinsky.'
Kolchinsky took the receiver from Lieberwitz. 'Hello.'
'Mr Kolchinsky?'
'Speaking. Is that you, Sarah?'
'Yes,' she replied. 'I've just spoken to Mike Graham. He's with Sabrina at JFK. They touched down about ten minutes ago. It seems there's been an accident near the airport which has completely blocked off the carriageway into the city. He's asked for a helicopter to pick them up from the airport and take them to the Trade Center. He says it's an emergency.'
'Have one of our helicopters scrambled immediately and sent over to the airport.'
'Who should I speak to about having it cleared for landing at JFK?' she asked.
Til see to that, don't worry. You just make sure the helicopter gets over there as Soon as possible.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Did he say anything else?'
'No,' Sarah replied.
'Thanks, Sarah.' Kolchinsky replaced the receiver then looked round at Mobuto. 'You'll have to excuse C.W. and me. We won't be joining you on the tour of the building. Something's come up.'
'Nothing serious, I hope?' Mobuto said.
'Nothing for you to worry about, Mr President,' Kolchinsky replied with a reassuring smile.