Time of the Assassins (31 page)

'Try me!' she snapped, jerking her head round to look at him.
'Zimbala's in a strategic position in the centre of Africa. There are civil wars raging in all the neighbouring states. If we could have put our own man in power, we could have fed weapons into Zimbala which, in turn, could have been distributed amongst the anti-Communist forces in those neighbouring states. If we'd given them enough arms, it could have swung the wars in favour of those anti-Communist forces. We could have ham-' mered another nail into the coffin of world Communism.'
'Why couldn't you have tried to negotiate with Jamel Mobuto? He's a man of reason, a man of
intelligence. That much was obvious from the way he came across on his visit to America.'
'Jamel Mobuto's loyalty is to Zimbala. He'll do deals with whoever's prepared to help him, and that includes Russia and China.'
'In other words, his loyalty is to his people, unlike your puppet Ngune. He was an animal, Robert. How many people were killed while he ran the Security Police?'
'Between them, Alphonse Mobuto and Tito Ngune kept Communism at bay in Zimbala for forty-five years. That's quite an achievement for a small African country.'
'They kept it at bay with torture and murder. How could you have stood by a man like that?'
'Because he stood by me,' Bailey replied, turning away from the window. 'Tito Ngune was one of the most loyal CIA operatives I've ever known.' ,
'Well, I hope you were proud of your man, Robert. And I always thought you were a person who believed in the ideology of democracy. It shows just how much I really knew you.' She got to her feet. 'I've already packed a suitcase. It's in the car. I'll be at my parents until I've found my feet. We're finished, Robert.'
Bailey didn't argue with her. He knew how futile that would be in her mood. He would call her in a few days, give her time to calm down.
'Aren't you even going to say anything?' she snapped scathingly.
'What's there to say? I said you wouldn't understand.'
'No, I guess I didn't.' She walked to the door then
turned back to look at him. 'I feel sorry for you, Robert. You're a pathetic, bigoted little man. God help this country if you'd ever reached the White House. Well, at least something good's come out of this, hasn't it?'
Bailey winced as she slammed the door behind her. The front door closed, followed moments later by the sound of an engine revving into life. The tyres screeched as she spun the car round and headed towards the gate. He waited until the sound of the engine had faded into the distance then poured himself another bourbon before walking out into the corridor. His bodyguard, who was sitting discreetly at the end of the corridor, got to his feet. Bailey waved him away then climbed the stairs and crossed to the study door. He punched a code into the bellpush and the door slid open. He closed it behind him and sat down in front of the VDU.
Bailey thought about the meeting he had had with Morgan Chilvers in the morning. He would be asked to resign. Failing that, he'd be fired. Chilvers had always been good to him. He was a naive man when it came to some of the more clandestine operations carried out by CIA personnel in both Africa and Central America and Bailey was determined to destroy all those incriminating files before the auditors were sent in to analyse his system.
He switched on the computer and fed in his personal code. The words ACCESS DENIED flashed across the screen. He ran his hand through his hair and scratched the back of his head. Access denied? He stifled a yawn then shook his head. You're tired, Robert. Now
concentrate this time. Feed in the right code this time. His fingers froze over the keyboard. He'd never made a mistake like that before. For a moment he wondered if somehow the access code had been tampered with by a professional hacker. He dismissed the thought. Why change the code? A hacker would be too busy reading the files. And even if the code had been altered, he could press the '9' button which would automatically cancel the whole program. That had been programmed into the system by Dave Forsythe. The man was an expert when it came to' computers. He cursed himself for his suspicion. You pressed a wrong key, for God sake. Try again, slowly this time.
He pressed each key carefully then immediately put his finger lightly on the '9', just in case he did need to use it. ACCESS DENIED. He pressed the '9' button. Nothing happened. The door sealed behind him and the ten-second countdown began flashing on the screen. He pressed the '9' frantically. Someone had overridden it. He kicked over the chair and ran to the door, banging furiously on it. But the whole room was soundproofed. Nobody could hear him. He looked round at the screen again, knowing he was going to die. The countdown finished and the word ACTIVATE began flashing across the screen.
A jet of nerve gas streamed from the nozzle of the canister built into the wall directly above the door. He stumbled away and fell to the floor. Saliva bubbled on his lips and he clawed desperately at his throat as he struggled to breathe. It felt as if his chest were about to burst. His breathing became increasingly ragged as his body twisted uncontrollably on the floor. The spasms
ended with a final shudder then his head lolled to the side. His breathing stopped.
The message, which had appeared on the screen as Bailey lay dying on the floor, was still there the following morning when the body was discovered: T o
BE TERMINATED AFTER THE ASSASSINATION OF JAMEL MOBUTO.

FOURTEEN

Jack Rogers sat in his favourite armchair by the window, his hand resting lightly on the telephone. His mind was in turmoil. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd called the safe house in the last hour. And always the same. He picked up the receiver and dialled the number again. Still no reply. He looked at his watch. It was already one fifteen in the morning. Where was Brett? Why hadn't he called? Had Bernard got to him?
Rogers slipped on his shoulder holster then pulled on his jacket over it. He checked his Smith & Wesson then bolstered it. He picked up the car keys off the hall table and left the house, closing the door silently behind him. He shivered as he walked down the footpath to the gate. But it wasn't cold - an omen? He dismissed the idea. He didn't believe in that nonsense. He got into his Fiat and started the engine. Then, after checking the side mirror, he pulled out into the road.
Dave Swain, a former presidential bodyguard, had been with UNACO for five years. He was the leader of Strike Force Seven. He sat behind the wheel of a Mazda which was parked fifty yards away from the Rogers's house. He'd been there since ten thirty the
previous evening. Philpott's orders. An empty coffee carton lay beside the half-eaten hamburger on the dashboard. The radio was on and he was tapping his fingers on the wheel to the beat of the music when Rogers emerged from the house. He immediately radioed in to the command centre to let them know that Rogers was on the move. He switched off the radio and activated the tracking device on the seat beside him. It would pick up the signal from the homer he had attached to the underside of the Fiat. He gave Rogers a thirty-second start then followed him at a discreet distance.
The man in the black Sedan, which was parked at the end of the street, stubbed out his cigarette then started up the engine and followed the Mazda.
The telephone rang.
Kolchinsky rolled over in bed and patted the bedside table with his hand until he found the receiver.
'Sergei?'
'Yes,' Kolchinsky replied sleepily. 'Malcolm, is that you?'
'Yes,' Philpott replied. 'I've just had a call from the duty officer at the command centre. Dave Swain followed Rogers to a house off the Garden State Parkway. Rogers parked out of sight of the house and approached it on foot. Then Dave heard a burst of gunfire. When he went to investigate he saw Rogers lying in a clearing close to the house.'
'Where's David now?'
'He's got the house under surveillance. I don't
want him to do anything until we get reinforcements to the area.'
'Who are you bringing in? Strike Force Seven?'
'No, Strike Forcfe Three. It's their operation. I've already told the duty officer to call C.W., Mike and Sabrina. They're meeting you outside the UN in twenty minutes. I'm going on ahead to talk to Dave.'
'I'm on my way,' Kolchinsky said, pulling the duvet to one side.
'I've sent a car over to pick you up,' Philpott told him. 'It should be with you in a few minutes.'
'Thanks, Malcolm.'
'See you at the house,' Philpott replied then the line went dead.
Kolchinsky replaced the receiver, stifled a yawn, then hauled himself to his feet. He took a cigarette from the packet on the bedside table, lit it, then got dressed and went outside to wait for the car.
'What the hell are they doing here?' Graham demanded angrily, pointing to the row of police cars parked at the entrance to the approach road that led to the safe house.
'We're about to find out,' Sabrina replied, braking gently as a policeman stepped out into the road and waved down the car. She stopped beside him and opened her window. 'What's going on?'
'Who are you?' the policeman demanded.
Kolchinsky, who was sitting in the passenger seat, reached across to show his ID card. The policeman checked it then looked at Graham and Whitlock, who
were sitting in the back of the car, before handing the card back to Kolchinsky.
'You can go through,' the policeman said to Sabrina.
'You still haven't told us what the hell's going on?' Graham snapped. 'What are you guys doing here?'
'There's a senior SWAT officer down there,' the policeman replied, pointing to the approach road. 'He'll brief you.'
'There's a SWAT team here?' Kolchinsky said incredulously. 'That's all we need.'
Sabrina engaged the gears and turned down the approach road.
'There's the Colonel,' Kolchinsky said, pointing to Philpott who was standing with Swain beside a SWAT van.
Sabrina pulled up behind the van then climbed out of her car and smiled at Philpott. 'It's good to see you back on your feet, sir. How are you feeling?'
'I was feeling fine until I got here.' Philpott gestured around him. 'It's like a bloody circus.'
'What's going on, sir?' Graham asked, closing the back door behind him.
Philpott shot Swain a dirty look. 'Dave was followed by one of the SWAT boys. That's why they're here. I'll see you in my office tomorrow morning, nine o'clock sharp.'
Swain nodded sullenly then walked to his Mazda and got behind the wheel. He started the engine then turned the car round and drove back towards the highway.
Philpott turned to Whitlock. 'I spoke to Bernard on the phone soon after I got here. He's got Rosie in there.'
'Is she alright?' Whitlock asked anxiously.
'Yes. He let me speak briefly to her. She's fine, considering the circumstances. She's a remarkable girl, C.W. You should be very proud of her.'
'She's a great kid,' Whitlock replied. 'Has Bernard made any demands yet?'
'Not yet.'
'What about Rogers?' Kolchinsky asked.
'Dead. Bernard let the SWAT team take the body away..." Philpott trailed off as an unmarked police car turned into the approach road. 'Well, this is a surprise.'
'Who is it, sir?' Sabrina asked.
'Sean Hagen, Deputy Commissioner of the N YPD. What brings him out at this ungodly hour?'
Hagen waited until the driver opened the door for him then climbed out. He was wearing a grey overcoat over his suit and had a trilby tucked firmly over his head.
'I didn't realize you had such little confidence in your men, Sean,' Philpott said as Hagen approached him.
'The SWAT unit falls directly under my command,' Hagen replied, digging his hands into his pockets. 'Who do you think ordered the tail on your man? It's the only way we could find Bernard again. Like you, we lost him when he was released from custody.'
'And now you've come to supervise his execution, is that it?' Philpott said coldly.
'I'm here to liaise with my men,' Hagen shot back angrily. 'What's UN AGO doing here?'
This is still a UN AGO operation, Sean. And that puts me in overall command. I want your SWAT team out of here. Their presence is putting Rosie Kruger's life in danger.'
'I can't do that, Malcolm. Rosie Kruger was kidnapped here in New York. This is our jurisdiction. I've already spoken to Lieutenant Stephens, the officer in charge of the SWAT team, and he's indicated that, because of the situation, he's prepared to work with UN AGO to help secure the release of Miss Kruger. But that's as far as it goes. They won't be pulled out until this situation's been resolved.'
'This has got nothing to do with jurisdictions, has it, Sean?' Kolchinsky said, struggling to contain his anger. 'You don't give a damn about Rosie, do you? All you're interested in is avenging the death of the two officers Bernard shot at the apartment. You're still smarting from what happened tonight. And now that you know he'll never be allowed to stand trial, it only leaves you with one alternative. You'll have to kill him.'
'That may be the way they do it in Russia, Sergei, but not in this country,' Hagen said after a moment's silence. 'I want to see Miss Kruger released, unharmed, just as much as you do. And with that in mind, I'm prepared to go in there and negotiate with Bernard on a one-to-one basis. I'm sure we can resolve this situation without bloodshed.'
'Who's to say that Bernard will even want to talk to you?' Philpott countered.
'There's only one way to find out,' Hagen replied then rapped on the back of the van. The door was
opened from the inside and he gave the order to get Bernard on the line. He waited until the communications officer had got through before climbing into the back of the van and taking the receiver from him. 'Bernard?'
'Yes. Who's that?'
'My name's Hagen. I'm the Deputy Commissioner of the New York Police Department.'
'Sean Hagen. I am honoured.'
'You know me?' Hagen retorted.
'Of you,' Bernard replied. 'What do you want?'
'To talk. In person.'
'Why?'
'I would have thought that was obvious,' Hagen said, glancing at Philpott. 'I want to resolve this without bloodshed.'
'That makes two of us,' There was a lengthy pause. 'Come in alone. Unarmed. The door will be unlocked. But I warn you, Hagen, any attempt by your SWAT team to storm the house and Rosie dies. I don't have anything to lose, not any more.'
'No attempt will be made to storm the house, you have my word on that.'
The line went dead.
Hagen replaced the receiver and climbed out of the van. 'He's agreed to see me. At least it's a start. Do you know where I can find Lieutenant Stephens? I want to have a word with him before I go in.'
'He's with his men on the edge of the clearing,' Philpott answered.
'Thank you,' Hagen said.
'Excuse me, sir,' the communications officer called
out after Hagen. 'Do you want me to make up a wire for you?'
'Yes, good idea,' Hagen replied then walked towards the wood.
Philpott was about to shout a warning about the animal traps when Hagen stopped abruptly as he neared the edge of the wood. He nodded to himself, then turned away and continued walking down the road.
Kolchinsky noticed the frown crease Philpott's brow. 'What is it, Malcolm?'
'Nothing,' Philpott replied with a dismissive shrug.
Philpott watched Hagen until he disappeared from sight around a bend in the road. Why had he suddenly changed his mind about entering the wood? Why would he purposely take the long way round to reach the clearing? Did he already know about the animal traps? It seemed unlikely as Stephens had only been told about them when one of his men had almost stood on one. And Philpott only knew about them through Stephens. He knew there was probably a logical explanation for Hagen's actions but he still felt uneasy. It was a feeling he couldn't seem to shake off.
'The only way Bernard leaves that house is in a body bag. Understood?'
No, Mark Stephens didn't understand. And what the hell was Hagen doing there anyway? Stephens, who was in his early thirties, had been with the NYPD's SWAT unit for five years, the last eighteen months of those as a lieutenant. He had been trained to deal with hostage situations. It was his job. And
now his authority was being undermined by Hagen's interference. But what could he do? Hagen was officially the commander-in-chief of the NYPD's SWAT unit. And that meant his word was law. He knew the men, himself included, held Hagen in contempt - a desk man who only ever showed his solidarity with them when they were being praised for a successful operation.
'I asked you a question, Lieutenant,' Hagen said sharply.
Stephens removed his black peaked cap and ran his hand over his short blond hair. 'That depends on the circumstances, sir.'
'What circumstances?'
'If we can get a clear shot at him. There's a sixteen-year-old kid in there as well. Her safety is my main concern.'
'Your main concern is preventing Bernard from leaving the house alive.'
'Sir, he has hostage -'
'I don't give a damn about his hostage,' Hagen cut in, his eyes blazing. 'She's a drug addict, for Christ's sake. What's her life compared to the lives of the two officers that son-of-a-bitch gunned down in cold blood? I had to break the news to their wives. Spare a thought for them, Lieutenant. And spare a thought for those kids who'll never see their fathers again.'
Stephens had never seen Hagen so agitated. It was unnerving. What the hell had got into him? He knew the rules. And now he was willing to bend and twist them in some warped pursuit of revenge. Stephens wanted nothing to do with it, even if it meant losing his
command. He wouldn't be party to killing an innocent teenager.
'Think about it, Lieutenant. Your future in this unit may depend on it. I'll try and talk Bernard into releasing the girl, but if he refuses, then the order will be given to storm the house. And if you won't give it, I will. Now give me that bullhorn.'
Stephens bit back his fury and handed Hagen the bullhorn he was holding. He looked around. At least his men were out of earshot. He certainly wouldn't give the order to storm the house, not without first hearing Bernard's demands. But would his men stand by him? Hagen could have them all suspended for insubordination. Was it worth putting his men's careers at risk? He suddenly found himself caught in two minds, and he hated himself for it.
'Bernard, I'm coming in,' Hagen shouted through the bullhorn. 'I'll be unarmed. And alone.' He handed the bullhorn back to Stephens. 'Think about your future, Lieutenant. Who knows, there could even be a promotion in it for you.'
Stephens bit his Up to prevent himself from telling Hagen where to shove his promotion. Instead he undipped his two-way radio from his belt and told his men that Hagen was about to approach the house, adding that if any of them got a clear shot of Bernard they were to take him out. He knew it was wishful thinking. The man was very professional. And professionals rarely make mistakes. Hagen removed his overcoat and hat then stepped out into the clearing and walked slowly towards the house.
Stephens looked round as Philpott and Whitlock
appeared behind them. Philpott nodded in greeting then introduced Whitlock as Rosie's uncle. Stephens wondered how they would have reacted if he told them what Hagen had in mind if he failed to persuade Bernard to surrender. Some chance of that happening anyway! How he hoped he was wrong...
Hagen reached the gate and paused to look at the house. It was in complete darkness, as it had been ever since the SWAT team took up their positions on the edge of the clearing. The gate squeaked as he opened it. Well, now Bernard would definitely know he was there. He walked up the path and was about to mount the steps to the porch when the outside light came on. He froze mid-step, his eyes riveted on the closed door, waiting. He remained like that for several seconds, almost as if in a trance, then climbed the steps and moved slowly to the door. He was about to try the handle then thought he'd better warn Bernard that it was him, and not one of the SWAT team. He knocked on the door.
'Bernard, it's Hagen.'
'It's open,' came the reply from inside the house.