Authors: Alistair MacLean
'Perfect,' Karos said, then poured himself another whisky. 'Are you sure you won't join me?'
Graham and Sabrina remained silent.
'As you wish. It just seems a pity to waste such a fine whisky. I should have given it to the Francias the last time they were here. They appreciated it.' Karos turned the glass around thoughtfully in his hands. 'Tommaso's taken Carlo's death very badly. I had to take him off the assignment. He's become totally unreliable. All he talks about now is revenge. He'll find you, Miss Carver. You can be sure of that.'
'Unless I find him first,' Sabrina retorted.
Karos pondered the thought, then shrugged and took a sip of his drink.
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The silence lingered until they heard the sound of the approaching helicopter. Karos activated the door on to the terrace and ordered Graham and Sabrina to their feet.
'What about the holdall?' Boudien asked.
'Bring it,' Karos answered.
Boudien picked up the white holdall at his feet, then jabbed Graham in the back with the ttj$. 'Put your hands on your head.'
Graham did as he was told.
'Now walk slowly to the door. And don't look round.'
Boudien kept his distance and followed Graham to the door. They disappeared out on to the floodlit terrace. Karos told Sabrina to put her hands on her head as well and, like Boudien, kept his distance, making it impossible for her to disarm him.
The helicopter was hovering close to the railing, facing the terrace. Kolchinsky had been alerted by Graham's coded warning but he couldn't do anything until he knew they were both safe. Then he could play his own ace. But it was all a matter of timing. He had to await his moment, then he would strike.
Karos stepped out on to the terrace behind Sabrina, his face screwed up against the noise of the helicopter's engine. He gestured for Kolchinsky to land the helicopter. Kolchinsky kept it hovering.
'Tell him to land,' Boudien shouted to Graham.
Graham undipped the two-way radio and tossed it into the swimming pool. Boudien hit Graham on the back of the head with the pistol butt. Graham stumbled forward but Boudien locked his arm around his throat before he could fall and pressed the CZys into his neck.
Kolchinsky, who was wearing an integrated helmet and display sighting system, turned his head towards the lift at the other end of the terrace to aim the single missile in
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the pod on the side of the helicopter. He fired. The lift, and part of the wall, disintegrated in a mass of glass, bricks and mortar which rained down on the terrace. Sabrina was the first to her feet and grabbed the Beretta which Karos had dropped in his panic to find cover. She aimed it at Karos, who was cowering in the entrance to the lounge. He slowly stood up and raised his hands above his head.
'Drop the gun!' Boudien snapped behind her.
She glanced at Boudien, the Beretta still trained on Karos. Boudien, with blood streaming down his face from a gash on his forehead, held the CZy5 on the motionless Graham who lay face down on the terrace. She knew that by surrendering her gun she would be breaking a fundamental UNACO principle, giving in to the demands of a criminal. But if she didn't, Boudien would kill Graham. She had no choice. Karos grabbed the gun from her hand and shoved her towards a set of stairs which led down to the garage at the foot of the house. Graham groaned and Boudien reached down to haul him to his feet. Graham, who had been feigning concussion, lashed out with his fist, catching Boudien on the side of the face. Boudien grabbed him as he tried to stand up and they | both tumbled into the swimming pool, creating a cascade f of spray.
Sabrina was about to swing round on Karos when she saw the King Cobra in the shadows at the top of the stairs. It was at least fifteen feet in length. And it was raised up, its hooded head swaying mesmerizingly from side to side. Another few feet and it would be within striking distance. She pretended to stumble, then spun round and grabbed Karos's arm, propelling him towards the stairs. He saw the snake at the last moment. Its head shot forward, its fangs sinking into his l
eg.
Sabrina remained motionless,
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ignoring Karos's pleading cries for help. The snake was still within striking distance. All she could do was wait.
Boudien was the strongest man Graham had ever fought. It was like hitting a brick wall. It was also like being hit by a brick wall. When he did manage to break free from Boudien's grip he made for the side of the pool but Boudien grabbed him from behind before he could climb out and yanked him back into the water. He cried out in pain as Boudien's elbow caught him on the side of the face, splitting open his stitches. Blood streamed down into the illuminated water. Boudien locked his arm around Graham's neck and forced his head under the water. Graham raked at Boudien's arm but he couldn't break the hold. He felt as if he were being crushed by a python. He was becoming increasingly dizzy. He felt he was losing consciousness. He made one last effort to break Boudien's grip. It was hopeless. Water seeped into his mouth. A thought suddenly flashed across his mind. Boudien had stuck the Beretta into the back of his belt. But would it still be there? His fingers raked at the back of Boudien's trousers. Nothing. It had to be there. He tried again. This time his fingers touched the butt but as he pulled it from Boudien's belt it slipped from his grasp. Darkness flooded over him.
Then there was a muffled thud, and another, and the pressure was gone from around his neck. He surfaced, coughing and spluttering, and grabbed on to the side of the pool. Boudien was floating face down in the water. There were two bullet holes in his back.
'Are you all right?' Sabrina asked anxiously, kneeling over him, the CZy5 still in her hand.
Graham sucked in several mouthfuls of air, then looked up at her, 'You took your time, didn't you?'
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'So would you if you'd had a fifteen-foot Cobra in front of you,' she replied.
'What are you talking about?' he asked, his chest still heaving.
The tank containing the two King Cobras was damaged in the explosion. One of them was killed, the other escaped.'
'Where is it now?' Graham asked, looking past her at the shattered tank.
'The last I saw it was disappearing down the stairs,' she said, then squinted up at the helicopter as it descended towards the terrace.
'And Karos?' he asked, pulling himself out of the water.
'Dead. Come on, we've got to get out of here. The whole island must have heard the explosion. It'll only be a matter of time before the police get here.'
He got to his feet unsteadily, but pushed her hand away when she tried to help him. He picked up the holdall and followed her to the helicopter which had landed at the end of the terrace.
'Michael, are you okay?' Kolchinsky shouted after Graham had climbed into the cabin.
'Yeah, I'm fine,' Graham replied, using his sleeve to wipe the blood from his face.
'I'm flying to Arta in Greece. I've got a friend there. An old KGB colleague. We can stay with him for the night then fly back to Switzerland in the morning. His wife's a nurse, she'll see to your stitches. Sabrina, put a dressing on the wound. It'll have to do until we get there.'
Graham unzipped the holdall and whistled softly to himself. Sabrina returned with the dressing and peered over his shoulder. The holdall was packed with bundles of notes. Hundreds of thousands of pounds sterling.
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That's some haul,' she said, flicking through one of the bundles.
'More than enough to start a new life,' he replied, taking the notes from her and replacing them in the holdall.
'Where do you suggest we go?' she asked with a mischievous grin.
'How about . . . Arta?'
She smiled, then dabbed some disinfectant on to a swab of cotton wool and began to wipe away the camouflage cream from around the wound.
The helicopter ascended into the night sky and headed out towards the Ionian Sea.
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FOURTEEN
Friday
Kolchinsky rang Philpott from Arta at two o'clock that morning to brief him on what had happened on Corfu. He didn't know when they would get back to Berne. Probably late afternoon. Philpott told him not to worry. Calvieri was due to appear at a preliminary hearing in Berne at three o'clock that afternoon. Whitlock and Paluzzi would be there.
The taxi pulled up a block away from the courthouse. The man in the back folded up the morning edition of the International Herald Tribune, placed it on the seat, then picked up his attache case and climbed out of the taxi. The article he had been staring at for the duration of the journey lay face up on the seat. The headline read:
TERRORIST LEADER ON MURDER CHARGES. He paid the
fare and included a generous tip for getting him to his destination on time. The driver plucked the notes gratefully from the man's black-gloved hand, then slid the taxi into gear and drove off.
Richard Wiseman watched the taxi disappear into the traffic, then walked to the small hotel directly opposite the courthouse. It was the second time he had been to the hotel that morning. He had been there three hours earlier to reconnoitre the area. Now he knew exactly where to go. He slipped into a narrow alley at the side of the hotel
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and paused at the foot of the fire escape to look around him. The alley was deserted. He climbed up the metal stairs to a flat roof. He glanced at his watch: 10.07 a-m-He still had a few minutes to spare before Calvieri was due to arrive at the courthouse.
His mind wandered back over the past two days. He had checked out of the Hassler-Villa Medici Hotel when Young had failed to call him from Berne and booked into the more modest Cesari Hotel under a false name. He had used the name ever since. The morning paper had carried the story of the two men who had been found dead in the martial arts centre opposite the Metropole Hotel in Berne. Neither man had been identified but he knew instinctively that one of them was Young.
He had flown to Berne the previous morning but was told by a receptionist at the Metropole Hotel that Calvieri had been out all day. He had rung the hotel at regular intervals throughout the afternoon but each time he had received the same reply. Calvieri wasn't there. Then, the previous evening, he had seen the report of Calvieri's arrest on one of the news bulletins. He had found out through one of his more reliable military contacts that although Calvieri was due to appear in court at three o'clock he would, in fact, be taken there secretly at ten o'clock to prevent any attempt by the Red Brigades to spring him. The security at the courthouse would be minimal in the morning and only increased for the decoy convoy that was due to arrive there at two o'clock in the afternoon. It had left him very little time . . .
He found himself staring absently at the narrow road running parallel to the side of the courthouse. The police van would stop there. He unlocked the attache case and removed the specially designed detachable Vaime Super Silenced Rifle Mkz, It used subsonic ammunition and had
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a suppressor to cut the firing noise. It was one of Young's |
rifles which he had picked up from a locker at the station. |
He snapped the ten-round box into place, then settled |
down to wait for Calvieri. |
The police van swept through the open gates at the side 1 of the courthouse at 10.2.4 a.m. Two police cars followed J it in and the gates were immediately locked behind them. Whitlock and Paluzzi were riding in the second car.
The police van stopped beside a door at the side of the building. A policeman jumped out from the passenger side, walked to the back of the van, and unlocked the doors. He climbed inside and unlocked the cage nearest to the doors. Calvieri emerged from the cage, his hands manacled in front of him. He was the only prisoner in the van. He noticed Paluzzi standing beside the second police car, hands in pockets, and paused on the top step to smile disdainfully at him.
Wiseman's first bullet took Calvieri high in the shoulder, knocking him back against the open door. Paluzzi was still sprinting towards the van when the second bullet hit Calvieri full in the chest, punching him backwards into the van. The policemen scrambled for cover, shouting at each other in confusion as they scanned the rooftops for any sign of the gunman. A captain was quick to take charge and led a team of four men out into the street.
Whitlock hurried over to where Paluzzi was crouched beside Calvieri. 'The ambulance is on its way.'
'There's no rush,' Paluzzi said, and closed Calvieri's sightless eyes.
Whitlock punched the side of the van angrily.
Paluzzi stood up. 'Call Philpott, tell him what's hap
pened. I'm going to see if they've found anything out there.'
Whitlock disappeared into the courthouse to phone Philpott at the hotel. The gate was unlocked again and Paluzzi slipped out into the street. All the activity was centred around the hotel. The two policemen there, one at the main door and the other at the entrance to the alley, were being questioned by the ever-increasing crowd of onlookers who were gathering in front of the hotel, jostling with each other in an attempt to satisfy their curiosity. ] Neither policeman was saying anything. A police car pulled up outside the courthouse and Paluzzi ordered the two policemen to clear the onlookers, who were already beginning to spill out on to the road. They scrambled from the car and began to disperse the crowd. Paluzzi showed his ID card to the policeman guarding the alley and was allowed to pass. He was told that the captain was on the roof. He climbed the fire escape to the flat roof and found the captain kneeling beside a discarded rifle.
The captain noticed Paluzzi behind him and got to his feet. 'The gunman got away,' he muttered through clenched teeth.
Paluzzi examined the rifle, then looked across to the courthouse yard at Calvieri's body, which had been covered with a grey blanket. He shook his head. 'I said there should be more security. But nobody listened. It wasn't my jurisdiction. It's certainly going to look good on Kuhlmann's record. Calvieri gunned down at a courthouse because he failed to sanction the proper security measures. The man's still living in the Middle Ages. The sooner he goes the better it will be for this country.'