Red Alert (8 page)

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He smiled to himself as Dave Humphries led Mary Robson and her son towards the police car. It was all going according to plan.

Whitlock and Lonsdale arrived at Brixton police station at eleven o'clock and were immediately ushered into the station commander's office. Chief Inspector Roger Pugh was a tall man in his late forties with silver-grey hair and an easy manner which helped to put them at their ease. He shook hands with them and indicated the two chairs in front of his desk.

'What time are we due out?' Whitlock asked, sitting down. 'Major Lonsdale wasn't sure whether it would be eleven-thirty or twelve.'

'Eleven-thirty,' Pugh replied.

There was a knock at the door.

'Come in,' Pugh called.

The man who entered was in his late twenties with short black hair and a stocky physique. He was wearing the uniform of a warder. Lonsdale introduced him to Whitlock as Sergeant Don Harrison who would be driving the police van. Harrison handed Lonsdale a uniform identical to the one he was wearing.

'There's a changing room down the hall,' Pugh said. 'The desk sergeant will show you the way.'

'I might as well change in here,' Lonsdale replied, giving Pugh a mock suspicious look. 'You're not expecting any { WPCs, are you?'

'Not today, I'm afraid,' Pugh said with a smile.

'How did things go with Alexander?' Lonsdale askedj Harrison as he started to undress.

'He kicked up a bit of a fuss so we had to drug him.| No trouble after that. He's sleeping it off at the safe house.'|

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Harrison took a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and handed them to Whitlock. 'Alexander was wearing these.' 'Thanks,' Whitlock said, slipping them on. 'Are the men ready?' Lonsdale asked. 'Yes sir,' Harrison replied. 'They're waiting at the van.' 'Put them into the cages, we'll be along in a minute. Harrison left the room.

Lonsdale finished dressing, then picked up his clothes from the floor. 'You don't mind if I leave these here, do you?'

'Not at all. Put them on the chair.' Pugh got to his feet and extended his hand towards Whitlock. 'Good luck.'

'Thanks for all your help,' Whitlock said, shaking |Pugh's hand.

'Glad to be of service. Major, I'll speak to you later.' Lonsdale nodded then left the room with Whitlock. They ' made their way out into the courtyard where the pale^blue I police van was parked. Harrison led them round to the iback of the van. The doors were open. Inside was a narrow Icorridor with three cells on either side of it. Harrison unlocked one of the cells, removed a pair of handcuffs Ifrom his belt and snapped them around Whitlock's wrists. IWhitlock entered the cell and Harrison locked it behind Rim. Harrison climbed out of the van and locked the |doors. He handed the keys to Lonsdale. They got into the ab and Harrison started the engine.

'Ready, sir?' Harrison asked, his hand resting lightly l>n the gear lever. 'Let's go.'

Harrison engaged the gears and drove out into Brixton toad, the Az3. He kept the speed steady, his eyes continujly flickering towards the side mirror. 'What are you looking for, Sergeant? They're hardly aing to advertise themselves, are they?'

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Harrison smiled ruefully but said nothing. They reached the top of Brixton Road and he was about to turn the van into Kennington Park Road when he heard the police car coming up fast behind them. He automatically touched the brake pedal and pulled over to give the police car the right of way. The police car passed them then immediately slowed and the driver indicated for them to stop.

'What the hell does he want?' Harrison hissed angrily, pulling up behind the red and white Rover.

'Whitlock, probably,' Lonsdale replied, his body tensing as the policeman in the passenger seat got out of the car ahead.

'You think . . . ?' Harrison trailed off and nodded to himself. 'Of course, what could be more natural than a police car and a police van pulled up at the side of the road? Nobody would think of questioning it.' ^ The policeman knocked on the driver's window. | Harrison opened it. 'What's wrong? We've got five prisoners in the back who are due at the Old Bailey at twelve o'clock.'

'You see the woman and the kid in the back of the police car?' Young asked, making no attempt to disguise | his American accent.

'Yes,' Harrison replied hesitantly. 'What about them?'

'They're both unconscious. My colleague has a gun trained on them.' Young put a two-way radio to his lips. 'Show them the gun.'

Humphries raised the automatic momentarily, then i ducked it back out of sight.

'If you don't do exactly as I say, he'll kill them both, i Starting with the kid.'

'What the hell is - '

'Shut up!' Young cut sharply across Harrison's out| burst. 'Switch off the engine.'

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'Do it,' Lonsdale said softly. Harrison did as he was told.

'I'm in charge here,' Lonsdale said to Young. 'I demand to know what's going on.'

'You will. Now give me the keys,' Young said, holding out a black-gloved hand.

Harrison looked at Lonsdale, who nodded. He gave them to Young.

'Get out of the van, both of you,' Young said, stepping away from the driver's door.

Again Lonsdale nodded to Harrison, and they got out of the van. Young led Harrison round to where Lonsdale was standing, his eyes riveted on the woman and her son in the back of the police car. He hated any form of hostage-taking, especially when children were involved. He suddenly thought of his own five-year-old daughter, Holly. It only made him more frustrated. He felt so damn helpless. There were times when he really hated the job . . . 'Who's got the keys to the back of the van?' Young f demanded.

'I have,' Lonsdale replied.

'Open the doors.' Young pointed to Harrison. 'You, walk f beside him. And remember, any heroics and the kid dies.'

Young followed the two men to the back of the van tand watched as Lonsdale unlocked the doors and opened |them. The men inside the cages began to shout abuse, |demanding to know what was happening. Lonsdale had told them to make their performances as realistic as poss|tble: Young mustn't suspect a thing. Young motioned ttonsdale and Harrison into the back of the van and then :limbed in after them. 'Where's Alexander?'

'So that's what it's all about,' Lonsdale said, eyeing foung with disdain.

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'Where is he?'

Lonsdale indicated Whitlock's cell.

'Open it.'

Lonsdale and Harrison exchanged glances.

'I said open it. Unless you want the kid to d
ie.
'

Lonsdale took the keys from his pocket, selected one, and unlocked the cell.

'What's going on?' Whitlock snapped as Lonsdale pulled open the door.

'You're being sprung,' Young told him. 'Now get out of there.'

Whitlock stared at Young with mock disbelief. 'Who are you?'

'I'm not a cop, that's all you need to know for the moment.'

Whitlock pushed past Lonsdale, then extended his manacled hands towards him. 'You've got the key, screw. Uncuff me.'

Young took the key for the handcuffs from Lonsdale, pocketed it, then shoved Harrison and Lonsdale into the empty cell and locked it. He grabbed Whitlock by the arm and led him out of the van, locking the doors behind him.

'You can uncuff me now,' Whitlock said, nudging Young with his elbow.

'Shut up,' Young snapped, then led Whitlock to the police car. He opened the back door and peered in at Humphries. 'Is this him?'

Humphries nodded. 'That's Reuben all right.'

'Get in,' Young said, bundling Whitlock into the back of the police car beside the unconscious Mary Robson. Hurriedly he got into the passenger seat beside Humphries. 'Let's get out of here. Fast.' 'Dave, what's going on?' Whitlock asked Humphries. 'What the hell is going on?' -i

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'I told you to shut up,' Young said to Whitlock as ^Humphries swung the police car back out into the road. 'I want to know what's going on!' Whitlock demanded. I'And who's the woman and the kid?'

'Quit with the questions, okay?' Young snapped, ;laring at Whitlock. 'I've got a right to know - '

'You say another word and you'll get the same treat nent as those two next to you,' Young threatened.

Whitlock slumped back in the seat and said nothing Ifurther.

Humphries continued up Kennington Park Road for |another six hundred yards then turned right into Braganza Street where he slowed down before swinging the police ar into a double garage and stopping beside a lime-green Fiat Uno. He picked up a remote control from the dash >ard and used it to close the garage door. 'Get the lights,' Young said to Humphries. Humphries got out of the car and crossed to the light vitch. He flicked it on then turned back to the car. His yes registered sudden alarm. Young was out of the car nd holding a silenced Heckler & Koch Py in his hand, led at Humphries. He fired twice. Humphries was tirown back against the wall then his body slid lifelessly i the concrete floor. Whitlock struggled to get out of the ar, hindered by the handcuffs. When he did manage to traighten up he found himself staring at the silenced |utomatic in Young's hand.

'I didn't go to all that trouble just to kill you,' Young ssured him, reaching slowly through the open window ad opening the glove compartment, his eyes never leaving tiitlock's face.

There was no reason to kill him,' Whitlock said, staring E the body slumped against the wall. 'Why did you do it?'

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Young's fingers curled around the tranquillizer gun ii the glove compartment and as he withdrew it a faint smile touched the corners of his mouth. In one quick movement he raised the tranquillizer gun and fired. Whitlock winced as the dart hit him in the neck. The garage began to distort into a kaleidoscope of colours. The floor swayed beneath him. He stumbled to one side, bumping heavily against the wall, his legs losing all sense of balance. He felt himself fall forward. Young caught him before he hit the side of the car.

Then everything went black.

La Serenissima. Sabrina agreed completely with the name the Venetians had given to their city. It was serene. A city with a complex labyrinth of rii, canals, and calling, narrow streets, supported on piles of Istrian pine which had been driven down twenty-five feet into a solid bed of compressed sand, clay and limestone. She loved it most for its architecture. The Piazza San Marco, dominated by the Basilica with its facade of arches and loggias; the Palazzo Ducale, the seat of power for the past nine hundred years; Santa Maria della Salute, the white octagonal church built after the plague of 1390 which claimed nearly a third of the population. As far as she was concerned, Venice was the most beautiful city in the world.

They had arrived at Marco Polo Airport aboard a UNACO Cessna at midday. Sabrina had picked up a Beretta from a locker in the terminal (the key had been left for her at the information desk by a UNACO contact) and then they had managed to hire a motorboat taxi, agreeing the fare in advance, to take them to the Rio Baglioni, a small canal near the Rialto Bridge, where Calvieri claimed his contact had seen Ubrino earlier that morning. >

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'The helmsman says we'll be there in another five Iminutes,' Calvieri said, resuming his seat on the padded sbench beside Sabrina.

She merely nodded, looking across at the Ca'd'Oro, a J magnificent palace with a Gothic facade which was once pavishly adorned with gold and now housed the acclaimed 'Franchetti collection of Renaissance art.

'The Ca' do Mosto,' Calvieri said, pointing to the thirteenth-century Byzantine palace a hundred yards further on from the Ca' d'Oro.

She had seen it on her previous visits to Venice but had ?never found out its name.

'It was originally owned by Alvise de Mosto,' Calvieri Fshouted above the noise of a passing vaporetto, a Iwaterbus, packed with tourists. 'He was an explorer i who discovered the Cape Verde Islands off the African '* west coast.'

'You seem to know a lot about Venice,' Sabrina said, ^turning to face him.

'It's my favourite retreat,' Calvieri replied with a smile. 'I have many friends up here. It's the most liberal Brigatista stronghold in Italy.'

Sabrina glanced at the helmsman, who had his back to I them, then leaned forward, her arms resting on her knees, r'So why would Ubrino come back? Paluzzi said he'd been I hounded out because he was too radical.'

'I know it doesn't make any sense,' Calvieri agreed. r'But my contact has never let me down in the past.'

'So you said on the plane. I still think it's a trap. It's [too easy.'

The helmsman blew the speedboat's horn as he turned jthe blind corner under the white Rialto Bridge, then swung fcthe wheel deftly to avoid an approaching gondola. He I finally stopped the speedboat at one of the landing stages

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on the Riva del Carbon and tossed the mooring rope to a teenager on the jetty.

'You said you'd take us to the Rio Baglioni,' Sabrina said, getting to her feet.

'That's it, the second canal down,' the helmsman replied, pointing it out. 'You tell me how I'm going to get in there!'

An unoccupied blue and white speedboat was moored in the entrance to the narrow canal, blocking it to traffic.

'Some people have no consideration,' the helmsman muttered, staring at the speedboat.

Sabrina paid him, then scrambled on to the jetty, ignoring Calvieri's extended hand. 'Still so sure it's not a; trap?'

Calvieri raised his hands defensively. 'I never said it^ wasn't. But why would my contact want to set me up? j We've been friends for years. As I've said before --'

'I know, he's never let you down in the past,' Sabrina \ cut in. 'There's always a first time. Come on, I want to ] take a closer look at the speedboat before we go to that' address he gave to you.'

It took them a couple of minutes to reach the Riol Baglioni. It was about seven feet wide, half the size of the! average canal, and ended in a cul-de-sac. The perfect| setting for a trap. Sabrina crouched down beside the speedboat. A canvas tarpaulin lay in the back. It was covering something. She transferred the Beretta from the holster at the back of her jeans to the pocket of her| blouson then reached over and pulled back the tarpaulin. Underneath was a cardboard box with the word 'ValpoliJ cella' stencilled on the side. Calvieri got down on hiss haunches beside her.

'What the hell do you think you're doing?'

They looked round, startled by the voice behind then

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I The man was in his mid-twenties. He wore loud checked I trousers and a windcheater.

Calvieri got to his feet and eyed the man with obvious I contempt. 'Is this your boat?'

'Yeah. Why?' the man muttered in a distinctly [American accent.

'I might have guessed. Only a foreigner would moor a fboat here. We live down there. How do you expect us to fget our boat past yours?'

'Where's your boat?' the man asked, looking round him. 'Moored illegally at the Riva del Carbon. Have some |consideration, will you?'

The American had the grace to look apologetic. Til get |the keys,' he offered, then headed back towards his hotel. 'False alarm,' Calvieri said once the man was out of arshot.

'What's the address you were given?' Calvieri took a slip of paper from his pocket. 'Calle aglioni 17.'

They moved along the footpath beside the canal, until dey reached the house. It was a red-brick building with ťlack shutters covering the four windows and an altana, , wooden terrace, on the roof. He tried the door. It was ked. He glanced the length of the deserted pathway ben took a set of skeleton keys from his pocket and nlocked the door on the fourth attempt. He pocketed be keys but Sabrina grabbed his arm before he could