Time of the Assassins (33 page)

Whitlock sat down next to Philpott and looked across at Graham who was sitting on the top step, his back against the open door, sipping hot coffee from a plastic cup.
Graham sensed he was, being watched and glanced round at Whitlock. 'You should try the coffee sometime. In fact, have this one.'
Whitlock smiled as Graham extended the plastic cup towards him. 'That good, huh?'
'Hell, no,' Graham retorted then tossed the remainder of the coffee into the bushes behind the van. 'Why is bad coffee always associated with cops? Making a drinkable cup of coffee should be part of their basics.'
Philpott smiled faintly then picked up the receiver and dialled the house. Bernard answered. 'You told me to let you know when the helicopter was on its way.'
'Is it a Huey?' Bernard demanded.
'Yes. Where do you want it to land?'
'As close to the house as possible. Then your pilot's to shut down the engine, switch off all lights, and withdraw. I'm using my own pilot. He's on his way over here now. He'll be driving a light blue Datsun. He's not to be stopped. Is that clear?'
'Quite clear,' Philpott replied contemptuously. 'When will Rosie be released?'
'When I'm satisfied I haven't been tricked by either you or the CIA. Strange as it may seem, Colonel, I don't want to see her hurt any more than you do. She's a great kid. Don't make me do something we'll all regret.'
'How will I know when you've released her?'
'You'll be the first to know, Colonel, you can be sure of that.' Then the line went dead.
Bernard glanced at his watch as he heard the sound of the helicopter in the distance. Two fifty-seven a.m. Good timing. He switched off the hall light then went into the front bedroom and, pressing himself against the wall, tweaked back the curtain and peered cautiously out across the clearing. Although it was in darkness he knew the SWAT team would be positioned on the edge of the wood, their sniper rifles fined with the latest in high-tech infra-red sights. He couldn't afford to make the slightest mistake or they'd cut him down without a moment's hesitation. It seemed to give him added confidence. No cop was going to kill him.
The helicopter suddenly appeared from behind the wood and came to within a few feet of the front gate before descending carefully to the ground. Kolchinsky cut the engine, switched off the lights, then unstrapped himself and got out. He looked towards the house then turned away and strode briskly to where Philpott was waiting for him at the edge of the clearing. Bernard let the curtain fall back into place then left the room. Philpott had kept his side of the bargain, so where the hell was Demerest?
Warren Demerest touched the brakes when he saw the row of police cars in the distance, their lights flashing menacingly in the semi-darkness. He took the balaclava off the dashboard and pulled it over his head
then continued for another hundred yards to where a policeman stood in the middle of the road, a flashlight in his hand. He shone the flashlight into the car. The beam lingered on the balaclava. Demerest swallowed nervously. What if Bernard had already been caught or killed? Jesus, he'd never thought of that. Another conviction and they'd throw away the key. Well, that's what the governor had told him when he'd been released from San Quentin at the beginning of the year. The policeman, who had been instructed by Stephens to let the car through, stepped back and pointed to the approach road. Demerest put the car into gear and headed down it. He passed the van and several¯members of the SWAT team in their black uniforms. They were all armed. What the hell had Bernard got him into here? Well, it was too late to turn back now. He turned up the narrow driveway at the side of the house, just as Bernard had instructed, and drove round the back, pulling up within a foot of the back door. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Stay in the car? Go into the house? Where was Bernard?
The door opened fractionally. 'Kill the lights,' Bernard hissed from inside.
Demerest switched off the lights.
'Get in here!' Bernard snapped.
Demerest climbed out of the car and slipped into the kitchen. Bernard had handcuffed himself to Rosie. He held the automatic in his free hand.
'Hey, man, careful with that thing,' Demerest said nervously, indicating the automatic which was pointed at his midriff.
Take off the balaclava,' Bernard said softly.
Demerest pulled it off to reveal his face. He was in his late thirties with cropped brown hair and a gold sleeper in his left ear. 'Satisfied?' he said sharply.
'Get that blanket,' Bernard said pointing to the blanket on the table. 'Drape it over Rosie and me then lead us out to the car. 'We'll ride in the back. They won't risk a shot if they can't see me.'
Demerest tugged the balaclava back over his face then, glancing quickly at Rosie, unfolded the blanket and covered them with it. Bernard pulled Rosie to him and pressed the automatic into her ribs. She winced as the barrel dug into her but said nothing. She wouldn't give Bernard the satisfaction of knowing he was hurting her.
'Let's go,' Bernard snapped from under the blanket.
Demerest wiped the sweat from his face. He knew there would be rifles trained on the back door. What if they opened fire when he opened it?
'Demerest, what the hell's going on?' Bernard snarled. 'I said, let's go.'
'OK,' Demerest replied irritably.
He eased the door open and held his breath as he stepped outside. No gunfire. So far, so good. He grabbed Bernard's arm through the blanket and led them to the car. He opened the back door. Bernard kept Rosie close to him as he ducked into the back seat, making it impossible for the snipers to distinguish between the shapes under the blanket. Demerest slammed the door shut behind them. He got in behind the wheel and looked in the rear-view mirror. Bernard and Rosie were lying on the back seat,
the blanket over them. No sniper would risk a shot. Demerest still felt vulnerable. They could take him out at any time - one bullet, that's all it would take.
'Start the car, dammit!' Bernard shouted. 'And no lights.'
Demerest muttered an apology as he grated the gears. His hands were shaking. He tried again. This time he found first gear. He turned the car round and headed back down the driveway but instead of branching off onto the approach road he headed towards the silhouette of the Huey on the edge of the clearing.
'Park as close as you can to the helicopter,' Bernard told him.
Demerest pulled up beside the cabin door and killed the engine. He climbed out of the car and glanced towards the wood. He could see some figures standing in the shadows. Obviously not from the SWAT team. They would be invisible in their black uniforms. That only unnerved him even more. How many unseen guns were aimed at him at that very moment? He pushed the thought from his mind. He was scared enough as it was. He pulled open the cabin door and peered inside. There was a small set of metal steps close to the door. He unhooked them from the wall and placed them in front of the door.
'Ready,' he told Bernard through the open driver's window.
'Open the back door.'
Demerest did so and Bernard wriggled backwards, taking Rosie with him. A hand pushed her head down as she felt her foot touch the ground. The
hand remained on her head until she was out of the car.
'There's some steps in front - '
A bullet ricocheted off the side of the helicopter, inches above Demerest's head. Bernard froze as he forced himself not to pull the trigger. He felt Rosie's body stiffen against his. She closed her eyes, waiting for him to kill her. Demerest was down on one knee, his eyes wide with fear. They heard the shouted order from the direction of the wood. Then silence.
'Bernard?' Stephens yelled through the bullhorn. 'Don't harm the girl. It was an accident. There'll be no more shooting.'
Bernard winced as the sweat seeped into his eyes. He eased his finger off the trigger but kept the automatic pressed into her ribs. He heard himself sigh. It had been that close. He'd so nearly lost his ace.
'Demerest?' he hissed. 'Demerest?'
'I'm here,' Demerest said, straightening up.
'Lead us to the steps,' Bernard ordered.
Demerest took Bernard's arm through the blanket and talked them up the steps into the back of the helicopter. He kicked the steps away, slammed the "door shut then scrambled into the cockpit and started up the engine.
Bernard discarded the blanket and, careful to remain flat on the cabin floor, he unlocked the handcuff from his wrist and secured it around a metal pipe that ran the length of the wall. He wiped the sweat from his face and inhaled sharply as his thumb brushed against the wound above -his eye. 'How long before we can take off?' he called out to Demerest.
'Almost ready,' came the reply.
Bernard allowed himself a faint smile of satisfaction. He looked across at Rosie. She stared back at him, her face expressionless.
Then the helicopter began to rise.
Graham and Whitlock had used the cover of darkness to slip away unnoticed from the others but by the time they had reached the back of the house the car was already heading away down the driveway. They waited until it had turned off into the clearing before breaking cover and sprinting to the steps at the side of the house. It was then that Whitlock had discovered the body of Brett slumped against the half-open cellar door. Graham had remained crouched at the top of the steps, out of sight of the car which had by then pulled up next to the helicopter.
Although armed, he knew the Beretta would be of little use from that range. There were snipers all around the house who would take Bernard out if he did make a mistake. If. But Graham knew Bernard better than any of them. Bernard wouldn't make a mistake. Which was why he and Whitlock had come up with an alternative plan. Whitlock, because of his injured arm, could only be a bystander. It simply added to his frustration. But he wanted to be with Graham when they put their plan into operation. They had a bond, an alliance. Bernard had escaped after Carrie and Mikey had gone missing. And now he was threatening to do the same again. Only this time he was using Rosie. And they knew her life would be worthless if he did manage to flee the
country and start up a new life somewhere else. He had to be stopped.
Whitlock put a hand lightly on Graham's shoulder. Graham gave him a thumbs-up then broke cover and sprinted towards the helicopter as it began to slowly lift off the ground.
Demerest only saw Graham out of the corner of his eye when he was within ten yards of the helicopter. He instinctively applied more pressure on the collective-lever pitch to force the helicopter to climb further away from the ground. Graham, realizing he wouldn't reach the nearest landing pad from the ground, scrambled onto the Datsun's bonnet, then onto its roof, before launching himself at the pad. The fingers of his right hand touched the cold steel. He clamped his hand in a vice-like grip around the pad as the helicopter continued to rise further away from the ground. His arm felt as if it were going to be pulled out of its socket. Slowly, carefully, he brought up his left hand and his fingers curled around the pad, easing the pressure off his right arm. He began swaying from side to side then, when he felt he had enough momentum, he heaved himself upwards and managed to hook his right leg around the pad. Then he looked down. The helicopter was already a hundred feet above the ground and still climbing.
Demerest continued to glance anxiously out of the side window at Graham, mesmerized by the agility he'd used to haul himself up onto the landing pad. Bernard, who had already been alerted by Demerest, had his automatic at the ready, waiting. He knew
instinctively it was Graham. It was exactly the sort of stunt he would pull. The man had a death wish. But he couldn't do anything until the helicopter was clear of the wood - and the snipers. And that was giving Graham valuable seconds to stabilize himself on the landing pad. Bernard knew what he had to do when he pulled open the door. His fingers tightened around the automatic.
Demerest had initially wanted to drag the pads through the tops of the trees to try and dislodge Graham from the helicopter. Bernard had quickly ruled the idea out as too dangerous. What if one of the pads snagged on a thick branch? It could result in the helicopter losing altitude and ploughing into the trees. Demerest see-sawed the helicopter from side to side, desperately trying to pitch Graham off the pad-to no avail. Graham clung resolutely on, waiting, almost cat-like, for the moment when Bernard would open the door. The trees ended abruptly at the edge of the freeway. Demerest called out to Bernard that they were clear of the wood.
Bernard reached out a hand then yanked open the door. He was still raising the automatic to fire when Rosie slammed the sole of her boot against the side of his face, ripping open the bruise above his eye. He screamed in agony and the automatic fell from his grasp as he stumbled backwards, his hand clasped over his eye. The blood poured down through his fingers onto his shirt. He caught her with a vicious backhand slap which slammed her against the side of the cabin, knocking a wooden box off the wall above her.
He was still reaching for the fallen automatic when Graham launched himself through the doorway and felled him with a low football tackle. Bernard landed heavily on the floor and the automatic skidded towards the open door. It came to rest a foot away from the door. Graham pulled his Beretta from his shoulder holster but Bernard managed to grab his wrist and force the barrel up towards the ceiling. He slammed the back of Graham's hand against the side of the cabin and the Beretta fell from his fingers. He caught Graham with a hammering jab to the side of the face, rocking his head back against the floor. Graham lashed out with his elbow, catching Bernard squarely on his gashed eyebrow. Bernard recoiled in agony but was quick to react when Graham reached for the fallen Beretta.
They grappled for possession of the automatic but as Bernard tore it from Graham's hand, Graham butted him viciously in the face, again catching him on the eyebrow. Bernard stumbled and as he fell the Beretta spun from his hands and disappeared through die open doorway. He brought his foot up sharply into Graham's stomach and as Graham buckled forward he caught him with a hammering punch to the face. Graham fell to his knees, his eyes watering from the force of the punch. Bernard dived for the Desert Eagle. Graham knew he could never reach Bernard before he recovered the automatic.
'Hey, catch,' Rosie shouted to Graham.