“And if he doesn’t take the bait?” Graham asked.
“Then we go in,” she replied.
“And pray he doesn’t have a Kalashnikov,” Eastman said.
“McGuire’s the least of our problems.”
“You’re still convinced the IRA are going to get to him first?” Eastman said. “How are they going to do it? The cable car’s guarded by Bastian’s men. What does that leave? A helicopter? Jesus, what lunatic would take a chopper up in these conditions?”
A radio crackled into life and one of the men passed the handset to Bastian. Sabrina’s eyes widened in horror as she listened to the communiqué. She looked around at Eastman. “An unidentified helicopter’s just been picked up on police radar. It’s heading this way. ETA: five minutes. Two police helicopters have been scrambled from Geneva but they won’t be able to intercept it before it gets here.”
“Assuming it’s coming here,” Eastman said, but there was no conviction left in his voice.
“We’ve got to get McGuire out of there before the helicopter gets here,” Graham said, moving to the door. “God only knows what kind of arsenal they’ll have with them.”
“You have a plan?” Bastian asked.
“Sabrina and I will go to the chalet,” Graham replied, holding up his hand before Marsh could say anything. “We know him. It’s our only chance.”
“What do you want us to do?” Eastman asked.
“You could start praying,” Graham replied, moving to the door. “Captain, we’ll need two-way radios to keep in touch with you.”
Bastian snapped an order at the two men and they unclipped their radios and gave them to Graham and Sabrina.
“I’ll call you once we’re in place,” Graham said. “That’s when you switch on the spotlight.”
“We can switch it on now. It will make it easier for you to reach the chalet.”
“Sure it would, but you’re forgetting the back door. The moment you switched on the light McGuire could duck out of the back and we wouldn’t be any the wiser.” Graham looked at Sabrina. “Ready?”
“Ready,” she replied, pulling the goggles back over her eyes.
“Good luck,” Eastman said, patting them both on the shoulder. “Call us if you need us.”
“You can count on it,” Graham assured him.
“You will follow me?” Bastian said, putting on his skis, pushing aside the block of snow and ducking out into the night.
Graham and Sabrina were right behind him. They harnessed themselves to another section of rope which led from the door to where the spotlight had been mounted at the edge of the trees. Bastian tapped Graham’s arm and pointed into the darkness. Graham could just make out a light, barely visible through the falling snow. But it was enough for him to get his bearings. He tugged Sabrina’s sleeve and she gave him a thumbs-up sign. She had also seen it. Bastian switched on his torch and one of the men manning the spotlight took a length of rope from his haversack and looped it through their harnesses. He secured it with an overhand knot which could be easily untied once they reached the chalet. Sabrina tugged Graham’s sleeve then stepped out into the clearing. Graham, who had expected to take the lead, cursed sharply under his breath but quickly went after her. She dug her ski poles into the snow as she struggled against the fierce wind. She was determined to stay on her feet; one slip and they would both fall. And they could ill afford to get tangled up on the ground. Every second was precious to them now.
The light, which came from behind the drawn curtains of a window facing out over the clearing, became more defined with each stride. Then, suddenly, the silhouette of the chalet appeared through the falling snow. It was barely ten yards in front of them. Graham tugged sharply on Sabrina’s sleeve, indicating that she should go to the rear of the chalet. Again she nodded and gave him a thumbs-up sign. Stealthily they moved closer to the chalet until there was enough light for her to untie the rope binding them together. Sabrina held up her index finger, indicating that she wanted a minute to get into place as she moved off around the side of the chalet. Graham made his way cautiously to the front of the chalet. He reached the door, counting out another thirty seconds before unclipping the two-way radio from his belt. Praying that his voice could be heard above the wind, he crouched down, his body in the lee of the wall and, pressing the radio against his lips, shouted his instructions to Bastian as loudly as he dared. For a moment Graham thought Bastian hadn’t heard him. Then suddenly the spotlight snapped on, bathing the chalet in a bright, piercing light. Graham unclipped his skis, unslung the machine-pistol from his shoulder, then pushed down hard on the door handle. The door was locked.
The explosion knocked Graham off his feet. He landed painfully on his side and wrapped his arms around his head as debris rained down onto the snow around him. He lay there, momentarily winded, still struggling to comprehend what was happening. Above the howling wind, another sound pierced his consciousness. Horrified, he looked up to be blinded by the dazzling beam of a second spotlight directly above him, one being operated from the open cabin door of a helicopter. A burst of gunfire from the helicopter scored a direct hit on the police spotlight and darkness descended over the trees. Graham clawed frantically in the snow for the machine-pistol which had slipped from his grasp when he hit the ground. It was gone. He cursed furiously. He could have taken out the helicopter’s light if he’d had it. Another rocket grenade hit the roof and the chimney disintegrated in a hail of bricks. Graham, now without his skis, stumbled on through the snow to the chalet and was about to smash one of the windows when a row of bullets peppered the wall above him. He flung himself to the ground seconds before the window disintegrated in a hail of bullets.
The front door swung open and a figure was momentarily illuminated in the doorway. It was McGuire. He was wearing skis and his face was partially obscured by a hood. Graham yelled at him to get back into the chalet but the wind whipped away the words the moment he opened his mouth. McGuire looked up in terror at the helicopter then launched himself out of the doorway. A moment later the builder, Bertranne, followed him onto the snow. Graham stayed down, watching helplessly as McGuire and Bertranne stumbled blindly down the slope. In the sky the helicopter was banking around steeply, coming in low behind them, stalking their clumsy movements like a giant bird of prey. A burst of gunfire from the helicopter hit Bertranne in the back; as he fell one of his ski poles sliced into McGuire’s leg and both men tumbled headlong into the snow. The helicopter descended to within twenty feet of the ground and a masked figure in the doorway emptied the machine gun into the two men. Immediately the spotlight clicked off and the helicopter banked sharply to the right before disappearing over the trees.
Graham sat up slowly and looked around him, still struggling to come to terms with what he had just witnessed. It had all happened so fast that it was almost like something out of a nightmare. He couldn’t see McGuire or Bertranne in the darkness but he knew they were dead. Nobody could have survived that onslaught. Irrelevantly, he wondered which member of the cell had been responsible for such a clinical, coldblooded execution. Not Mullen, he would have been the pilot. Which left Kerrigan or Gallagher. It had to be Kerrigan. He had a history of extreme violence. And he would have enjoyed it. But he knew it didn’t really matter who had pulled the trigger. All that mattered now was that UNACO were back to square one again. And Scoby was due in London the next day …
Lights appeared out of the darkness as Bastian skied over to where Graham was slumped against the side of the chalet. He directed the flashlight onto Graham’s face. “Are you all right?”