‘You know UNACO’s policy–’
‘Mike, that’s enough! If you played by the book it would be fair comment but you quoting the Charter is like Stallone quoting Macbeth.’
Sabrina giggled, then clamped her hand over her mouth. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’
Graham eyed her icily.
‘We can’t be at all sure Werner was bluffing when he said he would detonate the plutonium if he were cornered – but to give in to his demands would be to condone criminal behaviour. UNACO was founded precisely to neutralize situations like this. We can’t back down.’ Philpott sucked on his pipe. ‘A marksman shoots to kill when he’s cornered a rabid dog. If the dog’s only wounded it can still bite. I think you know what I’m saying.’ They both nodded.
Philpott indicated with the stem of his pipe the two cream-coloured holdalls by the side of the bed. ‘I managed to get them back from the Swiss authorities last night. I’m sure you want to get changed.’
Sabrina clambered off the bed and picked up the holdalls. ‘Thank you, sir, I’ll appreciate being myself again.’
‘The bathroom’s through there,’ Philpott said, gesturing to the door on his right.
She went into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.
Philpott got to his feet and crossed to the window as though his proximity to the door might be misconstrued. ‘Why do you resent her so much, Mike? Is it because she’s a woman? Or because she hasn’t got your level of field experience? Or is it her shooting ability–’
‘It’s got nothing to do with that,’ Graham retorted defensively.
‘Have you ever seen her on the range? I only ask because I know you like to shoot on your own.’
‘I know she’s good, better than me,’ Graham said with an indifferent shrug.
‘I’ve been thinking about the two of you for a couple of days, which was why I had these sent out from New York.’ He opened his attaché case and withdrew a folder. ‘Naturally they’re confidential but as you’re her partner I thought you should see them. They’re the targets she used during her prelim tests. There’re only a couple in here, I could hardly have the life-size ones sent out. Take a look, you might learn something.’
Graham opened the folder and picked up the first target. Beretta 92/15 rounds had been printed in the top right-hand corner. There was a single hole in the centre of the bull the size of a quarter. The second target had Mannlicher Luxus/10 rounds printed in the top right-hand corner. Apart from the one stray bullet hole dissecting the circle around the bull the rest of the bullets had formed an uncanny geometric circle in the centre of the bull. It was as though she had purposefully set out to create another perfect circle within the bull itself.
Philpott pointed to the one flaw on the target. ‘It was her first shot, she hadn’t quite adjusted the sights properly. Nobody’s perfect though.’
Graham closed the folder and handed it to Philpott. ‘I never knew anybody could be that good.’
Philpott held up the folder. ‘I know some of you feel she got into UNACO because of her father’s influence but it wouldn’t have mattered if he were the President or a hot dog vendor on Forty-Second Street – this was the deciding factor that got her into UNACO. She was on the range that morning, not her father.’
‘May I ask you a question, sir, confidentiality aside?’
‘Depends on the question,’ Philpott replied, slipping the folder back into his attaché case.
‘Did her father have any influence on your final decision?’
‘If you’d ever met George Carver you wouldn’t need to ask that question.’
Graham waited for Philpott to continue. There was a lengthy pause instead. ‘Go on, sir.’
‘I don’t need to, I’ve answered the question.’
Sabrina emerged from the bathroom before Graham could get Philpott to justify his answer.
She was wearing a baggy white jersey and figure-hugging jeans tucked into a pair of brown leather ankle boots. Her hair was tied at the back of her head with a white ribbon.
‘Why the sudden silence?’ she asked, then smiled. ‘Should I have been in the bathroom for another five minutes?’
‘Mike was asking about your father.’
‘What about him?’
Graham glowered at Philpott as he struggled to think of something to say. He was tempted to be blunt but knew it would serve no purpose. ‘I was asking the boss if he’d ever met your father.’
She frowned. ‘Have you, sir?’
‘Once, in Montreal. I had been speaking at a police convention that afternoon and in the evening I was invited to a cocktail party at the home of the American Ambassador, then your father. It was the usual drab embassy party apart from one incident when a little girl in her pyjamas came running into the room determined to show everyone the gold stars the teacher had stuck in her book that day at school.’
‘I did that?’ She screwed her face up in horror. ‘How embarrassing.’
‘What amazed me was the way you alternated between English and French when talking to your parents. I know your mother is French but you sounded as fluent as her and you couldn’t have been much older than seven or eight. It’s one of those things I’ve always remembered.’
‘It’s just the way I was brought up. I spoke English to my father and French to my mother. You could say I had the best of both worlds. It was so strictly enforced that when I first went to sleep over at a friend’s house – I must have been about nine at the time – I automatically spoke to her parents as I did to my own back home. I thought all mothers spoke French!’ She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at her unpainted fingernails. ‘Have you heard from C.W., sir?’
‘Yes, I heard from him before I left Zurich this morning. With everything that’s happened since it totally slipped my mind.’
He detailed the events from the time Whitlock had been roused from his bed by Karen’s telephone call through to Leitzig’s shooting some nine hours later.
‘Is Leitzig still alive?’ Graham asked.
‘C.W. phoned the hospital minutes before he phoned me and he was told Leitzig’s on the critical list.’
‘And C.W.? How bad was his eye injury?’ Sabrina asked.
‘He needed five stitches. Mike also picked up an injury.’
‘What happened?’ she asked anxiously.
Graham merely shrugged.
‘He sprained his shoulder badly trying to land on the wagon roof. The doctor’s given him painkillers. He’ll be fine until we get back to New York where he can get it attended to properly.’
The telephone rang.
Philpott crossed to the bedside table to answer it. He listened intently, occasionally nodding, then replaced the receiver without a word.
‘The wagon was coupled to the back of a train bound for Trieste. It’s due into Trieste at 4.40. That leaves you with a little over fifty minutes. There’s still a chance you can get there before it arrives. I’ll call the pilot.’
They pulled on their jackets and pocketed the new Berettas Kolchinsky had left on the bed for them, each taking a spare clip as an additional back-up.
‘The pilot’s waiting in the foyer,’ Philpott said after replacing the receiver.
They hurried from the room without another word.
The helicopter covered the 190 miles to Trieste in forty minutes, touching down on a strip of wasteland directly behind the station.
Graham and Sabrina disembarked even before the pilot had shut down the engine and made their way to the terminus building. The spacious concourse was teeming with commuters and tourists. After looking around briefly she grabbed his arm and led him to the side of a newsstand a few feet away.
‘I’ll find out about the train from the information centre over there. It’s pointless both of us going, we could easily become parted in this melee. I’ll be as quick as I can.’