‘Where the hell are we?’
‘In my private jet, about thirty-five thousand feet over France. ETA in Rome is twenty-five minutes.’
‘Rome?’ Whitlock replied, feigning bewilderment. ‘Why are you taking me there?’
Wiseman was about to answer when the bathroom door opened at the other end of the cabin. His eyes flickered past Whitlock and he smiled at the approaching figure.
‘Back to your old self again, I see. Mr. Alexander, you’ve met Vie Young.’
Whitlock’s eyes widened in surprise when he saw Young. The black hair and moustache were gone. Now he was blond and clean shaven.
‘I was wearing a wig,’ Young said, running his fingers through his thick blond hair. He crossed to the drinks cabinet, poured out two measures of bourbon, and handed one of the glasses to Wiseman.
‘What you are drinking, Alexander?’
‘Nothing,’ Whitlock retorted, eyeing Young coldly. ‘Where are the woman and the boy?’
Young shrugged.
‘I left them in the police car. They were only drugged.’
‘You killed Dave–’
‘He knew too much,’ Young cut in quickly.
Whitlock shook his head as if in despair.
‘I would have got five years, maximum, for the job I did. I’d have been out in three. Now I’m facing a fifteen-year stretch as an accessory to murder.’
Young picked up a card from the floor, dropped it on to the table, then sat down.
‘You’ll be facing a murder rap if the police find the gun.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Whitlock said in amazement. ‘Murder? I didn’t kill him.’
‘Didn’t you?’ Young replied. ‘There’s only one set of fingerprints on the gun. Yours.’
‘That’s ridiculous, you pulled the trigger.’
‘But I was wearing gloves, remember? I put your prints on the gun while you were unconscious.’
‘Where’s the gun now?’
‘Safe,’ Young replied.
‘Call it an insurance policy,’ Wiseman said.
Young smiled at Wiseman’s choice of phrase.
‘Insurance against what?’ Whitlock asked suspiciously.
‘You running out on us before the two of you have finished what you’re going to Rome to do,’ Wiseman answered.
‘Then, when it’s over, you hand the gun over to the police?’
‘On the contrary. It’ll be handed over to you, along with a hundred thousand pounds in cash.’
‘And you honestly expect me to believe that?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ Wiseman said, shrugging his shoulders.
‘You won’t be able to tie Vie in with Humphries’ death. He’s got half a dozen witnesses lined up who’d swear, in court if necessary, that he was with them in another country at the time of the shooting. I admit I was in London this morning. At the Court of St. James. The American Ambassador and I go back a long way.’
‘You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you?’ Whitlock said. ‘So whatever way you look at it, I’ve been set up to take the fall.’
‘Not if you’re smart and do as you’re told,’ Wiseman replied.
‘So why exactly are we going to Rome?’ Whitlock asked at length.
‘To find my brother’s killer,’ Wiseman said.
‘To find him, or to kill him?’
‘It amounts to the same thing,’ Wiseman said.
‘It gets better by the minute. I suppose my prints will be found on that murder weapon as well?’
‘Officially, neither of you is in Italy. You’ll both be travelling on false passports. Vie, get his passport.’
Young crossed to an attaché case, took out a passport, and tossed it on to the table in front of Whitlock. Whitlock picked it up.
‘Raymond Anderson?’ He opened it and saw the space for the photograph.
‘We’ll take a Polaroid of you in a moment,’ Wiseman said with a shrug, then gestured to Young. ‘Vic’s travelling as Vincent Yardley. Remember the name.’
‘What about you?’ Whitlock asked Wiseman.
‘I’m going to Rome to collect my brother’s body. And that’s not a cover story.’
‘What happened to him?’
Wiseman picked up a folder from the floor beside his chair and handed it to Whitlock.
‘It’s all in there. Newspaper clippings, American mostly.’
Whitlock opened the folder. He had already seen many of the clippings, which had been included in his dossier. He leafed through them, pausing occasionally to read something that caught his eye.
‘Why did the Red Brigades shoot him?’
‘That’s what I want to find out,’ Wiseman replied, his jaw hardening. ‘He’d never harmed anyone in his life. All he cared about was his work. I could have understood it if they had come after me. A decorated soldier with strong NATO connections. I know I’m a target in their eyes. But why David? What really got to me was that the bastards actually gloated about it publicly. That was a mistake. A big mistake.’
Whitlock closed the folder and handed it back to Wiseman.
‘I’m sorry about your brother. But I don’t see where I fit in.’
‘You were recommended to me as the best wheel man either side of the Atlantic,’ Wiseman said. ‘Vie may need you for a fast getaway. It all depends on where and when the hits take place.’
‘Hits? You said your brother’s killer, not killers. How many hits are there going to be?’
‘Two at least. The gunman, and the person who authorized the killing. And if it turns out that others are involved, they too will be targeted. I want justice, Mr. Alexander, no matter what it takes.’
‘Why this personal vendetta? Why don’t you leave it to the police and let them bring the killers in?’
‘I’m a soldier, Mr. Alexander. The Red Brigades are the enemy. And I’ve been taught to kill the enemy.’
‘So why don’t you, instead of hiring us to do your dirty work for you?’ Whitlock’s expression was challenging.
Wiseman removed his gloves and held up his hands. Both index fingers were missing. ‘The Vietcong cut them off in ’69 when they found out I was a sniper. I was one of the lucky ones. I’m still alive. I’ve had several rifles made for me since then, all with the trigger housed in the butt. They’re no substitute for the real thing, though. I only use them for game shooting now. If I don’t kill a deer with my first shot I can always rely on a second shot to finish it off. It would be another matter if I could only wound a human target, especially one that was armed. It’s not that I’m scared of dying, Mr. Alexander, I just want to be sure that the job’s done properly. That’s why I chose the two of you. Vie was in my platoon in Vietnam. He’s still one of the best snipers in the business. And as I said earlier, you’re regarded as the best wheel man around. I don’t see how the two of you can fail.’
‘It’s decision time, Alexander. Are you in or out?’
‘I didn’t realize I had a choice,’ Whitlock countered sarcastically.
‘It’s very simple,’ Young said. ‘If you’re in, you’ll be paid forty thousand pounds up front. If you’re out, the door’s behind you.’
‘That’s some choice. I’m in, for what it’s worth.’
‘Excellent,’ Wiseman said. He removed an envelope from his pocket and handed it to Whitlock.
‘Forty thousand pounds sterling. You’ll be paid the balance on completion of the job.’ He noticed the uncertainty in Whitlock’s eyes. ‘One thing you’ll learn about me, Mr. Alexander, is that I never renege on a business deal. I pride myself on my honesty. You’ll be paid, in full, when it’s over.’
Whitlock opened the envelope and looked inside. The money was in used fifty-pound notes.
Young took an eight-inch oblong box from his inside jacket pocket and placed it on the table in front of Whitlock.
‘Open it.’
Whitlock picked up the box and removed the lid. Inside was a watch lying on a bed of cotton wool. He took it out, turned it around in his fingers, then looked up questioningly at Young.