‘Alexander?’
Whitlock looked round, startled by the voice behind him. Young stood in the doorway.
‘Try knocking next time,’ Whitlock snapped, turning back to his food.
‘I did, but you didn’t respond,’ Young said, closing the door behind him. He sat on the edge of the bed and gestured to the take away on the table.
‘Why didn’t you eat downstairs? The food’s a lot better than that.’
‘I’d say that depends on the company,’ Whitlock retorted, cutting the last piece of steak in half.
‘I’d watch my mouth if I were you, Alexander.’
Whitlock finished eating, then twisted his chair round to face Young.
‘What do you want?’
Young stood up and handed the keys to the hired Seat Ibiza to Whitlock.
‘We’re going out.’
‘Where?’
‘The underground car-park on the via Marmorata.’
‘Who are we meeting?’
‘That doesn’t concern you,’ Young spat.
‘I’m up to my neck in this thing, thanks to you. The least you can do is let me know what’s going on.’
Young grabbed Whitlock by his shirt, hauled him to his feet and slammed him against the wall. Whitlock resisted the temptation to break the grip and put Young on his back. He had to let Young believe he had the upper hand.
‘Let’s get something straight from the start, Alexander. I didn’t ask for you. It was the General’s idea to bring you in on this, not mine. He was the one who thought I should have a getaway driver. So don’t think you’re indispensable, because you’re not. I can do this with or without you. It makes no difference to me one way or the other.’
‘It’s nice to know you’re wanted,’ Whitlock muttered.
‘Just remember, I’m the one with the transmitter. You step out of line and I’ll use it,’ Young snarled, pushing Whitlock away from him.
Whitlock bit back his anger and followed Young into the corridor. They descended the stairs into the foyer. The plump receptionist smiled at them as they passed then returned to her knitting. The red Seat Ibiza was parked directly outside, and Whitlock unlocked the driver’s door, got in, then leaned over and unlocked the passenger door for Young. On a map he took from his inside pocket Young pointed out the route he had already outlined in red pen.
Whitlock followed directions and they reached the via Marmorata within ten minutes. Young pointed out the illuminated sign, PARCHEGGIO, and Whitlock swung the car into the entrance, coming to a stop in front of the barrier. Whitlock took a ticket from the machine and the boom gate lifted. Young told him to drive to Level C. Whitlock negotiated the spiralling ramp cautiously and braked on reaching Level C. ‘Who, or what, are we looking for?’ he asked.
Young pointed to a white Fiat Uno parked beside one of the thick concrete pillars. Whitlock pulled up behind it.
‘That’s it,’ Young said, noticing a copy of the Daily American in the back of the car. ‘I won’t be long. Drive around in circles, I’ll signal when I’m ready.’
Whitlock watched Young get out of the car. The gunman was playing it close to the chest. Too close for his liking. He had already assumed that Young was meeting someone who had information on the Wiseman murder but what good would Whitlock be to UNACO touring around in the car waiting for Young to finish? He had to know what Young was planning.
There was only one option open to him: he must bug Young’s room. He already had the bug, it was just a matter of planting it…
‘I told you to drive around the level, I’ll signal you when I’m ready.’
Whitlock put the car into gear and drove off. Young pulled on a pair of black gloves as he stared after the car. How many times had he tried to dissuade Wiseman from recruiting Alexander? The hell he needed a wheel man. He could easily have incorporated both jobs into one. And be 100,000 richer into the bargain. But Wiseman had been adamant. Alexander was a necessary back-up. Typical, Wiseman thinking like a soldier. Young didn’t like the cocky Englishman but he had no choice but to put up with him for the duration of the assignment. Wiseman’s assignment. But once it was over he still had his ace to play.
The booby-trapped watch. He smiled to himself. What a tragedy if it happened to detonate accidentally…
‘Do you have a cigarette?’
Young turned to the man who had emerged from the shadows behind the Fiat Uno. He was in his mid-twenties with long, ragged black hair and a sallow, acne-scarred face. His name was Johnny Ramona. Young took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and extended it towards him.
Ramona took one and Young lit it for him.
‘I would pay you, but I only have this,’ he said, taking half a five-hundred-lire note from his jeans pocket. Young took the note and checked it against the half he had on him. They matched.
‘Did you get the information I wanted?’
Ramona nodded and gestured to the Fiat. ‘It’s safer if we talk inside.’
Young got into the passenger seat and immediately tilted the rearview mirror until he could see behind him.
Ramona got behind the wheel.
‘A cautious man, I see.’
‘It’s one way of staying alive. Well, what have you got for me?’
‘You have the money?’
Young took an envelope from his pocket, opened it to reveal the money, but jerked it away from Ramona’s grasping hand.
‘You’ll be paid when I have the information.’
Ramona gave him a twisted smile, sat back and took another drag on the cigarette.
‘The Red Brigades were behind the break-in at the plant.’
‘Try telling me something I don’t know,’ Young retorted sarcastically, then glanced in the rearview mirror as Whitlock drove past.
‘It was carried out by the Rome cell. The team leader was Riccardo Ubrino, one of the two senior cell commanders.’
‘Where’s this Ubrino now?’
Ramona shrugged. ‘Nobody knows. It is as if he has disappeared off the face of the earth. The only person who might know is Lino Zocchi, but there is no way of confirming that.’
‘Who is Zocchi?’
‘The brigade chief here in Rome. He is in prison but he cannot be contacted. There has been an outbreak of conjunctivitis there and all visits have been cancelled until further notice.’
‘You say this Ubrino is one of two senior cell commanders. Who’s the other one?’
‘Luigi Rocca.’
‘Would he know where Ubrino’s gone?’
Ramona shook his head. ‘He is as much in the dark as everyone else. And he is the acting brigade chief until Zocchi can be contacted again.’
‘So Ubrino’s answerable to Zocchi. Who’s Zocchi answerable to?’
‘Nicola Pisani, leader of the Red Brigades.’ Ramona took an envelope from his pocket and removed a sheet of paper from inside it. ‘This is the committee structure of the Red Brigades. Pisani is at the top. Zocchi and Calvieri are immediately beneath him–’
‘Who’s Calvieri?’ Young cut in quickly. ‘I’m sure I’ve heard that name before.’
‘He is the spokesman for the Red Brigades. He appears regularly on Italian television.’
‘Would he know where to find Ubrino?’
‘I doubt it. Ubrino is from Rome. Calvieri is brigade chief in Milan. They are two different factions within the Red Brigades. And there is no love lost between the two cities. Zocchi is a hard liner, Calvieri a moderate.’
‘But it’s possible?’
‘It is possible, but most unlikely.’ Ramona flicked the cigarette butt out of the window. ‘Well, now you have the information you wanted. The money?’