‘That’s right,’ Escoletti replied. ‘You should have quit while you were ahead. But, like so many before you, you underestimated the Red Brigades. We’re not the disjointed, ramshackle organization our Government would have the world believe. How do you think we were able to track you down to that boarding house in Rome? How do you think I was able to trace you here so quickly?’
‘So what happens now?’
‘You will be taken back to Italy and tried by a people’s court.’
‘And submitted to your proletarian justice, no doubt?’ Young said with a sneer. ‘You sound just like the Vietcong I was fighting eighteen years ago. Unenlightened, uneducated red scum.’
‘Who brought your country to its knees,’ Escoletti said with evident satisfaction. ‘The people triumphed over the fascisti, one of the greatest victories in socialist history.’
Whitlock appeared in the doorway behind Escoletti, a 5-inch length of lead piping in his hand. He pressed it into Escoletti’s back and told him to drop the gun. Escoletti stiffened but made no move to drop the Bernadelli.
Whitlock’s heart was racing. If Escoletti called his bluff and turned on him he would be dead. It was as simple as that. Escoletti finally let the Bernadelli fall to the floor. Young picked it up before Whitlock had a chance to get to it. Escoletti looked round at Whitlock, his eyes lingering on the lead piping in his hand. His face remained expressionless.
‘I’ll spare you the kangaroo court,’ Young said to Escoletti, and shot him through the head.
‘You didn’t have to kill him!’ Whitlock exclaimed, staring at the body sprawled at his feet.
‘That’s right,’ Young replied. ‘Close the door.’
Whitlock closed the door behind him and when he turned back to Young he found the Bernadelli trained on him.
‘I never did trust you,’ Young said, taking a step towards Whitlock. ‘As I said to you in Rome, it was General Wiseman who wanted you in on the operation. Not me. I could have handled it by myself, no trouble.’
‘I can see that,’ Whitlock said sarcastically. ‘You needed me to save your arse at Pisani’s house. And you needed me to save it again tonight.’
‘For which I’ll be eternally grateful,’ Young replied with equal sarcasm. His eyes narrowed. ‘Who was the woman with Calvieri?’
Whitlock frowned. ‘What woman? What are you talking about?’
‘That so-called prostitute who came to your room in Rome was out there talking to Calvieri not five minutes ago. Who is she?’
‘Is that what all this is about?’ Whitlock said, gesturing to the Bernadelli in Young’s hand. ‘You see a woman who looks like an Italian prostitute talking to Calvieri and you immediately jump to conclusions.’
‘They were one and the same, I’m sure of it. I’m hardly likely to forget a face or a figure like that in a hurry.’
‘What possible reason would that prostitute have for coming up here to Berne? It makes no sense at all. And if you thought about it logically, you’d agree.’
‘You’re good, I’ll grant you that. But you’re not good enough. If you haven’t told me who she is in five seconds’ time I’ll put a bullet in your left kneecap. I’m told the pain is unbearable. Another five seconds and I’ll put a bullet in your right kneecap. Then, if you still won’t talk, I’ll resort to the transmitter. I’m dying to try it out. It’s the first of its kind. If it’s any good I might just patent it. I’m sure the CIA would be interested.’
‘You’re mad,’ Whitlock said, staring at the glazed expression in Young’s eyes.
‘Five seconds. Starting now.’
‘Look, I don’t know who she is,’ Whitlock said in desperation, his eyes flickering towards the glass cabinets on the wall. They were out of reach. Even if he could have reached them, he would have had to smash the glass to get to the weapons. Young would have shot him long before he got there.
‘Two seconds,’ Young said, reaching his left hand into his jacket pocket for the transmitter.
Whitlock saw his chance. He lunged at Young, bringing the lead piping down across the back of his gun hand. Young cried out in pain and the Bernadelli fell to the floor. Whitlock grabbed Young’s wrist as he pulled the transmitter from his pocket and ran him backwards into the cabinet containing the two ceremonial tachi. The glass shattered and Whitlock slammed the back of Young’s hand against the shards still embedded in the frame. A piece of glass sliced across the back of Young’s hand and in his haste to pull away from the searing pain the transmitter slipped from his bloodied fingers. Whitlock made the mistake of taking his eyes off Young for a split second to kick the transmitter out of the way. Young butted Whitlock savagely in the face and followed through with two hammering body punches, dropping Whitlock to his knees. Young grabbed the nearest tachi, wrenched it out of its sheath, and, using both hands to grip the hilt, lashed out at Whitlock, who managed to hurl himself sideways a split second before the blade, missing him by inches, sliced through the mat where he had been kneeling. Whitlock brought his foot up sharply into Young’s midriff then, springing to his feet, he managed to draw the second tachi from its sheath before Young had time to catch his breath.
They circled each other warily, the tachi held away from their bodies, neither of them prepared to make the first move. Young suddenly gripped the hilt firmly in both hands and scythed the blade at Whitlock, who parried the blow with the blunt edge of his tachi. Young lashed out again but this time Whitlock managed to evade the blade, which smashed into the second cabinet, spilling several of the ninja weapons on the floor around them. Young swivelled round as Whitlock aimed a thrust at his midriff and blocked the attempt. The two blades locked and Whitlock shoved Young against the wall, his arm shaking as he forced the two blades ever closer to Young’s face. Young lashed out with his foot, catching Whitlock on the knee. Whitlock stumbled back in pain, lost his footing on one of the mats, and fell to the floor. Young noticed the transmitter lying beside the door. He discarded the tachi and made a grab for it.
Whitlock knew he wouldn’t be able to reach Young before he pressed the button. He looked around in desperation for the Bernadelli. It was out of reach. His fingers touched something cold on the floor beside him. An eight-sided shuriken. It was his only chance. Young uncapped the transmitter’s protective seal and looked up triumphantly. Whitlock flung the shuriken. It struck Young high in the forehead, spraying blood across the wall behind him. The transmitter slipped from Young’s hand and the astonishment was still mirrored in his eyes when he fell forward on to the floor.
Whitlock got to his feet gingerly and retrieved the transmitter, which lay next to Young’s body. He secured the protective cap over the button again then crossed to the case by the window and used the cordless telephone to call Kolchinsky and tell him what had happened. Kolchinsky told him to go back to the boarding house where he was staying and he would arrange for a scientist to be sent down from Zürich to defuse the booby-trapped watch. Whitlock replaced the telephone in the case and walked to the door, where he paused to pick up the Bernadelli. It could come in useful. He pocketed it then looked around slowly at the havoc before closing the door behind him and padlocking it again.
Kolchinsky replaced the receiver and told Graham what had happened.
‘Is he all right?’ Graham asked once Kolchinsky had finished speaking.
‘Mercifully yes. I told him to go back to the boarding house.’
‘Surely he’d be of more use to us here?’
‘And let Calvieri see him?’
‘That’s being a bit overcautious, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t think so. Remember, the Red Brigades have got a good description of C.W. I’m not saying Calvieri would link him to the hit but it’s not worth taking that chance. It’s best if we keep him in the wings until we need him.’