‘What about the sides of the case? He could have set a hair-trigger device which would detonate the watch if any attempt was made to open the transmitter.’
Gottfried enlarged each side of the transmitter in turn but there were no strands of wire crossing the joins between the two halves of the case.
‘There is another possibility,’ Gottfried said at length. ‘A light-emitting diode. It is a tiny photocell incorporated into the circuit which would trigger off the explosive charge the moment it came into contact with a light source.’
‘In other words, when you removed the back of the transmitter.’
‘Exactly. But there is a way of getting round it. Infra-red light.’
‘Does that mean I’m going to have to fly back to Zürich with you?’ Whitlock asked.
‘That is up to you. There is an infra-red light built into this system but if you would prefer to go to Zürich–’
‘Not if we can do it here,’ Whitlock cut in. ‘I’m on standby. My colleagues may need me at any time.’
‘Very well. Will you switch off the light and close the curtains, please? The infra-red light can only work in complete darkness.’
Whitlock did as he was asked. Gottfried activated the infra-red, which was built into the lid of the case, then switched off the scanner and removed the transmitter from the chamber. He placed it face down on the table then selected a screwdriver from the miniature tool kit he had taken from his pocket and began to unscrew the first of the four screws holding the two halves of the case together. Whitlock remained motionless behind him, his breathing shallow and ragged. He wiped the sweat from his eyes then bit his lower lip painfully when Gottfried placed the fourth screw on the table and gingerly lifted the back off the transmitter. He breathed out deeply and managed a nervous smile when Gottfried held up the back half of the case to show him that it was perfectly harmless. Gottfried took a pair of pliers from the kit and studied the two wires more closely. One blue. One yellow. The standard wiring for a device of that kind. He used the tip of the pliers to look under the wires for any booby-trap that may not have shown up on the monitor. Nothing. He sat back and shook his head slowly.
‘What’s wrong?’ Whitlock asked anxiously.
‘I have this feeling that something is not right,’ Gottfried replied, staring at the two wires. ‘It is almost as if he is inviting us to go ahead and cut the wires. Why go to such lengths to booby-trap the watch but not the transmitter? It makes no sense.’
Whitlock remained silent. Not that he could have spoken anyway. His throat was suddenly dry. Gottfried took a small scalpel from the kit and cut a two-inch gash in the yellow flex. He peeled the plastic back and studied the fine network of wires inside it. He did the same with the blue flex and it was a couple of minutes before he sat back and nodded to himself.
‘Well?’ Whitlock asked.
‘It is booby-trapped.’ Gottfried used the scalpel to point out a single strand of wire amongst the network inside the yellow flex. ‘There it is.’
Whitlock stared at Gottfried. ‘How can you tell? It just looks like another wire to me.’
‘It would, to an untrained eye. I have been defusing explosive devices for the past fifteen years. I know what to look for.’ Gottfried used the scalpel as a pointer and followed the passage of the wire to the detonator cap. ‘If you look closely you will see that this strand was connected separately from the other wires. The perfect booby-trap.’
‘Is there one in the blue flex as well?’
Gottfried shook his head. ‘It is not necessary. Both lengths of flex have to be cut to defuse the device. He only needed to booby-trap one of them.’
‘Thank God for suspicious minds,’ Whitlock said, wiping his forearm across his forehead.
‘More like devious minds. The only way to beat these kind of people is to think like them.’
Gottfried picked up the pliers and cut through the blue flex. Then, using the tip of the screwdriver to isolate the booby-trap, he cut the remaining wires inside the yellow flex to make safe the transmitter.
‘You can take off the watch now.’
Whitlock stared at the watch, an uncertainty in his eyes.
‘Trust me, Mr. Whitlock, the watch is perfectly safe now.’
‘It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s Young I don’t trust.’
Gottfried switched the light on again then turned back to Whitlock.
‘You are worried about the booby-trap in the strap, not so?’
Whitlock nodded. ‘As I said, I don’t trust that bastard an inch. It would be just like him to have the last laugh.’
‘The booby-trap needs to work off a power source. The power source has been cut, so the booby-trap cannot work. It is as simple as that.’ Gottfried smiled at the doubt in Whitlock’s eyes. ‘What must I do to convince you?’
Whitlock sat on the edge of the bed and smiled ruefully at Gottfried.
‘Nothing. I’m convinced.’
‘So take off the watch.’
Whitlock undipped the strap and let out a deep breath when the watch slipped off his wrist on to the back of his hand. He eased it over his fingers and dropped it on to the bed.
‘Thanks,’ Whitlock said softly, massaging his wrist where the watch had been pressed against his skin.
‘I am glad to be of assistance.’ Gottfried pointed to the watch.
‘May I take it with me? I would like to examine it more closely in the laboratory.’
‘Please, take it,’ Whitlock said, handing the watch to Gottfried.
‘I never want to see it again.’
Gottfried smiled, then dismantled the X-ray machine.
‘Can I at least buy you a drink before you go back to Zürich?’ Whitlock asked.
‘That is very kind of you but I have to get back as quickly as possible. Yours is not the only such difficulty awaiting my attention, you understand.’
‘Of course. I hope it all goes well.’
‘I am sure it will.’ Gottfried closed the attaché case and locked it. ‘Nice to have met you, Mr. Whitlock.’
‘Likewise,’ Whitlock said, shaking Gottfried’s hand. ‘I just wish it had been under more relaxing conditions.’
‘C’est la vie,’ Gottfried replied with a resigned shrug, then took his leave.
Whitlock closed the door behind him then kicked off his shoes and lay on the bed, his hands clasped behind his head. He knew he should be feeling great relief now that he was rid of the watch. But he only felt empty. It was probably the same feeling the condemned man feels on the eve of his execution. He stifled a yawn. His body was exhausted but his mind was awake. Very awake. He glanced at the telephone and thought about Graham, Sabrina and Kolchinsky. He knew none of them would be sleeping. But at least they had each other for company. He had nobody. Not even his wife. He’d probably get back to the apartment and find the divorce papers in the post. If he got back, he reminded himself. That all depended on Ubrino.
He sat up and reached for the telephone. He rang the apartment in New York. He let it ring for the customary minute. No reply. He thought about calling her work number then replaced the receiver and pushed the telephone away from him. Why bother? There would be no reply.
C’est la vie …
Ten
Thursday
‘What time is it?’ Graham asked.
‘Five minutes later than the last time you asked,’ Sabrina replied, exasperated. ‘And ten minutes later than the time before that. And fifteen–’
‘Okay, you’ve made your point. Ask a civil question and all you get is sarcasm.’
‘That’s rich coming from you, Mike–’
‘Sabrina, please,’ Paluzzi interceded quickly, his hands raised defensively. ‘We’re all on edge, let’s not make it any worse than it already is.’