‘Six hours and fifty-four minutes to be precise. Once they have seen Bellini resign on television a member of each organization will call the Foreign Office in their particular country with details of where they want the money to be delivered. They will then call me when they have recovered the money. But they will only call when they are sure that they are safe and that no homing devices have been hidden amongst the notes. They each have a special password, known only to the two of us, so don’t try anything foolish like using some of your own people to call me pretending to have the money. Then, once I have received all five calls, I’ll contact you again to arrange for a helicopter to fly Riccardo and me out of here.’
‘What about Sabrina?’
‘She’ll come with us, at least for part of the way. I’ll then call you in the morning to tell you where to find the vial and the transmitter.’
‘I’ve told you, getting hold of that kind of money–’
‘If, however, the governments refuse to pay the ransom,’ Calvieri cut in, ignoring Philpott’s protestations, ‘try and stall for more time, or even try to evacuate the building by staging some fake bomb hoax in order to conduct a search, I won’t hesitate to press the button.’
‘I’ve told you, Calvieri, they won’t be able to raise that sort of money in seven hours.’
‘Why do you persist in insulting my intelligence, Colonel? We both know the leaders of those five countries alone could raise twenty million pounds by making a single phone call. And they could arrange to have the money ready for collection in half the time I’ve given them. Please call me when you know their decision. They have exactly six hours and fifty minutes left.’
The line went dead.
Philpott replaced the receiver then looked at Kolchinsky who was hovering by the door.
‘Have you arranged for the handguns to be brought here?’
‘Yes.’ Kolchinsky gestured to the pad Philpott had used to jot down the demands.
‘What does he want?’
Graham came in before Philpott could reply. He dumped the three rolled-up blueprints on the desk then looked at them both carefully, suspicious of the sudden silence.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Calvieri’s just called the Colonel with his demands,’ Kolchinsky replied.
‘What are they?’ Graham asked Philpott.
‘I was about to announce them when you arrived.’ Philpott relit his pipe, then recounted the demands.
‘I’d say they got off lightly,’ Kolchinsky said, then pushed a cigarette between his lips and lit it.
‘I agree,’ Philpott replied. ‘He could have asked for ten times that amount and they would still have had to pay up.’
‘What’s to say he won’t keep the transmitter and ask for another hundred million once his demands have been met?’ Graham asked.
‘Absolutely nothing.’ Philpott looked at Paluzzi who was sitting thoughtfully on the couch. ‘What do you make of the Bellini angle?’
‘Have you been told about Calvieri’s plans to form a coalition between the Red Brigades and the PCI?’
Philpott nodded. ‘Sergei briefed me on the phone last night.’
‘That’s your answer. Without Bellini the coalition would become a distinct possibility.’ Paluzzi got to his feet and crossed to the window. He stared up at the sky, then turned back to them. ‘As you know, the NOCS have a senior mole on the Red Brigades committee. What I’m about to tell you has to be strictly off the record.’
‘We understand,’ Philpott replied softly.
‘The Red Brigades have infiltrated the PCI. Nothing unusual in that, you might say. It wouldn’t be, but their mole is the Deputy Prime Minister, Alberto Vietri.’
‘Good God,’ Kolchinsky muttered in horror. ‘And if Bellini steps down, Vietri takes over as Prime Minister.’
‘Leaving the floodgates open for the Red Brigades to overrun the PCI,’ Graham added.
‘In theory,’ Paluzzi replied. ‘It’s the Red Brigades’ most closely guarded secret. Now that Pisani’s dead, there are only two committee members left who know about Vietri’s duplicity: Calvieri, and our mole. So you see, if it were ever made public the finger of suspicion would immediately point at our mole.’
‘Unless something were to happen to Vietri,’ Graham said. ‘An accident of some kind.’
‘It will, believe me,’ Paluzzi replied coldly. ‘Alberto Vietri will never become Prime Minister of Italy.’
‘You’re proposing…’ Kuhlmann trailed off as he stared at Paluzzi. ‘That would be murder.’
‘What do you suggest, Commissioner?’ Paluzzi asked, the sarcasm not lost on Kuhlmann.
‘Threaten to expose him publicly unless he agrees to resign. Politicians fear scandals more than anything else.’
‘It’s a nice scenario, Commissioner, but you’re overlooking one small point. What if Vietri calls our bluff? We don’t have a shred of evidence to back up our accusation. All we have is the word of an informer. And he’s hardly going to hand over any incriminating evidence to us, is he? He might as well put a gun to his head and pull the trigger.’
‘Why should Vietri–’
‘Reinhardt, that’s enough!’ Philpott reached for his cane and stood up. ‘Major Paluzzi doesn’t need a lecture from you on how to handle his domestic problems.’
‘Are you condoning murder, Malcolm?’ Kuhlmann challenged.
‘I don’t have the time to stand here and argue with you, Reinhardt. Vietri doesn’t concern us. Calvieri and Bellini do. I suggest you keep that in mind.’ Philpott moved to the door, then turned back to Kolchinsky. ‘I’m going to see Bellini before I meet the other leaders. I think it’s only right to put Calvieri’s demands to him first. I want the four of you to go through the blueprints while I’m gone and make a list of all the places where the vial could be hidden.’
‘It’ll be like looking for a needle in a haystack.’
‘I’m well aware of that, Mike, but it’s better than sitting around here for the next seven hours hoping that one of the cleaners will find it.’
Paluzzi waited until Philpott had left the room before crossing to the door.
‘I’ll be back in a moment. I have to call headquarters in Rome.’
‘To arrange for Vietri to meet with an accident?’ Kuhlmann said.
‘To arrange for Calvieri’s apartment in Milan to be taken apart, brick by brick if necessary. It might throw up a clue. Satisfied?’
Kuhlmann looked at Kolchinsky after Paluzzi had disappeared into the outer office.
‘Perhaps Malcolm was right after all. Perhaps the heat is getting too much for me these days.’
Kolchinsky maintained a diplomatic silence. He picked up the nearest blueprint, sat down and unrolled it across the desk.
Enzo Bellini was a small man in his early sixties with snow-white hair and a craggy face lined from the pressure of years in the forefront of Italian politics. He spoke no English. Cesare Camillo, a handsome man twenty years his junior, was acting as interpreter. Camillo was one of Bellini’s senior aides who was already being tipped as a future PCI leader. He had represented Bellini at the briefing called by Philpott and Kolchinsky that morning.
The two men sat facing Philpott in a small antechamber behind the conference hall. Bellini remained silent as Philpott, through Camillo, explained the first of Calvieri’s demands to him. His face was expressionless as he listened to Camillo, his hands gripping the table in front of him tightly.
Philpott waited until Camillo had finished translating his words, then sat back in the chair and stared at Bellini’s bowed head.
‘I thought I should tell you first rather than just announce it in front of the other leaders.’
Camillo translated. Bellini said nothing.
‘I’ve arranged to meet the others in five minutes’ time to put Calvieri’s demands to them. I need to know if Signore Bellini is prepared to accede to the demands before I see them.’