‘Good. I’ve arranged for Ingrid Hauser to join him when she’s finished checking her areas.’
Kolchinsky picked up the cylinder.
‘The serial number’s the same. What makes you think it’s a dummy?’
‘We found it too easily. Calvieri’s planned this operation down to the last detail. I find it inconceivable that he would slip up at this late stage.’ Philpott relit his pipe. ‘But this is all speculation. We can’t possibly know until its contents have been analysed. One of our helicopters is waiting for you on the helipad. The lab technicians in Zürich have been put on immediate standby.’
‘I hope you’re wrong about this, Malcolm,’ Kolchinsky said, holding up the cylinder.
‘So do I,’ Philpott replied.
Kolchinsky slipped the cylinder into his pocket and left.
Bachstrasse was a gloomy, deserted cul-de-sac off the Utoquai, a wharf on the banks of Lake Zürich. The road was strewn with bricks and masonry. The buildings themselves had been derelict for years. A hoarding at the entrance to the cul-de-sac warned: FALLING MASONRY. CARS PARKED AT OWNERS’ RISK. A second hoarding was more ominous: UNSAFE STRUCTURES. DANGEROUS. KEEP OUT!
UNACO owned Bachstrasse. They had erected the hoardings. They had strewn the bricks and masonry on the road to give the impression that the buildings were unsafe. Privacy was essential. Their European Test Centre, housed in a network of soundproofed catacombs, ran the length of the street. The only way into the Test Centre was through the warehouse at the end of the cul-de-sac. It was a rectangular building and, like the other buildings in the street, its windows had long since been vandalized. The battered, corrugated-iron door could be activated electronically from inside the Test Centre, provided the correct password was given. The password itself was changed every day. The roof, like the door, could be opened from inside the Test Centre but, for security reasons, it was only used in emergencies.
The helicopter descended into the deserted warehouse and when it landed on the concrete floor the roof slid back into place. The pilot cut the engine. A circular section of the floor, fifty feet in diameter, which supported the helicopter, was lowered by means of a hydraulic press and locked into place beside a landing stage. The two halves of the floor closed above the helicopter.
Kolchinsky unfastened his safety belt and picked up the small, insulated lead case at his feet. It contained the metal cylinder. He clambered out of the helicopter and made his way down a set of metal stairs to where a white-coated technician was waiting to take the case from him.
‘Monsieur Rust is waiting in his office for you,’ the technician said politely, then strode with barely contained impatience down one of the corridors leading from the landing stage.
Kolchinsky headed down another corridor and paused outside a door marked: j. RUST DIRECTEUR. He knocked. An overhead camera panned his face and a moment later there was an electronic click as the door was unlocked. Kolchinsky entered the plush office and the door closed behind him. Rust activated his wheelchair and approached Kolchinsky.
They shook hands.
‘I think you know Professor Helmut Scheffer, head of our science department,’ Rust said, indicating the black-haired man sitting on the sofa against the wall.
‘Of course,’ Kolchinsky replied. ‘How are you, Helmut?’
‘Well, thank you,’ Scheffer said, getting to his feet to shake Kolchinsky’s hand.
‘Emile made good time,’ Rust said, glancing at his watch. 1.40 p.m. ‘It can’t have taken him much more than twenty minutes to fly you here from Berne.’
‘About that,’ Kolchinsky agreed, then sat down in the leather armchair in front of Rust’s desk. He looked at Scheffer.
‘How long will it take for your people to analyse the contents of the vial?’
‘Had it been a glass cylinder, a matter of seconds. We could have used either infra-red spectroscopy or nuclear magnetic resonance. But not with metal. It will have to be cut open inside an isolation chamber.’
‘Like a glove box?’ Kolchinsky asked.
‘Glove boxes have been known to leak. This chamber’s windowless. The whole operation will be carried out by means of closed-circuit television cameras using mechanical hands which are operated from outside the chamber. Once the cylinder has been opened a sample can be transferred to a glass vial for analysis. The results will show up as a series of oscillations on a graph which we can use to identify the different components that make up the substance.’
‘But how long will it take?’ Kolchinsky repeated.
‘How long?’ Scheffer pouted thoughtfully. ‘Anything up to two hours.’
‘Two hours? Kolchinsky parroted in disbelief. ‘The way you described it, it sounded more like twenty minutes.’
‘I only outlined the process for you,’ Scheffer said defensively. ‘I’d be glad to explain it in more detail if you want.’
‘It wouldn’t mean anything to me if you did,’ Kolchinsky replied with a quick smile. ‘Science was never my strong point.’
Scheffer moved to the door.
‘They will be waiting for me in the lab. I’ll let you know the moment we’ve identified the substance in the cylinder.’
Rust activated the door, then closed it again behind Scheffer.
‘Two hours!’ Kolchinsky exclaimed, getting to his feet. ‘I never thought it would take that long.’
‘Neither did I.’ Rust indicated the armchair in front of his desk. ‘Sit down, I’ll order us some tea.’
‘I can’t sit around here for the next two hours. I’ve got to get back to the Offenbach Centre. There’s still so much to do, especially if the cylinder does turn out to be a dummy. You can call Malcolm when the results come through.’
‘I’ll get hold of Emile for you,’ Rust said, reaching for the telephone.
‘Two hours?’ Philpott said after Kolchinsky had finished briefing him. He took a sip of tea then sat back in his chair. ‘Not that it matters. We have to keep searching.’
‘Where’s Visconti?’ Kolchinsky asked, picking up his Beretta from the desk.
‘Sit down,’ Philpott said, indicating a chair. ‘Have some tea and calm down. You’re like a hyperactive child at the moment.’
‘There isn’t time–’
‘Sergei,’ Philpott cut in, pointing to the chair.
Kolchinsky slipped the Beretta into his shoulder holster and reluctantly sat down.
Philpott poured him a cup of tea. ‘Ingrid Hauser’s working with Visconti now. I’d rather use you as an auxiliary. That way you can help out if one of the teams falls behind schedule. It will save us having to pull out one of the other teams to help them.’
Kolchinsky nodded and lit a cigarette.
The telephone rang.
Philpott answered it. He listened in silence.
‘Thanks for letting me know,’ he said at length, and replaced the receiver.
‘What is it, Malcolm?’ Kolchinsky asked anxiously, noticing the concern on Philpott’s face.
‘That was Vlok. He has just received a bomb threat.’
Graham and Marco knew their recall had nothing to do with the vial, that much Philpott had told them on the telephone. Apart from that they were just as much in the dark as the other three teams who were already in the office when they got there.
‘What’s this all about, sir?’ Graham asked.
‘There’s been a bomb threat,’ Philpott replied. ‘Dieter Vlok took the call. The caller claimed to have planted a bomb somewhere close to the building. It’s due to go off at three o’clock.’
‘That’s in thirty-eight minutes time,’ Marco said, looking at his watch.
‘Have you told Calvieri?’ Whitlock asked.
‘I haven’t told anybody outside this room. Vlok’s the only other person who knows about it. And I’ve sworn him to secrecy. I haven’t even told Commissioner Kuhlmann, and I don’t intend to. Strictly speaking, the bomb threat falls under his jurisdiction but knowing him, he’ll want to evacuate the building as quickly as possible. And that could make Calvieri panic, especially as he specifically warned us against staging a bomb scare.’