Time of the Assassins

'He couldn't get into the building,' Rogers lied. 'It was too well guarded. But there was no way to get a message to Sibele before he went into the hall. He didn't stand a chance.'

'Twice we have failed,' Kolwezi said bitterly. 'Mobuto lives a charmed life, just as he did when his father was in power.'

'Don't worry, your deaths won't be in vain. Mobuto will die tomorrow.'

'Columbus?'

Rogers nodded then glanced across at Masala and the lieutenant. 'I'm supposed to be trying to persuade you to surrender.'

'Go now, my friend.'

Rogers turned sharply on his heel and began to walk back towards the police car.

Kolwezi calmly pressed the barrel of the gun against the roof of his mouth and pulled the trigger.

Carmen had left her receptionist to lock up and rushed over to the hospital after Whitlock had rung to tell her that he was there. Although his arm was heavily bandaged he had assured her that it wasn't a serious wound. He knew the lie would at least put her mind at rest. It did hurt like hell, though. The doctor had given him a prescription for sleeping tablets which they had picked up on the way back to the apartment. He had eaten a light dinner then retired to bed early, determined to be back at work the following morning.

She was busy washing up when the telephone rang. She wiped her hands on the dish towel and answered the extension in the kitchen.

'Carmen?'

'Rosie?' Carmen countered in surprise.

'Yeah,' Rosie replied.

She had dropped the 'aunt' and 'uncle' routine at their insistence. Uncle Clarence! Whitlock had hated it. Now she just called him C.W.

'Rosie, where are you?' Carmen asked anxiously. 'Your parents are going out of their minds with worry. You must call your mother — '

'No,' Rosie cut in firmly. 'That's why I called you. Tell her I'm fine. I'll call her in a few days.'

'Where are you staying?'

'With a friend.'

'Why not come and stay with us for a while?' Carmen suggested. 'You don't have to see your parents until you want to. But at least they'll know you're safe.'

'Well…,' Rosie replied. Til call you tomorrow at work and we'll sort something out.'

'Is that a promise?'

'Sure. My money's run out. I'll call you, OK?'

'OK.'

The line went dead. Carmen replaced the receiver then looked in on her husband, wondering if he had heard the telephone. He was fast asleep. She smiled then closed the bedroom door and returned to the kitchen to finish washing the dishes.

Rosie picked up a pizza from the pizzeria near the callbox then went back to the apartment. She opened the door and saw Bernard's leather jacket on the chair in the hall. He was listening to the news on the radio in the lounge.

'When did you get in?' she asked from the doorway.

'About twenty minutes ago,' Bernard replied with a smile.

'How was your day?'

'Don't ask,' he said then got to his feet and pointed to the box in her hand. 'What's the pizza?'

'Ham and mushroom. Is that OK?'

'Great. I'm starving.' Bernard made room for the box on the coffee table. 'And how was your day?'

'I went out soon after you left this morning,' she said, opening the box. 'I only got back now.'

'Where did you go?' Bernard asked.

'I took the subway to Fifth Avenue. I spent the day window-shopping. Not much else to do there with five bucks in your pocket.'

Bernard smiled then helped himself to a slice of pizza.

'I rang my aunt just before I got the pizza.'

'Your aunt?' Bernard asked suspiciously, the pizza slice hovering inches from his mouth.

'Carmen. She suggested I go and stay with them from tomorrow. I reckon it might be a good idea. It's not that I don't appreciate what you've done for me. I really do. But she is family. I only wish my parents were as liberal as my aunt and uncle.'

'And you're going to move in with them tomorrow?'

'Yeah, I think so. We've always got on great. Is there something wrong?'

'No, I think it's a good idea. And anyway, I'm heading back to Beirut in a couple of days.' Bernard's mind was racing: Carmen, Whitlock's wife. If Rosie moved in with them he could kiss his hostage goodbye. It only complicated matters. Why couldn't she have called them the next day? By then he would know if he needed her. He would have to play it by ear. It was the only way.

The doorbell rang.

Bernard frowned. Was it the courier for the rifle? He wasn't expecting him for another couple of hours, and he wasn't expecting anyone else. He wiped his hands on a paper napkin then got to his feet and answered the door. Two uniformed police officers stood in front of him.

'Good evening, sir,' one said, touching his cap. 'Are you Marc Giresse?'

Bernard nodded slowly. 'Yes. What's the problem, officer?'

'May we come in?'

'Yes, of course,' Bernard replied, opening the door for them.

'I'm Officer Deacon,' the spokesman said once they were inside. 'And this is Officer Cummings.'

Bernard noted that their badges were genuine. 'You still haven't told me what the problem is.'

Deacon was about to speak when Rosie appeared from the lounge. He glanced towards her. 'Are you Rosie Kruger?'

She glanced at Bernard, her eyes wide and fearful. 'Yes,' she stammered.

'Do you know a Kenneth Doyle?'

'Yes,' she answered. A look of concern suddenly crossed her face. 'Has something happened to him?'

'I was hoping one of you could answer that.' Deacon took a sheet of folded paper from his pocket and held it up. 'Mr Doyle left this note with a friend. In it he said he was coming round here this morning to see you, Miss Kruger. He also said that if this friend hadn't heard from him by four o'clock this afternoon he was to go to the police with the note. It all sounds a little sinister, doesn't it?'

'Officer, there must be a logical explanation,' Bernard said, fighting the anxiety that throbbed in the pit of his stomach.

'Did you know Miss Kruger was sixteen years old, Mr Giresse? Or that she was a runaway?"

'Yes, I knew that,' Bernard replied. 'She told me. That was one of the reasons I gave her a bed for the night. She's too young to be on the streets at night.'

'Whose bed?' Cummings asked, looking from Bernard to Rosie.

'You bastard!' Rosie snarled. 'Marc's never touched me.'

'Cool it, Rosie,' Bernard said, holding up his hands.

'Did Mr Doyle come round this morning?' Deacon asked Rosie.

She nodded. 'He had this thing about Marc. He didn't trust him. He wanted me to leave the apartment. I told him to go away. Marc's been fantastic to me ever since I came here.'

'And did he go away?' Cummings asked.

'Yes.'

'Did he return?' Cummings continued.

'I don't know. I left soon after him and I only got back a few minutes ago.'

'Did you see him?' Deacon asked Bernard.

'I've been out all day, officer,' Bernard replied. 'I'm sorry I can't be more helpful but I only met him once, and that was at the Rollercoaster where he worked.'

'Have you tried the Rollercoaster?'

'We've tried all his usual haunts, Miss Kruger. He just seems to have vanished. And that's very unlike him, according to his friends.'

'That's true,' Rosie said. 'Kenny loves company. I've never known him to be alone.'

'You say he didn't trust Mr Giresse,' Cummings said. 'Why?'

'Kenny was very protective towards me. He was like a big brother. He was always wary of any new friends I made, especially if they were men. I don't know why he didn't trust Marc. He just kept saying that there was something about him that wasn't right.'

'You'd both better come down to the precinct with us,' Deacon said.

'Are you booking us?' Bernard demanded.

'No,' Deacon replied. 'We'd like to question you further.'

'It's OK,' Bernard said to Rosie. 'As I said, there's sure to be a logical explanation to all this. Get your coat.'