Time of the Assassins

torted. 'It's important to have one leader. I've read the files on your men. They may be the best bullet catchers you've got but they don't have C.W.'s experience. And if you want to take the matter further I suggest you call the President. The Secretary-General spoke to him earlier today and he agreed that C.W. should be in charge.'

Til tell my men,' Bailey said tersely.

Til be in touch so that we can arrange for C.W. to meet your men before Mobuto arrives tonight,' Kolchinsky said then picked up the transmitter on the desk and activated the door.

Bailey left the room and Kolchinsky closed the door behind him.

'What a slimeball,' Sabrina said, staring at the closed door.

Kolchinsky smiled. 'He could have been sitting here instead of me.'

'What do you mean?' she asked.

'You never knew my predecessor, Gronskin, did you?'

She shook her head. 'He was before my time.'

'Well, when he was deported back to Russia for spying the CIA suggested Bailey as a possible replacement to take over as the Colonel's number two. The KGB put my name forward. The Secretary-General initially wanted Bailey, which I suppose was understandable under the circumstances, but the Colonel threatened to resign if Bailey got the job. As Bailey said, the two of them never saw eye to eye. It would have been catastrophic if Bailey had come here. So I got the job instead.'

'I never knew that,' Whitlock said.

'I'm sure glad the Colonel put his foot down,' Sabrina said, glancing at the door again.

Whitlock stood up and dug his hands into his pockets. He crossed to the far wall then turned to look at Kolchinsky. 'I was at university with Jamel Mobuto.'

'Why didn't you say something when Bailey was here?'

'Because we didn't get on,' Whitlock replied.

'Why not?' Kolchinsky asked.

Whitlock sighed deeply then returned to the sofa and sat down. 'He'd never set foot outside Zimbala before he came to Oxford. It must have been a bit of a culture shock for him. But instead of trying to adapt to the British way of life he rebelled against it and reverted to his African heritage. He wore African clothes, his room was an African shrine and he made no attempt to befriend any of the British students. He became a pariah although he did have an avid following amongst some of the more radical left-wing students who regarded him as something of a guru.'

'Was he a Communist?' Kolchinsky asked.

'No, strangely enough. He was just very pro-African and Africa's particular way of life. He had a younger brother who went to Oxford as well and he did become a Communist. But that was after I'd gone. I don't know anything about him.'

'His name's Remy,' Kolchinsky said and tapped the dossier on the desk. 'It's all in here. You'll both get copies of it.'

'You still haven't said why you and Mobuto didn't get on,' Sabrina said,

'I was born in Kenya but educated in England. To him, I was little more than a traitor. I'd sold out my race. And let's face it, I am more British than I am Kenyan. That's what he couldn't accept. So we just kept out of each other's way.'

'Why did he stay if he hated it so much?' Sabrina asked.

'Because his father had sent him. If he'd gone back to Zimbala it would have brought disgrace on the family. Africans take failure far more seriously than you do here in the West.' Whitlock dismissed the subject with a curt flick of his hand. 'Anyway, that was a long time ago. I certainly don't hold any grudges now.'

'Let's hope Mobuto feels the same way,' Kolchinsky said.

'Does he know I'm going to be babysitting him when he gets to New York?'

Kolchinsky nodded. 'Bailey's already briefed him on the telephone but he won't know you're in charge of the operation until he gets here. You'll have to break that to him yourself.'

'I look forward to it,' Whitlock said with a faint smile.

Kolchinsky handed them each a dossier which contained details of their particular assignment (to be destroyed after reading) and, in Sabrina's case, an airline ticket, maps of Beirut, written confirmation of her hotel booking, the name of her contact and a sum of money in Lebanese pounds.

She glanced at her watch and immediately got to her feet. 'My flight leaves at four thirty this afternoon,' she said. 'I'd better get going. Send the Colonel my best wishes when you see him again, Sergei.'

'I will,' Kolchinsky replied and activated the door for her. 'And Sabrina?'

She paused in the doorway to look round at him.

'Bring Michael back before he gets himself into any more trouble.'

She nodded grimly then left the room.

Kolchinsky closed the door again. 'The Colonel might not be coming back. The Secretary-General's waiting for the doctor's report before coming to a decision.'

'He was due to retire at the end of the year anyway. Perhaps it's for the best if he did take an early retirement.'

'Try telling that to the Colonel. It's not as if he's taking voluntary retirement. It's been forced on him by his doctor. So you can be sure he'll want to see out his time here, if only to prove a point to his doctor.'

'And possibly kill himself in the process.'

Kolchinsky reached for his cigarettes and lit one. 'That's why the Secretary-General's delaying his decision. He'll give the Colonel every chance to prove that he's fit enough to return to work.'

'And if not, I'll leave Strike Force Three and join you here.'

'You don't sound very enthusiastic about it,' Kolchinsky said.

'I'm not. Stuck behind a desk all day isn't my idea of fun, Sergei.' Whitlock picked up the dossier. 'Let me out, will you?'

'The Colonel said you were over the moon when he broke the news to you.'

'How did you expect me to react? Carmen was there.' Whitlock walked to the door and looked back at Kolchinsky. 'Don't worry, I won't let anyone down. Especially not her.'

THREE

Remy Mobuto had always lived in his brother's shadow. He had known from an early age that Jamel, as the older brother, would take over as leader of Zimbala once their father died. That had never bothered him. He had never had any aspirations to enter politics. When he followed Jamel to Oxford he immediately joined the Communist Party, more as an act of rebellion than anything else. His father's response was not only to stop sending him money but also to bar him from returning to Zimbala until he renounced his Socialist beliefs. He refused to comply and left Oxford after the first year to join the Guardian where he remained for seven years before taking up a post as an investigative journalist with a left-wing French newspaper. By then he had become an outspoken critic of the numerous dictators in Africa, especially his father. His father disowned him publicly and said he would never be allowed back to Zimbala in his lifetime.

He returned for his father's funeral, the first time he'd been back to Zimbala in seventeen years, and Jamel was able to persuade him to stay on as the new editor of the country's leading daily newspaper, La Voix.

Remy had only been in charge for a month and already he had a major scoop on his hands. It concerned the plot to overthrow his brother and form a new dictatorship; but he had discovered another side to the story, a sinister angle that would make international headlines if it were ever made public. But before he could do that, or tell Jamel, he needed proof to back up those allegations. And he was about to get it…

He drove down the main street of Habane, the capital of Zimbala, and turned into the basement carpark where he had arranged to meet his informant. There were only a couple of cars there at that time of the evening. He glanced at his watch. Eight fifty-seven. He had told his informant to meet him at nine o'clock. He pulled into the pre-arranged space, climbed out of the car, then took a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and lit one.