Time of the Assassins (16 page)

'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.'
'I don't have one with me,' she replied.
'Use mine,' Bernard said, gesturing towards the chair. He turned to Deacon. 'Can I get a jacket from the bedroom?'
Deacon nodded then followed Bernard into the bedroom. He stood by the door. Bernard opened the wardrobe and unhooked the grey jacket then slipped his hand under the pile of shirts and curled his fingers around the Desert Eagle. It still had the silencer attached. His first thought was to shoot Deacon on the turn, but that would alert Cummings. He had to get them together. He removed the automatic from under the bottom shirt and slipped the jacket over his hand to hide it. He closed the wardrobe then walked across to Deacon. Cummings was now in sight, standing by the front door. But Rosie was in the way of a clear shot. He cursed. What if Cummings opened the door before Rosie moved? Any gunplay outside the flat would certainly compromise his cover. His mind was still racing when Cummings reached for the handle. Bernard had to play his hand, even if Rosie were caught in the crossfire. Keeping his cover intact far outweighed her usefulness as a hostage. He raised the gun underneath the jacket and shot Deacon through the head. Rosie screamed as Deacon stumbled back against the wall before slumping face forward onto the carpet. Cummings instinctively pushed her aside and was still reaching for his holstered Colt Python when Bernard shot him. He was slammed back against the door and the surprise was still mirrored in his eyes
when he slid, lifelessly, to the floor. Bernard discarded the jacket and aimed the automatic at Rosie who was crouched against the wall, her hands clutched together tightly under her chin. She looked up slowly at him, the terror plain on her face.
'Please, don't kill me,' she whimpered, shaking her head slowly.
'I'm not going to kill you. You're too valuable to me.'
Bernard kept the gun trained on her as he checked to see that both policemen were dead. Satisfied, he ordered her to stand up. She slowly got to her feet, petrified.
'You should have listened to your friend Kenny, shouldn't you?'
'What have you done to him?' she asked, already fearing the worst.
'He came back to the flat after you had gone. I think he fancied himself as a bit of a detective. But he was in way over his head. Pity, he meant well.'
'You killed him, didn't you?'
'Yeah,' he replied with an indifferent shrug.
She fought back the tears. Why hadn't she listened to Kenny? He had been right all along. She had been living in a fantasy world. And now suddenly she had been pitched headlong into the world of reality. She desperately wanted to crawl back into her old world where she knew she would be safe. But she knew that couldn't happen. Never again. Then came the damning realization that she had been partly responsible for Kenny's death. If she had listened to him he would still be alive. And in that moment of truth her
fear turned to anger. She lunged at Bernard, almost wishing he would pull the trigger. He sidestepped her clawing hands and she saw the gun out of the corner of her eye as he swung it down onto the back of her head. Then everything went black.

EIGHT

Sabrina gazed up at the myriad stars that speckled the night sky like a panoply of diamonds on a velvet background and could almost believe there was a heaven. What else could lie beyond such beauty? Although she had been raised a Catholic she had never really considered herself very religious and now only attended mass once a year with her parents at Christmas, and that was only to appease them. She smiled to herself. Why did the subject of religion always seem to crop up when she was on assignment? A subconscious attempt to avoid eternal perdition? She pushed the thought from her mind and concentrated instead on their plans.
It had been decided that the five of them would travel to Kondese alone. Tambese had told them that any attempt to take reinforcements would only alert the rebels. Sabrina had spoken privately to Graham about the decision to take Moredi and Laidlaw with them. Moredi knew the layout of Branco prison, having once been a prisoner there, and Laidlaw's speciality at Delta had been his ability to plan the best way in, or out, of a compound. Both would be invaluable but neither would be part of the assault team. Satisfied, Sabrina had let the matter drop.
Tambese had then collected an assortment of weaponry from the barracks before chartering a Cessna from a private firm in the city. Not only would it be quicker by air, they would also avoid the rebel roadblocks which had been set up on all the approach roads into Kondese. Moredi had arranged for them to land at a farm on the outskirts of Kondese which belonged to Matthew Okoye, a personal friend of the Mobutos. He was one of the wealthiest businessmen in the country and Ngune had wisely given strict instructions for him to be left alone when the rebels had set up camp in and around Kondese. He knew the value of keeping on the right side of the likes of Okoye. They were the future of Zimbala, irrespective of who was in power.
It had taken them a little over an hour to reach the private airstrip and after Tambese had landed the Cessna they were driven to the farm. Okoye and his wife had discreetly withdrawn after dinner, leaving them in the spacious lounge to discuss the operation. But there wasn't anything they could do until the plans of the prison compound were delivered to the farm. So Sabrina had gone out onto the porch for a breath of fresh air.
The door opened behind her.
She looked round and smiled at Graham when he emerged onto the porch. 'It's so peaceful out here. Look at the sky - not a cloud in sight, just stars as far as the eye can see. And you can even make out the lights of Kondese in the distance. Isn't it beautiful?'
'Yeah. It's at times like this that you can see where
Keats got his inspiration for "The Secret Rose", or Hopkins for "The Starlight Night".'
'You never cease to amaze me, Mike Graham,' she said, shaking her head in astonishment. 'I never realized you read poetry.'
He smiled then sat on the step beside her. 'I grew up with it. My mother has volumes of the stuff, all beautifully bound in leather - Keats, Wordsworth, Browning, Shelley, the lot. Every Friday night her parents would come round for a meal and afterwards I would have to read to them from one of the volumes. That went on until I was in my teens.'
'Do you still read poetry?'
'Only when I visit my mother at the retirement home in Santa Monica. She's still got all the volumes on a shelf in her room. Her eyesight's going so I always read her favourite poems to her.'
'That's the first time you've ever really spoken about your childhood, do you know that?'
'Now you know why,' he said with a wry grin. 'Imagine a ten-year-old in a suit and tie reading Gray's "Elegy in a Country Churchyard" to his grandparents. But she meant well, and that's what counts.'
Sabrina chuckled. 'I only wish I'd been there to see it.'
'You don't,' Graham retorted. 'She'd have got you reading as well.'
'I know you think the world of your mother. But you never talk much about your father. I don't mean to pry, but is there a reason for that?'
'I was never close to my father. We didn't have anything in common, that's why. He never once took
zoo
me to see the Giants or the Yankees play. I had to go with other kids' fathers until I was old enough to go by myself. It was really embarrassing. I started playing football at the age of eleven. He never once came to watch me play, never. My mother wasn't interested in football either, but I can't ever remember her missing a game when I played in the New York area.'
'Didn't he even go and watch you when you played for the Giants?'
'He died seven months before I joined them. I doubt he'd have come though. Why break the habit of a lifetime?'
The bitterness wasn't lost on her and she decided against pursuing the subject. But she was still amazed at his openness. A year ago he would have clammed up at the mere mention of his past. Was he beginning to break down those barriers he had built around himself since he had lost his family? Or was it the thought that he was finally going to get a showdown with the man he blamed for their murder? And what would happen if he did come face to face with Bernard? Would he kill him? Or would he hand him over to the authorities? She knew she couldn't answer that question. Or perhaps she just didn't want to...
'You guys look cosy down there,' said Laidlaw from the doorway.
'What the hell's that supposed to mean?' Graham demanded, scrambling to his feet.
'Just kidding,' Laidlaw said, winking at Sabrina.
Sabrina shook her head slowly to herself. What a jerk. But then he didn't know Graham like she did. Any suggestion of any impropriety between them
zoi
immediately put Graham on his guard. Some things hadn't changed.
'What do you want?' Graham snapped.
'Hey, chill out, man. I said I was only kidding.' Laidlaw looked from Sabrina to Graham. 'Look, I don't give a damn if you guys have got something going -'
Graham grabbed Laidlaw by the shirt and shoved him up against the wall. 'We work together, period. Understood?'
Laidlaw pulled free and smoothed down his shirt. 'The plans are here,' he said tersely then yanked open the door and disappeared back into the house.
'Why can't a man and woman work together without there always being some sort of sexual overtone attached to it?'
Sabrina nodded tight-lipped then followed Graham into the house.
Laidlaw walked up to Graham. 'I'm sorry, Mike. I was out of order.'
'Forget it,' Graham replied then crossed to where Tambese and Moredi were sitting on the sofa, the plans spread out across the table in front of them.
'Sit down,' Tambese invited, gesturing to the second sofa which they had positioned on the other side of the table.
Graham waited until they were all seated then looked past Sabrina at Laidlaw. 'What do you think?'
Laidlaw turned the plan around then looked up at Moredi. 'You say the perimeter fence is electrified?'
Moredi nodded. 'I don't know the voltage but it is
lethal. A prisoner died trying to escape over it when I was being held there.'
'Escape was impossible,' Tambese told them. 'I heard stories of prisoners who had just arrived at the prison breaking free from the guards and throwing themselves against the fence to avoid being interrogated. That's how much the people feared the Security Police.'
'Where's the current controlled from?' Laidlaw asked.
Tambese tapped a square in the centre of the building. 'That's the control room. But it's situated underground. It only has one approach route which is protected by a metal grill. The door itself is made of reinforced steel and can only be activated from inside the control room itself. It's impregnable.'
'David was one of the officers who liberated Branco after the death of Alphonse Mobuto,' Moredi told them.
'Was that the first time you had ever been inside the prison?' Sabrina asked.
Tambese nodded. 'The army and the regular police were never allowed into Branco when it was run by the Security Police.'
'Wasn't the fence deactivated when the prison was liberated?' Graham asked.
'It was,' Tambese agreed. 'But it wouldn't have been very difficult to rig it up again.'
'So you're not sure whether it has been reactivated?' Sabrina said to Tambese.
'It has, according to our sources here in Kondese,' Tambese replied.
'Couldn't you instigate a power cut?' Graham asked.
Tambese shook his head. 'It wouldn't work, even if we could get into the power station. There's an emergency generator inside the compound.'
'What about the entrance?' Laidlaw asked without taking his eyes off the plans.
'One main gate - there,' Moredi replied, pointing it out.
'Operated from the control room,' Tambese added. 'There are also two watchtowers overlooking the gate. Each is manned by an armed guard. We wouldn't get within a hundred yards of the main gate without been seen.'
'What's it made of?' Laidlaw asked.
'Reinforced steel.'
Laidlaw chewed his lip thoughtfully as he continued to study the diagram.
'How many of Ngune's men are inside the prison compound?' Graham asked Tambese.
'We think about twenty-five.'
'What about the remainder of his troops?' Sabrina asked.
'I wish I knew,' Tambese replied with a sigh. 'I really do. There are pockets of them in and around Kondese manning roadblocks and patrolling the city centre. The resistance movement has been scouting the area ever since the rebels took Kondese but so far they've come up with nothing. It's uncanny. There must be a garrison around here somewhere but we just can't find it.'
'What if it's a bluff and Ngune doesn't have the manpower he claims to have?'
'That had crossed our minds, Mr Graham. But what use are tanks and aircraft without men? And we know he has both.'
'Why not destroy them?' Sabrina asked in surprise.
'Because they're in Chad. If our troops crossed the border into Chad we'd be certain to cause an international incident. And that's the last thing we need now that we're on the verge of being allowed back into the United Nations. We've lodged a formal protest with the Chadian government but they claim the tanks and planes are part of their own arsenal - which, in effect, they are. But we know from reliable sources inside the Chadian army that Ngune has struck a deal with their Government to use some of their tanks and planes in the event of an attempted coup d'etat, but only if Ngune provides the men. So at the moment, it's a stalemate.'
'Couldn't the garrison be in Chad?' Sabrina asked.
Tambese shook his head. 'No, we've checked. And anyway, the Chadian government's too smart for that. If they were giving a safe haven to Ngune's men it would provide us with the proof we need to discredit them.'
'That's it!' Laidlaw suddenly blurted out. 'The sewers.'
'What?' Sabrina said, turning to Laidlaw in surprise.
'That's how we get into the compound - through the sewers. There, that's the manhole,' Laidlaw said, pointing it out on the diagram.
'It'll be locked,' Graham said.
'So we cut through it with an oxyacetylene torch,' Laidlaw replied.
'The guards would see the flame from the watchtower,' Graham shot back.
Laidlaw smiled victoriously. 'No they wouldn't. According to the scale of this plan, the manhole cover can't be more than a couple of yards behind the staff quarters. The guards won't be able to see it from the watchtowers.'
'And what about the men in the staff quarters?' Sabrina asked.
'If we go in at about three tomorrow morning they'll be asleep.' Laidlaw looked at Tambese. 'You're sure the only guards on duty then will be the two in the watchtower? There won't be any guards patrolling the grounds?'
Tambese shook his head. 'There's no need. The watchtowers overlook the grounds.'
'OK, so let's say we do cut through the manhole cover,' Graham said, staring at the diagram. 'How do we get from the staff quarters to the cell block?'
'The guards will have to be neutralized first. All we'd need for that is a sniper rifle and a silencer.' Laidlaw looked across at Tambese again. 'Could you get them?'
'There's no need,' Sabrina said to Tambese. 'We can use the Uzis you brought from Habane. They've got silencers.'
'It's too risky,' Laidlaw replied. 'Those watchtowers are a good two-hundred yards away from the staff quarters. If we don't kill the guards with the first bullet, that would almost certainly compromise the operation. That's why we need a rifle with a telescopic-sight-attachment. It has to be a first-time kill.'
Til arrange to get them,' Tambese said.
' O K, so the guards have been neutralized,' Graham said. 'Then what?'
'Then we cross to the cell block and find Remy Mobuto,' Laidlaw replied matter-of-factly.
Graham ran his fingers through his hair, a puzzled expression on his face. 'Surely the two buildings are sectioned off from each other by a fence or a wall?'
'Not according to this,' Laidlaw replied, pointing to the two rectangles in the diagram.
'It isn't San Quentin, Mr Graham,' Moredi said softly then sat back and clasped his hands in his lap. 'There isn't a canteen where the prisoners can eat their meals. And there isn't an exercise yard where prisoners can walk about and stretch their legs. There are no rights at Branco. That's the first thing I learned when I got there.
'I was held there for eight weeks. And like all political prisoners at Branco, my hands and feet were manacled and I was put in a dark cell, four foot by eight foot, and the only time I ever left it was when I was taken down the corridor to a windowless room where my interrogators were waiting to torture me. And every night a spotlight in the corner of the cell would be switched on and I would be told to stand to attention. That happened almost every hour. And when I was too exhausted to get to my feet any more, one of them would come into the cell and beat me. If I was lucky, he would use a whip or a baton; if not, he used a club studded with sharpened nails or a length of barbed wire. And, of course, I was helpless to defend myself because my hands and feet were in chains. They
didn't even provide a bucket for sanitary purposes, so you lay in your own excrement. Then, once every few days, when the smell became too much even for the guards to endure, they would come round with a hosepipe and spray down the cells.' Moredi suddenly smiled sadly at Graham. 'So you see now why there was no need to put up a fence or a wall between the two buildings. We weren't going anywhere.'
Graham nodded grimly but said nothing. Any words would have been hollow after what Moredi had told them.
'I can give you a rough layout of the cell block but I won't go back in there again,' Moredi said, wringing his hands together, 'not after what I went through.'
'We understand,' Sabrina said gently.