‘What’s the doctor’s name?’
‘Are you questioning Signore Pisani’s word?’ Calvieri demanded angrily.
‘I just want to talk to the doctor myself,’ Rocca said defensively.
‘So you’re calling him a liar.’
‘Of course not, but how can I be expected to answer these rumours unless I have the facts at my disposal?’
‘I’ve told you already, call a meeting with Signore Pisani. He’ll understand your predicament.’ Calvieri stood up. ‘If that’s all, I’ve got a busy day ahead of me.’
‘Why are you looking for Ubrino?’ Rocca asked suddenly. ‘What did he take from the plant?’
‘That doesn’t concern you.’
‘I have a right to know!’ Rocca snapped, banging his fist angrily on the arm of the chair. He waved the guard away when the door opened. ‘You’re in my city, Tony. That makes it my concern.’
‘Signore Pisani will call a committee meeting early next week to discuss the implications of the Neo-Chem affair. I’m not at liberty to say anything until then.’
‘If you survive that long.’ Rocca reached for his cigarettes on the table and lit one. ‘There’s a lot of ill-feeling among the younger Brigatisti who resent the way you’re hunting down Ubrino like some wild animal. A contract’s been put out on you. I can’t guarantee your safety here in Rome any more.’
‘So that’s what this is all about. You can’t control your minions and you’re scared that if anything were to happen to me before contact’s made with Zocchi, it could jeopardize your chances of ever reaching brigade chief.’
‘It’s got nothing to do with that!’ Rocca snapped indignantly. ‘I’m warning you. Get out of Rome, you’re not welcome here any more.’
‘I’ll get out when I know Ubrino’s not here. Not before.’
Calvieri paused at the door and looked back at Rocca.
‘I’m right, though. If something were to happen to me it would reflect very badly on you. You’d never make brigade chief. You’d be lucky to remain a cell commander.’
Rocca waited until Calvieri and Sabrina had left, then stubbed out his cigarette angrily and reached for the telephone.
The armed guard approached the fifteen-foot wrought-iron gate and shone his torch through the bars at the Alfa Romeo Alfetta outside. Rocca made no attempt to shield his eyes from the glare of the torch, and activating the driver’s window, he shouted to the guard that he had an appointment to see Nicola Pisani. The guard contacted the house on his two-way radio to confirm the appointment then used a remote control to open the gates. Rocca drove through and the guard immediately closed the gates behind him.
Whitlock and Young had seen the Alfa Romeo Alfetta enter the grounds from their Seat Ibiza parked at the end of the street.
‘What now?’ Whitlock asked.
‘It doesn’t change anything,’ Young replied, stubbing out his cigarette among the half-dozen butts already in the ashtray. ‘I’m still going in.’
Whitlock stared ahead of him. Whose house was it? Young had refused to tell him anything, saying the less he knew, the better it would be for him. He could only assume the house belonged to a senior Brigatista.
Possibly even Pisani. But he couldn’t be sure. It left him feeling helpless and frustrated. And he still hadn’t managed to contact Kolchinsky. That worried him. What if Young was about to blunder in on Ubrino’s hideout? Not that he could do anything about it, not without compromising his own cover.
‘Let’s go,’ Young said, getting out of the car.
Whitlock climbed out from behind the wheel and pocketed the keys. He looked at Young who was dressed completely in black, a sinister figure.
Young pulled a black balaclava over his head then took a silenced Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine-gun from the back of the car and slung it over his shoulder. Whitlock followed him to the eight-foot-high perimeter wall and after glancing the length of the deserted street he cupped his hands together to give him a foothold to reach the top of the wall. Young hauled himself up on to the wall, careful to avoid the tripwire alarm, and looked down into the garden, choosing the spot where he wanted to land. He dropped the submachine-gun over, then jumped nimbly into the garden, rolling with the fall as he hit the ground. He retrieved the gun and sprinted to the nearest tree where he paused to catch his breath. Then, taking a night-vision scope from the pouch on his belt, he surveyed the house and its surroundings. Where were the guards? A moment later he spotted one close to the house, an Alsatian at his side. Young moved forward cautiously, darting from tree to tree, until he was within twenty yards of the house. The dog suddenly stopped and looked towards him. Had it sensed him? He screwed up his face as the sweat burnt into his eyes but he made no attempt to wipe it away.
Any sudden movement would certainly alert the dog. The guard looked from the dog to the trees but was unable to see anything in the darkness. He spoke softly to the Alsatian then reached down and unleashed it.
Young unslung the submachine-gun as the dog bore down on him. He swallowed nervously and curled his finger around the trigger. It wasn’t so much killing the dog as stopping it. Even if he did kill it, its momentum could carry it forward on to him. He could be knocked out.
Stunned, certainly, and that would give the guard time to open fire. He aimed low, taking out the dog’s front legs. It yelped in agony as it fell, face first, to the ground. The guard was still raising his Kalashnikov when Young shot him twice in the chest, knocking him back into the flowerbed bordering the porch. The dog was trying pitifully to stand up, its bloodied legs buckled grotesquely underneath its chest. He shot it through the head. Its body jerked, then it fell heavily on to its side. He remained on one knee, waiting for any sign of the other guards. When none appeared he got to his feet and dragged the dog behind the nearest tree. He crossed to where the guard lay and picked up the Kalashnikov, ejected the clip, and tossed them both into a bush.
He rolled the guard underneath the steps, then tiptoed up on to the porch. He crouched beside the window and peered discreetly through the net curtains. The television set was on but the room was empty.
‘Si alzi!’ a voice barked behind him, telling him to get up.
Young shifted uncertainly on his haunches, not understanding the order. He tightened his grip on the submachine-gun as he monitored the guard’s movements in the reflection of the window. The guard stepped forward and prodded Young in the back with his rifle. Young launched himself backwards, knocking the guard off-balance. He landed on his back, then rolled sideways and shot the guard through the head. The guard’s body hit the wooden railing, which broke under his weight and he fell off the porch into the flowerbed. Young cursed silently.
He had no time to hide the body for the other guards would certainly have been alerted by the sound of breaking wood. He moved to the door and tried the handle. The door swung open. He locked it behind him, then moved cautiously up the hallway, swivelling round to face each door, the submachine-gun gripped tightly in both hands.
Then he was aware of a movement at the top of the stairs. The driver of the Alfa Romeo Alfetta. Rocca got off a single shot before Young returned fire. Rocca’s shot was off target. Young’s burst peppered the wall inches from where Rocca was standing. Rocca dived to the ground.
Young, sensing the advantage, hurried up the stairs but when he reached the top and swivelled round to fan the hallway Rocca was already gone. He knew he didn’t have time to waste. He had to find Pisani before any more guards arrived. But where was he? He could be anywhere in the house. What if he had been moved when the shooting started? Young knew there was only one way of finding out. He pressed himself against the wall beside the first door then reached out and opened it. Nothing. He swivelled round and fanned the room with his submachine-gun. An empty bathroom. He moved to the second door and opened it. A bedroom. Again, empty. He looked round anxiously when he heard the sound of banging on the reinforced front door. Then he heard the sound of breaking glass. A window? He had been sure all the ground-floor windows would be protected with burglar alarms. Had the guards found another way in? How many of them were there? He turned his attention back to the third door and pushed it open.