The pressure from his family was getting to him, especially from his son and daughter-in-law who were continually badgering him to spend more time at home with his wife. They didn’t understand. Neither of them was connected with law enforcement. The force was in his blood. It had become an addictive drug over the past forty-two years and his greatest fear was what effect retirement would have on him.
He pushed any thoughts of his impending retirement from his mind. He would have plenty of time to reflect on it in the years to come. He opened his briefcase and took out a folder. There was only one word on it. UNACO. Although he and Malcolm Philpott were old friends he had never attempted to hide his dislike for the organization. The concept of an international strike force appealed to him, but that’s where it ended. He argued that their use of blackmail, intimidation and violence, as well as their willingness to bend the law to suit their own needs, made them just like the criminals they had been set up to combat in the first place. But he knew his was a lone voice of protest.
There were times when he thought he was something of an anachronism in the contemporary world of law enforcement. He hated guns, and he particularly hated the idea of gun-toting foreigners shooting up his country. It had happened before and he knew it would happen again. It was inevitable.
There was a knock at the door.
He answered it and immediately recognized Kolchinsky from the photograph in the folder lying on the table behind him. They shook hands and then Kuhlmann ushered him in.
‘I feel as if I know you already,’ Kolchinsky said with a smile. ‘Malcolm’s told me a lot about you.’
‘Nothing bad, I hope. Won’t you sit down?’ Kuhlmann indicated the two chairs on either side of the window. ‘I ordered some coffee when I knew you were on your way up. It should be here any time now. How was your flight?’
‘Tedious, but aren’t they all? When did you get in from Zürich?’
Kuhlmann sat down. ‘A couple of hours ago.’
‘And you’ve been fully briefed?’
Kuhlmann pointed to the folder. ‘Your man, Jacques Rust, briefed me over breakfast this morning.’
There was another knock at the door. As Kuhlmann had predicted it was the room service waiter with the coffee. He took the tray from him and set it down on the table beside his chair.
‘How do you take your coffee?’
‘Milk, one sugar,’ Kolchinsky replied.
‘Tell me, how did Rust manage to get these rooms at such short notice?’ Kuhlmann asked as he poured out the coffee. ‘I’m told there isn’t a spare hotel bed within a twenty-mile radius of the city for the duration of the summit. I could understand if he’d managed to get one room. But six? And all here at the Metropole. I’m intrigued.’
Kolchinsky refused to rise to the bait. Philpott had warned him about Kuhlmann’s attitude towards UNACO. Kuhlmann was out to prove that Rust had used some underhand method to get the rooms. Kolchinsky was sure Rust had used some underhand method how else would he have got them? But that’s what made him such an invaluable asset to UNACO. He was like Philpott in that respect. They played on the indiscretions of others to get what they wanted. Kuhlmann would probably regard it as blackmail.Kolchinsky regarded it as simply good business sense.
‘I haven’t spoken to Jacques recently so I honestly couldn’t tell you how he did it,’ Kolchinsky replied truthfully, taking the cup and saucer from Kuhlmann and sitting back in his chair. ‘Did Jacques give you a photograph of Ubrino to circulate among your men?’
Kuhlmann nodded.
‘It’s been faxed through to every police station in the country. I’ve got teams checking all the hotels, boarding houses and chalets in and around the Berne area. If he’s here, we’ll find him.’
‘He is a master of disguise,’ Kolchinsky reminded him.
‘Which is why a police artist put the photograph through his computer and came up with a series of different disguises. Seven possibilities in all. They’re all being used in the search. We may be a small nation, Mr. Kolchinsky, but we do have an effective police force. I see to that.’
‘It was an observation, not a criticism.’
‘I resent UNACO being here, Mr. Kolchinsky. But I especially resent you bringing scum like Calvieri into the country. We can catch Ubrino ourselves. I have some of Europe’s finest policemen on the force. Men who use brains, not guns, to bring criminals to justice. We don’t need you here.’
‘So expel us,’ Kolchinsky challenged.
‘If it were up to me none of you would have got permission to land here in the first place. Unfortunately my Government views the situation differently.’
‘Malcolm told me you disliked UNACO. I never realized how much until now.’
‘I make no secret of my opposition to UNACO It’s become too powerful for its own good in the last few years. Your field operatives can literally get away with murder because they know they’re immune from prosecution. How can charges be brought against someone working for an organization that doesn’t officially exist? UNACO a law unto itself.’
‘That’s something I can’t accept.’ Kolchinsky picked up the folder.
‘Don’t get me wrong, though. You’ll have my full cooperation while you’re here in Switzerland. I never allow my personal feelings to interfere with my work. It would amount to professional suicide if I did.’
Professional suicide. Kolchinsky knew all about that. He had spent sixteen years as a military attaché in the West for daring to criticize the draconian methods of the KGB. The irony was that had he kept his mouth shut, like many of his liberal colleagues, he would almost certainly now be a member of the Politburo, or at least a Directorate head in the KGB, heralding in the new era of Soviet politics. But he had done what he had thought right at the time and now he could live with a clear conscience. He had no regrets. Well, almost none…
There was a knock at the door.
Kuhlmann answered it. Paluzzi introduced himself and followed the police commissioner into the room.
‘Sorry I’m a bit late,’ Paluzzi said, giving Kolchinsky an apologetic smile. ‘I’d barely got to my room when the phone rang. It was Angelo.’ He glanced at Kuhlmann. ‘My adjutant, Lieutenant Angelo Marco.’
‘Has he come up with something?’ Kolchinsky asked.
‘Whitlock and Young have disappeared.’
‘Disappeared?’ Kolchinsky repeated anxiously.
‘The Red Brigades are on to them. They obviously realized this and fled the boarding house. They left everything behind. We don’t know where they are at the moment.’
‘So they could conceivably be in the hands of the Red Brigades?’
‘No, they’re not,’ Paluzzi said, trying to reassure Kolchinsky. ‘The Red Brigades have sent their most experienced assassin after them. His name’s Giancarlo Escoletti. We bugged his hotel room while he was at the boarding house waiting for them to return. When they didn’t show he went back to the hotel and called Luigi Bettinga, Calvieri’s new right-hand man, and told him he’d lost them. We’re watching his every move. If he does manage to track them down we’ll pull him in before he can do anything. He’s the least of our worries. It’s Young that concerns me. If Calvieri is his next hit it won’t be very difficult for Young to trace him to Switzerland. What if they’re already here? All Young needs is a sniper rifle and he’ll be spoilt for choice when it comes to selecting a time and place for the hit.’
‘Have you got photographs of Whitlock and this man Young?’ Kuhlmann asked.
‘I’ve got a photograph of Young in the case dossier in my room,’ Kolchinsky said. ‘It’s slightly blurred but it’s the only known one on file. I don’t have a photo of C.W. with me. There are some on file in New York.’