hand and put one of them into his mouth. It tasted bitter. The glass was put to his lips. He took a mouthful of water and washed the tablet down, followed by the second tablet with another gulp. He placed the glass on the floor and lay back against the pillow, his eyes closed.
It was another five minutes before he tried to sit up again. He lifted his head off the pillow, swung his legs off ^ the couch then sat up and rubbed his eyes. He was beginning to feel human again.
'How's the head?'
Whitlock looked the length of the cabin at the man| seated a few feet away from the cockpit door. He recog
90
nized him as Richard Wiseman from the photograph Rust had included in the assignment dossier. The photograph showed him in the uniform of a three-star general. Now he was wearing a light grey suit, white shirt and blue t ie. He looked to be in his mid-fifties with a rugged, weatherbeaten face, a neatly trimmed black moustache and black hair going grey at the temples. Wiseman repeated the question without looking up from the game of solitaire he was playing.
Whitlock looked at his watch. He had been asleep for four hours. He crossed to the table and sat down opposite Wiseman. 'This has gone far enough. I demand to know what's going on.'
Wiseman nodded as he studied the cards in front of him, and finally sat back, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair. 'What do you want to know?'
'For a start, who are you?'
Wiseman told him.
'Where the hell are we?'
'In my private jet, about thirty-five thousand feet over t France. ETA in Rome is twenty-five minutes.'
'Rome?' Whitlock replied, feigning bewilderment. j'Why are you taking me there?'
Wiseman was about to answer when the bathroom |door opened at the other end of the cabin. His eyes Iflickered past Whitlock and he smiled at the approaching Ifigure. 'Back to your old self again, I see. Mr Alexander, {you've met Vie Young.'
Whitlock's eyes widened in surprise when he saw
oung. The black hair and moustache were gone. Now lie was blond and clean shaven.
'I was wearing a wig,' Young said, running his fingers irough his thick blond hair. He crossed to the drinks abinet, poured out two measures of bourbon, and handed
9i
one of the glasses to Wiseman. 'What you are drinking, Alexander?'
'Nothing,' Whitlock retorted, eyeing Young coldly. 'Where are the woman and the boy?'
Young shrugged. 'I left them in the police car. They were only drugged.'
'You killed Dave - '
'He knew too much,' Young cut in quickly.
Whitlock shook his head as if in despair. 'I would have got five years, maximum, for the job I did. I'd have been out in three. Now I'm facing a fifteen-year stretch as an accessory to murder.'
Young picked up a card from the floor, dropped it on to the table, then sat down. 'You'll be facing a murder rap if the police find the gun.'
'What are you talking about?' Whitlock said in amazement. 'Murder? I didn't kill him.'
'Didn't you?' Young replied. 'There's only one set of fingerprints on the gun. Yours.'
'That's ridiculous, you pulled the trigger.'
'But I was wearing gloves, remember? I put your prints on the gun while you were unconscious.'
'Where's the gun now?'
'Safe,' Young replied.
'Call it an insurance policy,' Wiseman said.
Young smiled at Wiseman's choice of phrase.
'Insurance against what?' Whitlock asked suspiciously.
'You running out on us before the two of you have finished what you're going to Rome to do,' Wiseman; answered.
'Then, when it's over, you hand the gun over to thei police?'
'On the contrary. It'll be handed over to you, alongj with a hundred thousand pounds in cash.'
92
'And you honestly expect me to believe that?'
'I don't see why not,' Wiseman said, shrugging his shoulders. 'You won't be able to tie Vie in with Humphries' death. He's got half a dozen witnesses lined up who'd swear, in court if necessary, that he was with them in another country at the time of the shooting. I admit I was in London this morning. At the Court of St
It was another five minutes before he tried to sit up again. He lifted his head off the pillow, swung his legs off ^ the couch then sat up and rubbed his eyes. He was beginning to feel human again.
'How's the head?'
Whitlock looked the length of the cabin at the man| seated a few feet away from the cockpit door. He recog
90
nized him as Richard Wiseman from the photograph Rust had included in the assignment dossier. The photograph showed him in the uniform of a three-star general. Now he was wearing a light grey suit, white shirt and blue t ie. He looked to be in his mid-fifties with a rugged, weatherbeaten face, a neatly trimmed black moustache and black hair going grey at the temples. Wiseman repeated the question without looking up from the game of solitaire he was playing.
Whitlock looked at his watch. He had been asleep for four hours. He crossed to the table and sat down opposite Wiseman. 'This has gone far enough. I demand to know what's going on.'
Wiseman nodded as he studied the cards in front of him, and finally sat back, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair. 'What do you want to know?'
'For a start, who are you?'
Wiseman told him.
'Where the hell are we?'
'In my private jet, about thirty-five thousand feet over t France. ETA in Rome is twenty-five minutes.'
'Rome?' Whitlock replied, feigning bewilderment. j'Why are you taking me there?'
Wiseman was about to answer when the bathroom |door opened at the other end of the cabin. His eyes Iflickered past Whitlock and he smiled at the approaching Ifigure. 'Back to your old self again, I see. Mr Alexander, {you've met Vie Young.'
Whitlock's eyes widened in surprise when he saw
oung. The black hair and moustache were gone. Now lie was blond and clean shaven.
'I was wearing a wig,' Young said, running his fingers irough his thick blond hair. He crossed to the drinks abinet, poured out two measures of bourbon, and handed
9i
one of the glasses to Wiseman. 'What you are drinking, Alexander?'
'Nothing,' Whitlock retorted, eyeing Young coldly. 'Where are the woman and the boy?'
Young shrugged. 'I left them in the police car. They were only drugged.'
'You killed Dave - '
'He knew too much,' Young cut in quickly.
Whitlock shook his head as if in despair. 'I would have got five years, maximum, for the job I did. I'd have been out in three. Now I'm facing a fifteen-year stretch as an accessory to murder.'
Young picked up a card from the floor, dropped it on to the table, then sat down. 'You'll be facing a murder rap if the police find the gun.'
'What are you talking about?' Whitlock said in amazement. 'Murder? I didn't kill him.'
'Didn't you?' Young replied. 'There's only one set of fingerprints on the gun. Yours.'
'That's ridiculous, you pulled the trigger.'
'But I was wearing gloves, remember? I put your prints on the gun while you were unconscious.'
'Where's the gun now?'
'Safe,' Young replied.
'Call it an insurance policy,' Wiseman said.
Young smiled at Wiseman's choice of phrase.
'Insurance against what?' Whitlock asked suspiciously.
'You running out on us before the two of you have finished what you're going to Rome to do,' Wiseman; answered.
'Then, when it's over, you hand the gun over to thei police?'
'On the contrary. It'll be handed over to you, alongj with a hundred thousand pounds in cash.'
92
'And you honestly expect me to believe that?'
'I don't see why not,' Wiseman said, shrugging his shoulders. 'You won't be able to tie Vie in with Humphries' death. He's got half a dozen witnesses lined up who'd swear, in court if necessary, that he was with them in another country at the time of the shooting. I admit I was in London this morning. At the Court of St
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