Hostage Tower by John Denis

condition of your acceptance.’
    This time it was Mike Graham who registered surprise, although of the two killers in the group(C.W.’s victims had been in the line of duty in Vietnam) Graham was the more accomplished assassin.
    â€˜In exchange for your acceptance of these terms,’ Smith said after a slight pause, ‘I shall pay you the sum of one million dollars – each. You will receive this fee whether or not the operation is successful. You have ten seconds in which to consider your reply.’
    The three moving faces on the travelators registered emotions from delight to incredulity. For C.W. and Sabrina there was, in any case; no choice: their agreement would be automatic. And from Graham, there was never an instant’s hesitation. It was an awful lot of money.
    Claude snapped off the tape-recorder, and said into the two-way radio, ‘Mister Smith will have your answers – now.’
    There was a heart-beat’s delay, then C.W. drawled ‘Tell him, yes.’ Sabrina said, ‘I’m in.’ And from Mike Graham, ‘Sure. Why not?’ Claude seemed satisfied, and gave all three fresh instructions.
    Philpott saw that C.W. and Sabrina were now heading by a ‘down’ travelator to the ground floor level, and he guessed correctly that the electronic conference was over. That meant that his chance of spotting the laser man had gone. He signalled to Sonya, and moved out into the centre of the busy concourse.
    Sonya marched furiously up to Philpott andgave him a good old-fashioned dressing-down in tart, idiomatic French. Where had he been? she demanded. Why had he left her? What the hell did he think he was doing?
    Philpott replied in kind, in fact going several better, and Sonya turned majestically on her heel to leave him standing there, throwing one final insult to his manhood over her shoulder. It was then that she collided with a well-dressed young black man, who was about to light a cigarette with an expensive-looking lighter.
    The man lost his balance, and dropped his lighter to the ground. He stooped, a little slowly, to retrieve it. Sonya mouthed a confused apology and joined him, getting to the lighter fractionally before C.W. She handed him the lighter, smiled, and he walked away.
    Sonya then walked back to Philpott, apparently contrite, even affectionate, and lay her head on his shoulder. ‘Did you make the switch?’ he whispered. ‘Of course,’ she replied, pressing C.W.’s lighter into his hand.
    Philpott slung his arm around Sonya’s shoulders, picked up his bag, started to manoeuvre her towards a SORTIE sign – and suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. He pushed Sonya behind the corner of the information desk, and turned towards her, so that his face was hidden from the main body of travellers.
    â€˜What’s wrong?’ she hissed.
    â€˜There’s a man walking towards the exits,’Philpott whispered, urgently, ‘tall, brown hair, no hat, leather flying-jacket, dark jeans. See him?’ She nodded.
    â€˜The one with the radio slung over his shoulder?’ she said.
    â€˜Radio?’ Philpott echoed. ‘Fantastic! I didn’t spot that. Then it must be him.’
    â€˜Him?’ she queried. ‘The laser-gun thief?’
    â€˜Yes. I know him – or at least I know of him. And I’ve met him a couple of times. I can’t understand why he wasn’t in my file … he fits the bill so perfectly. His name’s Michael Graham, and he’s ex-CIA.’
    â€˜Ex?’
    Philpott nodded. ‘Yes. Three years ago he had a breakdown of sorts. I don’t know what caused it, but he upped and left the Company. Since then, I believe, he’s been thought of as a renegade. Certainly he’s violent and unstable. He could be extremely dangerous.’
    â€˜Is he good?’ Sonya asked, trying not to look too closely at the retreating figure.
    â€˜The best,’ Philpott answered.