Hostage Tower by John Denis Page A

‘Grade “A” weapons and weapons systems. Fabulous opera tor. Knows lasers inside out. In fact –’ his brow furrowed, ‘I’ve got an idea …’
    â€˜What?’ she pressed.
    â€˜I’ve got an idea,’ Philpott said slowly, ‘that the reason why he isn’t in my file must be that someone took him out, to throw me off the track, because he would surely have been included inany list of potential laser-gunners. It can only mean Smith has a CIA plant.’
    Sonya gasped, ‘That could be critical.’
    Philpott said, ‘It could. Also – there’s … something else about Graham that’s at the back of my mind, but what it is I can’t for the life of me think at the moment. I know it’s important, though … Ah well,’ he shrugged, ‘no doubt it’ll come back. Anyway, first things first: we’ve got to follow them and find out what they’re up to.’
    They had lost Graham, but C.W hung back on the pretext of buying a carton of Lucky Strike, and made it easy for them to trail him. He increased his speed, curious to meet at last the man from Munich, the third conspirator in the Smith caper, whose special skills neither he nor Sabrina had been able to guess.
    C.W., who knew the location of his next destination from previous visits to Charles de Gaulle Airport, got to the helipad a minute before Sabrina. Claude was there, and identified himself as the radio voice. They would meet Smith later, he promised.
    Sabrina arrived, looking breathless and devastating, and C.W. shook hands with her courteously when they were introduced by Claude. ‘How nice to be working with such a beautiful lady,’ he gushed, but managed to make it sound sincere. They accompanied Claude into the helicopter standing on the launch-pad.
    Philpott and Sonya, hanging back at a safe distance, and peering around the corner of a cargo hangar, stared at each other in consternation. ‘That,’ Philpott remarked heavily, ‘has torn it. Smith has been too crafty for us again. Almost as if he knows every move we’re making, and is laughing up his sleeve when we get hung up at each turn.’
    â€˜You’re right,’ Sonya agreed. ‘How the hell can we follow them in a helicopter?’
    â€˜We can’t. It’s my fault. Bad planning. I should have had something laid on in case of an eventuality like this.’
    â€˜With a Red priority,’ Sonya pointed out, ‘you still could.’ Philpott shook his head. ‘Good idea,’ he said, ‘but it’s too late They’ll be off immediately. No point in their hanging about. The best I can do is get their flight plan, if they’ve filed one, which I doubt. In any case, what’s to make them stick to it?’
    What could they do? Sonya asked. They’d have to make the best of it, Philpott answered. ‘Sabrina’s good, C.W.’s very good, in a corner like this. It’s up to them now. They’ll get in touch if they can. I only hope that bastard doesn’t foul things up for them.’
    She followed the direction of his outstretched finger. Mike Graham, who’d been re-oriented by a helpful airport employee, hurried to join the aircraft. The door swung open to admit him, the motorexploded into life, and the giant rotors started to turn.
    Sabrina and C.W. were on their own …
    Graham counted six people in the large chopper. He knew none of them, from the brief glances he’d had at their faces. One was a doctor, white-coated, and with a stethoscope hanging around his neck. Four of the others lay on stretcher bunks lining the sides of the aircraft. Mike reasoned that the only other man standing must be the one in charge; he nodded at Claude and said, ‘Mike Graham.’ Claude shook his hand.
    Sabrina, who had been studying him covertly from her stretcher, turned her head quickly and faced the helicopter’s curving