Hostage Tower by John Denis Page B

internal wall. First the face, she thought … now the name! She
knew
him. And she knew what he was – or what he had once been. For what she had heard about him since they last met had not been good news.
    â€˜Meet the others later,’ Claude said to Graham. Mike noted that one of his colleagues was a sassy-looking black, another a woman, the third a seemingly short, beefy, bull-necked man, and the last one an Asian of some kind. The doctor was – a doctor; and Claude, the scar-faced man, was clearly French. When Claude motioned him to a bunk, he sank on to it without argument.
    He closed his eyes, since everyone else seemedto have, but a sinister hissing sound made his eyelids spring open. The doctor was bending over the bulky thug, holding an anaesthetic to his face.
    Mike guessed it was Smith’s idea of total security, and made no objection when the doctor crossed to his stretcher, hovered low, and administered the gas. In fact, he welcomed it. The doctor had bad breath.
    Philpott and Sonya listened in stony silence to the recording C.W. had made of Smith’s tape on his cigarette lighter – a bugging device of great sophisti cation and accuracy, invented by UNACO, and plugged now into the stereo system of the chauffeured limousine placed at their disposal by the French Government.
    â€˜â€¦ if you accept my terms you will, from that moment, be incommunicado … punishment for treachery is death … carry out an order to kill … one million dollars – each.’
    Sonya whistled, and Philpott grimaced. ‘Thank God,’ he said, ‘that I can rely on the loyalty of C.W. and Sabrina, because that’s a great deal of temptation. But they’re too well trained to fall for it … I hope.’
    The radiotelephone in the car sounded a warning bleep. Sonya picked it up – and as she did so, Philpott lifted his hand and smacked it down on his thigh. ‘That’s it!’ he shouted. ‘I’ve got it! Training! Of course. That’s where it was.’
    Sonya was speaking urgently into the mouthpiece, and making notes on her ubiquitous message-pad. She finished, cradled the receiver, tore the top sheet of paper off the block, and handed it to Philpott. He studied it intently, and nodded, grimly.
    â€˜It’s him all right,’ Sonya said. ‘Dismissed from the service January 14 1977, after a severe breakdown. Erratic behaviour ever since. And that –’ her lacquered fingernail tapped the page ‘– is what you couldn’t remember, isn’t it, Malcolm?’
    â€˜I just did,’ Philpott replied, closing his eyes and letting his head slump back on the expensive upholstery. The tinted-windowed car pulled up outside the Ritz.
    â€˜He was their best weapons man, and it was only natural that he should turn up occasionally at training courses for CIA and invited outside personnel, as guest lecturer. It’s just our luck – or Smith’s – that Graham should have been specialist demonstrator on the CIA course we fixed up for Sabrina just after she joined us.’
    Sonya reached for his hand. ‘A teacher doesn’t always remember every student he’s ever lectured to,’ she said softly.
    Philpott opened his eyes, and flashed her a grateful smile. ‘Honey,’ he said, ‘if you were a man, would you remember Sabrina Carver?’
    Sonya blinked. ‘I see what you mean.’
    Philpott opened his eyes again, and sank back into the cushions. ‘What I mean is precisely this,’ he murmured. ‘If Mike Graham
does
rememberher – as I believe he will – he will almost certainly denounce her as a spook plant to Smith.’
    â€˜And?’ Sonya said, not wanting to hear the answer.
    â€˜And Smith will kill her. Don’t you recall what he said? “
The punishment for treachery is death
”.’

SIX
    Claude stood at the doctor’s shoulder as he leaned