‘Open it.’
Bolchenkov sat on the desk at the front of the operations room and looked down at the twenty hand-picked men. He struck a match and lit his seventh cigarette of the morning.
‘How many people are we expecting in the square this afternoon?’ he asked.
‘It’s only a guess, Chief,’ said the most senior uniformed officer present, ‘but it could be as many as a hundred thousand.’
A murmur of whispered conversations broke out.
‘Quiet,’ said the Chief sharply. ‘Why so many, Captain? Chernopov only managed seventy thousand.’
‘Zerimski’s a far more charismatic figure, and now that the polls are moving in his direction, I predict he’ll prove a much bigger draw.’
‘How many officers can you spare me on the ground?’
‘Every available man will be in the square, Chief, and I’ve cancelled all leave. I’ve already issued the man’s description, in the hope that we can pick him up before he even reaches the square. But not many of them have any experience of something this big.’
‘If there are really going to be a hundred thousand people in the square,’ said Bolchenkov, ‘it will be a first for me as well. Have all your officers been issued with the description?’
‘Yes, but he may be in disguise. In any case, there are a lot of tall foreigners with blue eyes and sandy hair out there. And don’t forget, they haven’t been told why he’s wanted for questioning. We don’t need a panic on our hands.’
Agreed. But I don’t want to frighten him off now, just to give him a second chance later. Has anyone picked up any more information?’
‘Yes, Chief,’ replied a younger man leaning against the back wall. The Chief stubbed out his cigarette and nodded.
‘There are three South African journalists officially covering the election. From the description given to us by our informant, I’m fairly confident it’s the one who calls himself Piet de Villiers.’
‘Anything on the computer about him?’
‘No,’ said the young officer. ‘But the police in Johannesburg were extremely cooperative. They have three men on their files answering to that name, with crimes ranging from petty theft to bigamy, but none of them fitted the description, and in any case two of them are currently locked up. They’ve no idea of the whereabouts of the third. They also mentioned a Colombian connection.’
‘What Colombian connection?’
‘A few weeks ago the CIA circulated a confidential memo giving details about the murder of a presidential candidate in Bogota. It seems they traced the assassin to South Africa, then lost him. I called my contact at the CIA, but all he could tell me was that they knew the man was on the move again, and that he was last seen boarding a plane for Geneva.’
‘That’s all I need,’ said the Chief. ‘I don’t suppose there was any sign of de Villiers when Zerimski visited the Hermitage this morning?’
‘No, Chief,’ said another voice, ‘not if he was with the press corps. There were twenty-three journalists there, and only two of them vaguely fitted the description. One was Clifford Symonds, an anchor with CNN, and the other I’ve known for years. I play chess with him.’ Everyone in the room laughed, helping to break the tension.
‘Rooftops and buildings?’ said the Chief.
‘I have a dozen men detailed to cover the rooftops around the square,’ said the head of the small-arms unit. ‘Most of the buildings are public offices, so I’ll station plain-clothes officers at every entrance and exit. If anyone fitting the description tries to enter the square, or any of the buildings overlooking it, he’ll be arrested on the spot.’
‘Be careful you don’t arrest some foreign dignitary and get us into even worse trouble. Any questions?’
‘Yes, Chief. Have you considered calling off the rally?’ asked a voice from the back.
‘I have, and I decided against it. If I were to cancel a meeting every time I received a threat to a public figure, our telephone lines would be blocked with calls from every half-baked radical with nothing better to do than cause mayhem. In any case, it could still be a false alarm. And even if de Villiers is roaming around the city, when he sees our presence on the ground he might have second thoughts. Any more questions?’
No one stirred.
‘If any of you picks up anything, and I mean anything, I want to know immediately. Heaven help the man who tells me afterwards, “I didn’t mention it, Chief, because I didn’t think it was important at the time.”’
Connor kept the television on while he shaved. Hillary Bowker was bringing viewers up to date with what was happening in the States. The Arms Reduction Bill had passed the House, squeaking home by a mere three votes. Tom Lawrence was nevertheless claiming the result as a triumph for common sense. The pundits, on the other hand, were already warning that the Bill would face a far tougher passage once it reached the floor of the Senate.
‘Not at all,’ the President had assured the assembled journalists at his morning press briefing. Connor smiled. ‘The House was simply carrying out the will of the people, and I’m confident that the Senate will want to do exactly the same.’
The President was replaced by a pretty girl with bright red hair who reminded Connor of Maggie. In my line of work I should have married a newscaster, he had once told her.