Covert One 3 - The Paris Option by Robert Ludlum Read Free Book Online Page A

want to assassinate Mr. Zellerbach?” The security chief made the usual hash of the French trying to pronounce a German name.
    “It's Dr. Zellerbach. He's a computer scientist. He was working with Dr. Emile Chambord at the Pasteur the night of the bombing.”
    “A great pity to lose Chambord.” Girard paused. “Then it's possible your Dr. Zellerbach saw or heard something incriminating there. Perhaps now the bombers are trying to stop Dr. Zellerbach from awakening and giving us the information.”
    It was a policeman's answer, and Smith saw no reason to elaborate further. “I'd say that it was more than possible.”
    “I'll alert the police.”
    “I'd appreciate you or the police doubling the guard on him in the ICU and, if he's moved, posted wherever he's sent.”
    “I will contact the Sreteacute;.”
    “Good.” Smith stood. “Thank you. I've got an appointment, so I'm going to have to leave.” That was not exactly the truth, but close.
    “Of course. The police will need to speak to you, though, eventually, I expect.”
    Smith gave Girard the name and number of his hotel and left. At the ICU, there was no change in Marty. He sat beside Marty's bed again, studying the round, sleeping face, worrying. Marty looked so vulnerable, and Smith found his throat tight with emotion.
    At last he stood up, pressed Marty's hand once more, and told him he would be back. He left the ICU but stayed on the same floor, returning to the fire stairs. On the landing, he searched for anything the gunman might have dropped, for any clue at all. He found nothing but a trace of blood on the post of the balustrade, evidence he really had wounded the gunman, which could be useful information if the man ever reappeared.
    Still on the deserted stair landing, he activated his cell phone with its special scrambler capacity and dialed. “Someone tried to kill Marty in the hospital,” he reported.
    The head of Covert-One, Fred Klein, answered from across the Atlantic Ocean in his usual growl. “Do we know who?”
    “Looks like a pro. It was a good setup. The guy was disguised as an orderly, and if I hadn't been there, he could've gotten away with it.”
    “The French guards didn't pick up on him?”
    “No, but maybe the Sreteacute; will do better now,” Smith said.
    “Better yet, I'll talk to the French myself, ask them to send special forces soldiers to guard Zellerbach.”
    “I like that. There's something else you need to know. The guy had a mini-submachine gun. He was carrying it hidden under bed linen.”
    There was an abrupt silence at the other end of the connection. Klein knew as well as Smith that the submachine gun changed the picture. It turned what had appeared a straightforward assassination attempt into something far more complex. When Klein spoke again, he asked the question, “Meaning what exactly, Colonel?”
    Smith was sure Klein knew perfectly well what he was thinking, but he said it anyway: “He had the firepower to kill Marty from where he was standing. My being there would've been no deterrent, if he'd been willing to shoot me and maybe everyone else in the ICU, too. His initial plan was probably to go in with a knife, something quiet, so he wouldn't attract attention. The submachine gun was only for last-ditch protection.”
    “And?”
    “And that suggests he realized that if he opened fire and killed a handful of us, his escape from the hospital would've been far more difficult, and that means he didn't want to take any chances that he might be captured, alive or dead. Which, in turn, suggests again that the bombing was no random act or the crazed vindictiveness of some fired employee, but part of a careful plan by people with a specific goal who will go to great lengths to not be discovered.”
    Klein was silent again. “You think it's clearer now that Dr. Chambord was the target. And therefore Marty, too, because he was working with Chambord.”
    “Has there been any group or individual claiming credit