The Holcroft Covenant by Robert Ludlum Read Free Book Online Page A

The killers had worn coveralls beneath their suits. But they had not taken into consideration the possibility of rain. Except for that mistake, the escape had been planned brilliantly.
    The man walked over to the fuel truck, his hand on the gun concealed beneath his raincoat. Through the rain he stared at the figure beyond the truck window, in the driver’s seat; the second man was above him, to his right on the platform, turned away. The face behind the window stared back in disbelief, and instantly lurched for the far side of the seat. But the man in the raincoat was too quick. He opened the door, pulled out his revolver and fired, the gunshot muted by a silencer. The man in the seat fell into the dashboard, blood streaming out of his forehead.
    At the sound of the commotion below, the second man spun around on the steel platform of the truck and looked below.
    “
You!
In the
lounge!
With the newspaper!”
    “Get inside the truck,” commanded the man in the raincoat, his words clear through the pounding rain, his gun concealed behind the door panel.
    The figure on the platform hesitated. The man with the gun looked around. The surrounding police were preoccupied with their discomfort in the downpour, half blinded by the floodlights. None was observing the deadly scene. The man in the raincoat reached up, grabbed the white cloth of the surviving killer’s coverall, and yanked him into the frame of the open door of the fuel truck.
    “You failed. Heinrich Clausen’s son still lives,” he said calmly. Then he fired a second shot. The killer fell back into the seat.
    The man in the raincoat closed the door and put his gun back into his belt. He walked casually away, directly underneath the fuselage toward the roped-off alleyway that led to the tunnel. He could see the customs officialemerging from the 747’s door, walking rapidly down the steps. They met and together headed for the door of the tunnel.
    “What happened?” asked the official.
    “My hunting was good. Theirs wasn’t. The question is, what do we do about Holcroft?”
    “That’s not our concern. It’s the Tinamou’s. The Tinamou must be informed.”
    The man in the raincoat smiled to himself, knowing his smile could not be seen in the downpour.

4
    Holcroft got out of the taxi in front of his apartment on East Seventy-third Street. He was exhausted, the strain of the last three days heightened by the tragedy on board the flight. He was sorry for the poor bastard who’d had the heart attack, but furious at the Port Authority police who treated the incident as if it were an international crisis. Good Lord!
Quarantined
for damned near four hours! And all passengers in first class were to keep the police informed of their whereabouts for the next sixty days.
    The doorman greeted him. “A short trip this time, Mr. Holcroft. But you got a lot of mail. Oh, and a message.”
    “A message?”
    “Yes, sir,” said the doorman, handing him a business card. “This gentleman came in asking for you last night. He was very agitated, you know what I mean?”
    “Not exactly.” Noel took the card and read the name: PETER BALDWIN, ESQ. ; it meant nothing to him. WELLINGTON SECURITY SYSTEMS, LTD. THE STRAND, LONDON , W 1 A. There was a telephone number underneath. Holcroft had never heard of the British company. He turned the card over; on the back was scribbled ST. REGIS HOTEL. RM. 411.
    “He insisted that I ring your apartment in case you’d gotten back and I didn’t see you come in. I told him that was crazy.”
    “He could have telephoned me himself,” said Noel, walking toward the elevator. “I’m in the book.”
    “He told me he tried, but your phone was out of order.” The elevator door closed on the man’s last words. Holcroft read the name again as the elevator climbed to the fifth floor. Peter Baldwin, Esq. Who was he? And since when was his phone out of order?
    He opened his apartment door and reached for the light switch on the wall. Two table