Time of the Assassins by Alistair MacLean Read Free Book Online Page B

thought of Rosie. He'd been so busy that afternoon that he'd completely forgotten to call her. He felt a sense of guilt but at the same time knew he could never have spoken to her anyway. He made a mental note to call her and arrange a time to meet, away from her parents.

Someone called out, breaking his train of thought. The presidential plane was making its final descent. He immediately ordered the policemen to take up their designated positions on the runway then crossed to where Brett and Rogers were standing. They glanced at him but said nothing.

The white Gulfstream One executed a perfect landing but it was only when it taxied towards them that Whitlock saw the blue, red and white Zimbalan flag painted on the side of the fuselage with the words 'Air Zimbala' above it in black lettering. It was

obvious that the plane had been repainted before its journey and Whitlock suddenly wondered if it had been done to erase the memories of the previous regime. He let the thought pass as the plane came to a halt less than twenty yards away from the limousines. The hatch opened and a set of steps was driven up to it. The Chief of Protocol led the way to the foot of the steps, waiting for Mobuto to appear. The first man to emerge had to duck through the opening. Whitlock judged him to be at least six foot six. He looked around him slowly then disappeared back inside the aircraft. He reappeared a moment later and Whitlock immediately recognized Mobuto when he emerged behind the bodyguard. He was a tall, handsome man who had an air of confidence about him. He was dressed in an expensive grey Dior suit and wore dark glasses. It was hard to believe he was forty-two years old. He looked ten years younger. He removed the glasses on reaching the tarmac and he shook the Chief of Protocol's extended hand. Rogers and Brett immediately flanked him at the foot of the steps and walked with him as he shook hands with each member of the Zimbalan mission in turn. His grip lingered on the translator's hand and he smiled faintly at her before turning back to the Chief of Protocol who was standing behind him. It was then that he noticed Whitlock standing discreetly in the background. He told Brett and Rogers to hold back then crossed to where Whitlock stood and held out a hand of greeting.

'It's been a long time, Clarence,' Mobuto said in

his faultless English.

Whitlock bit back his anger. He had never forgiven his parents for christening him Clarence Wilkins.

'Over twenty years,' Whitlock replied, gripping the extended hand. 'You look well, Jamel.'

Mobuto inhaled sharply and glanced at the massive bodyguard who was hovering in the background. He turned back to Whitlock. 'You call me President Mobuto in front of my people!'

'And you call me C.W. in front of mine,' Whitlock retorted, holding Mobuto's stare.

Mobuto smiled coldly. 'You haven't changed a bit. Still as insolent as ever.'

'And you're still as arrogant as ever.' Whitlock looked past Mobuto and gestured for Brett and Rogers to approach them. He introduced them to Mobuto then went on to explain that one of them would always be at his side for the duration of his visit.

'And you?' Mobuto asked once Whitlock had finished speaking.

'I'm in charge of security. Brett and Rogers report directly to me. As do your bodyguards.'

'Very well,' Mobuto replied after a moment's thought then moved away with the Chief of Protocol, heading towards one of the limousines.

'Brett, you're taking first shift, aren't you?'

Brett nodded.

'Rogers, you'll relieve him tomorrow at seven a.m.'

'Fine,' was all Rogers said.

Whitlock dismissed Rogers then he and Brett hurried after Mobuto. Brett went to the lead limousine and climbed in beside the driver. Whitlock caught up with

Mobuto but remained discreetly in the background while he finished talking to the Chief of Protocol. Mobuto spoke briefly to the Zimbalan ambassador in Swahili then beckoned the tall bodyguard towards him. He introduced him to