Free Hostage Tower by John Denis Page A

was most particularly anxious to see the laser-gun thief. He could be the key to Smith’s destruction or to the defeat of UNACO.
    A Pan-Am Boeing 747 followed the Concorde down, and C.W. took the fantastic trip, wary all the time, through the Transfer Level to the Arrival Level. Philpott, seated at a restaurant table on level two, spotted him, but looked quickly away.
    Half an hour passed, and then the Munich flight turned up, delayed by some minor industrial action. Michael Graham lounged against a pillar next to the baggage carousel that claimed to be able to produce his case. He spotted it, and made a quick lunge for it. As he did so, the public address tannoy rasped his name. ‘Mr Graham, Mr Michael Graham, passenger from Munich. Will Mr Michael Graham please go to the lost luggage office on level one.’
    Graham threaded his way through the green Customs channel, and got directions to level one. There was a small queue at the lost luggage office,and he joined it. He was in no hurry. He identified himself when his turn came, and the clerk placed a small pocket radio on the counter.
    â€˜Yours, I believe?’ the girl asked.
    Mike studied the radio. Nothing happened by chance in the dangerous game he was playing, he reasoned, so he said, ‘Yes, it is. Where on earth did you find it?’
    The girl laughed. ‘
Not
on earth, as it happens. You left it on the plane, and the stewardess remembered seeing you with it. She knew your name, so she brought it to us.’
    â€˜Well, thank her for me,’ Mike said.
    â€˜I did,’ the girl replied. ‘We’re only glad you didn’t lose it for good.’
    â€˜Yeah,’ Mike said. ‘Me too.’
    A stewardess caught up with Sabrina Carver on the travelator. ‘You dropped this as you were leaving the Rome plane, Signorina,’ she puffed. ‘A little radio – see?’
    â€˜Hey so I did,’ Sabrina returned. ‘How stupid of me. Thank you very much indeed.’
    â€˜You’re welcome.’
    C.W., to whom impatience had more than once been a virtue, got tired of waiting for a contact. He stalked up to the information desk in the Arrival Level, and demanded if there had been a message left for him.
    â€˜Not a message, sir,’ the official said, ‘but apparently you were supposed to collect this.’
    He handed C.W. the radio, and C.W. said, ‘Jeeze,so I had to. Guess I forgot all about it. Thanks.’ He looped the radio on to his right shoulder by its carrying-strap.
    Sonic bleeps were keyed simultaneously to all three radios at intervals of two seconds until their owners had the sense to switch on the receivers.
    â€˜Good,’ said Claude’s voice. ‘You should all be receiving me now. If you are, acknowledge.’
    â€˜Loud and clear,’ said Graham. ‘Uh-huh,’ from C.W., and ‘Roger, or whatever,’ from Sabrina.
    â€˜Right,’ Claude went on, ‘now please listen carefully. I want you to ride the travelators until I tell you to stop. You will receive instructions during the course of the trip. The passenger from Rome will start from level one, the passenger from New York from level two, and the passenger from Munich from level three. When you arrive at a disembarkation point, you will simply take the next available travelator, in the reverse direction. Understood?’
    Affirmative. ‘Munich?’ Sabrina thought wildly. ‘Who the hell’s from Munich?’ C.W. chewed over the unexpected gobbet of information. ‘Three of us, huh? So?’ he mused.
    Philpott and Sonya had split up as a security precaution, and Philpott was playing the part of a tired man squatting on a case in the corner of the ground level central arrival area. He looked at his watch occasionally, heaved dramatic sighs, and morosely chewed a choc bar. He watched inbafflement as Sabrina started her weird odyssey in the glass tubes, and sat bolt upright when he