Whitlock as Masala, his personal bodyguard, then told Masala that he and the other three Zimbalan bodyguards were to liaise directly with Whitlock.
'President Mobuto and I will be in the second car,' Whitlock said to Masala. 'You ride up front in the third. Spread your men amongst the other two cars.'
Masala nodded then went off to carry out Whit-lock's instructions.
Mobuto climbed into the back of the limousine. The Zimbalan ambassador got in beside him and the driver closed the door behind them. Whitlock got into the passenger seat and the driver immediately started the engine.
Whitlock looked round at Mobuto. 'I'm going to seal off the back of the car with a sheet of soundproof glass. Not only is it bulletproof but it will also give you privacy to speak to the ambassador. There's a private telephone in the compartment in front of you if you need to make any outside calls. And if you need us, just dial zero.'
Mobuto nodded.
Whitlock activated the switch on the dashboard and the glass slid into place, sealing off the back and front seats of the car. He sat back and exhaled deeply. The driver glanced at him but sensed that Whitlock wasn't in the mood to talk. He switched on the radio, found a music station and followed the first limousine out of
the airport onto the Grand Central Parkway, heading towards Manhattan.
The convoy, led by a police car and two police motorcycles, made its way through Long Island City, across the Queensboro Bridge into Manhattan then down First Avenue to the United Nations Plaza, the hotel where the Zimbalan delegation would stay for the duration of their three-day visit to New York. It was situated close to the United Nations headquarters as well as being only three blocks away from the African American Institute which Mobuto had requested to see at some point during his visit. And with Mobuto due to address the United Nations' General Assembly, the locale couldn't have been better.
The convoy drew to a halt in front of the hotel; Whitlock jumped out of the limousine and looked around him slowly. The press, who had been alerted by an anonymous call to Reuters the previous day by one of the assassins, were out in force, waiting and hoping to get an exclusive of an assassination, or at least an attempted assassination, for the morning papers. Whitlock shouted at the two policemen on the motorcycles to get the photographers back a few feet to give Mobuto a chance to get out of the limousine. They immediately set about the task of pushing the jostling photographers away from the limousine. Brett and Masala flanked the back door and the other three bodyguards took up positions on the other side of the car, facing the photographers. Satisfied, Whitlock nodded to Masala who opened the back door. Mobuto climbed out slowly and turned to wave at the waiting photographers. Flashbulbs popped in-
cessantly and Whitlock found himself struggling to focus on the sea of cameras, his eyes darting about in search of anything untoward.
Suddenly one of the Zimbalan bodyguards shouted a warning and lunged at the photographers. Whitlock knocked Mobuto to the ground in the split-second before a bullet smashed into the wall behind them. The photographers scattered in panic as the bodyguard made a grab for the gunman. A second shot rang out and the bodyguard stumbled back, clutching his stomach. The other two Zimbalan bodyguards immediately drew their snub-nosed Smith & Wesson.385 and sprinted after the fleeing gunman.
The getaway driver, in a blue Ford, laid down a burst of suppressing fire, forcing the bodyguards to dive for cover. By the time they had got to their feet the gunman had jumped through the open passenger door and the wheels shrieked in protest as the car sped away from the hotel.
Whitlock mounted one of the police motorcycles, kick-started it, then slewed it violently in an ungainly one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn and took off after the getaway car. He unhooked the radio and called for backup,
'President Mobuto and I will be in the second car,' Whitlock said to Masala. 'You ride up front in the third. Spread your men amongst the other two cars.'
Masala nodded then went off to carry out Whit-lock's instructions.
Mobuto climbed into the back of the limousine. The Zimbalan ambassador got in beside him and the driver closed the door behind them. Whitlock got into the passenger seat and the driver immediately started the engine.
Whitlock looked round at Mobuto. 'I'm going to seal off the back of the car with a sheet of soundproof glass. Not only is it bulletproof but it will also give you privacy to speak to the ambassador. There's a private telephone in the compartment in front of you if you need to make any outside calls. And if you need us, just dial zero.'
Mobuto nodded.
Whitlock activated the switch on the dashboard and the glass slid into place, sealing off the back and front seats of the car. He sat back and exhaled deeply. The driver glanced at him but sensed that Whitlock wasn't in the mood to talk. He switched on the radio, found a music station and followed the first limousine out of
the airport onto the Grand Central Parkway, heading towards Manhattan.
The convoy, led by a police car and two police motorcycles, made its way through Long Island City, across the Queensboro Bridge into Manhattan then down First Avenue to the United Nations Plaza, the hotel where the Zimbalan delegation would stay for the duration of their three-day visit to New York. It was situated close to the United Nations headquarters as well as being only three blocks away from the African American Institute which Mobuto had requested to see at some point during his visit. And with Mobuto due to address the United Nations' General Assembly, the locale couldn't have been better.
The convoy drew to a halt in front of the hotel; Whitlock jumped out of the limousine and looked around him slowly. The press, who had been alerted by an anonymous call to Reuters the previous day by one of the assassins, were out in force, waiting and hoping to get an exclusive of an assassination, or at least an attempted assassination, for the morning papers. Whitlock shouted at the two policemen on the motorcycles to get the photographers back a few feet to give Mobuto a chance to get out of the limousine. They immediately set about the task of pushing the jostling photographers away from the limousine. Brett and Masala flanked the back door and the other three bodyguards took up positions on the other side of the car, facing the photographers. Satisfied, Whitlock nodded to Masala who opened the back door. Mobuto climbed out slowly and turned to wave at the waiting photographers. Flashbulbs popped in-
cessantly and Whitlock found himself struggling to focus on the sea of cameras, his eyes darting about in search of anything untoward.
Suddenly one of the Zimbalan bodyguards shouted a warning and lunged at the photographers. Whitlock knocked Mobuto to the ground in the split-second before a bullet smashed into the wall behind them. The photographers scattered in panic as the bodyguard made a grab for the gunman. A second shot rang out and the bodyguard stumbled back, clutching his stomach. The other two Zimbalan bodyguards immediately drew their snub-nosed Smith & Wesson.385 and sprinted after the fleeing gunman.
The getaway driver, in a blue Ford, laid down a burst of suppressing fire, forcing the bodyguards to dive for cover. By the time they had got to their feet the gunman had jumped through the open passenger door and the wheels shrieked in protest as the car sped away from the hotel.
Whitlock mounted one of the police motorcycles, kick-started it, then slewed it violently in an ungainly one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn and took off after the getaway car. He unhooked the radio and called for backup,
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