"You speak excellent Russian, Major. And I am but a lowly captain, to
answer your question. Captain Dmitri Rykov."
"What are you doing so far from home, Captain?"
"Am I so far from home?" Rykov asked gamely. "A debatable point.
But I'm protecting the interests of my country, of course."
The young man's candor was an unveiled threat. "I see," Harry said
warily. "I also note that we have a mutual friend," he observed, trying
to shift the focus away from himself. I In the foyer Klaus turned
deathly pale.
"Yes," Rykov agreed, giving Klaus a predatory I glance.
"This is proving to be an enlightening evening. Take his gun, Andrei.
No foolish heroics please, Klaus. It's not your style."
The East German slumped against the foyer wall, his pistol hanging
slack. He looked broken, already resigned to the grisly fate that
undoubtedly awaited him in Moscow. Corporal Andrei Ivanov moved to
disarm him.
"As you can see, Major," Rykov continued, "you've stumbled upon us at a
most inopportune time. I'll certainly speak to my superiors about it,
but I suspect that your unfortunate timing may cost you your life-"
Before Andrei could reach the unfortunate Klaus, the East German raised
the Makarov to his own temple and fired.
The sheer madness of the act stunned everyone, causing a moment of
confusion. In desperation Harry bolted for the door. He had his
fingers on the brass door handle when someone peppered the wall beside
him with a burst from a silenced machine pistol.
"Don't move, Major!" Captain Rykov ordered, his voice strained but
even.
Harry let his fingers fall from the handle. He turned around slowly. In
the time it had taken him to reach the door, the Russians behind him had
been transformed from a quiet group of social acquaintances into a squad
of paramilitary soldiers moving in concert to control the unexpected
emergency. Two men knelt over Klaus's body, checking for signs of life;
two others covered the front and rear windows of the house.
Rykov issued orders.
"Yuri, get the car. Major, move back into the room. Now!"
Rykov tapped the shoulder of a young man leaning over Klaus's corpse.
"Leave him, Andrei. Touch nothing. Klaus was a traitor; he deserved a
coward's death. Leave the gun in his hand. We couldn't have set this
up better ourselves."
"Shouldn't we take him along?" Andrei asked. "The Kriminalpolizei
aren't stupid."
Rykov's eyes gleamed. "Ideally, I suppose. But we won't have room for
him."
"What about the weapons compartment?"
"The major will be in there." Rykov turned to Harry.
You don't want to spend the next hour hugging a corpse, do you, Major?"
Harry's mind raced. If this Russian intended to kidnap an American army
officer from the heart of tightly controlled West Berlin, something very
big indeed was going on. And to Harry's mind, that something could only
be the events at Spandau Prison.
"Kosov won't like this," he said, remembering seeing the Russian colonel
at Abschnitt 53 this morning. "You better take some time to think,
Captain."
Rykov smiled. "You're very clever, Major."
The sound of an engine rumbled through the front door.
"That's Yuri," said Rykov. "All right, Major, let's go."
Harry didn't move.
"Conscious or unconscious, I don't care. But I must tell you, it's
never quite as clean as the movies when you bash someone in the back of
the head with a pistol."
Harry moved. He couldn't warn Colonel Rose if he was dead.
It was only a few steps from the front door to the car, a black Mercedes
190. The Russians crowded close around him all the way.
There's got to be a way out, thought Harry.
Got to be. I've got to warnDmitri Rykov slammed the butt of his
Skorpion machine pistol into the base of Harry's skull. He heard a dull
thud but no crunch. "Americans are so gullible," he said, laughing.
"Lucky for this one he has a wooden head."
Corporal Ivanov looked distressed. "Are you sure we shouldn't just kill
him here?" he said anxiously. "Make it look like some illegal
business, perhaps a homosexual tryst?"
"I'm in command here," Rykov snapped, losing a bit of his earlier
control. "I'll do the thinking."
"Yes, sir. I was only thinking of Colonel Kosov. If he doesn't
approve-"
"I know what Kosov wants, Corporal. Did he not choose me for command?
We may need this American later as a bargaining chip."
Rykov's voice softened. "Andrei, the other team is running down
Sergeant Apfel's wife as we speak.
Kosov is with them. Do you want us to return to East Berlin
empty-handed?"
Ivanov did not look entirely convinced, but he said no more.
Lying half-conscious at their feet, Harry slipped a hand into his inside
coat pocket, fished out a white business card, and let it fall.
There was no name on it-only a telephone number. As the Russians lifted
him into the Mercedes, he glanced down. He saw his own blood, but the
white card had already vanished against the snow.
10.31 Pm. LieLzensee Park, British Sector
"Once again," Ivan Kosov said, struggling to keep his voice steady.
"Where did the girl get out?"
Pressed into the corner of the taxi's rear seat, Eva Beers scowled and
said nothing. Her hands were tied behind her head with her own
stockings. The young Russian called Misha had twice smashed her right
cheek with his gloved fist, but so far Eva had refused to speak.
"Misha," Kosov growled.
The interior of the taxi echoed with the force of the third blow.
A large purplish bruise was already visible beneath the thick patina of
makeup Eva wore. In 'the front seat beside Kosov, Ernst the cabbie
slumped unconscious over the wheel of his old Mercedes.
"I have no time for your stupid loyalty, woman," Kosov said. "If you
don't answer this time, this zealous young man will have to slit the
throat of your sleepy old hero. You don't want that, do you?"
Misha drew a long-bladed stiletto from an ankle sheath and brandished it
under Eva's chin.
"I think he's quite eager to use that," observed Kosov.
"Aren't you, Misha?"
Eva saw feral eyes glinting in the dark.
"Now, where did Frau Apfel get out?"
Eva struggled to think through the pain of the blows and her growing
apprehension that she would not survive the night. How long had Ernst
evaded the black sedan? Two minutes? Three? With his taxi finally
trapped in the deadend lane beside the Lietzensee lake, the old cabbie
had done his best to fend the Russians off, but the young KGB agents had
simply been too agile for him. How far could Ilse have gotten in that
time?
Without warning Misha savagely thrust his knee into Eva's left breast,
crushing it"All right!" she gasped.
The pressure eased a little. "You have regained your memory?"
Kosov asked.
Perhaps they'll spare Ernst, Eva thought. Swine. "We stopped two or
three blocks back," she whispered. "
When we rounded a corner. Ilse
jumped out there."
"Sko'lka?" asked Kosov. "Two blocks or three? Which is it?"
Again Misha jabbed his knee forward. "Stop!" Eva begged.
"Please!" She could fight no more, but she could fire a last covering
shot. "Three blocks," she lied, laboring for breath. "The Seehof Hotel
... by the lake. She ran inside."
Kosov nodded. "That wasn't so difficult, was it?"
Eva gulped air like a landed fish.
Kosov sighed angrily, debating with himself. How in hell was he
supposed to find the Spandau papers? Three times Moscow had signaled
him, each time telling him just a little more about the Hess case,
doling out information like scraps of meat to a dog. Names without
physical descriptions, dates of events Kosov had never heard of. And 4t
the center of it all, apparently, a one-eyed man who had no name.
Kosov could make no sense of it. And of course that was how Moscow
wanted it.
"Now that you're talking," he said amiably, "I have one more question.
Did Frau Apfel mention any names in connection with what her husband
found?"
"No," Eva groaned. "She told me someone was after her, that's all. I
didn't ask-" Unbelievably, Misha's knee buried itself still deeper into
Eva's chest. The pain was excruciating. She felt as if she were going
to vomit. "Please!" she choked.
The pressure relented just enough for her to take a shallow breath.
Kosov heaved a bearlike shoulder over the front seat and bellowed,
"Names, woman! Names are what I want!
Did Frau Apfel mention the name Zinoviev to you? Do you hear me?
Z-1-N-0-V-1-E-V. It's a Russian name. Did ghe mention it?"
Eva shook her head violently. She had passed the point of being able to
lie, and something in her eyes must have shown it. After several
moments Kosov nodded, and Misha removed his knee from her chest. The
old colonel's face softened.
"Unlike my young friend," he murmured, "I do not believe in needless
killing. However, if you are lying-that is, if we do not find Frau
Apfel, or if you feel the sudden urge to speak to the authorities-well,
quite obviously we know where to find you. And we will find you. I
would send Misha personally. Do you understand?"
Eva lay as still as she could. The animals were going to let her live.
"Ja, " she breathed.
"Good." Kosov climbed out of the old taxi. "Misha, a reminder."
With an expert flick of his stiletto, the young KGB agent opened a
two-inch gash along Eva's left cheek. Eva shrieked in pain. Misha
grinned, watching her struggle in vain to reach the wound and stop the
bleeding. As the young Russian backed out of the taxi, Kosov's hard
face appeared in the front window.
"Free her hands," he ordered.
Cursing quietly, Misha slashed the stockings over Eva's head. But
instead of getting out of the car, he thrust his hand viciously beneath
Eva's skirt and clenched her pubic mound in a clawlike fist. With
flashing eyes he leaned close so that Kosov couldn't hear. "When I find
your little friend," he snarled, "the pretty one-she's going to bleed,
old woman.
Everywhere." He wrenched his hand away, tearing hair and skin as he
backed out of the taxi.
Shaking like an epileptic, Eva turned away and tried to stanch the flow
of blood from her lacerated face. She heard Kosov's BMW skid around and
speed down the Lietzenseelifer in the direction of the Seehof Hotel.
"Screw you," she spat. "Swine. You'll never find her." Slowly she
leaned forward and put her bloody hand to the old cabbie's forehead.
"Ernst, are you all right? Poor darling, you fought well for an old
soldier. Wake up for Eva."
The old man didn't move.
If only some of my old friends were here, Eva lamented.
That young pig's balls would be meat for the dogs.
Ernst groaned and jerked forward in his seat. "Wo sind she!" he cried,
flailing his arms"They're gone," Eva said, soothing his forehead with a
knowing hand. "All gone. You can take me home now, my brave knight.
We'll mend our scratches together."
10.33 Pm. South African Airspace: 100 kin Northeast of Pretoria The
JetRanger helicopter stormed northward beneath a moonless African sky,
startling flocks of black heron, spooking herds of impala and zebra
gathered around the waterholes on the veld below. Inside the chopper's
luxurious cabin, Alfred Horn sat gripping the arms of his wheelchair,
which was bolted to the carpeted deck by specially designed fittings.
Pieter Smuts, Horn's Afrikaner security chief, leaned closer to his
master and spoke above the low beating drone of the rotor blades.
"I wanted to wait until we were airborne to tell you, sir."
The old man nodded slowly. "What is so important that you don't even
trust your own security?"
"We've received the new figures from Britain, sir. The American
figures. They were delivered by courier just an hour ago."
"The Bikini figures?"
"More than that. Sixty-five percent of American test data from Eniwetok
Atoll in 'fifty-two up to the test ban in 'sixty-three." The Afrikaner
shook his head. "Sir, you can't imagine what a one megaton surface
blast will actually do."
"Yes, I can, Pieter."
"It leaves a crater one mile across and sixteen stories deep.
Christ, we've got the design, the plants ... If we had six months, we
could probably divert-"
"What do these figures tell you about our current resources?"
"The blast effects will be greater than we predicted. Using round
figures, a forty-kiloton air burst should vaporize everything within
three kilometers of ground zero. Intense heat will incinerate anything
for a five-kilometer radius beyond that. And the resulting winds and
fires will wreak havoc for a considerable distance beyond those already
mentioned."
"And the fallout?" Horn asked.
"Twenty percent higher than we predicted."
Horn digested this without emotion. "And these figures ... you believe
they are more reliable than our own?"
"Sir, except for the secret Indian Ocean test, all South African figures
are purely theoretical. By definition they are predictions.
The American figures represent verified data."
Horn nodded thoughtfully. "Apply them to our scenario."
"Everything depends on the target, sir. Obviously, groundzero at the
center of Tel Aviv or Jerusalem would obliterate either city. But if
the weapon were used at the right time, its effects could be greatly
enhanced, possibly even doubled, by a collateral factor: the weather."
"How?"
"By the wind, sir. At this time of year the prevailing winds in Israel
blow southeast. If the weapon were detonated in Jerusalem, the fallout
would probably dissipate over Jordan. But if it were detonated inTel
Aviv, not only would it obliterate the city, but it might well spread a
lethal blanket of strontium-90 over Jerusalem within one or two hours."
Horn closed his eyes and sighed with satisfaction. "And if we get
the
cobalt-seeded bomb case in time?"
The Afrikaner turned his palms upward. "We won't, sir.
Not sooner than twenty days. The technical problems are formidable."
"But if we did get it?"
Smuts pursed his lips. "With a cobalt-seeded bomb case and the revised
yield figures, I'd say ... sixty percent of the Israeli population would
be dead within fourteen days, and Palestine would be rendered
uninhabitable for at least a decade."
Horn let out a long sigh. "Increase the bounty, Pieter. Five million
rand in gold to the team that delivers a cobalt bomb case within seven
days."
"Yes, sir."
"Do we have any further information on the Israeli doctrinal response?"
Smuts shook his head. "Our London source dried up after we requested
the American satellite photos. Frankly, I don't even trust his initial
reports on that subject."
"Why?"
"Do you really think Israel would target Russian cities?"
Horn smiled. "Of course. It's the only way the Jews could win a war
against a united Arab force. They must be able to prevent Soviet
resupply of the Arabs, and the only way they can do that is to blackmail
the Soviets. What do they have to lose by doing so?"
"But the deployment plan for Israel's nuclear arsenal is the most
closely guarded secret in the world. How could our London source,know
what he claims to know?"
Horn smiled. "Not the most closely guarded secret, Pieter.
No one has yet proved that South Africa's nuclear arsenal even exists."
"Thanks in no small part to us," Smuts observed. The Afrikaner began
cracking his knuckles. "The Russian matter aside, I think we can safely
assume that if Tel Aviv or Jerusalem were destroyed, Israel would go
beyond a measured response. If they knew the source of the attack, they
would respond with a significant portion of their 'black' bomber and
missile forces."
"They will know the source of the attack," Horn rasped.
"There is one unpredictable factor," Smuts said carefully.
"If our clients were to detonate the weapon at Dimona, Israel's
weapons-production plant, there is a slight chance that the rest of the
world might believe the explosion to be a genuine Israeli accident.
The Americans might coerce the Jews into waiting until an outside
investigation was completed.
By that time cooler heads might prevail."