“No mistakes now. I want this perfectly clear between us. My orders are to assassinate Valentin Baranov, the director of the KGB. Is that correct”
“Yes it is. From the president himself”
“Who else knows”
“What do you mean”
“Besides the president, General Murphy, you, and me, who else knows that I’m going across the border tonight to kill him”
“I don’t know. The president’s advisers, possibly the secretary of state”
“How about in the Agency? Is Larry Danielle in on it”
“Yes, I’m sure he “
“Van Cleeve” McGarvey asked. He was deputy director of intelligence.
“Phil Carrara” He was DDO, Trotter’s boss. “Phil, yes. But I don’t know about Howard. What are you getting at” Again McGarvey stared at his friend for a long time. They had been through a lot together; too much?
“Someone is selling us out to the Russians. Selling me. Baranov knows every move I make. They’re the ones who would be in the right position to know”
“And me, Kirk” Trotter said. “Don’t forget about me” His eyes were wide and naked behind his thick glasses. He looked like a scarecrow. His clothes hung loosely on his thin frame. “Do all of them know the details of my crossing, and about the equipment at the boathouse”
“Some of it. But you don’t have to do this. Just say no, Kirk. Everyone will understand. Good Lord, you’ve certainly done your bit. You’ve saved their ass twice now-at Ramstein, and aboard the Stephos. They’ve got no right to ask for more” McGarvey managed a slight smile. “But you and they were right all along, John. This is a vendetta. The man has to be destroyed, or else he will destroy us all”
“There are other ways. There will be another time”
“Have you still got the Kurshin identification? I can still use it.
There’s no way for Baranov to be certain yet that Kurshin is actually dead”
“I’ve got it, Kirk. But not now. Please. Especially not now for you”
The half-smile left McGarvey’s face. “What is it, John? What aren’t you telling me this time” Trotter stepped back almost as if he were suddenly afraid of McGarvey. His face was contorted with dismay. “I’m sorry … I “What is it”
“Murphy told me to keep my mouth shut”
“This is us talking now, John. You and I. Come on”
“It’s Lorraine Abbott” Trotter blurted. McGarvey’s heart skipped a beat.
“She’s at the hotel in West Berlin. Your people are watching her”
“No” Trotter whispered. ““Where is she”
“We don’t know for sure. Not yet”
“John, god damnit, talk to me”
“Kirk, she disappeared from the hotel a few hours after you had gone across. We think that Baranov took her. She’s probably at the Grosser Mijggelsee house with him now. As bait”
A black rage threatened to engulf him, blotting out all reason and sanity. But he held on. “Why wasn’t I told” he asked, his voice low, menacing. “It was thought that stopping Kurshin and recovering the Tomahawk missile were more important
“By whom, John? Who thought that”
“The president. General Murphy” One of the names dropped off the Mossad list of suspected penetration agents. “Were you going to let me go across tonight without telling me, John? Has it gone that far”
“No, I swear it. If I couldn’t talk you out of crossing, I promised myself that I’d tell you”
McGarvey believed him, though he no longer knew if he believed in the man.
“I’m going across. I’ll kill Baranov and I’ll bring Lorraine back with me” McGarvey looked directly into Trotter’s eyes. “If anyone gets in my way, John, anyone, I’ll kill them too” Trotter swallowed hard. He nodded. “When Baranov is dead, I’ll return to Washington and finish the job. And I don’t care who you tell that to”
It was night. Valentin Illen Baranov stood at the water’s edge gazing across the lake toward the mostly dark southern shore. His mouth was foul from too many cigarettes, and most of his outward passion had been spent on his attack against Lorraine Abbott.
There would be no permanent scars, at least not on her delicate body, but the encounter would be something she would never forget for the rest of her life. The fire, however, still burned brightly within his breast.
The great destroyer was finally coming. He had received the telephone call less than an hour ago, confirming the fact that McGarvey had come to Athens and was presently enroute to West Berlin. There was no doubt what his plans were. He would come across the border using falsified documents that would identify him as Arkady Kurshin. He could not know that his cache of equipment in the boathouse had been discovered and had been tampered with. Yenikeev had filed down a crucial part within the rebreather’s regulator valve, making it very likely that it would fail, and McGarvey would drown. If, by some chance, the man survived that, and brought the AK74 ashore with him, he would be in for another surprise.
Yenikeev had removed the assault rifle’s firing pin, rendering it useless. In a very large way, Baranov fervently hoped that McGarvey would make it this far. He wanted to see the man’s face with his own eyes. He wanted to look at the devil at the moment of his death. For thirty years Baranov had made his plans, had bided his time when necessary, and leapt forward when it was possible. From Mexico to Cuba, from Czechoslovakia and Hungary to Laos and Vietnam, from Poland to Afghanistan, his touch had been felt. At home he had patiently consolidated his power, his cause getting an unexpected boost when that moderate fool, Gorbachev, had become party secretary with his prattle about perestroika and glasnost. There were still enough men in positions of power within the Rodina who distrusted that bastard. The shift of power would have happened this year. There would have been a bloodless coup. Would have been … except for one man; Depending upon what was waiting for him back in Moscow, the takeover could be delayed for years.
But McGarvey was coming here. This very night. It was going to give Baranov the greatest of pleasures to spit in his face when he was finally dead. A dark figure appeared out of the woods to his left.
Baranov flinched and started to step’back before he realized that it was Yevgeni Mikhailovich Kedrov, the chief of his six-man bodyguard contingent. “Comrade Chairman, you have a visitor at the house” Kedrov called softly.
“Who is it” Baranov demanded. He’d half expected some of those fools from the Horst Wessel to come out here. The conference had gone as he had expected it would, even though he had been preoccupied with his own thoughts. “A Militia captain” Baranov’s eyes narrowed. “From where”
The Militia were the Soviet Union’s civilian police. “Moscow. He says he’s come here on orders to arrest you, sir. For a moment Baranov could hardly believe his own ears. But then everything fell into place for him. Of course the American president would have called Gorbachev after the debacle in the Med. There had been no proof linking that operation to the KGB … no hard proof, that is. But Gorbachev would have instigated an investigation nonetheless. He glanced again toward the opposite shore. “Keep a sharp watch here, Yevgeni Mikhailovich. He’ll be coming across tonight”
“Yes, Comrade Chairman. But what about that Militia captain”
“Not to worry. I’ll take care of it. Who is up there with him” Sergei.
“Where are the others”
“Dmitri and Leonty are on the road by the gate. Gennadi and Rotislav are here in the woods with me” The house was Perched on the crest of the hill overlooking the lake. on the other side of the hill was a broad swampy area thick with underbrush and brambles. McGarvey was coming, and he was coming from across the lake. There was no doubt of it. “Keep your eyes open” Baranov said again and he started up the path to the house, its lights visible through the woods. On the way up he felt in his jacket pocket for the reassuring bulk of his pistol, and he smiled. The fools had sent a Militia captain out here to arrest him. it was ludicrous. He would return to Moscow, all right, but under his own power and in his own good time. Once there, they would never dare to arrest him. The Lubyanka was a fortress in more than one way, with its many dark secrets. Once home they would not touch him. They could not. A Mercedes 240D was parked on the driveway in front of the house. A man sat behind the wheel. Baranov angled over to the car. As he approached, the car door opened and the man got out. He looked young and very nervous. “You are Captain …” Baranov demanded. “No, Comrade. I am Lieutenant Lubyanov” the young man said. The irony of the man’s last name was rare just at this moment, but Baranov suppressed a smile. “Your captain is in the house”