“Yes” the president had said. He turned and looked out the bowed windows into the rose garden. During his brief tenure as DCI he had thought that his was the most difficult job in the world. He knew better now. The difference was that anyone except for the president was allowed to make a mistake. Ten hours ago he had called Party Secretary Gorbachev on the hot line. Had that been a mistake? Had he given away an advantage? The Soviet leader had a lot more experience, and he had proven himself to be an adept, capable administrator. But he was one tough sonofabitch across the bargaining table. And he understood the balance of power as well as or better than anyone in government anywhere. “A situation hag developed that you should be aware of, Mr. President. “Yes, Mr. President, what is it we can do for each other”
“A number of Soviet naval and, we presume, intelligence officers have been killed in an incident off the coast of Syria a few hours ago. One of them has been identified as Major Arkady Aleksandrovich Kurshin” “I see” Gorbachev said, a hard edge to his voice. “Major Kurshin and ten other men, whom we are assuming worked with or for him, managed to steal one of our cruise missiles. They were about to launch it when they were stopped. All of them are dead”
“What was the target of this missile”
“I think we can safely assume it was somewhere within Israel”
“And the bodies of these Soviet citizens”
“They have been taken to the morgue at the military hospital in Tel Aviv. Once autopsies have been performed, I believe the intention is to turn them over to your government”
There was a longish pause on the line. When Gorbachev came back his voice sounded very guarded and even tired. “I will admit to you, Mr. President, that I had no knowledge of this. I assume your intelligence is accurate”
“I believe so”
“Then I will find out what has happened. The Soviet government does not engage in acts of terrorism. “Nor does my government”
Again there was a heavy silence on the line for a second or two.
“Elements of your Sixth Fleet appear to be engaged in a search and rescue mission, Mr. President. Is there any connection between that activity and this alleged act of terrorism”
“Your Black Sea Fleet is also in the region, Mr. President. I would sincerely hope that there is no connection. We would take that very gravely, “Yes” Gorbachev said. “Moderation, Mr. President”
“And caution, Mr. President”
The intercom on the president’s desk buzzed. Had it been a mistake calling Gorbachev? If it had been, it was his own, and he would answer for it. He flipped the switch. “Yes”
“General Murphy is here, Mr. President”
“Send him in” Murphy came in a moment later. He looked worn out. it was as if he had aged ten years in the last couple of days. “Good evening, Mr. President” he said, crossing the room.
“General” the president said, motioning him to a chair. “You said time was of the essence”
“Yes, sir. And it may already be too late”
Something clutched at the president’s gut. “What’s the situation”
“I’ve had our people in Moscow keeping their ears open ever since this … situation came up. It was they who learned about Baranov’s movements in and out of Moscow, and it was they who came up with what little information we had on Arkady Kurshin.
“They’ve been discreet? Especially in view of the present circumstances”
“Yes, Mr. President, they have taken extra precautions. I just learned that two Moscow Militia officers were sent to East Berlin with orders to arrest Baranov” The president stiffened. “Are you sure of this, Roland”
“Yes, Sir”
“What are the charges”
“Treason” It was Gorbachev. The man had been as good as his word. But this now changed everything. “McGarvey will have to be recalled”
“I agree, Mr. President. If he happened to run into those two cops, and something should happen “
“Yes. I want him out of there immediately”
“I’ve sent John Trotter to West Berlin to see what can be done”
“What are you saying to me, Roland? What’s to be done is to recall him.
If you have to use another network inside East Germany, then do it. Just get him out of there”
“That’s just it, Mr. President, we’re not sure he’s in East Germany. He was supplied with Russian identification papers to make his crossing easier. He also had an automobile with East German plates. The car has not crossed into East Herlin”
“Nor has anyone using the papers McGarvey was issued”
“No, Sir”
“How do you see this, Roland”
“He’s either decided not to cross for the moment, for whatever reason.
Or he’s already gotten across using another set of identity papers, in which case he has effectively put himself out of reach” The president felt the cold thrill of fear in his chest. “Why would he have decided to change plans like that”
“He has a habit of doing things his own way, Mr. President. But I don’t know his reasons in this instance”
The lights in the house were out. Baranov stood in the mostly dark stairhall, well away from the open front door, listening to the night sounds. McGarvey was out there somewhere, he told himself as he stared down toward the lake. He was coming. The great destroyer was coming. But he was late. Baranov glanced at his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. Nemchin, standing across the hall at the window, glanced over at him. “Perhaps he will not be coming after all, Comrade Colonel. It was well after midnight. Baranov looked up, a tight little smile on his features. “Oh, he will be here, Sergei Sergeevich.
“How can you be certain” Baranov’s smile deepened. “Because he and I have had this appointment with each other for a number of years now. He won’t fail to keep it”
“Perhaps he’s drowned in the lake, Comrade Colonel We won’t know until morning when we can send a boat out”
Baranov had considered that possibility. But the more he thought about it, and about McGarvey, the more he was certain that the American would not be destroyed so easily. He is like a fox, that one. Sly. More clever than a Russian. There was an old peasant proverb: The Russian is clever, but it comes slowly-all the way from the back of his head. McGarvey wasn’t like that. He was a man of action. A man who well understood and accepted his destiny. In that way he was much like Arkasha. Only better.
He was coming all right. “Keep a sharp watch” Baranov said. “I’ll be down in a minute. Nemchin nodded as Baranov turned and went upstairs to Lorraine Abbott’s bedroom. The upstairs hall was in deeper darkness, but when he opened the bedroom door he could see her pale figure in the dim light filtering in from outside. She was nude, and she lay spread-eagle on the bed, her ankles and wrists tied to the bedposts. He had taped her mouth so that she could not cry out, and he had patiently calmed her down, giving her the instructions, he’d told her, that would save her life. “Move so much as a muscle, Doctor Abbott, and you will die”
Baranov had said. He remained at the doorway, not wishing to approach any closer. It was possible, the thought had crossed his mind, that she might wish to kill herself in an effort to kill him. Working patiently and very carefully, he had strapped ten ounces of plastique explosives to her thighs, the edge of the gray, puttylike material just touching her pubis. The plastique was wired to a small battery through a simple contact switch that he had taped to the small of her long, slender back.
If she moved, the plastique would explode, blowing the entire bottom half of her torso away. If McGarvey got this far, he would want to help her. But the moment he did so the woman would certainly die, and he would at least be severely injured, if not completely incapacitated.