He paused on the street and rubbed a hand over the lumps that seemed to have piled up to form his face. How could she have felt that way about him? He touched his eyes with his hand, found moisture, and wiped it away.
Dimitri Sorkofsky was called "The Rhino." He was six-foot-three and weighed 250 pounds. His Neanderthal brow belied his high intelligence. His hands were like massive paws, and yet Natasha had often called them the gentlest hands in the world. Her love for him had found beauty where there was none for others to see.
He had been so proud of her, just as he was proud of his skills, and when he reported to his superiors in the Kremlin and was told that he would be in charge of security for the Olympic Games, he was, oddly, not thrilled-first, because he thought he was simply the most qualified man for the job, and second, because Natasha was not there to share in his glory.
His superior, a man with eyebrows like black hedges, told him that a decision had been made at the highest levels on the Americans' request to send
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their own security people to protect their threatened athletes.
"And that decision is?" asked Sorkofsky.
"That decision is no. The American imperialists would only seize that opportunity to flood our country with their CIA spies."
Sorkofsky nodded, silently wondering to himself if his superior really believed that claptrap, and knowing it didn't really matter. The Americans would send agents anyway. He knew it because it was what he would have done under the same circumstances.
He was wished well in his new assignment. He had just begun to assemble a staff when he was informed again by his superior that the Americans had protested to the premier and a compromise had been reached. Another man would be added to his security force, a West German police captain named Wil-helm Bechenbauer.
"That's all right," Sorkofsky said. "I can work with him."
"You know this man?" his superior asked, suddenly suspicious.
"No. But I can work with anybody."
Captain Wilhelm Bechenbauer did not like being assigned to Russia. He did not like being away from his family that long.
His son was of high school age and his wife, a good woman quite capable of raising their twelve-year-old daughter, Helga, was not equipped to handle fifteen-year-old Hans. That boy needed the strong hand of a father.
Bechenbauer was a dapper, well-dressed, trim man of five-foot-seven whose weight never varied more than a pound from 140. He sported an impeccably trimmed mustache and he too had a nickname. He was called "The Ferret."
The Ferret was looking forward to meeting the
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Rhino, and the longer he thought about it, the more he looked forward to something else about his Moscow assignment: Russian women. He had never had a Russian woman and he was looking forward to it. At forty-six, Bechenbauer was as lusty as he had been at twenty-six, and while this pleased him, it seemed to irritate his wife. He managed, nevertheless, to make do.
Captain Bechenbauer had been in Colonel Sorkofsky's outer office for twenty minutes and he knew that it was no accident that he was being forced to wait so long. Sorkofsky was establishing their relative positions early in their relationship. Bechenbauer thought to himself that it was a needless display. He was perfectly willing to let the Russian run the show. He lit one of his favorite cigars and sat back with his legs crossed, pleased to find that the colonel's secretary was attractive. Perhaps she would be the one to introduce him to the world of Russian women.
Sorkofsky thought that half an hour was long enough to keep the West German waiting. He was about to buzz his secretary but decided to go outside and welcome Bechenbauer himself. The West German, if he was as smart as his dossier seemed to indicate, would know what Sorkofsky had done.
When he opened the door, he saw a smallish man sitting on the edge of his secretary's desk. Both were laughing. He noticed the wedding band on Bechenbauer's left hand and took an immediate dislike to the German. Away from home only one day and already looking to play love games. The colonel had never cheated on his wife, neither in life nor in death, and he detested any man who would.
"Captain Bechenbauer, I presume," he said loudly. His secretary jumped and looked sheepish. Bechenbauer looked at Sorkofsky, at the girl, and then back to the KGB colonel. He was frowning
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when he slid off her desk and approached the larger man with his hand outstretched.
"I am pleased to meet you, Colonel. I have heard many good things about you."
Sorkofsky turned away from the German's hand.
"Come inside, Captain," he said and walked to his desk. Behind him, he heard Bechenbauer whisper something to his secretary and became even more annoyed.
When Bechenbauer was in the office, Sorkofsky curtly commanded: "Sit." The West German obeyed and looked at the Russian colonel with an amused look on his face.
"We have a problem already, Colonel, and we have just met?" he asked in flawless Russian.
"It is your problem if you toss yourself onto other women the moment you are away from your wife," Sorkofsky said.
"I am sorry if I poached on your private preserve," Bechenbauer said.
For a moment, Sorkofsky did not understand the idiom, then his face reddened and he leaped to his feet.
"Miss Kamirov is my secretary and nothing more, Captain, and I object to your implication."
"Then I apologize for the implication," Bechenbauer said. "However, I do not apologize for my behavior, which is none of your business. We are here to work on a mission. I will not attempt to change your life habits and I would appreciate it if you would not attempt to change mine. I will tell you only that I love my wife in my own way. I will not discuss it further."
Sorkofsky blinked rapidly while looking at the smaller man across his desk. The German confused him. He seemed sincere about his love of his wife and yet he cheated on her. Sorkofsky threw his hands up in the air with a smile.
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"Captain, I apologize too. I did not mean to lose my temper. It does not often occur. It will not again."
Bechenbauer transferred his cigar from his right hand to his left hand, stood up and stepped up to the colonel. He extended his right hand.
"In that case, perhaps we can start again with a handshake."
Sorkofsky met the Germans' eyes again and together they smiled before shaking hands like old friends.
"Good," said Sorkofsky.
"And I want you to know that I understand you are in charge of this operation. I am here only to help you in any way I can."
"Thank you." The two men returned to their seats. "You know why you are here?"
"I know that the Americans asked permission to send their agents to protect their athletes. I know that your country refused. I know that the Americans had me designated to come in as an advisor. I also know that this is supposed to lull all you Russians to sleep so that you will never guess that American agents will be sent in anyway."
Sorkofsky grinned.
"You are very perceptive," he said.
Bechenbauer smiled back. "No problem," he said. "If the Americans run their spy system the way they run their foreign policy, we need only look for the athletes wearing trenchcoats and carrying daggers. They will be easy to find. I think our biggest problem will be keeping them out from underfoot."
"My opinion exactly," the big Russian said. "You were at Munich?"
Bechenbauer's face lost the faint smile that habitually played at the corners of his mouth. "Yes, Colonel. I wish I could tell you what the horrors of Munich were like."