“There’s something I want you to know in case anything else goes wrong,” she said. “I agreed to accompany Kurt to East Berlin because—”
“Don’t explain. It was obvious from the beginning that you weren’t some apolitical wife along for the sightseeing. The questions you asked, the notes you took.”
Kiril closed his eyes, his mind on Stepan now. On their twin cigarette lighters. On the microfilm inside. He thought of their naïveté that the information would prove to be so valuable the CIA would help Stepan defect and somehow exfiltrate Kiril to get their hands on it.
And here I am, Stepan, not far from the place where you struggled to push your lighter over the side—your final protective act.
Your end and, perhaps, my beginning. Thank you, my friend, my fellow exile.
My true brother.
As Kiril held the lighter in one hand, his fingers automatically moving back and forth over it like a talisman, Adrienne reached for his hand. Her forefinger followed the outline of outstretched wings.
“What do they stand for?” she asked.
“The black wings? Somewhere in his travels, Stepan picked up a pair of American Zippo lighters and attached the emblems himself. They represent your American eagle. It was our symbol of hope. I’ve read your Declaration of Independence many times. Is it really the freest place on earth, the United States of America?” he asked wistfully.
Shifting her body, she leaned against his, needing a contact more personal than words.
“It’s still the freest place on earth,” she whispered. “And if we want to get there, now is the time to worry about what’s happened to Kurt. What he might be up to.”
“You really believe he’d betray us?”
Before she could answer they heard footsteps. A clanging noise. Someone puttering around at the front of the cab. The driver’s door opening. The ignition being cranked. The engine turning over. They winced in unison at the thud of the driver’s door slamming shut.
Albert… the battery.
The truck was ready.
Chapter 52
“I don’t understand,” von Eyssen said in German as he paced back and forth in the East German guard house. “Why would you give the cigarette lighter to Dr. Brenner?”
“I told you. For safekeeping. He’s an American, after all.” Brenner’s emotions were on the edge of crumbling despite his pose of nonchalance. He took a long drag on his cigarette. “Brenner’s escape plan involved less risk than mine. Why is that so difficult to grasp?”
“What plan? What risk? How did you get here from the airport? Where have you been? Who helped you? Where are Brenner and his wife?”
Brenner smiled enigmatically.
“What was your plan? Swim for the other side?” von Eyssen said slowly. “You of all people should have known better. You know what’s out there. You’d probably be dead now instead of sitting here toying with me. A bullet in the back. Loss of blood from some underwater barbed wire. Maybe ripped apart by one of the dogs on a patrol boat—”
Von Eyssen couldn’t contain his fury. “God damn it, Andreyev, where is Dr. Kurt Brenner?”
“And his wife? I’ll tell you. But only if you let me walk across that bridge. I go free. You get the Americans and the cigarette lighter.”
And proof of what Aleksei and the Russkies were up to at the summit.
“Shall we stop playing games, Colonel?” Brenner said, feeding impatience into his voice. “You think I don’t know what’s at stake for you here? Letting me cross that bridge gets you a lot and costs you nothing. I’ll vanish into the West. The Americans are your problem. But you’d better decide. Brenner and his wife are almost out of your grasp.”
Von Eyssen made a lightning-quick calculation. If he acted fast, not only would the Russians be embarrassed, not only would Stepan Brodsky’s attempted escape finally be laid at the doorstep of both Andreyevs, but he would get the credit. The cherry on the cake? Von Eyssen’s superiors would be delighted.
“Now or never, Colonel,” Brenner snapped.
“How do you want to do this?” von Eyssen asked, acutely aware that Aleksei Andreyev was on his way. “Do you really think I’ll let you walk across that bridge, then wait patiently for a postcard from Paris?”
“Do you take me for a fool? We’re wasting time. My brother Aleksei will be here soon. You and I will walk side-by-side to the middle of the bridge. We stop about fifteen feet from the West Berlin side.”
“With my revolver in your ribs, don’t forget,” von Eyssen snarled. “Get on with it, man!”
“Think of it as a three-step scenario. I tell you where Brenner and his wife are. You verify it instantly. I cross the dividing line.”
And into West Berlin.
“Instantly?” von Eyssen said, incredulous.
“Instantly,” Brenner repeated. It was true enough.
“Let’s go.” Von Eyssen practically pushed Brenner out the door.
As soon as they began walking, he waved the bridge guards aside.
They were halfway to the middle when a Soviet limousine skidded into the square on the rain-soaked cobblestones at the mouth of the bridge. Out leaped Aleksei Andreyev, followed by Luka Rogov. As von Eyssen and Brenner walked toward the middle of the bridge, Aleksei and Luka froze in place.
Hearing the car, von Eyssen said under his breath, “We’re going to turn around slowly, our backs to the West.”
They turned.
“Now start walking backward very slowly,” von Eyssen ordered.
As soon as he saw the two men start to turn, Aleksei grasped what von Eyssen was up to. He’d made a deal. Set Kiril free in return for Kurt and Adrienne Brenner’s hiding place—and, most important, for the microfilm in the cigarette lighter.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Kiril will lie—who wouldn’t? And whatever else he is, von Eyssen isn’t stupid. What’s he up to? One thing is certain. They must be stopped.
Von Eyssen and Brenner continued to walk carefully backward.
Aleksei and Luka ran toward them, slipping and sliding on the wet pavement, Aleksei cursing under his breath at their slow progress.
As they closed the distance, von Eyssen said, “They’re only a few yards away, Dr. Andreyev. It’s now or never. Either you tell me where the Brenners are or I’ll blow your brains out.”
“They’re in the truck,” Brenner told him.
“Truck? What truck? Where?”
“They’re hiding in the Studebaker behind the guardhouse.”
Von Eyssen smiled. “Just in time,” he said as Andreyev and the Mongolian reached them. He raised his revolver and shot Brenner in the right eye.
Kurt Brenner’s body sank to the pavement.
“You fool!” Aleksei yelled as sirens blared and guards rushed to the bridge. “With Kiril dead, we’ve lost our only lead to the cigarette lighter!”
Von Eyssen smiled inwardly.
If you only knew how close you are to it.
Aloud, he said innocently, “You always said there was no love lost between you and your brother. Is that really why you’re so angry?”
“Frustrated, not angry. I’d have put Kiril before a firing squad once the dust settled,” Aleksei said, nudging Brenner’s head with the toe of his boot.
They saw it simultaneously—dark brown stains seeping into a puddle under Brenner’s head. A small patch of white hair slowly growing larger in the water.
“You idiot! You stupid Kraut!” Aleksei screamed. “You just shot the wrong man! You killed a famous American heart surgeon who just told the world he intended to defect to the Soviet Union!”