“Not a thing,” Ian said. “As I was saying, the shipment included over one hundred thousand quid and I don’t want to know what else-”
“How much longer until Frankfurt?” She flipped the back of his hairy neck.
He swung around and looked at her, knitting his eyebrows. “Not your typical Moscow CARE package.”
Faith made eye contact with Ian. As soon as she had his attention, she looked toward Kivisto, then the cooler.
Frosty shook his head and giggled to himself. “Slick.”
Ian reached to the center of the overhead panel and pressed a button while he slipped his other hand down to the rear of the power pedestal. He turned back toward Faith and whispered, “Rest assured, my dear, this conversation never happened.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
LUBYANKA (KGB HEADQUARTERS), MOSCOW
Colonel Bogdanov marched past Stukoi’s secretary and entered his office with only a cursory knock. Stukoi studied the urgency in her face and concluded his telephone call.
Mustering every ounce of discipline, Colonel Bogdanov shoved aside her anger and said firmly, “You didn’t trust me. I’m very disappointed.”
“We were working on a need-to-know basis, and you didn’t need to know.”
“You used me.” Her voice grew louder, slipping from her control.
“I saw to it you’re getting credit for your role.” He took a drag from his cigar.
“You set me up so I have little choice but to help this succeed.”
Stukoi opened an envelope, unfolded a letter and began reading it. “It wouldn’t be in your best interest for it to fail, now, would it?”
“Clearly not. Half the KGB and Soviet Army seems to know what’s going on. They believe I’m the lynchpin to all of it.”
“Do you have the final operational details from Kosyk?” He didn’t look up from the letter.
“Yes, but I don’t think his plan is going to work. He says we should expect to receive six kilos of the American plastic explosive C-4 containing microscopic markers linking it back to the American government. We’re to use the explosive to kill Gorbachev. The MfS plan is that we couple the forensic evidence with the fact that FedEx smuggled it into the Soviet Union to blame the Americans and justify political crackdowns here and in Eastern Europe. It might work, but it’s not a plan I want to risk my life on.”
Stukoi looked up from his mail. His glasses slid down to the end of his nose.
Bogdanov continued. “Would you buy it? We know the Americans never will. Kosyk’s aiming for public sentiment in Western Europe. He wants to split NATO enough to keep them from destabilizing the new regime, but I don’t think anyone will believe the Americans are behind it when the only body we can link is an expatriate smuggler. Europe will be outraged, and I think we can expect everyone will work against us to subvert our new regime.”
“Suggestions?”
“Yes, but I’ll have to return to Berlin at once. If all goes well, I’ll bring back a member of the US military’s elite special forces. He’s cross-trained as a Navy SEAL and an explosives expert. I’ve given him the designation Otter to protect our interest in him, even though he’s not an agent at this time. We have some surveillance pictures linking Otter and FedEx in West Berlin. We can make it look like he carried out the mission after receiving the explosives from the CIA operative FedEx. We’ll apprehend him trying to escape Moscow after murdering Gorbachev. He’s FedEx’s ex and our phone taps indicate he’s still smitten. We can use FedEx against him: her life for his confession. Then we have a swift show trial and you know the rest.”
“Excellent. Someday we’re going to have to have a talk about your choice in code names. We can always tell which agents are yours. Too much flair.”
“My style works for me,” Bogdanov said.
Stukoi shoved his glasses up and returned to reading his mail. “I’d feel more comfortable if you’d stick around in Moscow and have your staff pick up Otter and ship him here.”
“Too risky. I have to be the one to approach him personally. I know enough about his old girlfriend to enlist his cooperation initially. The last thing we want right now is problems with the Americans for the botched kidnapping of a Navy officer.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Death solves all problems. No man, no problem.
– STALIN
FRANKFURT AM MAIN AIRPORT, WEST GERMANY
Resnick stood in front of the center seat in the coach cabin of the Pan Am 727, watching and waiting for the cockpit door to open. As the other passengers crowded the aisle, he smiled and motioned for them to go ahead of him. He was helping a grandmother remove her old-fashioned overnight case from the overhead compartment when he saw light coming from the front of the plane. “I carry it for you. Very heavy,” he said in accented German, certain this was the quickest way to move her along so she wouldn’t slow him down.
“That’s very sweet of you, young man. Is this your first time in Frankfurt?”
“No, ma’am. I’m a guest worker. Since fifteen years.” Resnick slowed as he entered the first-class cabin and saw his mark step from the flight deck. He kept his head and upper body bowed as he chatted with the woman.
“Where are you from, young man?”
“Poland-Krakow. Same as the pope.” Resnick followed the flight crew down the jetway. As soon as they were at the gate, he presented the woman with her case. He kissed her hand as he wished her a pleasant stay, allowing the flight crew to get a few more meters ahead of him.
The huge arrivals and departures board clicked and growled as the letters and numbers flipped around, updating the information. Resnick stalked the crew through the bustling Frankfurt airport, always careful to remain anonymous. One of the crew juggled FedEx’s cooler along with his own case. He noted that Kivisto’s head turned each time they passed a telephone. The snitch was probably repeating the contact number that Resnick himself had given him five years before.
The group stopped at the inconspicuous door to the Pan Am airport operations center. Resnick fell back. He spotted a newspaper on a bank of chairs, grabbed it and took up a position across from the entrance to the ops center. He pretended to read the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung.
One of the crew punched in a code for the door. Seven, two, seven, three-Resnick made a mental note. FedEx hugged and kissed two of the crew members good-bye, then nodded to Kivisto. She walked away, leaving the cooler in care of the crewman with the peppery white hair. The crew disappeared behind the security door into the restricted operations center and FedEx ducked into the ladies’ room. With tradecraft like that, no wonder Titov thought she needed a chaperone.
Resnick turned the page of the newspaper. He had run Kivisto for a year and hundreds of others like him over the last fifteen years. He knew his rats. Any moment Kivisto would tell his crewmates he needed to buy a present for a niece or go for a walk and he’d dash to the nearest pay phone to cash in on his information.
Before Resnick could finish reading about Bayer Leverkusen’s injured goalie, Kivisto emerged from the door. His rat was beginning to run the maze. Kivisto hurried to the first shop he passed, a pharmacy, and went inside, probably to get change for a phone call. The shops along that corridor had no other public exits, and Kivisto was not one to dare push his way into the back room to find a service exit. Trusting his mark would reappear, Resnick continued reading the soccer article, all the while monitoring the concourse. Then he saw something unexpected.
A Pan Am stewardess walked out of the WC. In all the time he had been sitting there, an attendant from Lufthansa and two from British Airways had gone inside, but no one from Pan Am. He studied her as she wheeled her flight bag in front of him. He raised his newspaper, but not before he saw the jolt of recognition in her eyes. She approached the Pan Am operations door and entered the security code. So FedEx’s tradecraft was better than he’d thought.