"He did it, didn't he?" she whispered softly.
Carter nodded. "I think so. The shooter was good, too good to miss. I don't think he missed. I think Voigt can tell me for sure, and if Hessler hired the shooter, I think we've got a motive."
She trembled. "The bastard."
Carter snapped off the light and touched her shoulder gently. She came against him willingly, wantonly.
"You're sure?" he rasped into the side of her neck.
"I'm sure," she murmured.
Carter felt her move over him, felt the warmth of her lips and then her whole mouth.
"Relax," she said. "Remember, I know exactly what I'm doing."
Nine
"We have worked him in teams all night, Herr Colonel."
Balenkov scraped a little more beard off the right side of his face before he spoke. "And he has told you nothing beyond his name, rank, and serial number."
"What, Herr Colonel?"
"Nothing. What does he say?"
"He claims to be what his papers say he is, and he demands to call his embassy."
The colonel nodded at his own reflection in the mirror and wiped the lather from his face. "It figures. It will be impossible to trip him up. What he has is too strong."
The lieutenant held the older man's uniform tunic. "Should we employ persuasion?"
"We may have to, but only as a last resort. No, I think in Herr Klein/Klauswitz's case, we shall try reason."
Balenkov didn't elaborate, and the Stasis lieutenant didn't question him further. The two men left the Russian's rather Spartan apartment and descended to the waiting Chaika.
"Your office. Comrade Colonel?"
"Nyet. Kempelstoff."
The high-domed black car pulled from the curb onto Karl Marx Strasse, heading for Lichtenberg and East Berlin's top security prison.
The lieutenant started to make conversation, but Balenkov quieted him with a slight wave of his hand. The colonel's mind was working, going over every facet of information they had gleaned on the previous day's events in the West.
He already had a theory that had been partially confirmed by Moscow the previous evening. But putting the rest of it together was a puzzle of several pieces.
Eventually he pulled memos, notes, files, and a pad from his briefcase. Diligently he went through every scrap of information and jotted more notes as he read.
By the time they reached the prison, Balenkov was fairly sure he could make a reasonable case.
Carter managed to shower, shave, dress, and slip from the room without awakening Lisa Berrington.
He stopped by the desk on the way to the dining room. "Any calls or messages for Room Seven-fourteen, Carter?"
"Nein, mein Herr."
Over toast, juice, and coffee, Carter jotted down questions he would like to have the answers for from Stephan Conway. It was almost nine when he paid his check and returned to the front desk.
"Still nothing, Herr Carter."
"Danke." He turned, and practically ran into Bruchner.
"Inspector Vintner is in the car."
"I'll only be a second," Carter replied. "One call."
The AXE operator hit the scrambler connect the instant he mentioned his name, and seconds later a raspy-voiced Marty Jacobs was on the line.
"I hope you got some sleep."
"A little, not much," Carter replied, remembering the almost insatiable demands Lisa had made on his sore body earlier. "How far along are we?"
"Set. Of course we'll have to be a little circumspect in the daylight hours. The real action won't start until tonight. That is, if it's a go."
Carter could tell from the nervousness in the man's voice that he hoped Carter's answer would be negative.
"It's a go… all the way."
"Oh, Christ."
"Cheer up, Marty. Whatever your boys get, we'll donate to your favorite charity."
"You know, of course, that we are breaking the laws of a friendly country."
"So are the Voigts. I'll ring you for a progress report this afternoon."
Besides the driver and Bruchner, there was a young blond stenographer who looked all business. Carter was introduced as he slid into the back seat, and Vintner answered the Killmaster's eyeball question with a nod: it was okay to talk.
"Anything new?"
"Damned little, "the chief inspector replied. "The F1 was ripped off from a French military armory in Marseilles. We did a roundup, but so far all the pros we've brought in for questioning have tight alibis. I think what we need is something that will shake the street up, get some answers."
Carter smiled. "I think I have a way of doing that that you don't have."
He elaborated, and then held his breath until a broad smile spread across Vintner's face. "I'll give Reimer the word from the ambassador to have his people go blind."
"I think it will work." Carter said.
"So do I. Of course, I haven't heard a word you've said."
"Of course." Carter handed the man the list of questions he had made over breakfast. "I'd rather have you ask those. I think it better, at this point, that Conway not know who I am."
"Herr Vintner?" It was Bruchner from the front seat.
"Ja?"
"The radio… evidently a terrorist attack in the drive of a private residence in Grunewald. Two vehicles were bombed, no one injured."
Vintner started to reach for the radiophone connection in the back seat, and suddenly stopped. "Find out who owned the vehicles!"
"Ja." Bruchner went back to his headset, and seconds later he turned toward the rear seat. "A late-model Mercedes and a new Rolls-Royce, both registered to Erich Voigt."
"Tell the section police to handle it."
"Ja, mein Herr."
Vintner turned to Carter and grinned. "Your people don't waste any time."
"Herr Klein, I am Colonel Volatoy Balenkov."
Dieter Klauswitz ignored the outstretched hand and rose to his full height. His eyes were watery and red from lack of sleep, but there was grim determination in his face.
"Colonel, as an American citizen I demand that I be allowed to contact my embassy."
"In due time. Herr Klein." Balenkov sat and began arranging his papers.
"I also demand an inspection of my jacket."
"Your jacket?"
"Yes. I believe the lining of my jacket was opened, the GDR notes inserted, and the jacket resewn."
"Who would do that, Herr Klein?"
"Probably the maids at the hotel, at your order."
"I see you have very little respect for us, Herr Klein."
"I have none at all."
One eyebrow arched sharply. "I must remind you where you are…"
"You need hardly do that. I've known I was in a police state from the moment I passed through Checkpoint Charlie."
"Why did you enter East Germany, Herr Klein?"
"I have a ticket on Aeroflot for London."
There are flights to London from West Berlin."
"I was curious."
"I see." The man was good, Balenkov thought; he bluffed well. The colonel only hoped he could be bluffed. "Please sit down, mein Herr. I wish you to read something, and then perhaps we can discuss a theory of mine."
Reluctantly, the blond man sat down and accepted the paper-clipped file folder. Balenkov watched his face closely, and cursed to himself when there wasn't a blink, an eyebrow raised, or a discernible change of expression.