Conway almost replied in the negative but thought better of it. "Yes, in a way."
"Oh, Stephan, you're not going to give them the equipment, are you?"
"Ursula, how can you even think it? What we have done is for us, but I would never become a traitor. You know that."
"Yes, of course I do. I love you, Stephan."
"And I love you, darling. I'll see you tonight." He hung up and brusquely moved to the door. "John?… John, where the devil are you?"
"Right here, sir."
"Is the car ready?"
"Yes, sir, and the plane is ready to leave at Tegel."
"Good. Get my bags. Let's get the hell out of here!"
Carter dialed Lisa's suite, and a voice still full of sleep answered.
"It's me," he said. "Feel better?"
"Not much. Just sleepy."
"Go ahead, get lots. If we can wrap this thing up by tonight, we head for Munich."
"Munich?"
"To put the vise to Stephan Conway. He's gone down there early; I just talked to Vintner. I'm headed for his office now."
"Anything new?"
"We know who the shooter is."
"Nick, I'm coming along."
"No need. Sit tight, I'll keep you informed."
He hung up before she could ask more questions, and headed for the elevator. The SSD car and driver Vintner had assigned him were waiting at the curb.
The ride was twenty minutes through the drizzle and rain-slick streets.
"Good morning," Carter said, pouring himself a hot mug of coffee and taking a seat across from the SSD man.
"It's afternoon. Here's the Klauswitz file. He's got a short rap sheet, but the background fits the profile."
"Any chance of bargaining for him?"
"Depends if they know what they've got."
Carter nodded and sipped the steaming brew as he leafed through the file. That's what I was thinking. Also, if he went over right after the hit, it wasn't Klauswitz who snuffed Klammer."
"After reading that, I think you'll agree it wouldn't be his style anyway. He might take her with his bare hands, but never a piece of piano wire. I've sent feelers over the wall. We'll just have to wait. Ja, Bruchner, what is it?"
Carter looked up. Bruchner was in the doorway, a mixture of disgust and puzzlement clouding his features.
"The Turk. They found him on a raft in the middle of the Hallensee about an hour ago… dead."
"How did he get it?" Carter asked.
"Gunshot, one slug behind the right ear. They already identified the gun. It's one of a whole case stolen about a month ago from the military barracks armory at Protag."
"On a raft?" Vintner said.
"Yes, sir. His prints are the only ones on the gun. They're calling it a suicide."
Carter and Vintner exchanged looks. Their eyes said it alclass="underline" bullshit.
The bad weather had gotten worse. Through the tall windows the sky above West Berlin had turned to the color of lead with the fading light. The drizzle drifted across the city in a gray wash that made Carter even more depressed than he already felt.
It wasn't difficult to put together now. The KGB or the East German Stasis — or both — had nailed Dieter Klauswitz. Not only had they nailed him, but they were also already moving on what he had told them.
A fast phone call to D.C. and some rapid-fire questions to Limpton/Simonov had filled in a few of the gaps. There were things under the intensive questioning that he had remembered telling Anna Palmitkov. Such as the connection he had set up with Oskar Hessling to blackmail Stephan Conway.
When Dieter Klauswitz fell in their lap, it was like manna from heaven, or fruits of a good operation, depending on how one looked at it.
Taking the Klammer killing and the Turk «suicide» together fit for Carter. Chances were that an East German team had been sent over to do the kills. That meant the East had already figured it out and was way ahead of the West.
Next step?
Get what they wanted out of Conway.
God knows, Carter thought, if he were guessing right, they have more than enough ammunition.
They had someone set to watch Conway and his entourage in Munich. In Berlin it had been difficult to keep tabs on his every move. Vintner had snidely informed Carter that "Herr Conway has a great deal of very influential friends. The two men I had on him were pulled after a few phone calls to Bonn."
Politics, Carter thought, looking at the chiaroscuro of auto and city lights far below.
"Damn."
Carter whirled around. Jamil Erhanee sat at a huge horseshoe desk in front of a bank of computer screens. He leaned far back in his chair, his thumbs digging into his eyes.
"You need some more coffee, Jamil?"
"No, I need forty fingers and two brains. Can't you get this stuff legit? Flash a badge or something?"
Carter chuckled. "Conway covers his ass too well for that, I'm afraid. Keep at it."
Carter moved to a table laden with sandwiches and a huge coffee maker.
"Getting into his bank accounts was a piece of cake compared to this," the Indian groaned. "Christ, Nick, shipping, inventory, and classification on the output of a company like Protec is like trying to crack Fort Knox with a water cannon!"
Carter handed him a fresh cup of steaming coffee. "Keep at it, my friend. If the KGB has a lever on Conway, I want to know if he bends or topples. Right now it's all we've got."
With a sigh, Erhanee sipped his coffee and rolled forward in his chair to tap out more sequences in an effort to find the key that would let him into the Protec computers.
The phone rang. Carter noted the line and grabbed it. "Carter here."
"It's Lisa, Nick. Vintner gave me this number. What's new?"
"Not much." Quickly he brought her up to date.
"They've got him," she replied, "and they'll turn him. He'll do anything to escape something like this and keep himself lily white!"
Again there was that tremor in her voice bordering on hysteria.
"Calm down, Lisa, we're doing all we can."
"I know, I know. It's just… well, dammit, it's frustrating!"
"I know it is… damned frustrating."
"Anything I can do?"
"No, Stay cool at the hotel. I'll call you if anything breaks."
"Thanks. 'Night."
"Yeah."
Carter dropped the phone and checked his watch.
It was seven o'clock. Hans-Otto's boys would just be moving in on Ursula Rhinemann.
Ursula cleared the last barricade and made the powerful engine whine as she shifted through the gears. Ahead, the autobahn twisted like a white ribbon.
In the rearview mirror, she could see that the black Volvo was still following her. The car had picked her up at the Spandau Gate and stayed with her, matching her speed, all through East Germany.
She had slowed several times to a crawl. Always the Volvo slowed with her. Halfway across the GDR, she had decided that Stephan was in the Volvo. Who else would follow her in such a manner?
She resumed a normal speed for the autobahn, which was, of course, as fast as the Mercedes would go.
The windshield wipers fought the rain with a hypnotic intensity. They made her drowsy, and her constant surveillance of the car behind her didn't help.
She thought of stopping at Perleburg, the three-quarter mark, but vetoed it and drove on. At Ludwigslust, she spotted the sign for Highway 106 and headed north toward Schwerin. The road narrowed here, and, because it was tightly hemmed with trees, it was also much darker.
She was forced to slow her speed to fifty miles per hour.
The Volvo had dropped far back, but its lights were still visible in the distance.
Suddenly, from a rest area turn-out, a large Mercedes sedan swerved onto the road and took the lane directly beside her. There were two men in the car, and out of the corner of her eye, Ursula could see them glancing over at her.