Carter managed a slight smile. It was Kobelev’s signal again. But there had to be more.
“What in God’s name are you laughing about?” Lydia shrieked. “If the French arrest you, and put you in jail, Ganin will be able to get to you with no problem! You’ll be as good as dead if you’re arrested!”
“What else?” he asked.
“What are you talking about?”
“What else?” Carter repeated. “There was something else in the news story. You listened to the entire thing?”
Lydia nodded. “They said you entered the building, killed the Frenchman, and then went upstairs and broke Borodin’s neck. The Soviet government has launched a protest — naturally — and called you a capitalist hoodlum of the worst kind. They want immediate justice.”
“There’s more,” Carter insisted.
Lydia shook her head in frustration. “There’s nothing—” she started, but then she stopped in mid-sentence. “But—”
“What is it?”
“It’s Bonn, West Germany. Kobelev wants you to go there.”
“How do you know that?”
“It was on the radio. They said Borodin was to have gone to Bonn next week. A new assignment.”
Was the killing ground to be in Bonn? Carter wondered. They were coming much closer now to the Iron Curtain. It was only a few hours by car from Bonn — much less by helicopter — to East Germany and complete safety for Kobelev.
For some inexplicable reason, though, Carter did not think Bonn was the final destination. There would be more; he was willing to bet on it. Paris was a close call. Kobelev would want him to squirm some more, especially since Ganin, his star pupil, had been wounded. And because Lydia was still on the loose.
The tolerances in Bonn would be much closer. Bonn was going to be a dangerous experience for them all. Kobelev was angry about Lydia. Ganin would be angry that he had allowed himself to be wounded. The French police, and therefore Interpol, would be after Carter. And Lydia was desperately frightened. Bonn would be difficult.
There was very little traffic at this hour of the morning, mostly large transport trucks on the superhighway.
Carter lit a cigarette as he sped up, his mind working out the possibilities in Bonn. He was going to need a bit more information, as well as some help now from Hawk. He did not want a confrontation at the frontier with the French police. He would not allow himself to be arrested, of course, but if there was an incident at the border, it would be a clear signal to Kobelev and Ganin just where he was.
They passed through Reims at about four in the morning, then continued east through Verdun, and finally into Metz, about thirty miles from the West German border.
They got off the Al and went into the city, where Carter circled around the central railway station several times before he headed to the far side of the town.
“What is it?” Lydia asked. “What are you doing?”
Carter pulled up at a long-term parking area. The night shift attendant was getting set to go off duty, but he took Carter’s payment in advance, issued a card, and then took the car.
With their suitcases in hand, Carterand Lydia started away from the parking lot on foot, heading back into the city’s center.
“Ganin knows about the car now. As soon as we come into Bonn they’ll spot us,” Carter said.
Lydia stopped. Carter turned back.
“We’re going to Bonn? After Paris, you still want to go to Bonn? What about the police?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
She looked back. “What about the car?”
“Someone will be picking it up. For now, we’re going by train.”
Lydia shook her head. “What if I tell you I want to get off this merry-go-round right now?”
“That’s fine,” Carter said. “I’ll have you met at Dulles in Washington by someone you can trust.” He turned and continued walking downtown, spotting a cab just across the street.
He didn’t bother looking back as he crossed over to the taxi, but he knew that she was behind him, and he held the door for her.
She climbed in, a scowl on her face, but she said nothing.
“The train station,” Carter said.
A few minutes later they were deposited outside the ornate old station. Carter paid the driver, and he and Lydia went inside where they bought first-class tickets, with their own private compartment, on the train to Bonn, which went to Luxembourg first, then Koblenz before arriving in Bonn at about one in the afternoon, the trip made longer because of the two stops. It left at eight-thirty, which gave them plenty of time to have some breakfast in the station’s café. First Carter went to one of the telephone kiosks and placed a call to Hawk’s Washington number.
It was just a bit after one in the morning in Washington, but Hawk answered his phone on the first ring.
“I’m in Metz,” Carter said. He glanced up. Lydia had gone across the main hall to the newsstand where she was purchasing a newspaper.
“What happened in Paris?” Hawk demanded.
Quickly and succinctly, Carter went over everything that had happened from the moment he and Lydia had arrived at the Lancaster until they got to Metz, leaving nothing out, including the speculation that Bonn itself would probably not be his final destination.
“What are your plans for Bonn? Have you got another of Kobelev’s people picked out?”
“No, sir. I was hoping you would have some information. Something must be happening in Bonn at the moment. Kobelev sent me the signal... Bonn was where Borodin was supposedly being reassigned. What else is happening there now?”
“Not a thing, Nick,” Hawk said. “Nothing has been on the overnight report except that the French want you for questioning in Borodin’s murder.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
It didn’t make sense. Kobelev was obviously luring him to Bonn, but for what purpose? Unless it was too soon? Unless they were waiting until he showed up...
Lydia came back to the phone kiosk with a newspaper. She held it up for Carter to see. His photograph was on the front page, under the headline this man wanted for murder.
“I made the front page,” Carter told Hawk.
“When does your train leave?” Hawk asked.
“Eight-thirty, local.”
“I’ll call Bradley at State. We’ll work something out with the French authorities before you reach the border this morning.”
“I don’t want to get into anything with the French police.”
“Of course not. Kobelev and Ganin would love for it to happen, though.”
“Yes, sir.”
“How is the woman holding up?”
“Reasonably well, although I don’t know how much longer it will last. They want her pretty badly.”
“Be careful, Nick,” Hawk said. “Whatever they’ve got planned for you in Bonn will not be very pleasant.”
“Yes, sir,” Carter said. “But I don’t think it’ll be very long now before the final confrontation will come.”
Eleven
It was a few minutes after noon when the Soviet jet transport landed at the military airstrip in Marzahn on the outskirts of East Berlin. It had come on a direct flight from Moscow. Normally there would have been a lot of military fanfare, but this time only a limousine was waiting. The big car raced out to the transport, which had taxied to a stop in an isolated parking area.
The aircraft’s door popped open, boarding stairs were brought up, and Nikolai Fedor Kobelev, dressed in civilian clothes, stepped down to the tarmac. He was alone, and he looked very angry.
He strode across to the limo as the driver leaped out, raced around to the rear door, and opened it.
“Welcome to Berlin, comrade...” the driver started, but the look on Kobelev’s face stopped him in mid-sentence.