Shadow Wars, page 11
“Not on civilian transportation—” Chance began.
“It is necessary to ask,” she interrupted. “You will be searched anyway. Please go through that door,” she said pointing to their right. “Someone is awaiting you and will arrange for any baggage.” She pointed at the man behind them. “Next, please.”
“Looks like Gannett was able to arrange a welcoming party,” Ryng said as they pushed through the side door.
A single individual sat reading a paperback book. He looked up as the door swung shut behind them and rose to his feet. “One of you is Captain Ryng?” he inquired in near perfect English.
Ryng raised an index finger.
The man smiled cordially. His custom-fit uniform was perfectly pressed and he wore the forest green beret and eagle insignia of Germany’s crack hostage rescue unit. A major’s insignia decorated his collar. “Oh,” he added quickly, “I’m Adolph Geyer, chief intelligence officer of GSG-9. I’ve been assigned as your escort—to start out with anyway. Then I think—hope actually—we might end up working together. I’m not quite sure what you’re involved with, but my orders came from as high an authority as yours.” He raised his eyebrows knowingly.
Ryng nodded, fascinated with the German’s command of English.
“Apparently,” Geyer continued, “you have a lot to tell me that may explain the problems we’ve been seeing in the eastern part of our country. But let me put you more at ease before we get into the business of people fighting people. I was informed about your concern for Miss Ellyson and the circumstances regarding her disappearance.” He smiled at Ryng’s expression. “I can assure you she’s unharmed. That is what you Americans call the good news. The not-so-good is that I’m sorry to report that we’ve also lost her trail in the past couple of hours.”
“But you do have something?” Chance extended his hand. “David Chance,” he said.
Geyer shook hands with him, then Ryng. “I really am pleased to meet you, Captain Ryng. Beyond the awesome contacts you seem to have, I want you to know you have quite a friend in our mutual acquaintance—Chief Gannett. Very amazing character no matter what perspective you see him from, I’m sure. You see, I get orders directly from Bonn. That’s how my own intelligence people got on to tracking Miss Ellyson. Then, as soon as I hung up the phone after talking with our chancellor’s personal adviser about Miss Ellyson, Gannett’s calling me. The expression I was taught is—wheeler-dealer. Is that correct?”
Ryng smiled. “He’ll be pleased to hear that. But can you tell us about Miss Ellyson before we get down to business?” Europeans had a way of beating courtesy to death before they got to the point.
“When last seen, she was quite healthy, but that was more than a day ago. Based on the information we received from Washington, she did arrive here on that Montreal flight as anticipated, but anything that happened more than twenty-four hours ago is ancient history in our business. The man with her was later identified as a Herr Drobner. That’s what really attracted our attention—his name. He was a minor official with the Stasi in the old GDR and there isn’t one of those people we wouldn’t like to spend an hour or so with. We don’t quite know what made Drobner reappear. Of course, no one knew in time that we were supposed to be concerned so there was no effort taken to follow them at the time. Now we’re concentrating on locating Drobner because part of our job is chasing down any old Stasi who come to the surface. That shouldn’t be difficult since we find he’s apparently known around Frankfurt among all the wrong people. I expect that should lead to Miss Ellyson. How’s that sound to you?”
“Couldn’t expect more than that,” Ryng answered, amazed at the detail.
Geyer turned toward the door. “Come with me and we’ll clear your luggage as quickly as possible. From what I understand, I’m sure we don’t have the luxury of wasting time. Oh, by the way, I promised customs I’d search you. Are you carrying?”
“Not a thing,” Chance answered.
“Didn’t think so, but it would be embarrassing if I claimed to have searched you and then you set off some sort of alarm.” He waited for a second with raised eyebrows. “Okay. Come along with me. You can be certain my people ought to be able to track down your Miss Ellyson as long as she’s with Drobner.”
“Thanks, Major. I wouldn’t have known where to start. We’re really in no position to play detective. As much as I hate to admit it, the most important part of our agenda involves a hell of a lot more than a missing person.” Ryng had been awake most of the flight across the Atlantic reminding himself of that.
President Crandall had already cleared the necessary diplomatic arrangements with Bonn and GSG-9 was the logical choice to work with them. The fact that they knew where to start looking for Kat was a bonus.
Grigory Raskova had become a general in the KGB because he was devoted with equal measure to his country and to the Communist party. Even as a youthful member of the Pioneers in his preteens, he knew he would wear a uniform one day. During his Komsomol years, he displayed the type of enthusiasm and leadership that immediately brought him to the attention of KGB officers in his home city of Ryazan. If anyone’s career could be said to be predestined, it was Raskova’s. Promotions came quickly to the exceptionally bright young officer. And because he displayed an abundance of fairness in addition to his hard-nosed approach, he also commanded respect within the party even among the liberal elements who would later split with Gorbachev. Loyalty was an integral element in Raskova’s makeup. Therefore it was with a great deal of personal pain that he attempted to understand the rapid changes in Soviet politics in the last decade. This required patience and a balanced perspective as he analyzed each situation. The nation had problems, critical ones, but they weren’t insurmountable from Raskova’s viewpoint if the Soviet Union drew together as one. He even made an effort to accept the breakaway of the Warsaw Pact countries, not only because they weren’t really a part of the USSR but they appeared to him to be in a position for causing more trouble than they were worth. But the efforts of the Soviet republics to separate themselves from Moscow, followed by the attempted coup and the collapse of the party’s influence, was too much. Liberalization might have its place in the future in a strong Soviet Union, but now there was no Soviet Union. The dissolution of the USSR was unacceptable to him. It was a case of black-and-white. There was no room for gray areas, no time for debate. It was necessary to return to the old system.
Since General Raskova was as loyal a Russian as had ever worn a uniform, he reasoned that maintaining his senior position was vital to revitalizing the Soviet Union. He renounced the Communist party, openly supporting the reforms he hated. He knew there would be others whose sympathies matched his own. It didn’t take long for those good people to appear, and most of them looked to him as their leader.
Once he made up his mind to become that leader, he never looked back on the negative aspects of his decision. History, Arkady Malik was fond of remembering, had a way of repeating itself, and the head of the Strategic Rocket Forces and Raskova seemed to have decided their course at the same time. When danger threatened, when a nation was being torn apart from the inside, certain individuals surfaced who were willing to chance sacrificing themselves for the good of their fellowman. And that was how Grigory Raskova accepted his responsibility. It was his duty as a loyal Russian to save his nation.
The most difficult decision he ever made was one that he never cared to share with the few men who understood him. Sergei Markov had been a friend since their early days together in the KGB Border Guards. Markov had gone on to the First Chief Directorate (Foreign Intelligence) and Raskova had progressed to internal security where he had made his name. It was Markov, initially more interested in politics, who had ensured Raskova’s appointment as the head of the Second Chief Directorate in the altered KGB.
So it had been a gut-wrenching decision when General Raskova finally acknowledged to himself that his old friend presented the ultimate danger to the nation. Eventually Sergei Markov would have to die. It was said that he couldn’t be banished to Siberia like the old days, but a man of his stature could no longer be turned into a nonperson in the Soviet Union either. Arkady Malik was the one who convinced Raskova that there was no easy way. Markov had to be removed from this earth.
But that couldn’t occur until the scene had been set. If it happened too early, Markov would become a martyr. It was necessary to have the people, as well as the military and civilian power structure, understand that Markov’s death and replacement by a conservative leader would be the only solution to the Soviet Union’s restoration.
5
Entanglements
It had been the end of an already long day when Halder ordered Drobner to Montreal to pick up the woman. He’d only been able to grab a couple of hours of sleep on the plane over from Frankfurt. Once Canadian customs was cleared, he was taken to one of the safe houses in Laval for instructions and fresh passports. Then it was time to take possession of the girl. And there was no sleeping on the trip back, not with anyone as strong willed as that one. There was no telling what she might do. Finally, he slipped a couple of sleeping pills, more than was necessary, into a glass of juice he’d asked the stewardess to bring her. That had solved one problem. But the weariness in every muscle of his own body was evident by the end of the return flight.
They’d arrived in Frankfurt the previous morning. Drobner welcomed the prospect of a good meal and a night’s sleep, but that wouldn’t be forthcoming. Exhaustion was setting in. He mentioned casually that he hoped they’d be leaving this apartment soon, and he really hoped that was true.
“Where are we going next?” Kat Ellyson asked slowly, still groggy from the pills. She knew that probably gave this Drobner person—“this asshole who is kidnapping me” her tired brain cried out—some assurance she was still under whatever they’d doped her with. If there was a chance to escape, any chance at all, she’d grab it.
“You must know by now I can’t tell you that.” He walked over to stand in front of her and looked down into her dark-circled eyes. Pretty. Still very attractive even though they’d kept her on the move since Vail. “I can’t even say for certain myself. Maybe we’ll stay here. Who knows? It’s better for both of us if I don’t know.” He made a weak attempt to smile. “But are you hungry? Would you like something to eat before we go?”
Food? She tried to remember if she’d eaten anything. Kat shrugged. “I don’t really care.”
“You need to eat something.” There was a kitchen area separate from the main room, but open enough so that she could see the refrigerator. There must have been a stove and counter space beyond her view. He moved over to the refrigerator and pulled open the door. “What do we have here? Ahh … more summer sausage,” he remarked without expression. He took the bullet-shaped package out and unwrapped it. “And some cheese, though I can’t say for sure what kind.” He sniffed it. “Well-aged,” he concluded, “but edible. And some beer.” He turned around beaming. “We’ve got some bread, too. How about that? What you Americans call a picnic.”
She shrugged again without answering, aware that it was better to give the impression her mind remained foggy. It was, certainly, but food ought to help bring her around.
“Well, if you won’t make up your mind, I’ll do it for you. You’ll eat.” He opened two beers, then sliced some sausage and cheese. Sliding a small table over in front of her, he set the food down, and pulled his own chair over. “Now maybe you’ll feel better. I’d hate to deliver you looking like you’d just stepped out of the grave.” Halder had sent them to this place and said to wait until he made contact again. Less than an hour ago, he’d called and said someone would be by shortly because they had to move again.
She tore off a chunk of bread, placed a slice of sausage on it, topped it with some cheese, and took a bite. Wonderful. She was hungry. Ravenous. Now that she thought about it, this was the first thing she’d had to eat since breakfast on the plane. That was a dim memory. Then she’d been too light-headed to do more than push the food around on the tray. The mouthful of beer tasted even better.
Drobner popped a piece of sausage into his mouth and beamed. “Good?”
Kat nodded. “It’s okay.” It really was amazing how quickly her head was clearing with something heading toward her stomach.
“You know, you’re such a pretty girl you ought to try smiling. This isn’t the end of the world.”
She stared at him with a look of disgust. “Have you ever been kidnapped before?”
“It would be better if you called this protective custody. Please believe me, no one’s going to hurt you as long as you cooperate. They promised me that. Look at me. I’m trying to make things easy for you.”
“Thanks.” The asshole! Don’t give an asshole an even break. Who said that? Gannett, a great philosopher. He said it one night when they were out drinking beer in Prague’s Old Town. Even Gannett would drink beer sometimes.
Kat had never been in a position where she had to fight for control of her mind. Goddamn drugs! What had the son of a bitch used to make me feel this way? That was something that only happened in books. Prisoners of war were drugged and interrogated. It happened in espionage novels where it was only the bad guys who did it. It happened in mental institutions, too, when patients were too violent and, she remembered from a book, when evil doctors experimented on patients. But it never happened to well-brought-up girls from the Middle West.
Her father taught her to fight back when people took advantage of her, but daddy never mentioned being drugged. The people who did fight back did it through sheer willpower, and that was how she was going to do it. Don’t give an asshole an even break. She smiled inwardly. Don’t worry, Gannett, I won’t.
Drobner ate on in silence. Only after finishing his beer and belching loudly did he speak again. “Good. Now I feel better about you. You should stay healthy.” He looked at his watch. “Someone ought to be here soon,” he muttered more to himself than Kat.
“Who?”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t been told.” He dismissed any concern that he was unaware with a wave of his hand. “It’s always better if we don’t know names.”
Kat shook her head slowly wondering why she’d ever asked. You don’t engage in small talk with people who have kidnapped you. Nothing made sense at this point and she acknowledged to herself that nothing was going to in her current state of mind.
God … how I miss Bernie. When she tried to think back to the other men in her life, she was unable to put them in order. They were too fuzzy, too indistinct. Hell, it was just a mental game. Catalog each face, each name, where she first met them, what it was she liked about them … anything to make the time pass. But it wasn’t working, no matter how hard she concentrated, no matter that she forced herself to go back to the first one—age fifteen or sixteen, she assumed—more than once. That same face kept reappearing, pushing the memories farther back. Bernie Ryng, a good twenty years older, more women in his life than he could probably remember, handsome in a hard, rugged sort of way, even though the hair was going fast, charming and soft when she expected tough, caring when she assumed macho. Oh, God, how I love you. Help me, Bernie … help me … I know you are … I know … I can sense it …
“You do the dishes,” Drobner said casually.
“Do them yourself,” Kat snapped back. She was feeling better by the minute. This could be her chance.
“I’m not going to argue with you,” he responded wearily.
She watched him remove the plates, waiting until she heard the water running in the kitchen. The door had been locked with a key that remained in Drobner’s pocket. She’d already checked and seen they were on the fourth floor. The only other exit was the fire escape outside the living room window.
Kat moved quickly, darting to the window, pulling frantically at the latch securing the lower half. It wouldn’t budge.
She could still hear the water running as she peered at the latch. Shit! That’s why Drobner was so comfortable. It had been welded shut.
Kat whirled, grabbed the lamp off a nearby table, and smashed the glass. The noise sounded like an explosion to her. Drobner would react too quickly. With both hands on the lamp, she knocked out enough jagged shards to allow her to slip out to the fire escape. It had all taken no more than a couple of seconds.
She was halfway out onto the fire escape when Drobner grabbed her arm. She pulled away from him, but he kept a grip on her sleeve. Kat swung around, first hitting him in the face, then digging her fingernails into his cheek when he wouldn’t let go. With a howl of rage, Drobner swung back, catching her in the side of the head with his forearm.
Kat relaxed for a moment, stunned, and that gave him the chance to throw his arm around her waist and drag her back inside. “Bitch,” he shouted as she tumbled to the floor. “I was being kind to you.”
She reached out for the lamp lying nearby and swung it around, shattering the porcelain against his shins. As he cried out in pain, releasing his hands, she rose to her knees, and was just turning toward the window again when his fist slammed into the side of her head.
Kat slumped forward, dazed.
Drobner dragged her back to the couch, stretching her out facedown. He pulled her hands behind her back and fastened a pair of handcuffs around her wrists.
He was daubing the blood off the gouges on his cheek when there was a knock at the door. “Who’s there?” he called out, sliding his right hand instinctively under his left arm and grasping his gun.
“I have two liters of milk and a jar of heavy cream to deliver,” a voice responded.
“Just a moment.” Drobner slid back the dead bolt and turned his key in the lock on the door handle, but he left the chain in place as he opened the door to peek into the hall. “Oh, Halder!” The name escaped from his mouth with a gasp. His expression changed from curiosity to open fear.
