Shadow Wars, page 20
Halfway across the room, he heard the pounding at the door and the voices shouting. The gun was back in his hand as the door crashed down in front of him. He struggled to raise it. Somewhere in the recesses of his pain-wracked mind, he knew that he must resist, that he couldn’t be taken alive because of the … because of the what … ? He heard shots ring out. For an instant, he knew he hadn’t pulled the trigger, and then he felt himself hurled back across the room.
Karl Braun was already dead by the time the first officer from the European Central Drug Intelligence Unit stood over him, both hands still aiming the gun between his lifeless eyes. They were able to trace Braun through his return airline ticket even though Eva Werth’s second bullet had passed directly through it.
They passed their information that same day on to Col. Henryk Luden, commander of the special unit of the Royal Dutch Marines. Luden, who knew Adolph Geyer was interested in former Stasi, forwarded the data to the intelligence specialist of Germany’s GSG-9. Within hours, Geyer faxed Luden’s information and his own background material on the Stasi to Bernie Ryng in Prague.
Another mistake—one more scent to follow.
9
Suspicion
Arkady Malik’s record as an adolescent under the Komsomol-administered youth organizations was exemplary to the point of his early selection to the best schools for junior officers. He became a fervent member of the Communist party from the day he gained admission and his enthusiasm was recognized by those whose job it was to spot young talent. As a general officer, he was a respected party leader, and he was one of the chief organizers in calling the congress in 1990 that established the power of the right wing of the party.
Malik opposed Boris Yeltsin from the beginning, fought the shadow democratization of Gorbachev, and had been a strong supporter of Grigory Raskova during the latter’s struggle to become the leader of the KGB. Though Raskova failed to achieve that goal, Malik was able to influence his appointment to the Second Chief Directorate through his long friendship with Sergei Markov. Though these men became philosophically polarized as Russia changed its colors, they remained politically bound through their mutual desire to salvage the Russian Republic. Markov, though, misunderstood the lengths Malik was willing to go.
As commander of the Strategic Rocket Forces, Malik never wavered from the idea that the United States could be taken by surprise, nor was he afraid of the Trident missile. When Gorbachev reacted vociferously against the American Strategic Defense Initiative, Malik researched and wrote the position papers opposing the SDI. He even coined the star wars terminology which caught the imagination of the liberal American media. Malik was absolutely convinced of SDI’s imminent threat to international stability, but he was especially concerned that the USSR would become a second-rate nation if the system ever became operational.
Malik’s respect for Norman Smith had evolved on two levels. It began in the mid-1980s with the U.S. general’s leadership in developing an original strategy to neutralize the reserve strength of the Soviet Union and the Warsaw Pact nations. Malik, having worked behind the Kremlin walls developing Soviet strategy, considered Smith’s concepts sound. The American was brilliant—his ideas could irreparably damage the Soviet Union in the event of a European war. Such genius should be harnessed to benefit them both. But Malik’s world changed overnight. Perestroika became a catchword. The Berlin Wall crumbled. Eastern Europe rushed to create instant democracy at the same time they attempted to convert to a market economy.
Sound NATO strategy became an anachronism and General Norman Smith resigned after warning of the perils of too quickly accepting this new world order. Once again, Malik understood Norman Smith’s rationale completely. The U.S. would remain strong only as long as it faced a strong enemy and he, like Arkady Malik, thought that enemy remained the USSR and the former Warsaw Pact countries when and if their dream failed. It was hard to imagine how two opposites could think so much alike because Malik saw Russia’s survival in exactly the same context. Indeed, Smith’s genius had been harnessed in a manner of speaking.
The initial meeting of Arkady Malik and Norman Smith had taken place during the disarmament conferences of the late 1980s. That meeting deteriorated into a shouting match over the graduated disarmament of the NATO alliance and the Warsaw Pact countries. Yet after that confrontation, and separately from each other, each man came to the conclusion that he agreed wholeheartedly with the other whether or not their goals were different.
Their second meeting was a social one at the Black Sea resort of Mamaia and occurred after Smith retired. An associate of Malik’s, an English-speaking KGB officer, had approached Smith on the beach at Nice one day during the general’s morning walk and suggested that the two men might enjoy discussing mutual interests in an entirely different setting. Smith considered the offer for no more than thirty seconds. His respect for Malik was remarkably similar. A week later, they were sharing a gracious waterfront villa that remained in Malik’s family.
The Mamaia venture was the first time either man had been drunk in years. They drank to celebrate their common interests, their loyalty to their individual nations, and their brilliant concept of mutual defense through mutual power. They first established a communication system that was superb in its simplicity for they knew they should not meet again unless they concurred that there was an emergency. Then they compiled a list of people who shared similar beliefs. Eventually, they narrowed that list to Grigory Raskova and Wallace Ellyson, one from each side of the fence, each in a vital position to influence policy. Carl Halder was mutually agreed upon later because of the critical impact a rightist Germany would have on Russia and because of Raskova’s past professional connection with the Stasi.
The KGB officer who served as their translator whenever they became lost in each other’s language offered thanks to whatever god might have existed when the two drunken generals eventually fell asleep in their chairs on the final evening of their meeting. The following day, in keeping with their hard policy of absolute secrecy and the necessity of eliminating those who knew too much, Malik himself shot the KGB officer to show his good will. Then, together, he and Smith dumped the weighted body from Malik’s yacht into the Black Sea. They were brothers in a shared hope.
Their ideas spread quickly as the economy of the new republics deteriorated in the months after Mamaia. In Minsk, Lvov, and Odessa, there were food shortages so severe that people were shot down by the hundreds as they charged military posts in search of sustenance. The citizens of St. Petersburg, Krasnodar, and Gorky burned government buildings and hung city officials from the lampposts. Smolensk, Kursk, and Volgograd were the scene of army mutinies as the soldiers refused to fire on starving peasants who had invaded the cities in search of food. The civil unrest that had originated in these selected cities was spreading across the vastness of the former Soviet Union more swiftly than a plague. This was followed by the failed coup, the change in military leadership, the precipitous decline of the Communist party, and the emasculation of the KGB. The result was a Russian Republic that was fair game for an authoritarian resurgence.
Malik and Smith understood only too well that the people, no matter how badly they were treated, no matter how hungry they became, no matter how they died, never revolted against an establishment without leadership. Malik was ready to activate that vast throng whose world had disappeared with the onset of perestroika. Norman Smith, though he was aware of Malik’s hair-trigger temper and nuclear advocacy, encouraged the Russians and complimented their initial success. He had to go with a winner. Later, if Malik got out of hand, Smith was sure he could control the man.
“Stasi,” said Gannett, “is short for Staatssicherheit. “ He pronounced the word slowly and phonetically. Stasi was the East German Ministry for State Security. “It was modeled after Russia’s KGB, the Committee for State Security. State security means whatever you want it to mean but let me tell you the Stasi was the most sophisticated intelligence organization ever created. They were everywhere, every closet, every back pocket. Considering the size of East Germany, the Stasi’s ambitions were way beyond anything the KGB might have dreamed. It may have employed as many as a hundred thousand people—”
“You may skip the details, Chief Gannett,” Wallace Ellyson interrupted. “I didn’t call for an intelligence briefing. When I need one, I will call in one of our civilian specialists.” He folded his arms and looked directly at Gannett, Ryng, and Chance as a sort of exclamation point. “I have been advised by Washington more than once,” he continued without acknowledging what they all knew—that Washington was his snobbish reference to the White House and Gilbert Crandall—“that you gentlemen and your contacts will be able to do far more in locating my daughter than local authorities. Because my orders emanate from the same source as your, shall we say, unknown orders,” he said snidely, turning to Bernie Ryng, “I have no choice at this time but to accede to your efforts. However, a lecture on a now defunct police organization has no appeal to me. I will make a report, as required, within the hour to Washington. Is there any progress whatsoever to report or should I inform them you have accomplished absolutely nothing?” He was determined to discourage this interest in the Stasi.
“Sir, the Stasi doesn’t appear to be defunct. The Dutch, the French, and the Germans have all picked up evidence that any number of former Stasi may be functioning again, underground of course, and—”
“When my own intelligence people present such evidence, and it certainly must be substantiated by the CIA, then we’ll discuss these people. Until they are officially recognized as active by Washington, they don’t exist. What, may I ask, do they have to do with my daughter?”
“We’re not sure, sir. We believe one of them was involved in guarding her. And there’re some names, one in particular, that have surfaced—”
“Forget it, Chief,” Ellyson interrupted again. “I want absolutes. Don’t waste my time with garbage.”
Gannett turned to Ryng for support. The acidity of the ambassador’s speech coupled with his supercilious attitude toward his military staff was beyond Gannett’s ability to comprehend. A man in Ellyson’s position, he assumed, should have been entirely different in this situation, grateful for help, for any kind of support at all. Instead, the man displayed no evident distress concerning his daughter’s disappearance, though he explained that away as the necessary professional demeanor for his office. The man had said nothing to his wife, who blithely assumed her daughter was still skiing in the United States.
“Sir, we understand that Kat … your daughter,” Gannett corrected as Ellyson’s eyes narrowed, “was taken by car from Frankfurt about thirty-six hours ago. There was a change of vehicles in Numberg. They lost contact at that point because we hadn’t yet reported—”
“Who lost contact?” Ellyson exclaimed, rising slightly out of his chair.
“The French, sir—GIGN,” Ryng answered, sounding out the letters. “It wasn’t quite through normal channels that they learned about it as is often the case in this kind of situation. But realizing she was the daughter of a foreign official, it was assumed they should involve themselves. Since that time, they’ve received official orders also to coordinate with other international units. President Crandall really has done everything possible for us. However, the kidnappers are still one step ahead of all of us until we have a proper communication system working. They managed a car switch before GIGN could check with us. There’s that one name I mentioned earlier—a former Stasi called Halder—that’s being checked out now, though we’ve been told the man is dead. German intelligence is working on it.”
Ellyson’s shock at Halder’s name was evident and apparently so emotional that it surprised each of them. “If … if we’re so close … then why … ?”
“Purely by luck at this stage,” Chance stated.
“… then why don’t you know”—he licked his lips selecting his words carefully—“why don’t you know who is involved? … This name, whatever it is …” he finished as he took a deep breath to compose himself.
Gannett steepled his index fingers under his chin, unaware he was imitating one of Ellyson’s habits. “That’s why I was explaining about the Stasi, Mr. Ambassador,” he said politely. “We feel there is much more than just a possibility ex-Stasi may be involved.”
“Go on.” Ellyson was a man who regained his composure as quickly as anyone Ryng had ever known. “I’m certainly willing to listen when I understand where a discussion is headed. I’m sure you can understand how trying this situation has become.”
“GSG-Nine, Adolph Geyer’s unit, has been following some former Stasi, trying to learn how they’re employing themselves these days. A lot of them went underground when the Communist government collapsed in East Germany. They seem pretty sure some of them could be involved. GSG-Nine is looking into the recent contacts of the one who was found murdered in the same apartment your daughter was being held. Kidnapping’s an excellent way to raise cash.”
Ellyson’s eyes moved from Ryng to Gannett to Chance, then remained on the latter because he’d said almost nothing. He’d learned long ago that the silent ones were the ones he should be suspicious of. “Tell me, Mr. Chance, since you’ve been overly quiet today, what is your opinion? I love my daughter very much. I fear for Katherine’s life every waking moment. Yet I detect on your part what I would call a lack of concern for her safety.” He was once again in full control, his eyes fixed on the other man.
“I apologize if I gave that impression. If they were going to kill her, sir, they would have done it already. They seem overly cautious instead. I’m no specialist in this area but I’ve worked with hostage rescue units before.” He folded his arms self-consciously. “What I’ve learned from them …” he said, and then paused to select the right words, “… is that kidnappers on this level—and these people appear highly professional—have an agenda. They want something specific. I don’t think they’d get whatever it is they want if anything happened to her. Since they haven’t said a word yet, it’s either a hell of a lot of money, or … or something bigger than that.”
“Meaning?” Ellyson queried. He seemed to be holding his breath.
“I have no idea. Like I said, I’m no specialist.” He could see why the ambassador was an easy man to dislike. “I’ve learned enough about these Stasi to say that they should be taken seriously.”
Ellyson exhaled, his self-control once again visible. That familiar, superior mien returned to his face coloring his features like a shadow. “I anticipate the need for specialists and will recommend same in my next communication with the White House. And since you seem to feel comfortable in discussing what should be considered both private and confidential information with foreign nationals, let me remind you that Mrs. Ellyson still knows nothing of the situation and I will do absolutely everything in my power to ensure that she doesn’t learn about it. Gentlemen.” He inclined his head toward the door.
Chance was the first to speak when they were back in Ryng’s office. “I know you guys have worked with Ellyson since being assigned to the embassy and you do it because you have to. But I don’t like the guy and I can give you a dozen reasons why.”
“Reason number one for not bothering with your twelve reasons is that Ambassador Ellyson is a buddy of Gilbert Crandall,” Gannett answered.
“Ambassador Ellyson is an opinionated asshole,” Chance replied.
“And Gilbert Crandall, the asshole’s buddy, lives in the White House,” Ryng said with a slight smile.
At precisely fifteen minutes past noon, a time when Wallace Ellyson normally left his office for lunch, he informed his secretary that he was going for a walk and would probably stop at one of the pivnice, a beer tavern, for a snack before he returned.
On this day, for a reason he didn’t entirely comprehend himself, he decided against the phone booth near Malta Square. Instead, he felt a longer walk really would do him some good, just as he’d told his secretary. He strolled across the Vltava River with the lunchtime throngs of office workers and headed into Stare Mesto, the Old Town. To anyone who might have noticed Ellyson’s elegant chesterfield overcoat and expensive hat, he was simply window-shopping as he moved down the ancient streets. He slowed occasionally at a narrow alley to examine a fine example of Gothic vaulting or to study an exuberant piece of baroque carving. But what he was really concentrating on was the people around him. He would study each face briefly and remember the winter outer clothes they were wearing before he moved on. At his next pause, he would do the same. By the time he passed through Old Town Square, he was quite certain he wasn’t being followed.
He entered a phone booth near the ancient Church of Saint James and once again employed his separate credit card to call the number in Nice. The phone on the other end was just ringing for the third time when the familiar voice of the maid said, “Bonjour, good afternoon. General Smith’s residence.”
How formal, he thought, how phony, and what a comfortable front. “Mr. Wallace calling for General Smith, please.” And when Smith came on the phone, Ellyson began with the same inane question about discussing the stock market that always started each of their conversations. It was not something a man of his station engaged in lightly. He did not feel in the least like one of those spies one saw in the movies.
“Of course, Wallace. You know I’m always anxious to make a little money,” Smith commented with a soft laugh.
“Well, you’d better hold on to your money now,” Ellyson snapped. “Your people are leaving a trail like a wounded deer.” He knew that would get Smith’s attention.
“Now calm down, Wallace, and—”
“No, you listen to me.” He’d encountered too many generals and admirals in his government career to allow one to soft-talk him now. “Last time we talked, I mentioned my military attaché, Captain Ryng, the son of a bitch who was chasing after Katherine. Well, I hope you remember he’s a Navy SEAL, one who apparently was too old to send off into the bush somewhere, so someone in Washington got him this cushy billet with me. Now he and a couple of his cohorts not only seem to be on her trail but they’re talking about ex-Stasi being involved, and Halder’s name was mentioned, and they’ve got an international operation brewing, and … shit, Norman, I wonder if maybe they’re getting too close to home.”
