Shadow Wars, page 24
“I’m glad to hear that everything’s going so well, Maria,” he responded acidly. “I’ve always been able to trust you with critical situations. It would be wise of you to stay awake. It won’t be long before we relieve you. Now I’m going to ask you to work twice as hard, but only for a short time. Do you have someone there who can keep an eye on Miss Ellyson for a short time while you call your friend, Tatyana?”
“Tatyana?” Maria asked with surprise. “Tatyana Belov?” Immediately the image of Tatyana’s lovely face and figure came to her. Was Halder screwing her now?
“Yes,” Halder answered sarcastically. “Tatyana Belov. In Moscow. The one with the body that made all of you so envious. She will be surprised to hear from you. After all, it’s been a couple of years since we trained her.” He was enjoying toying with Maria. “She’s been doing a superb job. Still not as accomplished at some aspects of the game as you, of course. I don’t think anyone’s come along to surpass you. But a well-placed friend of mine in Moscow has seen to it that she entertains Sergei Markov quite frequently.”
The son of a bitch, Maria thought to herself, is he trying to make it sound like I couldn’t handle a man like Markov? “That’s very impressive, the president, I mean. But why me? You can talk to her just as easily. So could your contacts in Moscow.”
“We could, Maria. But that could lead to name dropping, which we don’t do in this organization. That’s why people like you and I have survived so long. Better that Tatyana doesn’t know I’m involved in this or, for that matter, that you know my Moscow friend who managed to introduce the two lovebirds. She’ll be pleased to hear from her mentor.”
“Public phone, I assume,” Maria said flatly, “to alleviate tracing me?”
“That’s why I hope you have someone who can make sure Miss Ellyson is watched for a while. It shouldn’t take you long. I’ve been assured Tatyana’s at her apartment right now, although she won’t be expecting your call. I can also assure you that she’s not entertaining currently. It’s so much nicer that she doesn’t know the real source of her orders … just in case.”
The conversation with Halder was short and to the point once he’d gotten over the niceties. Tatyana was being asked for a payback. They’d given her a comfortable life—her own large apartment in Moscow, the unheard-of luxury of a car, a wardrobe that any Russian woman, even the wife of a senior party member, would have sold her body for. Now it was time for Tatyana to justify all the time and money invested in that life. Everything that Maria had taught her would now reinforce that Stasi theory—there wasn’t a man on earth who could resist a woman like Tatyana, given the time, the place, and the proper situation.
Arkady Malik, Sergei Markov’s personal appointment as head of the Strategic Rocket Forces, had been the one to discreetly introduce Tatyana to Markov a few years before. It had begun as a friend returning a favor and Markov accepted it as such. From that moment on, she’d taken control of the situation. The security of Tatyana’s apartment facilitated Malik’s initial efforts. Starting as an older man’s infatuation with a beautiful young woman, she’d led the affair from mere sex to a total dependence on Markov’s part. It had become a retreat for the Russian president, a place he could hide from the pressures of his world. Tatyana had told Maria everything a year before when they vacationed together on the Black Sea. Neither Halder nor Malik was aware the women had gotten together and they would have been furious to learn that their two Mata Haris spent a week comparing some of the leading figures of the communist world. Tatyana had also confessed that she’d fallen for Sergei Markov—and when she said that, she was as surprised with her emotions as Maria.
Maria awoke her backup, an older woman who had once worked for the StB, made a point of transferring the snub-nosed revolver to her replacement, then trudged through the snow to the pay phone in the center of the village.
The telephoning process had been simplified a couple of years before by Norman Smith. Using her credit card, she was able to get through to Tatyana’s apartment in Moscow on the first attempt more easily than if she were calling Prague. The system was complex for any outsider to comprehend yet almost impossible to trace for the simple reason that Smith’s doctrine demanded that only pay phones be used and never more than once during a month from the same phone number.
When Tatyana answered her phone, she was overjoyed that Maria had called. It was a refreshing voice, a friend reappearing at a time when she needed someone she could trust. Yet in an instant she also knew from the tone of Maria’s voice that she was going to repay a debt.
“I need to talk, Maria,” Tatyana said before Maria could begin the conversation. “I’m in a situation I’m not so sure I can handle. The man is very important and he’s under so much stress. He’s become so dependent that—” For a moment, she was afraid her old friend wouldn’t remember.
“I know who you mean,” Maria interrupted.
“Yes, I…” Tatyana struggled to find the words.
“Believe me, I remember exactly how you feel but we don’t have enough time to cover everything over the phone. Just accept the fact that I know your problems and understand them and I want to help you. I’ll come to you as soon as I can but you must accept what I’m telling you now on faith. Don’t interrupt me now because we can’t spend too much time talking. You know how dangerous that can be. Do you understand what I’ve said so far?”
“I … I don’t know what to say. There’s been so much to accept. So much has to be done to help my man. He’s really dear and he needs me so badly right now.”
“I know that, Tatyana. That’s exactly my reason for calling. You were given this assignment for exactly that reason.”
“But it’s not an assignment. It’s …” The words caught in her throat. “I don’t understand why you’re calling me. I thought someone else would call. I thought …” Her voice broke slightly as she searched for words. She’d always known that someday the phone would ring and the debt would be called for her regal existence.
Maria understood. She’d never been in that situation before but she knew others who had fallen under the spell of their target for any number of reasons. She knew that if she sensed for any reason before the end of the conversation that Tatyana might not follow orders, that someone would have to get to her before there was a chance for her to sound a warning. That had been necessary in the past also. “I have been asked to give you an important message, Tatyana,” she began softly, “orders that can make you a heroine. You just have to accept that I understand you and that I’m speaking for someone very important who is proud of what you have done up to now,” she lied. “Now listen, please.”
Maria repeated exactly what Halder had instructed her to say. She spoke softly, making sure after every few sentences that she was being understood and that there was no resistance. Tatyana was being ordered to repay the debt she incurred when she accepted the luxurious life she now enjoyed so much. The repayment meant turning against Sergei Markov.
It was a difficult situation, Maria knew, and one that could go either way, even if Tatyana followed instructions exactly. She had either gone beyond the physical relationship with the man and gained Markov’s complete trust and could coax the information they desperately needed from him, or the president would recognize he was being used.
Either way, Tatyana would shortly require Arkady Malik’s protection.
Tatyana Belov listened quietly to Maria’s instructions, nodding to herself, acknowledging inwardly that her dream had already been shattered. She remained silent for a moment when a pause came at the other end. Then she said, “I was so involved with establishing this fantastic relationship with him that sometimes I forgot that someday the phone would ring and the bubble would burst. But I never for a moment expected it would be you,” she said so softly that she could hardly be heard. Then she spoke with increasing strength in her voice. “He really is a sweet man and he needs me so much … that I don’t know how he could get along without knowing I was there when he needed me. But I should have known. I should have realized that I was directly involved with what he’s suffering. Have you ever done that, Maria? Have you ever become so involved in a man’s life that you forgot why you were there?”
“No, I was told that I didn’t quite have the talent required for a man like him.” She was answering Tatyana but she was also admitting to herself why she’d never been in the same position, why others came so close to the seat of power—even if it was only a bed. Once again she was forced to swallow the bitterness she experienced each time she realized there were physical limitations to her ambition. “No, I never became that involved. That’s why you’re there and I’m here.”
“Where are you, Maria?”
“You know I can’t tell you that.”
“When I have the information, how will I contact you?”
“You won’t. You will pass it on to our mutual friend. You don’t have to worry about getting in touch with him. He’ll make the arrangements to contact you.” There would be no doubt she was referring to Arkady Malik.
“But he spends a lot of time with him, almost every day, I suppose because of his job. My man used to like him so much. I never would have thought …” Then Tatyana took a deep breath that came clearly to the freezing phone booth in Decin. “No wonder he doesn’t trust anyone. And now …”
Maria waited for the sentence to be completed. “Yes?” she asked.
“Nothing. I understand.” Then Tatyana concluded with finality, “It would be nice to see each other again, if we ever have the chance. Maybe another vacation on the Black Sea. No men, no …” She couldn’t continue. “Good-bye, Maria.”
“Good-bye, Tatyana.” She heard the click of the receiver on the other end. Yes, the Black Sea would be very nice again.
Henry Hunter relished the job of chief of staff to the president of the United States. He also respected the integrity of that appointed position as much as he did the man who appointed him. Never once did he allow his private opinions to affect his relationship with Gilbert Crandall. A successful chief of staff served as a buffer between his president and the cabinet, between the president and Congress, and controlled the public’s perception of the man with a tight fist. He took the blame for ruffled feathers, served as the fall guy when mistakes were made, and more often than not had a greater influence on presidential decisions than any other individual. Hunter had known Crandall for so many years, both personally and professionally, that his loyalty was unquestioned. He would have resigned if he thought he might hurt Crandall in any way.
As far as the president was concerned, Henry Hunter could remain his chief of staff forever. Crandall continued to retain a generous amount of small-town politician in his makeup and still felt a man in Washington should be judged entirely by his performance. He was willing to tell anyone, including Hunter, that he’d rate his chief of staff nine on a scale of ten any day. The one point lacking was the man’s radical opposition toward the new social order in Europe. Hunter had never been sympathetic to the struggles of either the Soviet Union or the Warsaw Pact nations and he never hesitated in privately stating his feelings unequivocally to those who supported the change taking place there. He enjoyed rubbing it in their faces whenever the process of conversion to the new economy and changing social order encountered problems. It made no difference to Hunter whether the sympathizers were liberal or conservative—they found him overbearing in his antipathy. The result was that Crandall kept his own counsel whenever affairs in that section of the world demanded his attention. That was fine with Hunter because he was devoted to Crandall.
Henry Hunter had known and respected Norman Smith when the general was a liaison between the Pentagon and the White House on budgetary matters. It was on Hunter’s recommendation that Smith received his orders to NATO. But eventually it was General Smith who exerted greater influence on the other. During the arms reduction talks, soon after the Wall crumbled and the perceived enemy retreated to learn how to become a responsible member of the new world order, Norman Smith included Hunter in a small, late night discussion group concentrating on the effect of these changes on the United States. These reviews generally took place in Smith’s hotel room whenever he was back in Washington. It was generally agreed that the loss of the Soviet Union as a traditional enemy, the rise of the European Community, the failure of the democratic dream in Eastern Europe, the downsizing of the U.S. military machine, and the drastic change in the world economy would all combine to have a deleterious effect on America. So far, much of that had come true and it hurt Henry Hunter to bite his tongue whenever his president was involved in decisions concerning that part of the world. Henry Hunter was absolutely convinced that further support of those nations would only drag America deeper into the quagmire.
After retiring, Norman Smith kept in touch with his group by mail in his normally efficient fashion. One didn’t walk away from powerful contacts simply because his uniform remained in his closet. He welcomed their visits when they were in Europe and entertained generously. Now, General Smith—“Please call me Norman because I’m only a general once a month when I get my put-out-to-pasture check”—had contacted Hunter. It was a welcome phone call for Henry Hunter even if it had come at his apartment in the middle of the night. There had been too many second-raters clamoring for his time that day and he hadn’t been sleeping well. Norman Smith’s was a welcome voice.
After spending a few moments catching up, Smith finally said, “Henry, I promised myself when I retired, and I think I even promised you at the last of our discussion groups, that I’d never abuse my old contacts professionally when I became a civilian. But here I am on your doorstep in the middle of your night.”
“Not to worry, Norman. I didn’t expect that you’d wake me up at this hour to discuss your prostate. You’re one of the few I wouldn’t throw out of my office these days. You wouldn’t believe the assholes who come toadying up to my door every day. And they’ve got nothing in mind but their own special interests.”
“Well, this is a little bigger than that, just a little bigger.” Smith’s voice didn’t end in a sigh but it did drift off dramatically until it could barely be heard.
“I’m sorry there aren’t more people like you with something vital to talk about. Go ahead, Norman, shoot.”
“It’s more for my personal satisfaction, I guess. You and I have spent enough time discussing what’s going on in Moscow and some of the other former communist capitals,” and he stressed the word communist as he always had before. “Things look pretty tough from where I am … reading the papers, you know, and trying to understand my wife’s translation of the French television news. I think it’s going to get worse before it gets better unless someone decides enough is enough.”
“Someone … like someone in Washington, D.C.?” Hunter interjected.
“You got it, Henry. What I’m curious about is what Gilbert Crandall thinks about everything that’s happening over here. What’s he going to do, if he’s going to do anything? We don’t get much over here on what he’s really thinking, and you know how I hate to bother the guys who’ve taken my place. You know what I mean—it’s just not right for the previous commander to ask questions because they’ll think I’m interfering. What do you think?”
Hunter chuckled audibly. “You want to get it right from the horse’s mouth rather than wait for it to flow down to the stable hands. Is that it, Norman?”
Smith responded with his own laugh. “You got it. I suppose it’s not important since I’m not involved in making policy anymore. But you know me. Can’t live with an idle mind. Also, Henry, and I really mean this—cross my heart and hope to give up martinis if I’m lying—I promise whatever you tell me won’t get past these lips.”
“That’s not necessary, Norman. I hardly know anyone who’ll drink martinis with me anymore as it is, so I can’t afford to lose you. I know your word is good. You and I are probably two of the only people I can really trust these days, and there’re some days I’m not so sure about myself. Tell me what you really want to know within reason and within reasonable security parameters and I’ll do my best.” Neither limitation bothered Smith. He’d spent a lifetime extracting real-time intelligence from reasonable security parameters.
That was how Henry Hunter had ended up swimming laps in the White House pool with Gilbert Crandall. The pace was slow and easy, but each time they arrived at an end of the pool and Hunter assumed they’d stop, the president turned slowly in the water and pushed off toward the other end. And each time, after a few strokes, Crandall would roll far enough on his side to glance across at his partner and smile. Once he said, “You can do this every day with me, Henry, and unload some of that spare tire you’re carrying around. And I’d enjoy the company, too.” Then he continued without waiting for a reply, alternating between a crawl, a sidestroke, and occasionally a breaststroke.
Hunter was determined to keep up with the older man. Yet he found himself breathing harder as he tried to keep up until finally he allowed his feet to touch the bottom. “That’s it,” he announced. “You win, Mr. President. There’s a definite reason you’re in charge and I work for you.” Crandall continued to the other end of the pool, made his customary slow turn, and pushed off. He looked down at Hunter with a wry grin before he began a breaststroke which he continued until he was even with his chief of staff. Then he rolled over on his back. “Same time every day, Henry. It’ll do you a world of good if you join me. Maybe even make you a little meaner.”
“You told me yesterday to soften up a little bit.”
“That was because you were a bit sharp with the State Department people.”
