Shadow Wars, page 26
“Have you introduced me to any who have …” She searched for the proper words. “… who have been unfaithful to you … ?”
This time it was Markov who crawled down to the end of the bed. He returned with the vodka bottle. “You may know some of them. I don’t remember.” He gestured toward her glass and filled it when she extended it toward him. Then he poured another, sipped at it, and appeared as if he would toss it off before he looked over at her. “You know, I love you, Tatyana. I love you more than I should because you’re one of the only ones in the world I can trust. Things are going to get worse … much worse … before they get better. Perhaps I won’t survive it. Who knows? But I promise you one thing,” he continued, his voice as serious as if he were addressing the Congress of Peoples’ Deputies, “I will fight those people to the death.” He sipped thoughtfully. His eyes had begun to clear and his voice grew stronger as he concluded, “If they don’t get me first, I’ll get them. I promise you that.”
Tatyana grasped his hand. “You don’t have to tell me …” And she knew then that she didn’t want him to tell her any of their names. If she knew, then she would have to … no, she didn’t want to know. Arkady Malik’s grim visage seemed to grin back at her, waiting for her to repeat what Markov was about to tell her.
“Yes, I think I do. I have to tell someone. Paul can’t do everything. If someone gets me, and perhaps Paul also, someone must know who I think the others are. Why not you, my love?” Markov’s eyes were brighter than they’d been since he arrived at her apartment. There was no indication of the amount he’d drunk, though he continued to sip at the vodka. His chin was once again as firm as she remembered and he spoke with a grim determination. “There are still men who stand by me.”
Tatyana felt as if she were shrinking as he spoke. He seemed to gain strength from her as his resolve grew. Sergei Markov related more than she could possibly have remembered. And when he had visibly exhausted himself, they made love again. This time he possessed the strength and staying power of the bull she’d first met.
Sergei Markov slept the sleep of the just.
Tatyana Belov cried herself to sleep and dreamed of the wrath of Arkady Malik all night.
12
Uncertainty
Arkady Malik admitted, but only to himself, that he was nervous. And as soon as he did, he was angry because he’d had no choice but to acknowledge it. The pressure of the past few days was growing unbearable. His angina had been acting up and he found only minimal relief in his nitroglycerin pills. He’d sworn his doctor to secrecy about the angina problems and never once mentioned to the man the effect the pills seemed to have on his composure. Anger, tension, whatever was the root cause, Malik felt like a man balanced on a razor blade afraid to slide in any direction. It now seemed possible that Sergei Markov was aware of their actions, perhaps possessed some names, and maybe even knew enough that he was prepared to counter them. If that was true, it could alter their entire plan. But they had to find out just what he knew or didn’t know. Perhaps they were just paranoid with everything so close. So now, it was up to that whore, Tatyana Belov, to squeeze that out of Markov.
Then there was Wallace Ellyson. The explosion in front of the American embassy in Prague vaulted the heights of stupidity, if there was a limit to allowing something as stupid as that. Drawing attention to yourself when no one couldn’t previously have cared less about you, especially when they were close to achieving their goal, was … well, it was insane and the temperamental Malik intended to make that clear. And what had they hoped to achieve? He briefly considered that Norman Smith might have been involved in that decision, but he dismissed that possibility. Smith had been a general and generals had better judgment than that. Malik decided he would chew the hell out of that American for such idiocy. Ambassador? Secretary of State? Who cared? He dialed the code for Ellyson’s private number.
“I’m calling from a long distance,” Malik began in reasonable English as soon as Ellyson identified himself. He knew his voice and that phrase would be satisfactory identification. “How secure is this line?” As he spoke, he was already beginning to wonder whatever had possessed him to make this call.
Ellyson was irritated with the Russian general for calling at a time like this. He never cared for Malik in the first place. It was contrary to everything they’d agreed upon. “It’s reasonably secure from Soviet snooping,” he responded evenly, “but I suppose American intelligence enjoys checking up on me every so often. They’re probably tracing this call right now if this is a call that interests someone.”
There was an audible hiss from the other end as Malik, perched on the edge of his chair in his Kremlin office, expelled his breath in exasperation. The pain in the left side of his chest returned and he absentmindedly took the bottle of nitroglycerin pills from his desk drawer and popped one in his mouth. “To hell with them, Ellyson. They probably feel the same way I do. That explosion outside your embassy was uncalled for. Stupid. Idiotic. One minute, only a few people in America know who you are. Now … now the whole world is wondering and every intelligence service in every country is probably stepping over each other to find out what’s going on in your area. Can you tell me in as few words as possible why that happened?” He could sense the heat rise in his face as his anger increased. Fucking American!
Malik’s phone call, the tenor of the conversation, his treatment of the American ambassador—all were unlike the Arkady Malik that Ellyson knew. Of course, he’d only met the man personally on two occasions. Ellyson had always assumed he was a steady man … or he had been. His temperament, which Norman Smith had mentioned once, had always seemed well controlled beforehand. Malik had achieved command of the Strategic Rocket Forces through toughness, persistence, an uncanny respect for and wariness of others, and an ambition that exhibited traits of brutality and occasionally sadism. Everything he said or did was carefully calculated, and that was why Ellyson was now shocked by his approach. Had Smith been pulling the wool over his eyes? This wasn’t the way a normal individual in Malik’s capacity would operate.
“It would be difficult for me to respond to you without having a more complete understanding of what you’re looking for.” Ellyson was circumspect in his response because Malik’s tone frightened him even more than this approach. Apparently, the man was closer to the edge than the rest of them. “The incident is being investigated by both the Czech authorities and U.S. explosive experts. That’s all I really know at this time and I certainly wouldn’t want to express myself further over an unsecure phone line.” His attempt to sound as officious as possible concealed an increasing nervousness. Arkady Malik wouldn’t risk a call from his Kremlin office unless … no, he wasn’t backing out.
“No need to sound like a politician, my friend.” Malik’s English was still heavily accented, but it had improved enough to be irritating to listen to. “I guess I’d be more concerned if it was my daughter who might be a foil …” It was bad judgment, mentioning Ellyson’s daughter, and the general was sorry he’d done so even before the other man interrupted. The pain in his chest had dulled, but the pressure seemed to be growing in his head.
“What the hell do you know about my daughter?” Ellyson exploded. And as he did so, he was sure that he’d created a problem if anyone was monitoring the line. “That’s entirely Halder’s responsibility—” He stopped short, aware that he’d used the German’s name over an unsecure phone line.
“I don’t understand.” It was Malik’s turn to interrupt. He’d said something dumb, a knee-jerk reaction brought on by an anger that seemed to be controlling him. Why had he started this? Not only had the other jumped too quickly but a name had been mentioned over the phone and that was contrary to policy. He was simply jabbing at Ellyson because the American had agreed that his daughter could be used as a cover if he was ever under suspicion. What kind of a man would allow that? Of course, nothing had been done in that regard yet, or at least nothing that Malik had been informed about. “I was simply inquiring since I hadn’t… since I thought she might be visiting back home … and …”
Now it was his turn to enforce discipline upon both of them during the conversation. Obviously Ellyson felt something wasn’t right. But Malik realized too late it had been bad judgment to antagonize Ellyson, more or less even to call him. “I didn’t mean to upset you, and I apologize if I did.” Why did I even pick up the phone? He could feel the drops of perspiration running across his ribs.
“You obviously know something I don’t. When it comes to Katherine, I have no sense of humor. Tell me what you know or I promise, and you’d better believe I carry out what I say, I’ll alert someone near you who can find out.” Ellyson’s voice mirrored anger and urgency at the same time it threatened.
Malik felt another twinge under his ribs, like someone had hold of a muscle and wasn’t about to let go. He had to end this tremendous mistake. What had caused him to do this? “Your friend, the one you mentioned a moment ago, can help you.” Yes, this had been a mistake, calling Ellyson for something that he’d likely exaggerated in his own mind. “I’m sure of that. I must break this off now. I have work to do. Please be careful about additional incidents around you.” He disconnected without waiting for a similar response. Then he closed his eyes, wrapped his arms under his armpits, and squeezed until that twinge seemed to relax.
Wallace Ellyson held the phone to his ear for more than twenty seconds, hoping that it was simply a temporary break in the transmission. Finally, he replaced the receiver in its cradle and stared down at his desk, oblivious to the neatly ordered papers on his blotter. After a moment of pondering what he’d just committed himself to, he admitted—what a prime asshole you’ve been, allowing Katherine to ever be involved. No matter what else you do now, Wallace Ellyson, you will find where Katherine is being kept and obtain proof that she is perfectly safe. Better yet, get her back—get her away from those assholes.
Having promised himself that, he found his mind wandering back to that session with Norman Smith and Carl Halder when the concept of using Kat had first been broached. It was totally implausible to him now that he’d accepted the idea. Hell, Malik wasn’t even there at the time. What does he know that I don’t? Had the other three somehow gotten together recently without him?
Forget them! First—Katherine. Bernie Ryng knew she was missing. How much else did he know? And, Ellyson wondered, should he really be trusting Halder, an ex-Stasi? Hell, he was no ex-Stasi. There was no such animal. Halder planned to run the new Stasi. And if Ellyson’s suspicions were confirmed, that madman intended to run the new Germany, a Germany created in his own mind that would be the centerpiece of a revived Eastern Europe. God only knew what Halder intended in his wildest dreams for the European Community. What the hell did they expect me to do if they were controlling Katherine? And then Wallace Ellyson was struck with his naiveté. They had more control of him than he did himself—the bastards!
He would find Katherine first.
Norman Smith concluded that if there was ever a time to leave Nice, it was now—“a very necessary business trip” he announced casually to his wife. His associates, as his wife referred to them, were using his home like a phone exchange and he considered that unwise at this stage. The initial calls from Ellyson and Halder weren’t so bad. It was time even for the best of people to grow nervous. It wasn’t abnormal to get calls from other European cities and they couldn’t be traced from the public phone booths they used. He’d acknowledged their concerns. But after learning of Arkady Malik’s disjointed call to Ellyson, he was worried that Malik was a man coming perilously close to the edge. The crazy bastard’s last call was to Smith and had originated directly from his Kremlin office shortly after his conversation with Ellyson. Why Malik had bothered to call Ellyson and torment the man was beyond Smith, but to bring up his daughter when the Russian had no idea about the situation was incredible. Then for Malik to follow that up by discussing strategy with Smith over an unsecure line—Smith had cut him off short—was the last straw.
My mistake—my fucking mistake, Smith said to himself. Malik had been included because he was in such a valuable position. Smith had known—even Ellyson had brought it up to him once—that Malik’s temper could make him a liability. And now … now that son of a bitch could be hazarding the entire plan if he couldn’t regain control of that dangerous temper.
Smith’s first problem was the Ellyson girl. Her father’s call, which came within moments of Malik’s, indicated an undetected weakness. The man wasn’t hysterical but he certainly wasn’t under complete control either when he insisted on seeing his daughter to make sure she was safe. How could you have ambitions for a cabinet position if you started worrying before it was necessary? A leader was supposed to concentrate on what was vitally important. Of course, Smith had admitted to this group more than once, he’d never had any children so it was difficult to place himself in that position, although he did appreciate people’s devotion to them. Yet when it came to matters of international proportions, you were supposed to set your priorities.
The logical solution was to eliminate Katherine Ellyson, but he acknowledged immediately that would be impossible. Halder insisted to Smith at first that having her at the place in Decin made sense because Ellyson would be able to see her if he ever got cold feet. Okay, now he had cold feet and Smith said that would cause all of them trouble. Halder had reacted angrily, threatening to move her again so that no one would know where she was. He told Smith that Decin was probably a mistake since each of them had met there before.
Wallace Ellyson had been considered a vital link to their plan because he brought an insider’s influence to their group. He was vital! His relationship with the current U.S. president would be critical when it came to advice filtering back to Crandall from a trusted old friend, especially when that old friend was now an American ambassador parked right in the middle of the eastern European mess. Ellyson would be reinforced by the opinions Norman Smith would offer. There was also a second factor that Smith appreciated more than the others. Ellyson desperately wanted his old friend to appoint him secretary of state.
It seemed so natural, a former NATO general and a current U.S. ambassador recommending that Gilbert Crandall not involve the U.S. military in the chaos, laying just enough doubt to allow the balance to shift back to where it belonged. And then, if Ellyson was ever appointed secretary of state, the old, comfortable system would be back in place.
But that nagging feeling in the back of Norman Smith’s mind, the doubt that arises when you don’t quite trust another’s ability to deliver, wouldn’t disappear. It had resurfaced after those damn phone calls. Arkady Malik appeared to be cracking and Wallace Ellyson was on the edge because of his daughter. Shit, he doesn’t have the gumption to be secretary of state! And if Smith had figured that out, why wouldn’t Gilbert Crandall?
Why did they need Ellyson?
After a specific point in time, they wouldn’t.
“I’m going to be off for a few days again, my dear,” Smith said as they sat down to lunch on their deck on a surprisingly warm late winter day.
“This is such an awful time to travel, Norman, so many bad things happening all over Europe.” She tilted her head and smiled affectionately. “I don’t know what can be so important that you have to go off so quickly. Those awful terrorists everywhere—and look what happened in Prague. And those accidents over the past month to so many important people.” She pursed her lips and gazed at him with that look that said she wanted to be heard this time. “I don’t think all those were real accidents, not for a minute.”
“No? Why?” He munched calmly on his sandwich.
“I know you don’t believe in the cards, Norman,” she answered and folded her arms. “But you know the old saying—it’s in the cards. Well, the cards just don’t support so much coincidence this time. And with all the problems in Europe—drugs and inflation and food shortages and … you know what I mean. It’s just too much all at once to be coincidence. You’re an important person, Norman. What’s to keep someone from killing you like some of those others who’ve died violently recently?”
“I assure you that no one knows who I am anymore, my dear. I’ve had my brief moment in the sun. Now I just want to acquire enough money to make our retirement more comfortable and leave something for you after I’m gone.”
“Don’t say that, Norman.” She sniffed a couple of times and tears formed at the corner of her eyes.
A poor choice of words. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to upset you. It’ll only be a couple of days and I don’t plan to be around anyone dangerous. I’m too old for that sort of excitement now.”
Norman Smith flew directly to Berlin where he rented a car and drove to the farmhouse outside of Dresden because he knew Halder’s plans to convene his critical people there. With time growing short, the phone was no longer the answer. He and Halder needed to be together, to formulate last-minute plans when something didn’t fall into place, and to react when the weaknesses of their own people surfaced. He knew Halder was feeling a great deal of pressure and it was necessary to calm him.
But only the couple who worked the farm were there. Halder’s guests had gone back underground—in their cities. Carl Halder had originally intended to drive back to Berlin. However, the farmer reported that a call from a man named Malik had come in early in the morning before the sun had risen. Halder had become angry. His cursing over the phone could be heard throughout the house. There were calls that did nothing for his temper. He took only enough time to order an aide to complete the remaining session and see everyone off. When he left, he told the farmer that he would eventually end up at the lakeside cottage near Teupitz, a summer place southeast of Berlin that was practically deserted during the cold months. Halder considered it safe, if not safer, than the farmhouse during the winter. His final words to the farmer were that only Norman Smith was allowed to know his destination.
