Black Heart, page 67
Kim took the elevator down to the Hilton's glittering lobby, conscious of the essence of America all around him. He had never before been so aware of the multitude of irritating crosscurrents swirling about him. He longed for the company of his own kind and mourned that in today's world such a desire was
Kim
own
impossible to fulfil. h aftermath of the
£u,> r>,ll« ni£?ht was like March Uras in uic
The Dallas night was
1 ne Luanda i"g,"-
highly successful Republican National Convention, inc uij was alight with elation the kind of euphoric release one rarely sees. Crowds danced in the streets, oblivious of the rain, waving miniature American flags, wearing the cardboard and plas°c
1 ^i-ir, Multi-coloured confetti
sees. Crowds danced miniature American
straw hats given out at the convention. iviuici-t,u»uui filled the air, bands played on street corners, competing withtfc shouts of the thronging pedestrians. And it seemed that even before his election, Gottschalk's promised new day dawning'0' America was already here.
for
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iCim had to wait for a cab. That was just as well. It gave him efficient time to make the man who had been on a house phone when he had come through the lobby a moment ago. Stupid for tne man to Put down the receiver just as Kim was passing ym by. Even more foolish to move after him immediately. But jjjen Kim was an altogether different kind of quarry than this
0,3!) was used to dealing with. Who could he have come in contact with before, Kim mused idly, bumbling Americans or Englishmen? Kim spat into the gutter as he climbed into the taxi.
This one was not so different from the Dutchman who had trailed Kim to the other side of town. Dzerzhinsky Square. No doubt this formidable bastion of neolithic thinking was where he had been trained, Dutch descent or no Dutch descent, Kim thought now. They trained their men well; they were especially resistant to most forms of torture.
But then Kim was a master of the art, the uncrowned doge. Others felt certain that he performed miracles in this dark realm but Kim knew it to be far simpler than that - though he chose to feed the myth because it was to his benefit. It all boiled down to basics. Psychological basics. Tracy Richter was the only other man Kim had encountered who understood that concept. And it was Tracy, too, who, Kim was certain, had the capacity to become a master of Kim's expertise. Kim had seen more than enough during their time together during the war to convince him of it. Yet some innate weakness for that was how Kim viewed it - always intervened to make Tracy back off, to turn away from the power that came with such a total mastery of one human being over another.
Kim had had much time to reflect on this once again as he had worked on the Dutchman. He had been stunned by the revelation that he had unknowingly divulged potentially imaging information to the KGB. He would never have gone "ear the Panel were it not for his need to support Thu. And that wstant he hated family, duty, life itself.
The atmosphere outside the He St Marie was a bit calmer, °wing to its location in posh Turtle Creek and the long-standing teputation of the hotel itself. The limestone facade seemed to
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exude quiet and stately wealth, an old world oasis in a decidedi
new world city.
Kim went straight through the cut-glass and polished mahogany revolving door. He remembered the layout of th lobby well: concierge and check-out desks to the left, salon barber and gift shops through an arcade to the right. Straight ahead, across an expanse of blue-green area rugs, was the gilt. doored bank of elevators with their row of old-fashioned clocktype floor indicators above. Further down to the left, through a palm lined archway were the bar, the florist's and the very fi^
restaurant.
Without hesitation, Kim walked through the lobby, directly into one of the elevators. He waited as the car filled up, one eye on the floor buttons pressed. He saw his tick come in through the revolving doors, look around and, spotting Kim, make for the elevator. The doors began to close and, reaching out, Kim pressed the 'Door Open' button. Someone murmured irritably. Then the dark-haired man was in and the doors slid shut. They
went up.
Kim pressed 'five', a floor no one else was getting off at. It
would just be him and his tick.
If his memory was correct, the hotel floors were laid out in roughly the shape of a capital H. A lateral hallway led off right and left to turnings for the somewhat shorter hallways set at right angles to the central one.
Kim took an immediate right, heading purposefully down the richly appointed corridor. The thing was to do everything very quickly. The man obviously had orders to shadow Kim and he would do that to the letter. But if Kim hesitated for just a moment, the man might break it off and return to his control. Just past the corner to the shorter hallway, Kim stopped, pressing himself against the wall. There was very little sound here, the acoustics excellent, bespeaking the quality of the hotel He heard quiet padding and began to breathe deeply in preparation.
The Russian rounded the corner cautiously but because of the
low light and the streaked shadows he failed to see Kim. Kim reached out and, almost without moving his t°rs0'
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gjicircled the Russian's neck with his arms, the edge of his left forearm hard against the two middle atlas vertebrae, the heel of his right hand rushing inward towards the throat, snapping the neck cleanly so that the man dangled and danced in autonomous spasm before he slid to the floor, dead.
Partway down the corridor, Kim located a service door and dragged the corpse over. He deftly picked the lock and, once mside, stuffed the body into a linen cart, covering it with dirty sheets
Downstairs, in the lobby, he turned to his right and went through the arch, the palms whispering gently The bar was just past the florist shop, a dim rather masculine, clubby atmosphere with gas lamps, leather padding on the outward curve of the carved blond wood bar
He saw Valkene first m the etched mirror behind the bar, his great bush of wiry red-gold hair visible between the bottles of brandy
Kim evinced no surprise as he drew up an empty leathercushioned stool next to Valkene He ordered a Stohchaya with a twist and Valkene gave a thin smile, he was drinking dark German beer
They took their drinks to a booth Kim allowed the other man to choose it, knowing that according to KGB principle it would be in sight of another agent He wanted to set them all in his memory Valkene sat first, taking the left-hand seat That meant Kim would be facing the other agent, somewhere else in the room
The bar was not crowded at this time of the night and there was no one near them. Still, they kept their voices low
'It was quite an inconvenience my coming here,' Valkene said >i his thick guttural German
'I'd prefer that we both speak English,' Kim said easily. Foreign languages are noted in this city; this isn't Washington, ifterall'
The other man nodded 'As you wish.'
Kim looked across the small table He had not liked this man is 3 German, now he hated him as a Russian.
How high up are you'' he said abruptly
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'What?' The great bear head turned in his direction. Kim was patient. 'Judging by your age and the... importance of the Panel, I would think you couldn't be less than a colonel' 'What colonel?' Valkerie said irritably. 'I'm a businessman 1
run-'
'Then why are you here?' Kim said sharply. 'As I said, I am a business man. I came here to conclude a deal' Valkerie had regained his composure. This Oriental made him nervous. Never mind that he was Vietnamese; he reminded Fyodorov too much of the Chinese and he, like all Russians, had a pathological fear and hatred of the Chinese that bordered on the xeonophobic. 'What kind of deal?'
The meaty shoulders shrugged. 'You'll have to tell me.' 'Excuse me,' Kim said, rising, 'I must relieve my bladder.' As he went out of the room, he caught that wiry halo of red-gold hair bobbing and, in response, a thick dark-haired man rise from
across the room.
Kim went straight across the hall to the men's room. He was at the row of basins, washing, when he heard the door opening, There was a sliver of mirror in front of him that revealed the
body of the third Russian.
The man came in and, looking under all the partitions to see if anyone was sitting in the cubicles, came up to Kim and drew
out a silenced pistol.
Kim slammed his heel down onto the Russian's instep while
swivelling his hips, bringing his right shoulder forward,
increasing the momentum he would need for the killing blow.
The man was better prepared than Kim imagined and he
managed to block the lethal kite. His wrist broke beneath the
impact and his face went white for an instant. Then he had
recovered fully and was attacking, the clumsy gun forgotten.
Kim enjoyed the physical contact, reveling in the flex and
pressure he was putting his body to. He also savoured the
knowledge of his ultimate victory, using the ends of his fingeis
in concert at last, plunging them into the man's hard flesh just
below his sternum.
There was enough force behind it to lift the man right oft f
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feet. His dark eyes opened wide and his mouth yawned in a comic 'O' as he felt skin and ligaments ripped, then blood vessels and organs.
Kim jerked his hand upward, touching the heart, twisting it, and the man died on his feet, collapsing back onto the row of porcelain sinks.
Kim took him quickly into one of the empty cubicles, propping him up on the toilet. There had been a good deal of initial bleeding and he was careful about keeping it off his clothes. When he was satisfied that the Russian's position would not attract attention, he returned to the basin, using towels to mop up. While he was washing, a pair of slightly drunk Texans entered in the middle of telling a smutty joke. Kim resisted spitting at their feet and, with a last look at himself in the mirror as a check, went out.
He slid back into the seat opposite Valkerie and said, 'I'll tell you what the deal is,' ignoring the other's raised eyebrows. 'I've neutralized your cell here so now you're on your own. That should be a new feeling for you. Soviet secret police thrive on being surrounded by underlings and subverted informants." He smiled with his lips but there was no humour in his eyes. 'Here's a chance to see how the other half lives.'
'You're very clever,' Valkerie said icicly, 'but the small calibre pistol I'm aiming at your stomach under the table will neutralize that I've no doubt.'
'What? Shoot me here in this public place?'
'With the air-cooled silencer I have you will think I've farted. Nothing more.' Valkerie was very calm but inwardly he wanted to get it over with. The faster he put an end to the Vietnamese's life, the better he'd feel. 'And as for your head hitting the table, well, everyone knows what can happen if you drink too much. Especially to an Oriental drinking Russian vodka.' He shook his head back and forth. 'You should never have tried such fiery liquor.'
The smile was still etched on his face as the sliver of polished steel, blued on its needle end with a synthetic curare derivative, wtered the soft flesh of his underbelly. Because that area is thick w'th nerve bundles branching out into the entire body, he did
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not even have time to pull the trigger. The fast-acting poison froze his reflexes. The heart lost the ability to pump and Mikhail Ivanovich Fyodorov ceased to exist.
Kim reloaded the powerful spring-driven tube that ran along the inside of his left wrist, paid for the drinks and left the bar
at a normal pace.
Once back at the Hilton, he phoned the Dallas PD and told them where they could find a high-ranking officer of the Soviet KGB dead as a herring. He used just that phrase, liking its aptness. He did not, of course, give his name.
Then he came out of the public phone in the lobby and went up to his suite to sleep; tomorrow was time enough for him to fly out. He lay atop the king-size bed with his hands laced behind his head and stared sightlessly at the ceiling, his naked
flesh gleaming in the light.
How he wished Thu had turned out differently. There was no one else left of the family. He felt a gulf between them, as if Thu were no longer his brother but an aquaintance for whom one could feel sadness but nothing deeper. That was good, he thought. It left him alone. Because now he was the sole instrument of his family's revenge. His thoughts flew back to that hot humid night in Phnom Penh when he had been out drinking with a girl. He had returned home to Chamcar Mon to find his family's beautiful villa in flames.
This black smoke curled upwards, blocking out the pinprick diamond stars and ash rained down on the palm and banyan trees, settling like moths surrounding the conflagration.
They had all been in there: his father, Nguyan Van Chinh, his mother, Duan, his six brothers and Diep, his one sister, Diep who he had beaten twice because of her clandestine liaison with the Cambodian up the road. He had found her out some six months before and had threatened to tell their father. Diep had wept, imploring him to keep her secret, swearing to him that she would not see the boy.
Kirn had accepted her word but a week later, she had begun again. Perhaps she truly could not stay away from him or, again. she was just being perverse. Kim did not know; and the fi# made certain that he never would.
Diep died in the fierce blaze, along with their parents and five
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of the brothers Only Thu, who had tried to save her, had lived, broken but ahve And it had been Thu who had been obsessed about that night, who had returned to Phnom Penh, searching for clues
It had been Thu who on returning from his final trip back home had told Kim that, finally he had discovered the truth piep's Khmer boyfriend, the one she could not give up, had been the one to set the blaze On his way to join the maqws he had turned his hate on the family who would destroy him if they knew of his involvement with one of their own
His name was Khieu Samnang and in the 'Ragman' file Kim had found the key to his revenge Delmar Davis Macomber's adopted son was Khieu Samnang's brother, his only living relative
'My father7' Ttacy felt cold, disonentation gaming hold He had been preparing himself for a while for his father's death But murdered' No' It couldn't be 'There must be some mistake How could -'
'No mistake ' Stein's voice conveyed his sadness 'Nobody knows who or why We picked it up from NYPD and the Director ordered us in immediately They're waiting downstairs now That's why I thought '
They'' Tracy said bewilderedly 'Who're they'' There was no answer so he swivelled the chair around to look out the window It faced onto K Street and he stared directly down, saw the line of gleaming black limousines, their tops beaded with rain There were four cars, the first one in the line longer somehow than the others
Tracy squinted through the rain, saw the differing configuration at the lead car's sloping rear A hearse' My God, Stem had been telling the truth
That was what the Director had been watching as Tracy dressed He had turned away, looking out the window Watching the cortege setting up Oh, you bastard1 Tracy Bought hotly You goddamned bastard1 Of course there was a?Mi
Something from Tracy Something big
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But what?
'Mother?' Stein's voice was hesitant. 'You all right?'
'What?' Tracy brought himself back.
'I said -'
'Yes. I just... needed a minute.'
'I understand. I lost my father early. I know what it's like, especially if you're close.'
'We were close,' Tracy whispered, realizing for the first time that what he said was the truth. 'We were very close.' He felt hot tears behind his eyes, searing him. He put his trembling hand up, covering his eyes. The light seemed to pierce directly into his brain, hurting. He fought for breath. Prana. But peace would not come this time and his chest continued to heave. He heard a tiny voice crying Daddy! Daddy, the sounds of a child's running feet, climbing up into a large warm lap, putting his sleepy head against a comforting chest, hearing the rumble, a physical sense of his father's voice, lulling him to sleep, as he was told a story of faraway kingdoms, fair maidens and brave and gallant
knights.
'Mother.' Stein's voice was gentle in his ear. 'You were
calling me about something.'
Riding his father's shoulders at Rye Playland, dripping ice cream from a cone onto his thick dark hair.
'What did you want?'
All gone now. In the space of a heartbeat.
'Mother - ?'
But he of all people should know how swiftly death can strike; much of his life had been spent on learning the ways of stealth and murder. His father had understood that; even approved. The defence of America.
Tracy wiped at his eyes. What was it Stein was asking? Why
had he called?
'I got a guy in mind,' Tracy said thickly. 'I used him for an
"Eyes Only" ops in Cambodia. Seconded out of Special Forces.
I need some info on him.'
'If he was with us at all, I can get you a tie-in.'
'Listen,' Tracy said, 'I'm not going to mislead you. I'm not
coming back. I'm just here, now.'
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'What time period you interested in?' Stein said as if Tracy had not said a word.
'You listening to me? I don't want to dump you into hot water.'
'Forget it. Just call it a welcome home present. Now give.'
' '69-'70.'
'Got your man,' Stein said. 'Don't go away.'
He put Tracy on hold. Tracy looked at his watch. The Director had been gone six minutes. He estimated he had five more. One of those was burned while Stein made the connections.
