Exile Endgame (Kamas Trilogy Book 4), page 27
Linder asked Quist, Poirier, and Silva all manner of questions about the League, to which they responded with measured answers. Though he suspected that some of their responses were incorrect, he detected no transparent lies. The League seemed to have schooled its three spokespeople very well. Cowen also joined the discussion, pointing out how the volume of cross-border traffic had grown since the Canada-U.S. treaty and how border controls had become more lax. By the time dessert reached them, the five were swapping tales of old exploits, gossiping about mutual acquaintances, and sharing many a laugh.
Silva, in particular, seemed to relax noticeably the longer the meal wore on.
“You’d be amazed how closely the League has been working with friendly foreign intelligence agencies,” she gushed at one point. “Canadian, Mexican, Brazilian, British, and many others. There’s a torrent of information flowing out from the League while funds and tech support flow in. That’s why Gordon and I relocated to Ottawa, to be closer to the action.”
An uneasy look passed across Harry Cowen’s face when she mentioned British Intelligence. Was the League’s cooperation with the British more robust than Allen Hackett had let on?
Sitting back in his chair with yet another glass of Bordeaux, Linder put it all together. The League seemed better organized and more capable than he had thought. If left alone, it might soon complete its domination of the émigré opposition. Its effectiveness against the Unionist Party was another matter, however. Why had the League thus far not scored any major hits against the regime? Could the League be a creature of the DSS, either by design or by capture? Linder had ample evidence pointing in that direction, but no ironclad proof. If he went home to denounce the League, its followers would deny his claims, maintaining that he was peddling sour grapes. The only way to stop the League, and its possible DSS masters, would be to bring home irrefutable evidence of the League’s perfidy. Or, alternatively, if he failed to return entirely—that, too, might serve as a kind of proof.
The conversation lagged for a moment and it seemed to Linder that the others were all staring at him. He let his eyes roam around the table. Then, as if reaching a decision at that very moment, he addressed them.
“Sorry, but I just can’t take the risk of crossing, not on such short notice.”
Linder turned his gaze to Quist, whose eyes held the look of a man who had just seen victory slip through his fingers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: CROSSING
“There are decades where nothing happens, and there are weeks where decades happen.”
—Vladimir Ilyich Lenin
FRIDAY, 24 MARCH 2034
Once everyone had risen from the dinner table, Quist made a show of using his cell phone to call the men aboard the boat that was to have brought Bracken and Popovic across the lake to the safehouse.
“Change of plan,” Quist told the boatmen in a clipped voice. “Your northbound passengers won’t be traveling. Instead, please proceed to our location to bring us south. There will just be two of us.”
Though Linder couldn’t hear the smugglers’ reply, he saw a fleeting frown cross Quist ‘s face before he hung up.
“The motorboat should be here in about ninety minutes,” Quist announced. “For those who are traveling, this would be a good time to catch a short nap. Anyone else can do the same if you’d like. I just ask that you to stick around until the boat leaves the dock. Or you can spend the night upstairs. The bedrooms are at our disposal.”
“No problem,” Cowen replied. Silva nodded in agreement.
“I’ll take you up on your offer of a nap,” Linder added. “Harry and I will drive back to Montreal after you’ve gone.”
“Suit yourself,” Quist replied coldly before turning to leave.
Linder claimed the bedroom at the end of the upstairs hall and immediately sat at its desk to call his wife. But to his annoyance, the call went straight to voicemail. He checked his watch. The time was just before eleven o’clock. Had Annabel turned off her cell phone before going to bed? He broke off the call and tried again. Same result. So he left her a voice message.
“Hi, Bel. I arrived safely at the lake and am doing fine here. Our group had a very lively discussion over a fine dinner. We’re all staying at a lovely Cape Cod style lake house, all glass and weathered wood shingles, with its own dock and boathouse. You’d love it. As for timing, I expect to be back sometime before dawn tomorrow. See you then. Love you to bits.”
No sooner had he ended the call than he heard a soft knock at his door.
“Come in,” he said.
Quist entered and quietly shut the door behind him.
“I just received a call from the person who was going to join us from Montreal,” Quist began, appearing confident once again. “As it happens, he has just made it to Magog and his car will be here in a few minutes. Would you be willing to talk to him?”
“It seems a bit late for that,” Linder answered coolly after a moment’s pause, none too pleased at the sudden proposal. “But, sure. May I ask who this person might be?”
“I’d rather not speak his name out loud. But the two of you already know each other.”
“Interesting. And do you also know him?”
“I don’t,” Quist replied. “Bracken just asked me to help him any way I could.”
“Do Maria and Jack know him?”
“Not likely,” Quist said. “Anyway, may I bring him up? I promise he’ll come alone. His driver will stay outside with the car.”
A few minutes later, Linder heard the crunch of car tires on gravel and looked out the window to see headlights approaching. It was a dark sedan, likely a livery car. Linder watched as Quist approached the vehicle and led the stranger inside. He was a dark figure of average height, dressed in an overcoat and a homburg hat pulled low.
Then came the creak of footsteps on the back stairs. Linder’s door opened without knocking.
“Good to see you again,” Irwin Kreutzer said as he removed his hat. His face wore the smile of someone who expected a warm welcome. “Surprised to see me?”
“Nothing you do could ever surprise me, Irwin,” Linder replied in a level tone. “But why are you here, of all people. What’s your connection to the League?”
“I support the League, though only a few in the organization’s leadership are privy to that. So I agreed to come here on the condition that only you and Quist would see me.”
“As I recall, you and I didn’t part on the best of terms at your going-away party,” Linder noted, gesturing for Kreutzer to take a seat. “I even recall you making a threat. So what’s changed?”
The trade envoy removed his hat and coat and seated himself on the room’s only armchair. Linder took the straight-backed wooden chair at the desk.
“Oh, I think we can safely put all that business behind us now,” Kreutzer replied with a serene smile. “Do you remember my predicting that I’d be back in London soon as U.S. ambassador? Well, it’s official now. So whatever turn that events might take, I’ll be in an excellent position to control my future. Now that your Zuckerman Letter has been officially discredited, I’m not one to hold pointless grudges.”
“How high-minded of you,” Linder answered without expression.
“Anyway,” Kreutzer went on without looking Linder in the eye, “what I’m about to propose to you is far more important than anything happening now in London. Tell me, Warren, do you intend to travel to Boston tonight to meet with the League leadership?”
“I don’t.”
“May I ask why not?”
“I told them I wouldn’t cross the border, and I won’t. If they want to talk, they can meet me here on this side.”
Kreutzer offered a sympathetic nod.
“And what is your current assessment of the League, Warren? Are you confident that they are capable of overthrowing Twitchell and the Unionist Party within the foreseeable future?”
“Not from what I’ve seen,” Linder replied. “To topple a firmly entrenched government, you need more than an organization. You need a movement with serious grass-roots support. I just don’t see the League having that yet.”
“They have more than you might think, Warren. If you went to Boston, I believe you’d be surprised.”
“Then where are the demonstrations, the labor strikes, the civil unrest? At least, in Fury’s day, he staged the occasional bombing or assassination to remind everyone that a functioning opposition still existed.”
“I wouldn’t attribute the lack of civil unrest to the League’s lack of popular support. I’d call it a failure of leadership. Perhaps if Fury had taken over the League as chairman, things might have been different. But he never made it that far.”
“And why not, if the League is so powerful?” Linder asked. “Fury was under their protection, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, but he made the mistake of confiding his plans to untrustworthy persons, who betrayed him to the DSS.”
“The Geigers, you mean?”
“So it seems,” Kreutzer agreed. “The League might have managed to shake Fury free, but he lost heart and killed himself first.”
“So what makes the League’s prospects so different now?”
“Three things. Unified émigré support and a charismatic new leader. Both of those come from you. And support from a powerful faction of disaffected Party insiders. That comes from me.”
Linder stifled a laugh.
“You expect me to bring the hard-line émigrés on board, just like that?” he asked.
“Yes, in return for being made League chairman.”
“And the Party insider faction? What’s that all about?” Linder challenged.
Kreutzer removed a creased sheet of paper from his inside suit pocket and unfolded it.
“Here, see for yourself.”
The note contained neither an addressee’s name nor a signature, but Linder recognized the handwriting from his work on the Zuckerman Letter. It was that of Ted Terzian, Twitchell’s one-time rival in the Unionist Council of Three, who was slowly being eased out of power in the Politburo. Or perhaps the letter was a forgery. Linder scanned the text quickly. Among other things, it proposed full amnesty for all U.S. émigrés charged with anti-Unionist activities, the restoration of civil rights to those who returned voluntarily to America, and favorable treatment on oil and gas leases and other government contracts to foreign companies domiciled in countries that dropped sanctions against the United States.
“So the letter is from your man, Terzian?” Linder asked.
“Yes. Ted handed it to me personally to pass on to you.”
“Pretty dangerous piece of paper for you to carry around, I’d think.”
“Not so much here in Canada. I’ll be burning it shortly, anyway.”
“So does this mean that Terzian would scrap the Unionist agenda if he got in?” Linder probed.
“Definitely,” Kreutzer agreed, leaning forward with elbows on his knees. “The first thing he’d do would be to sack all the Twitchell loyalists, replace them with his own people, and give the Party a new platform. He’d also draw heavily on League members to fill administrative positions. With some prominent émigrés, as well. Do you think you could win over your constituents with a program like that? Would they join forces with Ted and the League to take on Twitchell?”
“Maybe,” Linder replied. “But how do I know Terzian will follow through? And that the League will have the strength to carry him over the top? And how can I be sure that he wouldn’t cast me and my people aside once he got what he wanted?”
“Why not ask Ted yourself? And why not sit down with the entire League Political Council to see if they’re made of the right stuff? They’re all meeting in Boston this weekend.”
“I already told you. I’m not going. And why should I believe you, of all people, that I’d be safe there if I did?”
“Because this is a once in a lifetime opportunity to get in on the ground floor of regime change, Warren,” Kreutzer replied. “Terzian doesn’t want you on board just to bring in émigré support. He wants you because you hate DeWaart and the DSS just as much as he does. He couldn’t say this in his note, but he wants to make you head of the DSS when he comes in. Not to oppress dissidents, as DeWaart does, but to dismantle the DSS brick by brick, as few other people are capable of doing.”
Linder threw his head back and laughed.
“Now that’s something I could get behind,” he told Kreutzer. “But all I have from you and Terzian right now are vague promises. To go inside, I’d be putting my life in your hands.”
“You’d be in no more danger than any of the other people the League has brought safely in and out of the U.S. You’d be traveling with Quist and Poirier, who do this regularly. I’d fly in tomorrow from Montreal to meet you.”
There was a look of earnestness on Kreutzer’s face that Linder had never seen before, and that was wholly uncharacteristic of him. What was he to make of it?
“Look, Irwin, it all sounds very exciting. And, sure, I’d join forces with the devil himself to get rid of Twitchell and his crew. But why do I have to decide right this moment? Why can’t it wait?”
Kreutzer looked from side to side into the semi-darkness, as if worried that he might be overheard even here, before replying in a near whisper.
“Because Ted doesn’t have time to spare. He expects Twitchell to move against him at any moment and wants to make sure he can count on émigré backing before the balloon goes up. Believe me, if you get on board, you can pretty much write your own ticket once we take over.”
“So let me see if I have this straight,” Linder replied as he stroked his chin. “Terzian is making his power move under cover of the League, and the League wants a show of international support so that people don’t see all this as just a palace intrigue among Politburo insiders.”
“I think you’re also overlooking the substantive policy differences between Twitchell and Ted. Remember that the New Economic Plan was originally Ted’s idea, and it was he who forced Twitchell to adopt it. Ted has always been a reformer, and he’s been bringing other reformers into his camp while Twitchell has been jockeying for absolute power. Believe me, Ted is the only person inside the country who has any chance of unseating Twitchell. So are you in or out?”
“If it’s a fight between Ted and Twitchell, I’m definitely with Ted,” Linder replied. “But why can’t I just tell you that now and go home to support the League from London?”
“Because Ted insists on meeting you face to face, since he wants you to lead the DSS. He wants to make sure the two of you see eye to eye. But since the only way you can bring the émigré opposition on board is from your base in London, he absolutely guarantees your safe return.”
Linder rose from his chair and took a moment to gaze out the window.
“All right,” he told Kreutzer, “for the sake of argument, let’s assume that I might be willing to meet Terzian south of the border. How and when would a meeting happen?”
“Quist and his people would escort you across the lake and into Boston. I would catch up with you there and take you to Ted before your meeting with the League. Afterward, Quist would escort you back to Montreal the same way you came.”
“And if I decline the offer?”
“Ted would find someone else and you’d be out for good. No second chances.”
“So can I have some time to think about it?”
Kreutzer let a moment go by before answering. A faint smile played on his lips.
“Of course, Warren,” he answered, softening his tone. “You can give your answer to Quist in the next hour or so and he can pass word to me on the road.” He looked at his watch. “Your boat arrives in about an hour.”
Kreutzer stood up and approached Linder with his right hand outstretched. Linder took it. A moment later he watched from the window as Quist walked Kreutzer to the waiting car and remained in the driveway until the vehicle’s red taillights were out of sight. Then Linder left the room to meet Quist as climbed the back stairs.
“Okay, I’m convinced,” he told Quist. “Save me a seat in the boat.”
It was a high-stakes gamble, but if Kreutzer was right, it might be the best shot he’d ever have to bring down the Unionist regime. And if he disappeared after crossing the border, it would be clear to all that the League was a hoax.
Upon returning to his room, Linder rifled the desk drawers for writing materials. Upon finding a sheaf of copy paper and a few envelopes, he put pen to paper, writing Annabel a message whose opening lines read:
“My beloved sweetheart, I am writing you again even though I texted you earlier this evening. The reason is that my plans have changed. It has become absolutely necessary that I cross the border and travel to Boston on business.”
It was a difficult note to write, as he could not offer all his reasons for entering the Unionist State. And while he remained confident that he was making the right choice, if it turned out wrong, this message might be his last. He felt a sudden pang of regret, having assured his wife that he would never return to America so long as the Unionists reigned. To break his promise was bad enough. And if he failed to return, Annabel would feel doubly betrayed. But what about the members of the anti-Unionist movement who looked to him as leader? And the men he left behind in the camps? Did he not owe a duty to them, as well? Kreutzer was offering him the best chance he was likely to get to topple the Unionist regime. A better shot would not likely come his way. How could he not take it?
After finishing the note to Annabel and sealing it in an envelope, Linder spent the rest of the hour in silent meditation. When Quist called out that the boat had arrived, Linder stuffed Annabel’s letter in his jacket pocket and returned downstairs, where he sought out Harry Cowen.
