Crate of Lies, page 16
"Nearly there, Sir. I'll drop you off right at the end. I've been told to give you this, sir." The Marine passed a large, plastic, shopping bag over his shoulder. "Your Beretta…with the compliments of the ambassador, Sir."
"Thank you," replied Harry. He removed the Beretta and put it in his jacket pocket.
They came to a halt and Harry stepped out from the air conditioning into the heat. He loosened his tie and realised he was still in the clothes he wore in London. Standing on the pavement, the tiredness caught up with him. He removed his glasses and wiped them with a tissue while surveying the boulevard in both directions.
No-one stood out more in Moscow than those whose business it was to follow others. There were several old people sitting on a bench under a beech tree. Outside the Metro entrance two men stood by the stairs deep in conversation and a group of people queued at a tram stop opposite. Apart from that, many pedestrians, mostly tourists, were walking in one General direction towards Red Square. It was then he saw the man, standing half hidden behind the beech reading a newspaper; a flash of black hair and bronzed skin. Harry recognised the newspaper by its logo. Le Figaro.
The man hid from view as quickly as he appeared, his paper the only visible sign he was there. Harry moved away slowly, looking at his watch. He still had seven minutes. Walking towards the square, he noticed a small restaurant and made for it. The man following him was not Russian. They hid or made it obvious that they were following, letting their prey sweat.
This man merged in with the crowd, hiding in the open, totally alert but looking uninterested. To Harry, the newspaper headline read Liebermann. The man was middle aged and of stocky build, probably a legionnaire.
Harry followed several other customers into the restaurant and sat at the back, next to the toilets.
After ordering tea, he waited for the man to appear before getting up and stepping into the toilet. There was a window above an old radiator on the far wall. He opened the window and secured it on the second hole of the catch before hiding in a cubicle. The man was following, keeping station, reporting back. He would be alone. If they were out to kill him, there would be two of them. How long would he sit and wait? Harry stood behind the cubicle door, holding it shut, Beretta in hand. Several other customers came and went, letting the door bang shut behind them. Ten minutes later, the door opened and closed quietly.
Achilles heel, thought Harry. You are well trained, my friend, but not well enough. Liebermann should have taught you that when following another agent you have to know what they are looking or listening for in order to turn the tables. He waited until he heard the window catch squeak open.
Harry jumped from the cubicle. The man started to turn but fell as the first bullet thudded into him. The second smashed into his neck, leaving blood pumping from the wound. Harry took a small Star of David talisman from his pocket, bent over the man and dropped it in the bloody hand.
"Okay, Hienrich," Harry whispered, "this man is now at peace with my people. You will no longer use his hands to spread your evil." He put the Beretta back in his pocket and walked out, closing the door quietly.
Looking at his watch he found he was fifteen minutes late. He hurried to the square and across to St Basil's. Tourists surrounded the adjacent monument and as he moved closer he saw a familiar face. Walking as close as he could, he passed Raithe without looking at him. Just inside the church, he stopped to admire an icon.
"Harry." The voice was almost a whisper.
Without turning, Harry waited for several people to pass. "There are official taxis outside. Go to 72 Rostovskaja. Here, I've written it down." He held a small slip of paper behind him. Five minutes later, he left and climbed into a taxi.
A siren wailed directly behind Harry. As the police car passed, he sighed deeply.
"Is hot," said the driver.
"Yes it is," said Harry. "Very hot."
"You want tour of city or maybe a woman?"
Harry laughed. "No thank you. Niet."
He gave the driver the address and sat back, closing his eyes. Sleep would come easily but not before a long talk with Raithe. The train was due in and somehow they had to be in the railway yards looking, according to Max, for wagon 5329.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Ministry of Foreign Affairs, twenty-seven stories of Stalinist Gothic style, dominated the skyline above the six-lane Smolenskaya that swept around one side of the river. At the Borodino Bridge the six lanes became the Rostovskaja. Somewhere inside a six storey block of apartments was number 72, leased to foreign embassies for their staff and visiting dignitaries.
A siren wailed on the other side of the bridge and grew fainter as the car drove into the distance. From the corner of his eye Raithe watched a taxi arrive at the front of the building and Harry's large figure alight. Before he reached the top of the steps, Raithe was right behind him.
The apartment, lavishly furnished with soft, leather sofas, a highly polished dining room suite and two king sized beds draped with black, silk sheets looked a far cry from the Radisson. Someone had gone to a lot of expense.
Harry walked straight towards the bathroom. "Make yourself comfortable while I take a shower," he said, over his shoulder. "I've got two dead Russians, one dead American, one annoyed ambassador and several pissed off ministers in the Knesset to wash out of what's left of my hair. And why, dear boy?" He reached the bathroom. "Because you can't keep your cock in your trousers and stay alert." The door slammed.
Raithe sat quietly for several minutes, looking out of the window and across the river.
Twenty minutes later, Harry re-appeared, dressed in a huge white bathrobe and a pair of red slippers. There was a faint smell of cologne about him mixed with apple soap. His eyes looked tired, ringed with red and his jaw set in the way Raithe associated with two 'musts.' Never apologise because it made the man worse and do not argue because it was never possible to prove the man wrong. He waited while Harry sat and put his glasses on.
Lighting a Havana, Harry said, "Now, tell me what happened from the time you got to the airport until the time you woke up and found that three men enjoyed a party in your room without inviting you."
Raithe told him, leaving nothing out, including his time spent with a prostitute.
"You did well to lose Liebermann," Harry said, as Raithe finished. "You do realise you put the woman in danger though?"
Raithe looked puzzled. "How? We weren't followed."
"She's a whore and the hotel staff will know her well. One or two of them will certainly have her number. It's only a matter of time before Liebermann traces her."
Raithe felt sick but knew suggesting Harry help her was out of the question. She couldn't tell the German a thing. Leaving some money by the side of the bed, he'd walked out before she woke. She had no idea where he was.
"She might come in useful later, if she's still around." Harry said it casually. "Did you keep her number?"
"Yes." He handed her card over. "How did you know? About her, I mean?" he said.
"Pretty obvious, I think. Even after a tiring day you would have heard something but not after sex. Liebermann must have been in your room for some time."
"I must have been a tempting target."
"You were, but our friend Hienrich wants something far more important than you."
"The Amber?"
"Perhaps, but the most important thing he wants is revenge. I told you, you are safe until you have found the room. However, you may not be so lucky if he sees both of us together. The temptation might be too great for him. We must therefore play a careful game."
Harry waggled a finger in the air. Questions needed answering. Liebermann stole the tape Prazina was going to give a Bosnian agent but how did Liebermann know about the tape in the first place? Who told him? Prazina was a Belgrade agent and Harry guessed he was selling the tape to the Bosnian's, but why? The 'why' was simple when they looked at the bigger picture.
The Hague wanted Egzon Mikulic, the Bosnian dictator, for crimes against humanity. His son had gone to live in St Petersburg over a year before which meant his father was planning to follow. With their new friend in the White House, the Kremlin could now see an embarrassing situation appearing on the horizon.
Harry was sure that when Prazina heard about the Amber treasure he knew who would buy it to coax the old guard in Red Square. The Kremlin would bankrupt themselves to get the room back.
Raithe clicked his fingers irritably. "Liebermann and the smugglers know we are on to them. A possible Odessa escape route, certainly one linked to the old Nazi regime, came out of retirement and ran again in 1952 to spirit the room away as far as Moscow. Max told me how the crates moved from one place to another. Very ingenious."
Harry coughed. "I know, dear boy. I'm afraid our little friend Max is dead."
"Dead? I don't believe it. Harry, I wasn't followed, I swear it. Lightfoot had my luggage picked up the night before and I checked out that morning. I made sure there was no one following. They didn't pick me up until I left the embassy after lunch."
"That doesn't mean they didn't know where you were before that. You must never underestimate someone like Liebermann. He may be a monster but he is a very clever and highly intelligent monster. He obviously had you followed and then went to see Max and found out what you learned. Don't blame yourself. If anyone's to blame it's me."
Harry knew how much danger Max faced. He was aware that Max and Liebermann had crossed swords many years before but failed to warn him in case he refused. That aside, Max used a trick of the trade in case of trouble. He sent all the information in an envelope, a fail-safe way of making sure that if Raithe or he ended up dead, Harry would still have the information.
"He also sent something he never told you about. I know that because that particular part of the note is written in red biro." Harry drew on the cigar and coughed again before telling Raithe about the shipment due into Moscow and about the CIA report.
"I have found several startling connections between 1945, 1952 and what's going on today," said Cohen.
"Rienecke must have organised the shipment in 1952 because the system used was only known to him and Dieter," said Raithe. "That being the case, he must have helped reform or known whoever instigated the start-up of the smuggling ring that's operating today."
"You're getting better at conundrums, dear boy. Remember the name Joe Prewit? Harahan Holdings have a list of big shareholders and one of them is a J. Prewit. Mary is checking him out at the moment and I've no doubt this is not a coincidence. His address is Idaho. Your friend Abdul, photographed by Lightfoot, delivered the tape to Wainright in person and now he's back here, in Moscow with Liebermann."
"Making sure the consignment gets through."
"Yes." Cohen clenched his fists. "Hienrich has just lost one of his rats so I suppose he'll be a little annoyed about that."
Raithe looked at him and changed the subject. "What about Robert? Has he reported in?"
"Yes, I spoke to Garret last night. Lightfoot has established contact with two in situ Austrian based CIA agents. He's ready to move if and when the freight reaches Vienna. What we have to do is establish that the rockets are on the train and second, get you out of here."
"What about the room?"
"First things first, dear boy. Let's make sure we know where the rockets are before chasing into the wild wastes for treasure."
"You know where it is?"
"I have a good idea and if I'm right, rescuing it will be very tricky. Now, tell me about Nina before I get a little sleep. We are going to be busy tonight and you can rest too."
Raithe looked out of the window. "You and your theories about tiredness and sex. How did you know the woman's name? I never told you. You phoned the bloody hotel, you old -"
"Sometimes, dear boy, collecting intelligence can mean no more than a simple call to an old friend. You forget; wherever you go there is someone watching you. I warned you about Moscow. Expect to have a shadower and be wary if there isn't one. One of the kitchen staff there is a long standing friend of mine. He was serving the cold buffet in the lounge bar and saw you with Nina. Liebermann and a colleague were sitting no more than a few metres away from you."
"Christ."
"Precisely. You're not turning out to be a particularly good agent, are you? From now on you will be on your toes. Up until now we have been playing games. From here on in the game has become deadly."
"Okay, so what's next, the train?"
"Yes, but before that, there's the 'who' question. You've missed something very important. You should have seen it, or should I say, stumbled over it before you left the hotel."
"The Russians, of course. I can't figure that out, unless they're working with Liebermann."
"Ahh. You think so? Why?" Cohen puffed quickly on the cigar, his eyes alight with excitement.
"Liebermann's trying to sell the room to them. But then why kill them? I'm confused."
Harry smiled. Raithe was nearly right. The first question was who told Hienrich about the tape? It had to be someone who talked to Prazina. They could rule out the dead Bosnian agent. He was just there to collect on behalf of Mikulic and knew nothing about the tape. Mikulic and one of his top Generals would have known and arranged the pickup. Prazina expected a payoff so his lips were sealed.
"Mikulic would be the same, unless of course…" Harry held his hands out and looked at Raithe expectantly.
"Unless of course he blabbed to the Russians before he'd taken delivery. He couldn't wait to get a ticket to St Petersburg."
"Yes, dear boy." Harry clapped his hands together. "However, as we find the answer to each question, another two appear. The tape had a lot of information on it, very little of which referred to the Amber Room. Do the Russians know about the rockets?"
Raithe looked out of the window and down at the river. "Obviously. Mikulic wouldn't keep something like that to himself."
"Quite right," answered Harry, lighting a cigar. "So why aren't the Russians turning their country upside down and searching all the trains, shipping ports and airports for the rockets?"
"Of course," snapped Raithe. "Because Prazina never told Mikulic. Conversely, he probably told his boss in Belgrade about the arms but not about the room. Why risk losing a good pay day?"
Raithe suddenly realised what Harry was suggesting. If they were right and Belgrade were clients of the smugglers or STS helped deliver the shipments, Prazina would not have wanted the Russians to know that the smugglers' route ran across their country, not only carrying arms but drugs and who knows what else. Belgrade would have lost out if the route was closed down.
"So we have another question-no maybe not." Harry checked himself. "I have the answer."
"I wish I knew the question first," said Raithe, bemused.
"The Russians knew about the Amber Room but I doubt Mikulic went into any details because Prazina would have played his cards close to his chest. He would have just informed the Bosnian leader of the tape's existence and that it contained information about the Amber. The pickup was in Berlin and by then Liebermann had become involved. That meant, if I'm right, Wainright, the Chairman of Harahan Holdings also knew about the tape."
"We know it was delivered within forty-eight hours of Prazina's death."
"Right. So either Prazina tried selling the tape to the highest bidder, that's if he knew the identity of the top man at Harahan and I think that's unlikely, or Liebermann was hired to collect the tape."
"By Wainright? But how did he know about the tape if Prazina didn't tell him?"
"Not Wainright…the Russians. That's why they were in your room."
"You've lost me. The Russians are working with Liebermann?"
Harry guessed the Russians were keeping Raithe safe. When Mikulic called Moscow he probably spoke to the head of intelligence, certainly not someone in the Politburo. That was the person who hired Liebermann. The fact that the Russians didn't know about the rockets travelling across their country suggested that Liebermann listened to the tape, got the shock of his life and sent only a small part of the original conversation concerning the room to Russian intelligence.
"If not," said Raithe, "the Russians would have found out about the pipeline and the relationship between the terrorists and Belgrade. So only Liebermann and Wainright know the whole story."
Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Hienrich could also see a lucrative job going down the drain if Wainright got caught. He's probably been with the pipeline for some time and got quite rich."
He got up from the sofa and paced the room, wisps of cigar smoke following in his wake. "He must have seen this as a golden opportunity to make millions."
"So now we have Wainright in the know and scrambling to get this shipment of rockets through before he shuts the line down and a Russian who's having us followed to make sure Liebermann doesn't double-cross them when the room is found."
"That's about the size of it, dear boy. Unfortunately for him, he now has a big Achilles Heel. He has left himself wide open. Supposing the Russian was to find out that Heinrich already has another buyer for the room?"
"How?"
"I'll give him a ring."
"You don't know who he is."
"I've a good idea. There's only one man who knows Liebermann well enough to coax him back to the Kremlin. He's also got access to large funds. He'll talk to me."
"You'll mention n's name?"
"Right." Cohen took a bottle of brandy from the bar shelf and poured two generous measures. "Here." He handed one to Raithe. "Liebermann is still one step behind us and as of tomorrow he will also have to worry about the Russian. Cheers." He raised his glass.
"In the meantime, what about Nina?" asked Raithe. "Is there nothing we can do for her?" He looked a little edgy. "I feel responsible and especially after what happened to Max. She's very, well… nice. She reminds- I mean looks a bit… oh bloody hell, Harry."
