Crate of Lies, page 22
She looked into his face and smiled. "Goodbye, Raithe, my beautiful lover." She blew a kiss.
"Bye." He opened the door and jumped out.
Darting into the shadows and running down the road, he heard the automatic firing, and stopped. He stood in disbelief, looking back. The car was not moving. Nina was out of it, facing the BMW. Pulling the Beretta from his pocket, he ran back, firing as he rounded the corner. One man sat inside the BMW, obviously wounded. The other was crouched behind an open door, firing at Nina. She saw Raithe approach and so did the Arab. Raithe saw them both look at him and Abdul's gun move in his direction.
Raithe watched helplessly as Nina dived in front of him, knocking him to the ground. Momentarily stunned, he was relieved to hear the BMW roar away.
"That was another close call. You really have got to learn to do as you're told," he said, grinning.
She lay on top of him, unmoving.
"Nina…Nina." He pushed her from him and sat up, holding her head in his hands. A patch of blood was spreading quickly across her chest from a large wound. Her eyes glazed over.
"Raithe," she whispered. "You love me…yes?"
"Yes." He cradled her in his arms and rocked back and forth as grief and anger rolled over him. "Yes, I love you, Nina." He kissed her as she drew her last breath, her lips soft and warm on his.
He sat there, holding her for a minute before gently putting her back in the car. "I'm sorry," he said, "I'm so sorry."
He walked away quickly without looking back.
At the end of the road he turned into the alley where the Norton lay propped against the wall. Moments later, he rode out into the street. After reaching the station, he found the phone box and dialled.
"Dobraya utra."
Raithe cuffed tears from his face. "Angliyski, da?"
There was a moment of silence. "You speak only English?"
"Yes, I'd like to report the death of one of your nationals." He looked up at a dawn sky, fighting back emotion.
After giving details he slammed the receiver back and stood shaking uncontrollably. He cuffed his face and slipped cautiously out of the kiosk and into the night.
***
Harry drew on the cigar until the end glowed. "I've checked with Berlin and wagon 5329 is not on their records as being expected from Warsaw. 6826 was. A consignment of refrigerated crabs and various other marine delicacies bound for the tables of top class hotels and restaurants via a German fish merchant. However, due to a clerical error concerning information tapped into a computer, someone corrected the information later. According to Berlin, the seafood is in a wagon 6827, which is due to arrive in Lichtenberg tomorrow - not 6826. 6826 also contains seafood, or so the manifest says, and is also travelling through Warsaw. This load left there last night and is now on its way to Prague."
"The same train we waved goodbye to. The Harahan organisation not only has people in key positions all along its route but can act and change schedules and records at will and with lightning speed," replied Garret.
Harry blew a cloud of smoke across the office. "They can kill unwanted personnel just as quickly."
"Okay, Harry, thanks for the update. I'd better hang up. Your man is about to call. Let me know what happens."
Harry sat looking at the clock on his desk. It showed eight o'clock. He felt tired. It was well over twenty-four hours since he last slept. The all night planning meeting and calls to Washington and Moscow were taking their toll. He needed Raithe to call and then he might sleep, not at home but on a couch back at the office that he used in moments of crisis.
Mary walked unannounced into the office, still wearing her summer coat, a cup of coffee in her hand. "I've just made this. Drink it while it's hot." She put the cup down on the desk. "You look all in. Why don't you try and get a little sleep?"
"Why are you in this early?" he said. "Judith and the night shift are downstairs until nine."
"I know. I couldn't sleep either so I came in."
He smiled tiredly at her. "I'm not putting myself through this again." He sipped the coffee.
"Yes you will," said Mary, opening a window. "For goodness sake, Harry, this place stinks of Havanas. You need fresh air." Walking back to the door, she stopped and said, "Any news from Raithe?"
"I'm waiting for the call now. He's two minutes late." He leaned forward and clasped his hands together around the cup.
"I'll go and make sure it comes straight through." She left him and quietly closed the door.
He sat motionless, staring at the desk clock. It clicked to 8.04, then 8.05, then 8.06 and then the phone rang. He snatched it up.
"Where the hell have you been?"
"She's dead, Harry. Tell me where to go." His voice sounded far off, unconcerned, too relaxed.
"What are you talking about? Where are you?"
"They killed her. I think we killed two, definitely one. Abdul has gone, probably thought I was dead too. Where do you want me to go, Berlin?"
Harry sensed the tragedy and propped his head on one hand. There wasn't any point in being sentimental. The situation called for something Raithe was asking for by the tone in his voice. He completely ignored the news. There would be time later for recriminations, anger and lessons learned. Right at that moment, the girl and the dead men were ex-players, people who no longer figured in the outcome or its solution.
"Go to the airport and make your way to the Hertz desk. A Jimmy Henderson will meet you there and get you to Prague. When you get to Prague I've arranged for one of Garret's men to pick you up and take you to the railway yards. He'll show you where the wagon is or where it will be. Either way, check it out. It's due there shortly. Call me as soon as you've got it in sight."
"Okay, Harry."
The line clicked dead.
Mary popped her head around the door. "He's stressed, Harry. You did the right thing. He needs to focus. Let's hope this Henderson can get to Prague before the train leaves, let alone arrives. I take it; it is stopping in Prague, is it?"
Harry looked at her, his mouth half open. "Great idiot that I am. I assumed it would. Of course. It wouldn't stop for change of engine. That will already have happened at the border. It might go all the way to the Austrian border. We must check, Mary."
"I have, stop worrying. A little bit of good news. The train will be stopping in Prague to change drivers. I got one of your contacts in Berlin freight headquarters to make a discreet call to one of his Czech colleagues."
"Oh, Mary, what would I do without you?" Harry slumped back into his chair.
She was about to close the door when he said, "Arrange a flight for Raithe. I want him on his way to Seattle with a connecting flight to Spokane the moment the CIA takes over in Vienna tomorrow."
"What about Washington? Isn't he supposed to be going there?"
"By the time he's finished in Spokane, they won't need him. Arrange the tickets, Mary, and mine too. I want to be there to meet him. There is still a lot to do."
Before the door closed, Harry's eyes closed. Raithe's call only confirmed his assessment of the situation. As soon as Ruben called, telling him the girl was not at the safe house, he knew. The next twenty-four hours would prove how good Raithe was. He had killed, lost a friend and seen her killer escape. Would he back off or charge vengefully headlong into trouble or realise there was only one way to win; methodically, calmly, patiently and focused fully on the job. There was only so much an agent learned from his instructor and handler. The rest was up to the individual. Raithe was at the critical point at which he would learn the truth about himself. Harry fell asleep.
***
A short distance from the railway station Raithe found an empty property. At the back was an overgrown patch of grass. He bedded down for four hours before going back to the phone box and calling Harry. Drifting in and out of sleep, he could not get the sight of Nina's dead body lying in the road out of his mind or the face of Abdul, his lips parting in a sneer, baring clenched teeth as he fired. He woke in the morning, his head clearer. Anger and pain subsided during sleep, giving way to a resolve. Abdul and Liebermann were going to die but not until the right moment. As Harry once commented, revenge always tasted better with a clear head.
Later, after arriving at the airport, Raithe paid the driver, climbed out of the taxi wearily and walked across the concourse. Passing a coffee shop, he caught sight of his reflection in the window. Unshaven and untidy, he felt self-conscious. Looking around the hall for the washroom sign he realised time was short. Every second counted. Harry's contact waited for him.
"Raithe?"
Raithe looked around to find a tall, fair-headed man looking at him with distaste. "Jimmy Henderson. You look like a sack of shit. Here, put this on." He handed Raithe a clipped plastic ID tab. It had his photo on it under the title DFP.
Henderson walked on. "Follow me and don't say anything. You work for DFP. We're a European mail and parcel delivery service, next day delivery and all that crap. You're working with me as loader and sorter, got that?"
Raithe nodded as he ran to keep up with the man. "I don't normally go around like this, you know."
"I hope not." Henderson sniffed and gave him another disapproving look.
Before Raithe could reply, they came to a barrier and Henderson showed his pass. The official looked Raithe up and down and then back at Henderson.
"I know," said Henderson. "First time in the city and three whores took him for more than a ride last night."
The official started to laugh and waved them through.
"What the hell do you know about last night?" said Raithe angrily, as they walked out of earshot.
Henderson stopped and turned on him. "I know where you've been and what you've been doing ever since you got here," he said, tapping Raithe's chest with a finger. "So does Washington. In one night you've given the ambassador his biggest headache since coming to this city three years ago. Why do you think you're still alive? Why didn't that bastard finish you off? One of our men was looking after your back and put his life on the line for you. Unfortunately, he was too late to save the girl. He fired at the killer and saw him off. You've had a tail since Moscow, another city you seem to have run amok in. They say you're on our side but you'll forgive me if I doubt that. Now," he scowled, "follow me. There's a Lear outside on the tarmac. All you have to do is walk to the plane and climb in. I'll do the rest."
Raithe looked at the back of Henderson marching away in white shirt and jeans. He followed the figure out onto the tarmac and left him talking to another official. There were four seats inside the Lear. The rest of the space was a cargo area, full of boxes and red sacks. He sat in one of the seats and waited. A minute later, Henderson boarded and closed the door.
"Before you ask, don't ask. This is a bona fide company and when we get to Prague I'll be handing you over to a colleague. Keep your mouth shut. Now, fasten your seatbelt."
Raithe watched the tarmac runway drop away a few minutes later as they climbed rapidly.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The rain bucketed straight down, bouncing off the pavement. Rivers of water cascaded along the gutters by the side of the road and poured in sheets from overhead awnings in front of shops, cafés and restaurants. Little crowds of people, some holding dripping umbrellas, others standing in summer clothes with hunched shoulders, tried to shelter under the awnings. Out in the open, the only movement was the traffic, a never ending procession of glaring tail lights and hissing tyres. Occasionally, a few people standing under the nearest shelter would emerge in a mad dash as a bus pulled into the kerb. With a steadily darkening sky, there was a bright flash followed a second later by a loud crash of thunder that rolled on into the distance.
Liebermann sat watching the activity from the first floor of the Kranzler. His table, right next to the window, afforded him a view across the busy Kurfurstendamm. A young couple ran across the pavement.
"Kranzlerschnitte?"
"Ja," he answered, watching the couple across the road as the meal appeared in front of him.
The couple moved on and he concentrated on his meal. Sipping coffee after the meal, his mobile rang. He looked at the screen and smiled.
"Yes, Abdul. I hope you have some good news for me."
"Our two men are dead but so are Ravelle and the woman."
Liebermann tapped the table lightly with a clenched fist. "Wonderful, Abdul. Well done. You are in the clear?"
"Yes, I'm at the airport."
"Good. You have to be in Prague for tomorrow morning. Go with the truck to Vienna when it's loaded. You know what to do after that. When you've finished, make arrangements to get to Spokane as quickly as possible. I'll meet you at the motel."
"What about Cohen?"
"We'll meet him in America…after we have spoken to Prewit."
***
"One down and one to go, Mr. Wainright."
"Hienrich, I am just as interested in the delivery as I am in getting rid of Cohen. You have dealt with one but when are you going to deal with the other? Delivery is within twenty-four hours. By then, I want no trace of the pipeline left and that means Cohen. By now, because of your own agenda, Cohen will have alerted the Americans. That man has put us out of business for months and I want an example made of him. Do you understand?"
"Of course, and he will be dealt with, I assure you."
"You keep saying that. I hope for your sake he is. If not, it will not only be payment that you will be worrying about."
Wainright put the receiver down slowly. Prewit had called the previous day, telling him of Liebermann's intended visit, although there was no explanation why he wished to have the meeting.
Wainright cursed himself for not seeing the obvious. The German was becoming a liability. His obsession with Cohen and the Amber Room side-lined the organization's operation. Cohen was getting too close. It was time to deal with the matter. He sat thinking for some time before picking the phone up again to call Prewit. The deal with Zalesky should never have gone through. With delivery so close and the FBI on his tail, he could not afford any more mistakes.
He waited impatiently, listening to the ringing tone.
"Yeah, Freeworld Marketing."
"Has Liebermann called you again?"
"No, Mr. Wainright, not yet."
"I don't think he will, either."
"Said he was gonna' be here this week."
"I'm sure he will," said Wainright, "but he'll probably arrive unannounced."
"So what are you sayin'?"
"I want you to stay out of his way. Go and sort things out at the boathouse and make sure you keep your mouth shut."
"Why?"
"Prewit, just for once, do as you're told."
"I can handle him if you like."
"You heard what I said. Now do it. Until the delivery goes through, I need him. He's a necessary evil. When the time is right, I'll deal with him."
There was a snigger on the other end of the line. "Good for you. I never liked the bastard anyway."
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
"The blue DFP trucks are over there, next to the large white hangar." Henderson pointed out of the cockpit window. "When we stop, walk across to the one with the guy standing in front of it. He'll take you to the yards."
The Lear came to a halt and the door opened from the outside. Raithe was about to say thanks but Henderson was busy talking to the control tower. He stepped down onto the tarmac and walked to the van. The driver climbed into the cab as soon as he saw him approaching.
"Babcock?"
"Yes."
"Strap yourself in and take your stuff from the glove compartment. There's some currency and a cell phone."
Five minutes later, after passing through the immigration office, they were out of the airport and driving east toward the city centre along the main highway.
Raithe dozed for thirty minutes. When the truck came to a halt, office blocks surrounded them.
"This is your stop, buddy. Stand on the kerb and a cab will pick you up."
Raithe undid the belt and said, "Thanks for the lift."
There was no reply as he slid the door back and hopped down to the pavement. The truck moved off before he turned to face the traffic. By the time he turned and put his hands in his pockets, a taxi pulled up in front of him.
"Jump in."
He recognised the voice. "Lightfoot. Bloody hell, am I pleased to see you. What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be in Vienna?"
They shook hands. "Special request. Harry thought you might need a friendly face after all the shit you've suffered. He brought me up to date about an hour ago. I got here the same way you did."
"Quite a delivery service you have here."
Lightfoot looked in the driving mirror and pulled out into the road. "DFP is a genuine freight business. You'd be surprised what it carries from time to time." He smiled at Raithe. "You look and smell awful. Unfortunately, there's no way we can do anything about that. When I picked this cab up at the embassy, they told me the train came in about an hour ago. We've got two spotters who've reported our wagon is sitting in a siding. It could be there's going to be another switch. Whatever happens, we'd better not miss it this time or both of us are in real trouble." He was silent for a moment. "By the way, I'm sorry how things worked out with your Russian contact."
"Thanks," said Raithe. "I'm sorry about the Marine too." He changed the subject quickly. "Is there any way I can get some food?"
"Sure. We've got a vantage point behind the yards. It's an old derelict warehouse. There are supplies there."
Raithe spent the next ten minutes telling Lightfoot about Moscow and the discovery of the rockets and how he overheard Abdul's men talking about Prague.
"Sounds to me as though Harry was right all along about the terrorists too," said Lightfoot. "Latest reports indicate they're on the move again, nearing the Lebanese border. I guess right now the Pentagon and the White House are keeping their fingers crossed we come up with the goods."
