by Lee Jackson
Startled pedestrians halted in shock. They fell away as policemen blew shrill whistles. Atcho heard running footsteps behind him. He raced to the passenger’s side of the vehicle and pounded on the window. “I’m an American,” he repeated, panting. “I was kidnapped. Let me in.”
A major in the front passenger’s seat reacted. He retrieved a photograph from his jacket and glanced at it. “It’s him,” he said tersely. “This is the guy in the BOLO.” He rolled down the window. “Get in. Fast.” He whirled around in his seat and unlocked the back door.
Atcho swung the door open and dove in. Before it had closed, the driver mashed the gas pedal. The tires squealed as the car took off. Angry faces of police officers and East German soldiers flew by the window.
“Take the next right,” the major ordered his driver. “Get on our fast route and shake any followers. I need speed, but I do want to get home to Mama. Understand?” He glanced through the back window. “There’s two behind us closing fast. How far are we from Checkpoint Charlie?”
“Two miles.”
“Step on it, but don’t kill anybody.” He wiped his forehead. “Cripes! Of all the times for East Berliners to decide to take a walk.” He looked out his side window at groups of pedestrians, all seeming to go in the same direction. “These crowds have been building and building.” He glanced back again. “OK,” he told the driver, “take it a bit easier. Those guys are falling back, I reckon because of the crowds. You might still need to take a couple of back streets before heading to the gate.”
He turned around and extended his hand to Atcho. “Hi, sir. I’m Major Joe Horton. We were told about you.” He wore a huge grin and laid his Texas accent on thick. “You sit back and relax. We’re taking you home.”
Atcho nodded his gratitude. He leaned against the rear headrest and exhaled.
18
Sofia awoke suddenly. The sun was already high in the sky. She felt physically rested but emotionally drained. Her first thought was about Atcho and what he must be enduring. She felt guilty for sleeping in the suite while Atcho was God only knew where.
She got up and showered and was still dressing when she heard a sharp knock on the door. A man’s voice called her name.
“Sofia, are you there?” The voice was gruff and deep—and most welcome. She threw her robe on, rushed to the door, and opened it to reveal a big man, balding and several years older than Atcho.
“Burly!” She flung her arms around his neck and fought to contain the emotions of seeing a cherished friend.
He held her as she fought back tears. “Things will be OK,” he reassured her. “Let’s get inside where we can talk.” He nodded to the state department security man posted outside and closed the door.
“I’m in shock,” Sofia said. “How—What are you doing here?”
Burly sat down on the sofa and leaned back. “Your husband called the night before last. That must have been several hours before he was taken. He told me you were asleep on the couch and said he needed me here, pronto. I came as fast as I could. I talked to some of my old buddies at the station before I came to the hotel and they filled me in.”
Sofia stared at him; he referred to the Berlin CIA station, Shelby’s office. Burly had retired from the CIA and was one of Atcho’s oldest and closest friends. They had trained together in Cuba for the Bay of Pigs invasion. He had helped Atcho in two operations since then.
“I’m confused. What were you supposed to do?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t talk long. By the time I got on a plane, the news was out about his kidnapping. Our old buddy Collins did that.” Sofia scowled and started to speak, but Burly stopped her. “Collins is a good guy. He was a huge help last year, and he’s always kept his word about not revealing information that would jeopardize national security. He does his job.”
Sofia nodded. “I know. It’s just that he can be such a bother.”
“He beat the police and intelligence agencies on putting pieces together, and he got word out so that international attention focused here. That will help in finding Atcho and might even help to bring the Wall down.”
“I hope so.”
“Start from the beginning. Walk me through everything that’s happened.”
For the next few hours, Sofia told Burly all she could remember about the situation, starting with the first phone call and ending with her trip into East Berlin and her meeting with Wolfgang Sacher.
Burly listened, asking few questions. When Sofia finished, he took his time to respond. “Two things pop out.” He spoke slowly, still formulating his thoughts. “One, the people trying to stop you know who you are. They can trace your family connections. Your relatives might already be in danger. Wolfgang and his family too.”
“That’s possible,” Sofia replied. “But my records were purged long ago to hide my family contacts in the East. That was done so that I could meet with Wolfgang in other places over the years.”
“OK, I’ll buy that. The other thing is that Atcho wanted me here for a reason. I’d guess he wants another team to get your family out. That way you won’t compromise your mission. If you fail in that, all else could be lost.”
Sofia rose from the sofa and walked over to gaze out the window across the city. “That sounds like Atcho,” she said softly. “What do we do now?”
Burly stood. He crossed the room and placed an arm around her shoulder. “You concentrate on what you’re doing. Let me worry about getting Atcho back.” Sofia turned and nodded into his chest.
“Is Shelby going to let you stay on the mission?”
Sofia shrugged. “For the moment. The last time we spoke about it was before Atcho was kidnapped. That might be the last straw. I met with Wolfgang yesterday. I still have to report to Shelby on that.”
“How did the meeting go?”
“No hitches. Wolfgang is scared, but he’ll do what he has to.” She gulped. “Burly, if you have any influence with Shelby, don’t let him pull me out. Atcho’s tough. He’ll get away one way or another. But if he doesn’t, and if the Wall stays put because I wasn’t there, and my relatives keep living under that monstrous regime…” Her voice caught. She wiped her eyes. “I don’t think I could live with myself.” She sniffed. “One thing. Shelby doesn’t know about the plan to rescue my relatives.”
Burly’s head snapped around. His eyebrows arched. “You’re playing with fire, Sofia.” He squeezed her shoulders. “Shelby could scrub the whole thing if he finds out. Or if you go through with it without telling him and he finds out, that could end your career.”
“I don’t care about my career.” She spun around, and her tears began to flow freely. “I care about my husband,” she said, her voice cracking. “I care about my family. I care about the people who’ve suffered in the East all these years.”
The phone rang. Sofia took a deep breath, collecting herself, and answered it.
“Turn on the TV.” She recognized Brown’s voice. “Do it now. I’ll hold.”
Sofia did, and the screen opened to a street scene in West Berlin. The camera panned to a journalist. “I’m standing outside Checkpoint Charlie,” the young woman reported. “We are told that Eduardo Xiquez, the American businessman, has just passed through in a daring rescue. We reported yesterday that he had been kidnapped from the Mövenpick Hotel in a brazen early morning attack. No information of how he escaped is being divulged. The news now is that he’s safe. We’ll provide details as we get them.”
Sofia stared, hardly believing what she heard. Her eyes brimmed, and her throat constricted. She dropped the receiver.
“Atcho’s safe,” she rasped. That was all she could manage.
Burly picked up the phone. “Sorry,” he said into the receiver. “Sofia is still watching the TV. What’s the latest?”
“Who are you?”
Burly chuckled. “I’m a friend of Atcho’s and Sofia’s. They call me Burly.”
Brown was silent a moment. “I know who you are. My team told me you arrived this morning. I
’m glad you’re here. I just got off the phone with brigade headquarters. The state department and the Army will debrief Atcho and release him as soon as possible.”
Burly grimaced. “How soon is that?”
Brown grunted. “You know how these things go.”
“All right. I’ll tell her,” Burly replied, sighing. He hung up and spun around.
Sofia faced him, eyes wide. “You’ll tell me what? When’s Atcho coming here?”
He told her what Brown had said.
“I’m going there. Now.” Her eyes burned with fury. “I’ve been scared out of my wits, and they can’t keep me from Atcho.” She headed toward the bedroom to change clothes.
Burly watched her. “Take it easy,” he said softly.
Sofia whirled on him. “You too? I didn’t know if I’d ever see Atcho alive again. No one’s going to keep me away from him.”
“I’m your friend, Sofia. Think. Get out of your emotions. You could jeopardize your mission—and that includes your family. The stakes are huge.” He paused. “Atcho is safe now.”
Sofia took a deep breath, walked to the sofa, and sat down. “I’m sorry.” Her voice took on a collected quality. “You’re right.” She dropped her elbows onto her knees and rested her head in her hands.
“Hey, are you okay?” Burly crossed the room and sat next to her.
“I’m fine. I’m glad Atcho’s safe.” She leaned against him. “You’re a great friend. Take me to him when it makes sense. I’ll be fine.”
19
Klaus walked into Stasi headquarters like a man on a mission. The guards at the front desk blocked his entry.
“Call Director Baumann,” he snapped. “He’ll see me.”
The guards backed away. While one kept a wary eye, the other placed the call. Three minutes later, Klaus burst into the director’s office—and stopped short. Yermolov and Baumann glared at him. Behind him, the door closed. He heard the steel slider of a pistol near his ear. He froze. Ranulf moved around to face him.
“Where is Atcho?” Yermolov snapped. He stepped aside. Behind him, the street scene of the journalist at Checkpoint Charlie played on a television. “Never mind. Atcho is back in West Berlin. Tell me why I shouldn’t shoot you right here, right now.”
Klaus stared at the screen, then shifted his eyes to Yermolov. An expression of resignation crossed his face.
Yermolov notice it. The Chechen usually exuded confidence laced with an odd humor that sometimes lapsed into insolence. Now, there was only fury behind his eyes, mixed with hatred. His gaze was riveted on the television scene.
Yermolov looked beyond Klaus to the door. “Where’s Etzel?” He watched Klaus closely out of the corner of his eye.
“I’ll do what you want,” Klaus said, almost in a daze. “Atcho escaped.”
“That’s obvious,” Yermolov retorted, gesturing toward the television. “You’re no more competent than Ranulf’s men. Why would I trust you again?”
Klaus’ face contorted. His low voice rumbled with savagery. “Because I’m your best asset. I’ll plant both bombs—the one here at the embassy and wherever you want the second target. You can have the third one too. I’ll make sure Atcho never interferes again. I won’t rest until he’s dead.”
Yermolov looked past Klaus to the door once more, and then studied him closely. “Where is Etzel?” he asked again, emphasizing each word.
Klaus’ eyes smoldered, like a man accepting a fatal sentence. Yermolov repeated his question a third time, although he anticipated the response. “Where is your brother?”
“Dead.” Klaus’ voice was hollow. “Atcho killed him. It’s personal now. I want him dead.”
As the exchange took place, Ranulf kept the pistol pointed at Klaus, his eyes on Yermolov as he waited for direction. Baumann remained silent, standing to one side as if he were merely an observer.
Yermolov continued to scrutinize Klaus. I have a dog on a leash. He signaled to Ranulf to lower the weapon. “Before you came in, we were reviewing actions. We have work to do. Let’s sit down.”
They sat in the group of chairs in front of the desk. Klaus joined them. Yermolov opened the discussion. “Ranulf, when will the money be ready?”
“Tomorrow afternoon. It was expensive. I had to pay a lot of bribes.” He shifted his attention to Baumann. “I pulled in enough to make us all comfortable.”
“Good,” Yermolov interjected. He addressed Baumann. “How are plans to arrest the ministers, etcetera?”
“The Stasi section leads are alerted. The arrests will be carried out on order.”
“Detain the general secretary first, and anyone who could issue counterorders. Impress on your officers that this is our only chance to prevent the end of East Germany and their careers. Remind them of what the trials in The Hague could mean.”
He turned to Ranulf again. “Two things. When the arrests happen, include the people you bribed. We can’t have them doing the same thing to us. They can be examples to anyone who tries to stop us. Also, have your hit squads shadow the arrest patrols. Take out anyone who could provide early warning or who makes noise that could draw attention or get in our way. Do you have enough men for that?”
Ranulf felt a wash of pride. To be included in such high-level planning and execution was beyond any ambition he had ever entertained. To be entrusted with such a crucial part… He put on his most serious expression. “We can augment what we need from the regular Stasi.” He glanced at the director for confirmation. Baumann nodded.
“All right,” Yermolov said. “Get the money to me this afternoon. My cousin will deliver the bombs this evening.” He directed his next comments to Baumann. “Make sure nothing happens to him. We might use him again.”
He turned his attention to Klaus. “How will you get the bomb into the embassy?”
Klaus scoffed. “That building was never meant to be an embassy. It was a Prussian officers’ club, and then a school for artists. It’s old. All the security was added in the last couple of years. It’s not even a standalone building. I can go through the ceiling or a wall or come through the basement. The US hires locals to work there. Some of them don’t like Americans. Getting in and out will be no problem. If you get the bomb to me tonight, I can have it placed by the day after tomorrow.” He gave a short, cynical laugh. “It’s a nuke. It doesn’t matter where I put it. Just that it’s not discovered before it explodes. And since it’s right next to the Wall, it’ll blow out a big part of West Berlin too.” He sneered, malice darkening his eyes. “Make sure you’re more than a mile away and deep inside a cellar when it goes off.”
Yermolov took that in and then turned his attention back to Baumann. “Once Klaus is out of the embassy, can you get him to Moscow quickly?”
“Depending on the time. We have daily diplomatic flights to Moscow. He can fly on one of those. I’ll arrange it.”
“Set it up, and Klaus, before any of this goes down, be sure you have a flight to Chechnya. Your second target is there. You pick the place. We need noise and heavy destruction. The people need to see lots of blood and the bodies of women and babies. The Soviet government will implode.” He nudged Klaus. “Do you understand, Klaus? The second bomb will detonate in Chechnya.”
Klaus nodded, expressionless. “I understand. Sacrifices must be made.”
Yermolov studied him. He saw a man with dead eyes and only revenge on his mind. “And Klaus…” Yermolov paused to make sure he had Klaus’ full attention. “When you’ve accomplished both things, I’ll get the third bomb to you.”
Klaus growled his response. “I’ll put it under Atcho’s bed in Washington.”
The room fell deathly quiet, all eyes on Klaus. Yermolov broke the silence. “That works.” He glanced around the group of faces. “This is the sequence. Klaus plants the bomb at the US Embassy. Then he travels to Chechnya and places one there. We detonate the bomb here remotely. Director Baumann takes charge of the government. He arrests the opposition, institutes martial law. Execute a
nyone, as you see fit. Request Soviet assistance. I’ll travel to Moscow and join my team there. A day after the first explosion, Klaus, you detonate the bomb in Chechnya. I’ll move in with my team to arrest Gorbachev and anyone else who resists. Frankly, I don’t expect much opposition. I’m known, and everyone is tired of Gorbachev’s foolishness. Then, Baumann, you’ll get the assistance you require.”
“What do you think the US response will be?”
Yermolov chuckled. “Confusion. This war hero president is no Ronald Reagan. He’s a globalist and will first think of how to protect his new world order—his country’s people and national interests be damned. He won’t know how many other bombs we have or where we’ll put them. My guess? He’ll put a perimeter around the damaged area in West Berlin, well away from radioactive contamination. He’ll proclaim, ‘Read my lips. The perpetrators will be brought to justice,’ and he’ll have the FBI and the CIA investigate. He’ll get Congress to form committees to ‘get to the bottom of this.’ Then, he’ll move fleets of ships around the world.”
Yermolov’s tone turned to one of disgust. “He’ll send humanitarian assistance to demonstrate resolve that the ‘free world will not be deterred by aggression.’ And ten years from now, the Wall will still stand, East Germany will still be sovereign, and the Soviet Union will continue as it has.” He looked across at Klaus. “Who knows? The US might not exist as we know it today.”
Yermolov took questions and adjourned the meeting. They began to disperse. Then Yermolov had a sudden thought. “Atcho killed your brother?”
Klaus nodded. Yermolov turned to Baumann. “Demand that the US deliver Atcho to Soviet authorities on murder charges. They’ll never do it, but we can harass them with it. Keep repeating it. That’s another distraction to keep them busy until we execute.”
20
“You killed a man in East Berlin.” Jerry Fenns looked grim. He stood at the end of a long table in a conference room of the state department’s US Mission – Berlin, in the same building as the US Army’s Berlin Brigade headquarters. Housed at Clayallee in the upscale Zehlendorf section of West Berlin, it also operated the consulate. “The East Germans are demanding your return to stand trial.”
