Cold War Trilogy - A Three Book Boxed Set: of Historical Spy Versus Spy Action Adventure Thrillers

by William Brown

  Hanni paused again to look around at the faces in the crowd. “You did not make it easy for me or for them though,” she went on. “Oh, no. The more I had to fight the SS, the Gestapo, British bombers, Patton’s Third Army, and you, the more blood and bodies we left in our wake — you and me — the more believable the story became to the Russians. It was all so sublimely beautiful,” she laughed. “The damage to them has been incalculable. It was truly the work of a tactician. He wound us up and set us in motion, you and I, and then relied upon us to do it to ourselves. I want to believe that. I need to believe that this was not simply some mistake, some stupid, unlucky accident. I need to believe that you and I were chess pieces being maneuvered by the hand of a Grand Master.”

  Scanlon turned his eyes away and said nothing; but in the back of his mind, the image of one person slowly emerged. He was a kindly, brilliant man in a gray suit and wire rimmed glasses, that master manipulator from Berne named Allen Welsh Dulles, the Director.

  “Well, Josef Stalin got the genius airplane designer he demanded,” she continued. “He put Raeder in charge of the whole thing, Liebchen, in charge of the whole goddamned thing, reporting directly to Beria! Why not? After all the commendations and medals that Raeder had received personally from Hermann Göring, after Otto Dietrich’s sales pitches to Beria, after everything that you and your vaunted OSS did to try to snatch him away to America, and after everything the British did to try to kill him, Stalin and Beria were absolutely convinced that Wolfe Raeder was the genuine article. They built a research institute for him near Novosibirsk, a huge factory, and a whole city to support it. They spent hundreds of millions on him, hundreds of millions that Stalin did not give to Mikoyan or Yakolev — the Russians who really could design good airplanes, as their MiG-15 and MiG-17, or the Yak-23 or Yak-25 later proved. Do you know what Stalin got for all his troubles? Nothing. All he got was a warmed-over Me-262, over and over again; because that is all Wolfe Raeder knew how to do. Poor Josef Stalin! When he finally got his hands on his German airplane expert, he got the wrong one. It was a classic set-up, and no one dared tell him the truth.”

  Finally, Scanlon nodded. “If we were chess pieces, we were nothing more than pawns,” he said, his lips forming a thin smile.

  “Yes, but I cannot complain. They were the best days of our lives… and the best of nights. We were alive, Liebchen. God, but we were alive!” she said as her face lit up in a broad grin. They were both laughing, standing in the middle of Red Square laughing at each other like two fools.

  “How did you figure all this out?” he asked. “You were in the Gulag.”

  “Where do you think they sent his staff, one by one? As his jet fighter program fell further and further behind the west — three or four years behind — that is what they did with the failures, except for Raeder himself. I was told that he had a nervous breakdown in 1950 or 1951 and was sent to one of their mental institutions for treatment. By then, Beria had shot or exiled everyone else, so the whole thing was swept under the rug and forgotten. They say that the very best intelligence and espionage coups are the ones that no one ever hears about, the ones that remain secret forever. Well, next to Lavrenti Beria and Josef Stalin himself, you and I probably did more to set back Russian air power than any two people alive."

  “My God,” he said as he shook his head in amazement. “Raeder knew he could never pull it off. Despite his arrogant bravado, that was why he was so terrified when I let you drag him away and we kept his daughter.”

  “I should have seen it, but all I could see was you.”

  “Then come with me.”

  “No, please do not start that again.” She pressed her finger to his lips again and stopped him from saying anything more. ”I want to remember the dashing American spy who sacrificed everything, even the woman he loved, for his country. That is the Edward Scanlon who kept me alive all those years, the only thing that made it bearable.”

  They stood facing each other. Tears were running down her cheeks, but her bright blue eyes still sparkled. “That was also a wicked thing you did, shooting Otto Dietrich like you did. You denied me my revenge.”

  “No, shooting him was the one thing I did that I will never regret. You got your revenge and so did I. Just think of me as the instrument.”

  She looked at him and finally shrugged. “Perhaps, perhaps. By the way, what ever happened to the Raeder girl?"

  “She ended up at MIT and then Cal Tech, I think. She teaches, writes articles that I can’t even understand the titles of, and does high-level avionics and platform design for aircraft companies.”

  “And her stuffy Major?”

  “Also working with the aircraft companies. I was the best man at their wedding.”

  “That bastard! You know he was the Luftwaffe contact with Berlin and your Air Force. I would also bet he was the go-between with the man in Berne, your boss, Allen Dulles. They both seem to have done quite well for themselves, have they not?”

  “I don’t think Paul knew anything about her or her father until…”

  “Liebchen," she smiled benignly and shook her head as if correcting a slow third-grader. "How many months had your Major worked at Volkenrode? Yet you still believe he knew nothing? Tell me any fairy tale you care to tell me, but please do not tell me this was not some brilliant, monstrous plot that you and I found ourselves bested by. After all the pain and suffering you and I went through, all that we gave up, that would drive me insane.”

  He looked at her for a long, painful moment, and then smiled. “I guess the guys in the trenches are always the last ones to know, aren’t they?”

  Her lips formed a thin, contented smile and she nodded.

  “What are we going to do now, you and me?” he asked.

  “Nothing. There is nothing for us to do. The whole world conspired against us. Like Romeo and Juliet, that was too heavy of a load for any two lovers to bear. Now, it is too late.”

  His steel-gray eyes locked on hers. “Come with me. You know I still love you.”

  “And I still love you, as passionately as ever, but you know I cannot. I have them now,” she said as she turned and looked at Georgi and Pyotr. “You and I were a wonderful, sensuous point in time, Liebchen, a brilliant, white-hot flash, like a bursting star. In its day, it was the brightest thing in the sky, but it is gone now. Its time has passed and it will never come back again. It cannot. That is what will always make it so very special, but no one can ever take those memories away from us.”

  “We can have them again."

  “No, I am living through him now,” she said, looking fondly at the boy. “You and I, we both are. We are two broken souls, Liebchen, and we can only hope Georgi and his friends make a better world out of it than we did. Look at us. Look what they did to us, with all their hatred, their suspicions, their plots, and their killing,” she said as she spread her arms wide. “They do not need any statues. You and I are the only monuments the world will ever need to the stupidity of it all.” Quickly, she stepped up to him and kissed him lightly on the cheek, as she did that afternoon in Bavaria, and just as quickly, she backed away. "Good-bye, Liebchen," she said as she turned and walked into the crowd.

  “Wait!" he called after her. "Can I see you again… both of you?” he asked.

  She stopped and stared at him for a moment. “Perhaps,” she smiled.

  “How will I find you?”

  She thought for a moment. “We shall find you. The next time you return to Moscow, look for a note under your champagne glass. Someday, perhaps Georgi and his generation will see to it that things like that are not necessary. Until then, my darling Edward. Until then.”

  ###

  If you enjoyed the read, I would appreciate your going to its Kindle Book Page at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CEOKUR8. Click on the words “Customer Reviews” after the Gold Stars, and then on the blue “Write a Customer Review” bar, and click on some stars, and write some comments in the box titled “Write Your Review Here.” It is
very easy to do and we humble writers appreciate it.

  In addition, you can visit my web site and learn more about my other novels at http://www.billbrownthrillernovels.com

  by

  William F. Brown

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  WILLIAM F. BROWN

  I’m the author of six mystery and international suspense novels with over 850 Kindle Reviews averaging 4.5 Stars.

  Burke’s War, my new smash hit original e-book was released in February, 2015. It is an action-adventure tale of one man’s quest for justice. Think American Sniper meets The Godfather. It has a 4.5 rating on 149 reviews, 89% of which are Five or Four-Stars. The second book in the Burke Series, Burke’s Gamble, will be released in early 2016. Be looking for it.

  The Undertaker, my first e-book, was released in January 2011. It is a snarky, contemporary, domestic thriller with a mix of romance, humor, and stark terror that garnered an Amazon rating of 4.3 on 210 Kindle reviews, 86% of which are Five or Four-Star ratings. Amongst My Enemies, my second e-book, is a fast-paced Cold War tale of action and international suspense that deals with espionage, revenge, and missing art and treasure in the post-war years. It has an Amazon rating of 4.4 on 200 Kindle reviews, 84% are Five or Four-Star Ratings. Thursday at Noon was originally published in hardback as a Joan Kahn Book by St. Martin’s Press and by Harlequin’s Gold Eagle in US paperback and in various foreign editions. It was reviewed favorably in the New Yorker and many other major publications in the US. The Kindle e-book edition has an Amazon rating of 4.4 on 114 Kindle reviews, 87% of which are Five or Four-Star ratings. Winner Lose All is an international suspense novel set in the closing months of WWII, as one war winds down and all eyes turn to the next one. Alliances are shifting and no one is to be trusted. Old enemies become tomorrow’s friends, and everyone wants their piece of the revolutionary new German weapons technology in jet airplanes, rockets, submarines, and munitions. It has an Amazon rating of 4.5 on 124 Kindle reviews, 86% of which are Five or Four-Star ratings. In my most recent, Aim True, My Brothers, Islamist terrorism visits the shores of America as a skilled Hamas commando leader focuses his anger and rage on the US government. Left to stop him is an oddly matched group of a maverick FBI agent, the head of security at the Egyptian Embassy in Washington, and an Israeli counter-terror expert. It has an average 4.8 rating on 51 reviews, 89% of which are Five or Four-Star ratings.

  Other than Burke’s War, the other 5 stories are also available on Audible Audio Books.

  In addition to the novels, I’ve written four award-winning screenplays. They’ve placed First in the suspense category of Final Draft, were a Finalist in Fade In, First in Screenwriter’s Utopia — Screenwriter’s Showcase Awards, Second in the American Screenwriter’s Association, Second at Breckenridge, and others. One was optioned for film.

  My wife and I now live in Florida. A native of Chicago, I received undergraduate and graduate degrees from The University of Illinois, and served as a Company Commander in the US Army. As a Vice President of the real estate subsidiary of a Fortune 500 corporation, I was able to travel widely in the US and abroad. When not writing, I play bad golf, have become a dogged runner, and paint passable landscapes in oil and acrylic.

  You can follow my work on my web site http://billbrownthrillernovels.com, which has Preview Chapters of each of my novels, interviews, book reviews, and other links.

  Burke’s War can be found at

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00TXZYQWG

  The Undertaker can be found at

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004NIFSVG

  Amongst My Enemies can be found at

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006LAOIWY

  Thursday at Noon can be found at

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008AMSH00

  Winner Lose All can be found at

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CEOKUR8

  Aim True, My Brothers can be found at

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00GBFJ1IA

  Preview of

  AIM TRUE, MY BROTHERS

  CHAPTER ONE

  Washington DC,

  Friday, September 20, 5:45 p.m.

  It was the end of a nice Indian summer day in Washington, DC — not too hot, not too humid, with the first yellow and red hints of autumn in the air, the kind of day you want to put in the back of a drawer and bring back out in January. For a cop, saying anything nice about the Nation’s Capital was a whole lot, Eddie Barnett thought as he stepped inside the Hog Heaven Sports Bar. In deference to the new politically correct era in the city, the sign over the door featured a large Redskins logo with a hog’s head and snout in a headdress instead of the former Indian brave.

  Eddie’s partner, Charlie Wisniewski, was already inside, hunched over the bar and staring up at a large, flat-screen TV hanging above the shelves of booze. They still had some time to kill before they went out, so Barnett sat on the tall stool next to him. It was getting dark earlier now, and it would not be long before they would take to the streets for a third straight night attempting to track down Billy-Ray Perkins. Still trying to stay on the wagon, Barnett ordered a Diet Coke. Charlie, who no longer gave a damn about wagons, diets, or much of anything these days, was having his usual Police Special: a shot of bourbon with a Bud chaser. Barnett watched as Charlie lowered the shot glass into the glass of beer, bent down, and took a long pull. Barnett shook his head. What could he say? Charlie was Charlie.

  Hog Heaven now had pretensions of being a trendy sports bar. “Used to be just a goddamned bar!” Charlie would snort anytime someone called it more than that. Sports or not, though, what it had always been was a cop bar. Located north of Pennsylvania Avenue and east of the Capitol, it was convenient to most of the District’s numerous law enforcement agencies. These days, that included the District Metro Police, the Police Departments in a dozen suburban cities and counties, the State Police from both Virginia and Maryland, and the full alphabet soup of Federal law enforcement from the FBI, Treasury, TSA, ATF, Army CID, Metrorail, ICE, US Marshals, Border Patrol, NCIS, DEA, Capitol Police, the Secret Service, National Park Police, and even Smokey the Bear, for all Barnett knew.

  The bar got its name in the mid-1980s during the glory years of Washington Redskins football. As every loyal Skins fan knows, The Hogs were the legendary offensive line of Joe Jacoby, Russ Grimm, Jeff Bostic, and Mark May. They were the ‘big uglies’ behind whom John Riggins and Joe Theismann ran and threw their way to championships and into the NFL Hall of Fame. Back then, a cop bar really was a cop bar, populated by an entirely different breed of ‘big uglies’ in blue uniforms or cheap suits with bulges under their arms or around their waists. The place reeked of week-old cigar smoke, the music ran to twangy country, and the clientele was entirely white, male, and heterosexual. Other than the occasional ‘working girl’ looking for a warm trick on a cold night, back then it would have been as odd to see a woman step into the place as it would have been to see a guy in a Dallas Cowboys hat or an armed robber step through the front door. Either would have been suicidal.

  To Charlie, those were the good old days, as he kept telling everyone who would listen. Their beloved Redskins won NFL championships, the dark wood, leather, and smoky interior of the bar gave the place a masculine ‘lived in’ look, and a cop could actually draw his service revolver and shoot a bad guy without being run to ground by a ravenous pack of lawyers. Unfortunately, those days were long gone. Like toys in kids’ meals, fur coats, Big Gulp soft drinks, and the three-martini lunch, even the Hog Heaven had succumbed to the progressively new and improved city. The crowd inside was still mostly cop, but half the customers now were women. Soft jazz from a surround-sound system had replaced the loud country music from the jukebox, and the banks of HD flat screen TVs were as likely to be showing a soap opera now as sports. And smoke? With the Nicotine Nazis around, no one dared light up a cigar, cigarette, or anything else inside. Flavored vodka, cosmos, and low-cal light beer had replaced the bourbon, Guinness stout, and Budweiser. The ultimate insult to Ch
arlie, however, was seeing pastel, out-of-focus Monet prints where autographed Redskin jerseys, rows of player photos, and old game posters once hung.

  It was on that sad note that Charlie turned on his stool and scanned the early evening crowd. “If they turn this place into a gay bar, Eddie, promise you’ll shoot me.”

  “What makes you sure it isn’t already?” Barnett answered and blew him a kiss.

  Charlie looked him over from head to foot. From his expression, Barnett could see Charlie was beginning to wonder about him — early-thirties, stylishly unshaven, a diamond stud earring, blue jeans, and a faded Sting ‘Broken Music Tour ’05’ T-shirt. Charlie shook his head. “Nah, Louise would kill you first.” That was when Charlie’s eyes locked on the fresh Band-Aid on Eddie’s forehead. “Speaking of divine retribution…”

  “Sometimes love hurts.”

  “And sometimes love throws things.”

  They turned back to the mindless Sports Center replays on the TV as a red ‘Special News Bulletin’ banner rolled across the screen and the picture changed from baseball replays to scrubby sand dunes. The headline read “North Coast of Israel” as four attack helicopters with blue and white Israeli markings rose into the air with a loud THUMP, THUMP and a cloud of swirling dust. Heavily armed soldiers with helmets, flak jackets, and submachine guns sat with their legs hanging out the open doors. With the bright morning sun glinting off the door gunner’s visors, the helicopters raced to the coast and turned north, twisting and turning as the surf broke across the white-sand beach below.