"He might just do it, you know."
"I hope so. I'm being perfectly sincere. I want this to end. And," he added, "I know you won't be disappointed with the outcome."
By Saturday afternoon, on the ninth floor of the Sheraton Beach Hotel at Virginia Beach, Eddie and Vasily had assembled the finished laser. Eddie snapped the Q-switch and polarizer into place and then delicately inserted the lithium niobate frequency doubler. They had miniaturized every component as much as possible without sacrificing the necessary demolition power. With a lint-free cloth, he wiped the last coating of isopropyl alcohol from the optical mirrors. The device slid into a thin protective aluminum tube, so that it looked like no more than a four- foot length of pipe.
"Done."
"My congratulations," Vasily said. "Do you know, if you had taken a different fork of the road twenty years ago, you would have been in Stockholm now, receiving a Nobel Prize? Have you ever thought about that?"
"Sometimes," Eddie admitted. "I was a dumb kid and they grabbed me young. Once I showed them the blowback silencer, they knew they had a whiz kid. I called it the Little Devil. You know what I'm talking about?"
"Oh, yes. We heard of you even then. It was very impressive. Do your people have this little gadget yet?" He tapped the aluminum casing.
"Yeah, that's Project Flash Gordon. He was a comic-strip hero before my time, when they called these babies death rays. But they haven't gone any further than we've gone, and what they've got is too big and bulky. Fine for tanks, but two men couldn't carry one."
"Shall we test it?"
"On what? Listen, when you throw that switch and that mother heats up, anything gets in the way is going to be pulverized. This isn't Mexico—you blow up a sheep or a building in the United States, someone complains. It will work. Take my word for it."
"Look . . . out there." Vasily pointed from the broad window. The beach was crowded with hundreds of bronzed young men playing volleyball and ogling the bikinied girls who sprawled dec- oratively on the sand and splashed in the surf. Several hundred yards out in the Atlantic a series of small black marker buoys bobbed on the dark-blue water, setting the safety limits for the swimmers.
"Just one of them," Vasily cajoled.
"All right, all right," Eddie said. "If it will make you happy."
He moved the laser to the small balcony of his room, sheltered on either side by walls from the adjoining balconies. He activated it, then turned to Vasily and said, "Just one. Don't get carried away."
Looking through the tube and adjusting the sighting mechanism, Vasily pressed a switch. A thin red beam of coherent light, no more than two inches in diameter, sliced through the warm air of the summer afternoon at the speed of 10 8 m sec _1 with a power density of 50 megawatts per square centimeter. The beam danced on the waves, then moved toward the buoy as Vasily spun the elevating lever. For a moment, but only a moment, a clear red circle of light showed on the distant black surface. Then the buoy silently disintegrated. A second later the waves closed over what was left of it, a bit of hissing pulp. Vasily pressed the switch, the beam vanished instantly, and he looked at Eddie with a large smile of satisfaction.
"Once again, I bow to the master."
"Well, the master is going for a swim, and then he's going to take a little siesta. It's going to be a long night."
At nine o'clock, as the last light of the summer evening began to fade, they set out from Virginia Beach in the rented station wagon. An hour and a half later, dressed in the anonymous coveralls of repairmen, they walked quickly through the balmy darkness of Colonial Williamsburg, heading toward The Magazine on the green. A few lights still burned in the buildings that housed the Colonial Squad, and from the Governor's Palace came the faint strains of a Mozart quartet. The daytime tourists had long since gone, the restaurants and colonial-style shops were closed, but a few summer-session students sauntered singly or in pairs, arms entwined, across the green en route to the campus of William and Mary. The two men, despite the bulky package they carried, attracted no attention.
"The security guards are only here during the day," Eddie explained. "At night there's a patrol car that wanders around, but you can see it coming a mile off. It's like a small town. People actually live here."
With Vasily standing behind him, quietly whistling Mozart in the darkness, Eddie picked the padlock on the side door of The Magazine. Once inside, using the beam of a pencil flashlight, he quickly located the cannon, standing in two neat rows: ten cast- iron replicas of eighteenth-century artillery.
"They're on wheels," Eddie said. "They roll them out and set them up. They just shoot air and a big puff of smoke."
"Not tomorrow," Vasily murmured.
With his own flashlight he inspected the muzzle and powder hole. He grunted something to himself in Russian.
"Are they okay?"
"Yes, yes—-just as you described. It's fine. It will fit perfectly." Carefully, he slid the long tube that housed the laser down the barrel of the cannon until it locked into place. Reaching into the touchhole, he satisfied himself that he could press the activating switches. Then, with a pocketknife, he made a deep, V-shaped identifying scratch on the butt of the cannon.
"If we only knew," he said, rising up. "If we knew they were in there right now, we could blow away the building and be gone in minutes."
"It's a temptation," Eddie admitted. "But we have to play it by the book. Chalice said Sunday, and that's what it is. If we screw it up now we don't get any second chance. Let's go."
They drove out of Colonial Williamsburg, down Second Street to the highway, and over to the James York Plaza Shopping Center. They found a telephone booth near the entrance to the Plaza, and Eddie dialed the Madison Hotel in Washington while Vasily sat behind the wheel with the engine running. In the pale light that came from the roof of the booth he saw the strain on Eddie's lips, saw the knuckles of his hand on the receiver whiten. He knew then that something had gone wrong, but he held himself in and waited. When Eddie had been on the telephone for five minutes, he tapped the horn lightly. Eddie looked up, nodded, talked for thirty seconds more, and hung up. He ran back to the car, jumped in, and slammed the door.
"Move it out, move it out fast."
Vasily came down sharply on the accelerator. The car leaped forward, shot out of the shopping center to the highway and across to the eastbound lane. Vasily wrenched the wheel around, and said loudly, "Which way?"
"Take the next side road. Drive down it and stop."
Vasily came screaming around the corner of Peniman Road and slammed on the brake. He killed the lights, but kept the engine running. "Tell me."
"They've got her. They know everything. That call never went to Washington. It was patched into the Squad switchboard. She's right here in Williamsburg."
"Speak calmly. Tell me exactly what she said."
Eddie told him. He told him about the CYBER match-up, about the scopolamine, about the conference with Crowfoot. "They want a meeting in half an hour. Crowfoot and me in an open area, the Sunken Garden at the college. I know the place."
"What did you say?"
Eddie took a deep breath. "I said I'd be there. Not you . . . just me. And I said that unless he came alone, or if anything happened to me, you'd blow him right into the Happy Hunting Ground. You'll have to cover me with the Dragunov."
Vasily nodded, then said slowly, "There is no sense to this, Eddie. There is nothing to be gained. Chalice doesn't know what we plan to do. We are not yet harmed. We can still do things exactly as we planned."
"And then what do you think happens to her?"
"That is . . . unfortunate."
"Yeah. And it can be avoided. They want to let us off the hook, make a deal. I want to hear what it is. Will you cover me?"
"Crowfoot is an old man who may be quite willing to join his ancestors if he's under orders. Or they may want only you, Eddie. After all, it's Crowfoot who proposed this, not Fist. Have you considered all that?"
"Sort of." Eddie moved uncomfortably in the seat, rubbing his hands together nervously. "I can't let Chalice twist in the wind. And maybe they mean it. If they do, we can get this all over with tonight. I want to see the man. I'm going there, Vasily."
19
The architectural pride of The College of William and Mary, the building designed by Sir Christopher Wren, stands in the College Yard overlooking Duke of Gloucester Street and the original Capitol exactly one measured mile away. Directly behind the Wren Building lies the Sunken Garden, which is not a garden at all but a deep, regular grassy depression in the ground approximately the size of a football field. During the day it is a bright and open space filled with students strolling, studying, plotting sexual escapades, and flipping footballs and frisbees. At night it is a dark and empty void filled only with shadows.
Eddie and Crowfoot faced each other at the eastern end of the Sunken Garden. The darkness was complete; each could see the other only dimly. The night was silent as well as dark. An occasional car passed by on Richmond Road, a cricket chirped, a church bell tolled a lonely hour; but that was all.
"Go ahead and talk," Eddie said. "Just remember that you're lined up in the cross hairs of a Dragunov with a telescopic sight and an N2P2 light intensifier. I don't have to tell you what that is. So that if anything happens to me—"
"I understand all that," Thomas Crowfoot interrupted him gently. "Nothing will happen to you. I've kept my word."
"Then talk."
"You treat me as an enemy." The old man sighed. "In view of all that's happened, I suppose it's understandable. But I think it can be changed."
"I'm not coming back," Eddie said. "I'm finished with the Agency. I wanted out and they sent Kelly after me."
"They acted too quickly." Even in the darkness his eyes sparkled like agates, his ancestry written in them. "On the other hand, you can't blame them. The computer's judgment of your plans was accurate. They had no choice."
"I had less."
"I agree. I'm not here to turn you around. They don't want you back. It would be an uncomfortable arrangement. You would be acting very unwisely if you thought you could have any more dealings with them, especially with Colonel Parker. He wanted me to have you killed, you know. His attitude is, well . . . fixed."
"And your attitude?"
"You understand that I have considerably higher authority than that of Colonel Parker. I have authority that goes even slightly higher than that of the people at Langley."
"Okay, you're God. So read me the commandments."
The old man's lips curved in a thin smile. "I have no commandments," he said. "Only a proposal and the power to implement it. I propose that we end this little war. As I've told Mrs. Parker, it's been very costly to us, and to the people at Zhukovka as well. You and your friend are a formidable team. We underestimated you. We don't anymore. We are not being altruistic or forgiving, you understand. Just realistic."
"Tell me something," Eddie said. "I'm armed. I could put you away in two seconds if I wanted, and then I could walk away. What's to stop me from doing that?"
"Nothing at all. If you want to run for the rest of your life, do it. Parker will find you. He has strong motives. I wouldn't advise it, Mr. Mancuso. It's not in your best interest. And then," he added softly, "there's the woman."
"What about her?"
"Ah, you see, that depends on you."
"You think I care?"
"Oh?" The old man looked surprised. "I thought you did. Was I mistaken?"
He knows, Eddie realized. He knows everything. He's smart and he's holding all the cards. If I won't play it his way I have to throw down my hand and walk away from the table, alone. And they'll bury Chalice and then come after me.
"You want a truce," Eddie said.
"A truce is temporary. I want peace. Amnesty on both sides. Stop hunting us and we'll stop hunting you."
"Did you bring a pipe to smoke, or a hatchet to bury?"
Crowfoot chuckled.
"What about Borgneff?" Eddie asked.
"I speak for the Russians too. Borgneff is included in the arrangement. Go where you like, live as you please. To be on the safe side, I would advise that you leave the country. You probably meant to do that anyway. We won't look for you. We're not interested. You're free."
"And what are the guarantees?"
"They would be meaningless. What would you accept? Documents? Affidavits? You know that's not possible. There's nothing I can give you except my word. If you knew me better, you'd realize that I've never broken it."
"I want the files destroyed. Taken out of CYBER. Mine and Borgneff s."
"It will be done."
"And I want the woman." "That's understood." There was nothing smug in Crowfoot's tone. He was sympathetic, almost paternal.
"Will Parker buy that?"
"Don't worry about Parker. His usefulness to us, I'm sad to say, has come to an end. A man who wants to kill you is one thing. You can always reason with him, as I'm doing with you. A man you can't trust is quite another."
"You're going to retire him?"
"With prejudice," Crowfoot said. "To protect you. By protecting you, we protect ourselves."
Eddie looked into the dark, suddenly expressionless eyes. The old man means it, he realized. That's the way they always did things, and there's no reason for them to change. He shivered a little, even in the warm night.
"All right," he said. "I'll just have to talk to Borgneff. You understand that, don't you?"
Crowfoot nodded. "And suppose he doesn't agree?"
"I've agreed. I'm the one the Agency's worried about. Isn't that enough?"
"I'm afraid not. The Russians have bought the package, too. They can't be sent home empty-handed."
Eddie understood. "I'll talk to Borgneff," he said.
"If he doesn't agree," Crowfoot said, "there's a simple solution."
"Oh, no," Eddie said sharply.
"Think about it. He's been with the opposition all his life. You mean nothing to him. He's used you, just as you've used him. That usefulness is at an end."
"Listen, I don't want to talk about it. If he agrees, how do I reach you?"
"You know the Colonial Squad number here in Williamsburg. I'm going there now. I'll be there through Sunday evening, or until we hear from you."
Eddie hesitated. "And Chalice?"
"Mrs. Parker will be there with me. Once you call, if you give me the right answer, she'll be released. You can meet her wherever you like. We'll never contact either of you again. You have my word."
"I'll call you."
"Think about Borgneff," Crowfoot said.
With a last grim nod, Eddie backed away on the prass of the Sunken Garden until he was sure the darkness obscured him. The old man never moved, just raised his hand in a small gesture of farewell.
Think about Borgneff. . . .
The words repeated themselves over and over again, like the refrain of a song that demands to be hummed and refuses to quit the mind. Sometimes they came softly with the rush of the warm night wind; sometimes they shouted above the chorus of crickets that poured through the open windows of the car. Vasily drove, hands casually flexed on the steering wheel, and Eddie sat beside him, hunched, tense, smoking a cigarette. The silent buildings that bordered the highway to Virginia Beach sped by in the darkness.
"No," Vasily repeated. He was perfectly at ease, voice betraying no emotion. "It would be a mistake . . . and one that we would always regret. They lose nothing, and we gain nothing. They count on our keeping to our pattern because we've been successful at it, so they've taken the correct measures to protect themselves. Right now, behind their concrete walls, they consider themselves safe. Such an opportunity won't come again, and to miss it would be a sin against survival. One is always punished for such sins."
"He gave his word," Eddie said stubbornly. "I believe him."
"Your trust is touching," Vasily remarked. "Forgive me if I
don't share it. Eddie, when we first met on top of the pyramid at Uxmal, you took me at my word. You challenged me, but in the end you trusted me. You were lucky, because we had a common interest. You have no such common interest with a man like Crowfoot."
Think about Borgneff. He's used you, just as you've used him. That usefulness is at an end.
"Why would he meet me, then?" Eddie asked doggedly. "Why would he risk it? They could have tried to get to us through Chalice. Christ, she was on scopolamine! They might have been able to do it, but they didn't. He met with me instead. He didn't have to do that."
"He told you he no longer underestimated us." Vasily flicked his headlights at an approaching car. "That may have been one of the few true things he said. Perhaps he remembered what happened at Cozumel ... he wouldn't want that to be repeated." He sighed patiently. "I know the mentality, Eddie. I've dealt with it all my life, and I know it better than you. He's lying. I beg you to believe me."
"He has no stake in this. He's going to extract Parker. That was no lie."
"I don't doubt it for a moment." Vasily turned slightly, so that his cool gray eyes looked for a second into Eddie's. Then they shifted and bore once again on the bright glare of the highway. "But will he do the same to Fist? I'm afraid that's beyond his power. And I can assure you, whatever your people do, the file at Zhukovka will never be closed while Fist is alive. They will come after me. That is something I cannot tolerate."
The lights of Virginia Beach showed ahead, sparkling like ropes of jewels in the darkness. A drizzle fell, speckling the windshield. The smell of salt air filled the night. Vasily turned off the main road toward the beach and their hotel.
"What about Chalice? If we take out that building, she goes with it."
Vasily swung the car into the parking lot, eased it into an empty space, and switched off the engine.
"I see no choice," he said quietly.
Gripping the Russian by the arm, his voice low and hard, Eddie said, "I thought we were both cold-blooded bastards, but you win the prize. I always knew it, but I didn't know how cold. You were even willing to kill her in San Miguel, and you knew who she was, what she was risking to help us. And she did help us. You say that Crowfoot remembers Cozumel. Well, I remember it too. Damn it, we'd both be dead back there if it wasn't for her. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
THE DEATH FREAK -- An Eddie Mancuso Thriller (Eddie Mancuso And Vasily Borgneff Book 1) Page 24
