by Stuart Woods
“It was taken from a computer at a secret Soviet military installation on the Latvian coast less than forty-eight hours ago,” Rule replied. “I have every reason to believe that it is a serious statement of Soviet intentions, and not simply a training exercise or a war game. Let me show you other corroborating evidence which has come from divergent sources.”
Rule quickly took him through the same presentation shehad given Senator Carr the day before. Carlsson listened with apparent growing concern, occasionally interrupting with a question. When she had finished, Carlsson was quiet for a moment.
“Tell me,” he said, finally, “do you have any indication of when this plan is to go into effect?”
“I believe it may already have begun,” Rule replied. “I believe the Soviet submarine which your navy now has at bay in the archipelago may be a part of it, perhaps intended to provoke an incident. Mr. Carlsson, the first document I showed you states that the invasion would only be carried out under conditions of absolute surprise. If you can persuade your minister and your prime minister to issue an immediate mobilization order, you may very well force the Soviets to abort their operation. I hope it is not already too late.”
“I see,” Carlsson said, gazing toward the windows.
“Something else,” she said. “This morning at Stockholm airport, an American woman named Kirkland was murdered. I think I was the intended victim. Somebody knew I was coming to Stockholm. Did anyone else in Stockholm besides you know that I was coming?
“No. No one,” Carlsson replied.
“Have you spoken to Senator Carr again since his initial call yesterday?”
“No.”
Rule slumped back into her seat. “I see,” she said.
“Miss Rule,” Carlsson said, “I must ask to borrow for a few minutes this material you have just shown me. Will you please wait here until I return?”
“Of course,” Rule replied.
Carlsson gathered up the file and left the room.
“I think the minister’s office must be just across the reception room,” Rule said to Lee. “Senator Carr told me their offices are adjacent.”
“I think you convinced him, Kate,” Lee said. “He looked pretty shaken.”
“I hope so,” Rule replied. “I hope I shook him to his roots.”
“You think Simon alerted the Soviets that you were coming to Stockholm?”
“I hate to say it of the father of my child, but it looks that way. If Senator Carr didn’t tell Carlsson my real name, then that information had to come from Washington, and Simon is shaping up awfully well as the source. I haven’t had a chance to tell you this, but he’s had a private investigator following me for weeks. I had a little confrontation with the guy at the airport on my way here. I persuaded him to talk to me, and he says Simon wants his son, which I have every reason to disbelieve. He wanted information for entirely different reasons, I think.”
“I’m sorry, Kate,” Will said. “I know you don’t like the guy, but still …”
“Right, it won’t be very good for Peter when his father is exposed as a spy for the Soviets. There’s never been a mole in the agency, you know. All hell is going to break loose when I get back.”
The two of them sat, then paced around the office for another twenty minutes before Carlsson returned.
“I’ve talked with the minister,” he said. “He’s on the phone to the prime minister now. He has already given the order to mobilize. By dinnertime tonight, every important military and civilian target will be secure. We cannot thank you enough, Miss Rule, Mr. Lee.”
Rule was suddenly very tired. She had come all this way, and she had been too worried to hope that her story would be believed in time. “Mr. Carlsson, I am grateful for your trust. Is there anything else I can do to help you in this matter?”
“I don’t believe so,” Carlsson said. “But I would be grateful if you would hold yourself in readiness for another twenty-four hours, in case we need to talk with you again.”
“May I ask you, please, to keep my name and that of Mr. Lee out of this? I am here entirely unofficially, and any sort cf publicity would cause me very serious problems at home.”
“Of course,” Carlsson said, “I understand completely. You may be sure that we will not broadcast that we learned of this from the CIA. There are any number of people in our government who would be happy to take the credit, believe me.” He handed her back the documents she had brought. “We have copied these, so you may have your originals back. May I suggest that you return to your hotel and wait for word from me there? My car is waiting for you downstairs.”
“Thank you, yes, we’ll go back to the Grand,” Rule said.
Carlsson walked them down the hall to the elevator.
“I can’t believe it’s over,” Rule said as the elevator took them down. “I think I had begun to believe that it would never end, that I would go on and on, trying to convince somebody of what was happening.”
“You’ve done a sensational job,” Will said. “And there’ll be more to do when you get home.”
The elevator stopped and they got out. “I know, and I’m not looking forward to it.”
They walked toward the front door. As they reached it, Rule stopped and nodded toward the street. A car had pulled up to the door, and a chauffeur stood next to it, waiting.
“That’ll be Carlsson’s car,” Will said. “He said it would be waiting for us.”
“Yes, he did,” she replied tonelessly. “And the driver is the man who was at the airport to meet me this morning.”
53
OSKAR OSKARSSON had slept late, as had become his habit in recent weeks. This morning, when he came downstairs, his daughter-in-law was setting the table for lunch. The television set was on, which was not unusual, since the woman kept it on all time, whether she was interested or not. Oskarsson thought she liked the noise. He rarely watched it himself.
But this morning, as he glanced at the set while he poured coffee, he was riveted. There was a Russian submarine on the screen. “What is it, Ilsa?” the old man asked his daughter-in-law. “What is happening?”
“Oh, God, I should have turned it off,” she said, and went to do so.
“Stop!” he commanded. “I want to see this.”
“Oh, Papa,” Ilsa said, “it will only upset you. You shouldn’t watch.”
“I am watching,” Oskarsson said. “Go about your business.”
She stood and watched with him. “It can’t be an accident,” she said. “Not this time. I think I believed them when the one was stuck at Karlskrona that time, but not this time.”
“Hush, woman!” Oskarsson ordered. “I must hear this.”
Oskarsson listened, his eyes widening. He learned that the sub was aground on an island called Hoggarn. He knew this island; he had passed it many times on his patrols. It was less than three kilometers from his son’s house.
Ilsa had turned away to get plates for lunch. When she turned back, her father-in-law was gone.
Oskarsson heard her call, briefly, over the rumble of the of the engines. Then her calls were behind him, fading, as he roared down the archipelago.
54
RULE leaned against the marble wall and tried to slow her breathing.
Will stood next to her. “Listen, are you sure it’s the same guy, and not just another man in a chauffeur’s uniform? Maybe he really is just Carlsson’s driver.”
“You’re damned right, I’m sure,” Rule said. “And another thing, I doubt very much if civil servants in this country are entitled to chauffeured cars. They take their socialism seriously here.”
“We’ve got to find another way out of here,” Will said, looking about him. They were standing in a hallway, which seemed to lead only further into the building.
“And then what?” Rule asked. “Where are we going to go? Carlsson is obviously working for the Soviets; he’ll have the town scoured for us. We can’t go back to the hotel. We can’t even go out onto the street!”
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bsp; There was a buzzing sound, and a large man in naval uniform came through the front door, accompanied by a civilian carrying a briefcase. Both men glanced at Rule and Lee as they brushed past. The navy man said something in Swedish. Rule smiled and nodded. The two men stopped, and the officer spoke again.
“I’m sorry,” Lee said, “we don’t speak Swedish.”
“Good morning,” the officer said in English. “May I ask what you are doing in this building?”
“Good morning, Captain,” Lee said, guessing at the man’s rank. “We had an appointment this morning … excuse me, may we introduce ourselves? My name is Will Lee,” he said, showing his senate identification. “I am employed by the Intelligence Committee of the United States Senate. This is Katharine Rule, who is an official of the American Central Intelligence Agency.” Rule showed her identification card.
“Do you know Senator Benjamin Carr?” the civilian asked.
“Yes, indeed,” Will replied, “I work for Senator Carr; it was he who sent Miss Rule to Stockholm.”
“On what business?” the captain asked, looking puzzled.
Rule started to speak, to blurt out her story, but Will interrupted. “We have some important information concerning the Soviet submarine which is now aground in the Stockholm Archipelago,” he said. “We have just communicated this information to Mr. Sven Carlsson, Head of Chancery, but … tell me, Captain, do you know if Mr. Carlsson has at his disposal a car and driver?”
“He does not,” the civilian said. “Carlsson rides a motorbike to work every morning.”
“Have you ever seen the man in the chauffeur’s uniform standing just outside the front door?” Will asked.
Both men walked a few steps back to the door, looked out, and came back. “No,” the captain said. “He is not an employee of this ministry.”
Rule spoke up. “Captain, we believe there may have been a very serious breach of security in the Ministry of defense, which is connected with the Soviet submarine in the archipelago. I wonder if there is somewhere we could talk about this for a few minutes in private.”
The captain again inspected their identification, then looked questioningly at the civilian, who nodded. “Will you follow us, please?” the officer said. He led the way to the elevator and up to the floor they had just left. To Rule’s alarm, they were proceding in the direction of Carlsson’s office. Then, to her horror, they turned into Carlsson’s reception room. The secretary at her desk looked up, surprised to see them. “Good morning, sir,” she said, standing.
“No calls for a while,” the civilian said, turning to his left and into the office across from Carlsson’s.
They emerged into a very large, paneled room, elegantly furnished. “Now, Mr. Lee, Miss Rule,” the officer said. “I am Captain Holmquist of the Royal Swedish Navy.” He indicated the civilian. “This is Mr. Bjorn Westberg, the minister of defense. What is it you wish to tell us?”
Rule was too overcome with relief to speak immediately, but Lee filled the gap. “I take it, you have not spoken to Mr. Carlsson this morning, Minister?”
“I have been at Stockholm Military District Headquarters at Strangnas all morning,” the minister said.
“Minister,” Rule said, recovering. “Please read the summary at the head of this document.” She took it from her file and handed it to him.
Westberg read the page, then handed the document to the captain, while Rule began to spread her file on a small conference table. It was the third time in two days she had made this presentation, and she was becoming practiced. She went through it quickly, emphasizing the need for an immediate mobilization of Swedish forces. Jet lag and a lack of sleep were preying on her, now. “May I?” she asked, picking up a crystal water decanter and a glass.
“Of course,” Westberg said. “Miss Rule, I would like to telephone Senator Carr before I proceed further.”
Lee spoke up. “I’ll give you his home number,” he said, scribbling it on a page of his notebook and ripping it out. “It’s early in Washington, but I don’t believe he’ll mind being waked.”
“I don’t believe we need disturb the senator.” The voice came from behind them, and they all turned to face the door. Carlsson was standing there, holding a pistol. “I believe I can confirm the essence of what Miss Rule has been telling you. “It’s all quite true, and she is to be complimented on her work.” He stepped further into the room.
“Thank you, Mr. Carlsson,” Rule said, wearily, pouring herself a glass of water, “but you’ve been working on this for longer than I have, haven’t you?”
“That’s quite correct, Miss Rule,” Carlsson replied. “For a very long time, indeed, and I will not allow my work to be ruined by an order to mobilize. Minister, I will shoot and kill all of you, if you make it necessary, but I would rather just have you all sit down quietly and wait with me. In an hour, maybe less, this ministry will be under Soviet control, as will Stockholm and most of Sweden, and I will be heading a provisional government. While we wait for that to happen, I will fill you in on the details.” He stepped up to the conference table, picked up the telephone, and pushed a button, watching them all carefully. “Miss Holm,” he said to the secretary in the adjoining room, “there is a chauffeur waiting at the front of the building. Would you please ask the security guard to send him to me here? Show him directly in, please. Thank you.” He hung up the phone.
As Carlsson did so, Rule threw both the heavy crystal decanter and the glass at him, pushing them away from her like a basketball. Carlsson flinched, but the decanter struck him in the face, smashing his glasses. As he fell backwards, his gun fired, shattering the telephone on the desk. Rule had her pistol in both hands, ready to fire, but it was unnecessary.
Lee had reached Carlsson first, and Captain Holmquist was not far behind. Carlsson struggled wildly, yelling in Swedish, but in a moment the two large men had him face down, with his arms pinned behind him. The captain cuffed him hard across the head. “Shut up, you bastard,” he said in English.
“The man downstairs is probably a Soviet SPETSNAZ assassin,” Rule said to the minister. “He killed a woman at Stockholm airport this morning, thinking she was I. Something had better be done about him at once.”
The minister picked up the phone and began speaking in rapid Swedish. “The security guard had not yet admitted the man. I’ve told him to call the police and have them deal with him.”
“Are you convinced, Minister?” Rule asked, “or do you still want to call Senator Carr?”
“As Carlsson said,” the minister replied, “it won’t be necessary to disturb the senator.” He turned to the naval captain. “Holmquist, transmit an order to military district headquarters that, under no circumstances, is the Soviet submarine to be fired upon, no matter what the provocation. Then get us a helicopter here at once. I’m going out to the archipelago and take personal charge of operations there. Then call the prime minister, tell him what is happening, and be sure that security is airtight around him. Also, call the counterintelligence department at the state police and get them over here to interrogate Carlsson. I want to know everything he knows.” He picked up a phone again, dialed a number, and began barking orders in Swedish.
A pair of security guards, pistols drawn, appeared at the door, attracted by the gunshot. They quickly handcuffed Carlsson.
The minister hung up the phone. “Take Carlsson to his office,” he said, “and keep him there for questioning.” He turned to Rule. “Every military installation and critical civilian facility will be placed under heavy guard immediately, and a general mobilization will commence.” Outside, a distant siren began to wail, then another and another. “There it goes,” he smiled. “It’s nice to get such quick attention to an order. I hope it’s not too late. Miss Rule, would you and Mr. Lee like to come with me?”
In the distance, and growing closer, the chop-chop of a helicopter could be heard.
“It might be safer than Stockholm,” Rule said.
55
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bsp; TRINA RAGULIN watched, fascinated, as, one by one, the symbols on the theater’s central screen changed from red to green.
“WIG Group One is go,” Jones called out, and Ragulin watched as the figure of an airplane in Estonia changed colors.
Majorov punched a button on his black phone. “Group Five in Gothenberg is go!” he called. “Group Seven at the Norwegian border road is go!”
“We have enough to move, Colonel,” Jones shouted. “We can go now.”
“No,” Majorov said, “We have five units to hear from, and I want them fully deployed and ready before I ask the chairman for a go order.”
“Group Four at Karlskrona has reported, sir!” someone called out, and its symbol went green.
Majorov was standing, now, and he suddenly looked worried. “We don’t have a go from Group One in Stockholm or Group Three in Strangnas. What reports do we have from them? We can’t go without those two.”
“I don’t understand it,” Jones said. “Group One has been in place longer than any other. What can be keeping them?”
“They are still looking for Appicella and Lee,” Majorov said, sitting down again. “Signal them to forget the surveillance and regroup at once. I want them ready, now!”
Jones answered a ringing phone, said a few words, and turned toward Majorov. “We have a signal from Group Three in Strangnas. Stockholm Military Headquarters appears to be conducting a drill. Gates have been sealed and troops are being deployed at the perimeter in armored carriers.”
“That’s not possible!” Majorov cried. “There is no drill scheduled there for another week! Carlsson gave us the schedules!”
Jones punched another button and listened. “Colonel, Group One is reporting civil defense sirens in Stockholm! What the hell is going on?”
As he spoke, Ragulin watched the screen on the right-hand side of the theater change from the scene of the grounded submarine in the Stockholm Archipelago to a man behind a desk in a studio.
“Give me sound on screen three!” Majorov shouted.
