“A few generals in there. We have to take out the communications.” Zara put her arm around Faith’s lower back to steady herself in the awkward huddle. At first Faith pushed a little closer to her, but then shifted away.
“Noted. There was no sign of phone lines going into the house, only electricity.”
“I thought Stukoi would have more pull than that,” Zara said.
“The last two cars completely block in all of the others. The trees are too tight on each side for anyone to drive around them. Faith, you’re going to take the mines and place them behind the back tars of the last two cars.” His Ozark accent began to slip through even more strongly as Summer focused on the mission. “When they start to leave or chase after us if we slip up, they’ll trigger the mines and the wrecks will pin in the rest of them. Comrade, any chance the cars are armored?”
“Only Gorbachev, Shevardnadze and a couple of others have them. Not these guys.”
“Good. There’s an entrance under the house here on the side facing us. I’ll slip under there and set up the mine. There are a bunch of bricks laying around the foundation that I’ll use to trigger it. They’ll add a nice little antipersonnel aspect to the explosion. Now timing is going to be critical. Comrade, how long do you need to get what we’re after inside?”
“They’ve been drinking, so it shouldn’t be hard to get them talking. I have a long history of short appearances at social functions with Stukoi. Give me half an hour plus five minutes’ margin.”
“Remember, you can’t let yourself get delayed. I’ll set the mine for the cars nearest the guards, but Faith will do the two back ones later because I don’t want someone leaving too early before the big show and setting them off prematurely. Comrade, move your car to the main road. Faith and I will meet up back here; then we’ll catch up with you at the car.” Summer turned off the flashlight and threw the blanket back. He dipped two fingers into the shoe polish and smeared it on Faith’s cheek. “Sorry. I know how much you hate this.”
“I’m developing an immunity to grime.”
“Everyone understand what we’re doing? Any last questions? Let’s get our gear and be on our way.”
“Whoa,” Faith said. “What if something goes wrong?”
“Improvise and be glad your mama is on her knees for us.” Summer snapped the lid on the polish and dropped it onto the floorboard. He opened the car door and hunched down behind it. Faith and Zara followed him.
Zara opened the trunk and handed Faith one of the rucksacks her mother had loaned them. “I never intended to bring you into anything like this. I’m so sorry.”
Summer grabbed the pack stuffed with C-4 and two landmines and slung it over his shoulder. “It’s now nine forty-three. Comrade, I’ll give you a couple of minutes to park the car and talk to the guards. Be out of there by ten twenty-five at the absolute latest. I’ll pull the pin then, and it’ll go off within seven to fifteen minutes, give or take—and I can’t emphasize enough how inexact this is. I did my best to whittle away half of the lead strip, but who knows exactly how long the mines will take to arm.”
“Understood.”
“I trust you have your little tape recorder and spy camera ready?” Summer said.
“Don’t worry. We’ll have our evidence. You’re more likely than I am to run into a firefight, so you take the extra magazine,” Zara whispered as she slid into the driver’s seat.
“Thanks. One more thing,” Summer said, crouching beside the car. “Make sure you leave the car unlocked and the keys under the driver’s floor mat. Not that we plan on going anywhere without you, but just in case your timing’s off.” He winked at Zara.
Summer took Faith’s hand as Zara drove away. “You doing okay, Faith? You up to this?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen your fireworks.” She looked at him from the corner of her eye and smiled.
They sat down on the ground behind the burnt-out dacha and waited. Summer didn’t take his eyes off his watch. “So what do you think Mama Whitney was doing with that Stasi general?”
“I’m still trying to figure it out. It doesn’t add up. Ever since I found out Daddy’s alive, I’ve assumed he was captive in the Soviet Union, but it could be he’s in Germany. I was thinking maybe Mama was forced to sleep with Kosyk as part of a deal to get Daddy released from an East German prison, maybe even Bautzen.”
“I can’t remember the last time I heard you empathize with your mother. At least some good’s coming out of all of this.” He nodded and looked up from his watch. “It’s time. Stay put. I’ll be back in five.” He kissed her on the top of the head and disappeared into the darkness.
As the cool moisture seeped through her coveralls and underwear, she knew she had to summon the same fortitude as Summer, but she also knew him well enough to sense it wasn’t real. He was scared and that unnerved her.
Her watch’s minute hand had hardly moved since Summer left, though it felt like he had been gone too long. She pressed her eyes shut and strained to listen for Zara’s voice, but only heard the laughter from the dacha and owl screeches from the woods. A breeze picked up and she opened her eyes. Nine fifty-two. Where the hell is he?
Summer suddenly slipped beside her. “Ready, honey?”
“You’re not going to need the night-vision thing are you? Can you at least leave it with me? I’ll go crazy here if I have to wait for you even longer next time. At least with it I could be a lookout for you after I’m done with my minefield.”
“You might as well take it because it’s not going to do me any good under the house. Just keep low.” He unzipped a pocket, handed her the monocular and then looked into her eyes. “Faith, you know I love you, don’t you?” He picked up the backpack and held open the strap for her.
Faith turned her back to him, put on the pack and paused. She swirled around and kissed him on the lips, smearing the shoe polish between their faces. She pulled away from him, unsure whether she dared tamper with the past, particularly at a time when it was being rewritten. “Be careful. I don’t want anything happening to you.”
“Same here. Remember to keep low and watch the time.” He kissed her on the cheek and crept away toward the dacha.
CHAPTER
FIFTY
In Germany you can’t have a revolution
because you would have to step on the lawns.
—STALIN
GENERAL STUKOI’S DACHA
A FEW MINUTES EARLIER, 9:28 P.M.
Even as Kosyk walked up the driveway of the dacha, he could hear drunken laughter. Tonight they should be reviewing plans and contingencies, checking and rechecking all that was so meticulously prepared, but he knew the drunkards hadn’t even agreed yet which of them was going to run the country. He went inside. As expected, the Russians were swilling vodka and gorging themselves on caviar. Even Titov’s protégé from the Berlin residency, Resnick, was sauced.
“Sit, sit.” Stukoi poured Kosyk a glass and stuck it in his hand. “Drink with us.”
“Tomorrow night, when we have something to celebrate.” Kosyk shook his head and pushed the glass back to Stukoi, but he wouldn’t take it.
“Tonight we have something to celebrate. We’re on the eve of the future.” Stukoi gulped vodka.
“I came to work, not to make merry. Is everything in place for tomorrow? Have you found FedEx and Otter?”
“Tomorrow will take care of itself. Enjoy yourself with your comrades tonight.” Stukoi slapped him on the back, jarring him enough to splash his drink all over him.
“We have a problem with Honecker,” Kosyk said, ignoring the indignation of the alcohol soaking into his clothes. “I just found out he’s making a move on West Berlin tonight. I tried to talk them out of it, get them to delay until after the putsch.”
General Zolotov waved his hand dismissively. “Let the Germans do whatever they do tonight. We clean up after them in the morning. You know what Stalin thought of you Germans.”
“You’ve done your duty. We’ll remember it.” Stukoi patted him on the back.
“You have to stop them tonight.” Kosyk lit a cigarette. “Honecker can no longer be trusted.”
“General Kosyk,” Zolotov said, slurring his words. “We heard you. You’re like a schoolboy tattling on your friends. I hated boys like you.”
CHAPTER
FIFTY-ONE
9:49 P.M.
Zara flicked on the tape recorder hidden in a brooch, fingered the miniature camera concealed as a cigarette packet and then turned the doorknob, but the door was stuck, swollen from the humidity of recent showers. She butted it open with her shoulder and caught herself before she stumbled into the room. Half-empty bottles were scattered on every surface and a smoky blue haze clouded the dozen men, most of whose faces she recognized; the KGB was well represented. She had expected the Soviet Army generals, but was surprised by the GRU’s presence. She was more taken aback by the satisfied smile on Kosyk’s face when he saw her. She recognized the sated look of revenge.
“Zara Antonovna,” General Stukoi spoke with uncharacteristic familiarity. “Finally you join us.”
“Tovarishch Bogdanov,” General Zolotov said. “So you are the girl we have to thank for the restoration of order to our world. You make your father proud. You should have brought Anton Antonovich along. Someone get her a glass so we can drink to her.”
“I can’t take the glory. General Stukoi was the one who brought all of you together. And our German colleagues—”
“Our German comrades failed. Stukoi tells us they didn’t deliver the American explosives and thanks to them we have to hunt down the smuggler and the commando,” a KGB colonel said.
“As I explained,” Kosyk said, “I was not the one who lost them.” The irritation in Kosyk’s voice was stronger than the smell of alcohol in the room, but his perfectly enunciated Russian gave no hint of intoxication.
Stukoi handed Bogdanov a used shot glass and poured vodka into it and onto the floor. “Tomorrow we find the Americans, but before that, we enjoy the May Day. The parade will be glorious and without the explosives we have no risk of damage to Lenin’s tomb or any questions of why we weren’t there with Gorbachev when the explosion occurred. A bullet’s cleaner. It’s better this way.”
Zara took the glass. “So who has the honor in the morning of giving the sniper the final go-ahead?”
“Finished already,” Stukoi said. “Everything is in motion. Zolotov can signal to abort if we need to, but that’s not going to be necessary.”
“A toast.” General Zolotov raised his glass. “To Comrade Bogdanov, who helped bring the spark of revolution from Germany. Tomorrow, we Bolsheviks will once again rid the Motherland of the imperialists.”
The toast dragged on in true Russian style, but Zara ignored it. Her disciplined mind forced herself to concentrate on the strategic situation. They were too late to save Gorbachev by only eliminating the conspirators. They would deal with the sniper in due course. She reviewed various contingencies and planned her responses. She kept coming back to Faith; the woman was a brilliant smuggler, but had no paramilitary training. If the guards discovered her, Stukoi and Kosyk would instantly understand that Bogdanov had helped the Americans, and her only option then would be to take out as many as she could with her eight rounds. Kosyk she would shoot first. He was sober, probably armed and he deserved it.
“To Comrade Bogdanov,” everyone in the room repeated and downed the vodka.
Faith didn’t see any point in writhing through the mud any longer than she had to, so she darted to a tree on the other side of the burnt-out dacha. From there she could see lights and the outlines of cars. She pulled out the night scope, but saw less than with her naked eyes. She dashed from tree to tree down the driveway of the abandoned cottage. When she had gone far enough, she lowered herself to the ground and crawled on all fours toward the target. She winced at the crackle of each leaf, sure it would give her away. The sound of the drivers unnerved her. When she was close enough to distinguish voices, she lowered herself to the ground. The coveralls were a wick for moisture and dampness touched her belly.
She heard a rustle in the leaves. She plastered herself as flat against the ground as she could. Footsteps came closer. If they found her now, it was over. They’d get Summer. Her fingers fanned out, searching for a rock. Her hands pressed into the soft mud, squeezing it under her fingernails. She struck a rock, but it was barely bigger than a crabapple. She clutched it, ready to do whatever it took. Leaves crunched beside her.
A deer emerged from the forest. She exhaled, startling the creature. It bounded into the night.
Her nerves tested, she inched onward until she came to a narrow clearing—the empty drive. She had overshot. She retreated a few yards back into the woods and paralleled the path until she spotted the last car. She crawled behind it and slipped off the backpack. The car blocked the moonlight, forcing her to work in the darkness. She ran her fingers along the top of the mine, making sure the rubber top faced upward, and then she lodged it behind the right tire, taking care not to place pressure on the rubber. She held her breath and yanked out the metal pin.
Moonlight seeped through the cracks between the decaying boards along the foundation of the house. The light was barely enough to help Summer navigate the lifetime accumulation of junk under the house. He plowed through broken sawhorses, scrap lumber and boxsprings as he cleared a path to the center of the structure. He set down the backpack with the explosives and crawled back to the opening, grabbing a dented metal bucket along the way. Like a wolf guarding its den, he emerged from the entrance on all fours.
Bricks were piled beside the house, awaiting some unfinished project. Tonight their wait was over. Summer placed them into the bucket, careful not to make any sound. He estimated he had a good twenty-five pounds’ worth, giving him plenty of leeway.
On his way back under the house, he spotted a small propane tank. It was the perfect height to make a platform for the mine and it would add some punch to the blast. As he ferried the bricks to ground zero, he reminded himself he already had enough C-4 to turn the house into splinters.
As an EOD guy, he’d spent most of his career disarming explosives; the opportunity to blow up such a good target had come up far too seldom. He glanced at his watch and calculated he had ample time for temptation—if he worked fast.
He returned for the propane tank, pleased with how the job was shaping up and not admitting to himself the real reason he wanted it: If something went wrong, he’d shoot into the tank to detonate the charge instantly—even though he’d be too close.
He set the tank on the ground under the center of the building and rocked it to make sure it was on solid footing. On top of it he placed a wide board on which he positioned the mine. He unscrewed the detonator plug, just in case he had carved away too much from the lead delay strip and the mine armed instantly. Molding the C-4 around the mine, he left openings so he could pull the safety pin and screw back the detonator. He checked the time—twenty-two fifteen—and sat down and waited, gun in hand in case he had to do the unthinkable.
Zara excused herself to the kitchen in search of zakuski to munch on. She sensed Kosyk getting up as she walked by him.
He stalked her. “They told me the meeting didn’t start until ten, but they were drunk off their asses when I got here.”
“They told me nine.”
“This is no way to prepare for a putsch. We should be reviewing contingencies, making certain we haven’t overlooked anything.”
“They don’t make hard-liners like they used to,” Zara said with a smile. “So, have we overlooked anything?”
“That’s not the point. Typical Russian Schlamperei.” Kosyk took out a cigarette and rolled it between his fingers. Tobacco fell from the ends. “And now we have to go with a sniper because you lost the C-4 I sent you.”
“I lost nothing. It w
as never received, but it doesn’t matter now. I’ve been visiting my father all afternoon and evening and I’m not up on the latest. Who won out on the sniper’s position? Stukoi or Zolotov?” Zara fished for plan details as she pulled the top off a caviar tin. She spooned it into a dish.
“I’m not following their petty politics. The sniper’s going to be on the top floor of GUM. It’s a clean shot from the department store to the mausoleum. But that’s tomorrow. Berlin worries me right now. I warned them, but the fools are too drunk to give a damn. Honecker’s starting a war with the Americans as we speak.”
“Have you been drinking, too?” Zara set down the spoon and pushed away the caviar. “What are you talking about?”
“I informed Mielke tonight everything’s in place. The putsch is going down in the morning while Gorbachev reviews the May Day parade. It seems Honecker doesn’t trust that the new Soviet leaders will give them what he really wants—West Berlin. He’s sealing off the city tonight and annexing it. Before anyone realizes what’s happening, the Nationale Volksarmee will liquidate the police, sever communications and seize government buildings. By morning the National People’s Army will be sitting on the Americans’ doorstep, daring them to start the next world war.”
“That’s insane. They know the Americans will defend the city.”
“Reagan would’ve, but he’s been gone for months. Honecker’s counting on the confusion in Moscow to slow down their response. The Americans aren’t going to want to start a war over Berlin with an unknown Soviet government—particularly if it wasn’t involved in the action. The American finger isn’t on the trigger anymore. They’ll hesitate, debate. They’ll be too late, maybe.”
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