“It’s the maybe that worries me. The Americans will fight for Berlin. That policy’s never wavered. I can’t believe no one in there would listen to you and stop it. The GRU could warn the Soviet Army units in Germany to stop them. Hell, any of them could get word through to the right people,” Bogdanov said.
“Exactly. I thought they would do that immediately. They could clean house with Honecker tomorrow. A fitting epilogue. But you know what they said to me?”
“Cleaning house with Honecker—that’s what it’s all about for you, isn’t it? They take out Honecker and his cronies, and you’re the loyal German who dutifully reported their insubordination to your Soviet masters. You’re putting yourself in line to run the GDR, aren’t you?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“My ass. So is this about liberating your repressed Sorbian brothers, or is it just a power trip for you?”
“There are too many nationalists in this world. The Sorbs are respected, treated well in the GDR. They have money for their organizations, their little books and theaters.”
“And so well treated that’s why you haven’t made it to the Central Committee?”
Kosyk reached into his sport coat. Just then Stukoi and Zolotov stumbled into the kitchen. Several others followed them.
“Come join us, little lady,” Zolotov said. “We go to the banya.”
He put his arm around Zara, puckered his puffy lips and lunged for her. She dodged. He toppled forward, grabbed at her and ripped the brooch from her jacket. It skidded across the floor. In an instant she grabbed his arm as if breaking his fall and bent his thumb backwards, but wasn’t sure if he could feel any pain through the alcohol. “Watch your step. You could really get yourself hurt.” She shoved him along and then reached down for the brooch.
But Kosyk already held it.
He flipped it over and handed it to her with a rare smile. “Please.”
She thanked him and then turned to Stukoi, hoping she could use him to get away from Kosyk while keeping them above the explosion. “Why don’t you wait to go to the banya until after I leave?”
“We added wood to the fire long ago. It should be perfect now. Come join us,” Stukoi said.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea. I need to be going soon. My father isn’t feeling too well and I get so little opportunity to see him.”
The men wobbled out the back door.
Zara glanced at her watch. Explosion in ten minutes—plus or minus. She had to get out. And she had to do something about the men in the banya. “General Kosyk, it’s been interesting as usual, but I have to excuse myself.”
“You cannot go yet.” He reached into his tweed sport coat and pulled out a gun.
It seemed like it had taken hours, but in less than twenty minutes Faith had crept to the cars, laid her landmines and returned to the burnt-out dacha to wait. She sat down in the familiar spot. The seconds dragged. What was happening? She knew it was too early for Summer to return, but she couldn’t stand not knowing. She twisted a twig between her fingers until it snapped. There was no reason she couldn’t wait on Summer closer to the dacha. With the night scope she could watch the entrance under the house and could be back at the rendezvous spot before him.
Still wearing the backpack with three leftover mines, she crawled toward the dacha. She perched behind a bush on a small rise from which she could view the entire area. She looked through the night-vision scope, but the resolution wasn’t enough to make out much. Time slowed to a standstill. She waited, staring at the unchanging scene. The breeze shifted directions and she smelled smoke. Nothing was coming from the chimney of the dacha, but smoke curled from the banya.
Ten twenty-two—only three more minutes until he pulls the pin.
She raised the monocular to her right eye to watch for Summer. He should be pulling the pin and coming back within a minute. Then she saw movement. Four men staggered out the back door of the dacha. Oh, shit.
Faith shoved the scope back into her pocket, zipping it shut. She crawled on her belly toward the dacha, forcing herself to watch the obese men undress. Slowly they stripped off their suit jackets, dress shirts and trousers. One shoved his clothes at a peg on the side of the sauna, but they crumpled onto the ground. The men stumbled inside.
As soon as the last one shut the door, Faith crawled through a flowerbed and under the house.
It was time. Summer steadied the landmine with his right hand and pulled the pin. The metal striker whizzed out of the detonator plug hole, the tiny steel missile zooming through the air. Summer jumped back, sure he’d filled his pants. Crap. Must’ve cut too far through the delay strip.
Now the mine was useless.
He raced through the dark obstacle course of junk toward Faith and the extra mines.
Kosyk pointed the gun at the center of Zara’s chest. His left eye twitched. “I assume you have an arsenal strapped to your body. Set them on the counter one at a time. You know the routine, any fast moves, any noise—”
She removed the Makarov semiautomatic from her ankle holster, holding the butt with two fingers. She spread her feet apart and held out her arms for a search.
He picked up her gun and stuck it in the back of his trousers. He patted her down with his left hand while the gun in his right pressed against her throat. He stopped at her pockets, removed the cigarette-pack camera and dropped it into his sport-coat pocket. “Marlboro. You won’t need these.”
Zara didn’t want to call his attention to her concern with the time, so she didn’t look at her own watch, but stole a glance at his. She knew that under her feet a spring-loaded metal pin was pushing against a steel wire, wearing away a thin lead strip between her and death. She guessed she had less than four minutes.
“You know, it never did make sense to me why you were the one who approached us with plans for the coup. Mielke has a close relationship with over half the KGB generals and considers the other half blood brothers. He knew exactly whom to trust and who hated Gorbachev. He even came to us directly a couple of years ago with a proposal we oust Honecker. If Honecker and Mielke decided to knock off Gorbachev—Mielke would’ve come straight to us.”
“A rogue general is deniable—Mielke’s not. I couldn’t get the fools to understand that eliminating Gorbachev alone wasn’t enough. They had to find a way to control the successor.”
“You can’t tell me Mielke didn’t grasp that.”
“He believed Gorbachev’s support was weak and fractured. He had faith in his generation of Chekists and Soviet Army commanders and believed they’d seize power, maybe not immediately, but as soon as they thought the imperialists were behind the assassination. Mielke’s getting old and losing his edge—they all are.”
“Sad, in a way. He was probably the most ruthless, cunning bastard I ever met—present company excluded, of course.”
“Of course.” Kosyk smiled again.
“You know it makes no sense they’d make a play for West Berlin on the eve of a coup when there’s the danger of Gorbachev getting involved, possibly changing his plans for the morning. Even if they’re bold enough to invade the city on their own, they wouldn’t do it before the chaos ensued in Moscow. I’m betting you set them up by signaling them that the murder had already happened. They’re probably sitting in Berlin right now, listening to Radio Moscow, wondering why it isn’t playing a dirge like it usually does in the interim between the death of a Kremlin leader and the official announcement.” Zara knew the lead strip had become a little thinner. “You expected your Russian friends in there to contact their colleagues in Germany and stop Honecker, didn’t you? You thought that would be enough for them to boot out Honecker and the whole bunch. After proving your loyalties to the new Soviet leaders, you’d be in line for a major role in the post-coup order, definitely Politburo, maybe chief of the MfS and quite likely the First Secretary.” Where was the explosion?
“You flatter me.” Kosyk’s eye jerked to the left. “And you possess such
an excellent grasp of politics; it is a shame to kill you.”
Faith lunged through the hole under the house. The top of her head smacked into something hard, stunning her. She heard a muted grunt. Fingers reached around her throat.
“Summer.” She choked.
“Jesus, Faith. You scared the shit out of me. I need another mine now. No time to explain.”
“Four of them,” Faith said, gasping for air, “just went into the sauna in the back.”
“Shit. We’ve got another problem.” He took the mine from her. “How many mines do you have left?”
“Just these two.”
“Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to give you a couple pounds of C to pack around the mine. On your way out of here, you’re going to find an old pile of bricks to your right. Shove half a dozen bricks into your backpack and book it to the steam house. Screw off the detonator plug and set it aside for a minute. That’s the big one here.” He took her hand and placed her fingers on a round knob. “Memorize how this feels and how it’s different than the other one.” He moved her cold fingers to the opposite side. “Next, you’re going to mold the C around the mine, leaving holes for the plugs so you can pull the pin. Just smash it around. Doesn’t have to be pretty. Now you’re gonna pull the pin. Stay clear of the det plug hole just in case the little metal thingy comes flying out like it did on me. Screw the plug back into the mine, then stack the bricks on it and get the hell out of there. I’ll meet you at the burnt-out building. Think you can do it, honey?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Stay right here while I get you a slab of C.” Summer retrieved some plastic explosive and handed it to Faith. “Now repeat what you’re going to do.”
Faith summarized his instructions, her speech fast and clipped from adrenaline.
“Good. Now one more thing. We have to coordinate so they go off as close to the same time as possible. Think you can do it in four minutes?”
“I can do it in three.”
“It’s twenty-two twenty-eight—uh, ten twenty-eight. Pull the pin at ten thirty-one.”
“Summer, can’t we speed up things by pulling both pins right now? They won’t arm for a while and there’s plenty of time to set them up.”
“We could do that, but it might arm too fast and blow you up when you put the bricks on it. Get moving. Pull the pin when I told you.”
“Summer, I’m in enough danger as it is.” Faith screwed off the detonator plug and stuck it in her pocket. “A little more won’t matter and we’ll know if this one is another dud.”
She pulled the pin.
“Better get yours out now before I get too much of a head start on you. See you at the ranch,” Faith said. She squeezed out the entrance, took a quick right and shoved the bricks into her backpack, adding an extra one for good measure. She crawled into the woods. The bricks were much heavier than the light plastic landmines, but they didn’t slow her down. She scooted to the back of the banya and dragged herself a few feet under the structure, leaving her legs protruding. She pulled the mine from the front pouch of the backpack, the steel wire now cutting through the lead delay strip. The sound of switches smacking against flesh came from inside the banya. She smashed the C around the mine and screwed on the detonator cap. She took a deep breath and she picked up a brick.
Dear God, please don’t go off.
She lowered the brick onto the mine’s rubber plate.
Kosyk shifted his aim from Zara’s chest to her head. She listened for the charge. Any second now.
“Time we go for a little walk. As soon as you open the door, clasp your hands behind your neck. You’re a professional, so I won’t insult you with a reminder of all the things you can do to hasten your death.”
Zara pushed open the door and considered slamming it back on him, but the rotting wooden frame was too flimsy. She walked down the steps with her hands behind her head, prepared to throw her body to the ground the second she heard the charge.
“Straight ahead. Past the banya to the riverbank.”
If she could get a survivable distance from the explosion, she would have the element of surprise. She could overpower him, eliminate him and then deal with the splinter group in the banya. She listened for the pop of the charge, but only heard the sloshing of her feet in the mud and the voices from the banya.
She passed the banya. The moonlight glistened off the river less than fifty meters away. Constantly scanning the area for an opportunity, she spotted something. Legs stuck out from under the structure.
The commander?
Kosyk? Faith raised her head up and bumped it against the floor of the banya. She saw Zara walking at gunpoint. Summer was too far away to help, so she picked up the extra brick she’d stacked on the mine and wiggled out from under the building. She slithered along the ground toward the riverbank, pausing behind a bush to check her bearings and listen.
“So, you worked with the American even after you said you had no contact with her. Was she CIA? Are you doubling for the CIA and gathering tapes of conversations to use against me after I’m First Secretary?” Kosyk said.
“Your ambitions cloud your judgment. I’m not a traitor like you. I’m loyal to my country, my leader—and my family. You’re not going to succeed. Gorbachev was alerted and Spetsnaz commandos are moving in any minute.”
“I expected more from you. On your knees. Now.”
“So you’re going to make me suck your little cock first, you asshole?”
Kosyk shoved her down.
The brick cut into Faith’s hand as she clutched it as tightly as she could. Too far away. With each crunch of a leaf, another drop of blood drained from her light head.
Kosyk prodded Zara with the butt of the gun. “Who are you working for? Why were you taping tonight’s meeting?”
“Stukoi. He doesn’t trust you. I think his exact words were ‘double-crossing little prick.’ He wanted me to gather the proof you were playing us off against the GDR leadership.”
Only twenty feet. Faith moved closer. Then she heard the hammer click. Faith pulled her arm back, but stopped herself. Too damn far. Keep him talking.
“Explain one thing I couldn’t figure out,” Zara said. “Why did you attempt to recruit Faith at the MfS cabaret in front of all your colleagues? If you were going to succeed in pinning the blame on the Americans, MfS fingerprints couldn’t be left anywhere. You’re too good for such a blunder.”
“What’s the point of being the architect behind the most brilliant operation in intelligence history if no one even suspects it was your work?”
Faith steadied herself with the trunk of a birch as her foot sank into the mud of the riverbank ten feet from Kosyk. She looked at Zara and knew he was about to kill her, so she grasped the brick with both hands and held it over her head. She focused on the base of his skull and lunged forward, but slipped and only grazed the side of his head.
Kosyk spun around and fired at the same instant Zara lunged, spoiling his aim. Still, he kept the gun pointed at Faith. He smiled coldly. “Drop it.” Kosyk motioned with the gun and spoke to Zara. “Over there, beside her.”
Zara kept her hands visible as she inched toward Faith.
Faith turned to Zara for her lead, but glimpsed fear in her eyes. Faith knew it was over—at least for one of them, and Faith was the one facing the barrel of the gun. She trembled and the blood rushed from her head. She couldn’t pass out now, not when she was so close to the truth. She forced a deep breath. Mustering all her self-control, she looked Kosyk in the eyes and said, “I know you’re going to kill me. At least tell me what happened to my father. Where is he? What did you do to him?”
“You really don’t know, do you?” He smirked and turned toward Zara. “You’ve figured it out, haven’t you, Bogdanov?”
Faith jerked her head around toward Zara and then slowly turned back to him.
Kosyk spoke. “It was impossible for your father to stay with your mother. He always told her, ‘We had no chance,
but we—’ “
“ ‘But we made ourselves one.’ ” A chill ran through her body as Faith recited the lines she had studied so often for comfort, for clues. She could see her father’s bold strokes in his old-fashioned German handwriting. “How the hell do you know those words? They’re from the only thing I’ve ever had that was written by my father.” She searched his face for answers and she found them—in his wide cheekbones, in his high forehead and in the familiar way he cocked his head a little to the left. “You?”
“I offered you the opportunity to learn from me. You rejected it.” His eye twitched.
“What did you do to my mother? Blackmail her? Rape her?”
“You were a love child. I was assigned an undercover mission to penetrate an imperialist front organization in Berlin-West that was a CIA springboard for subversive activities in the republic. My orders were to position myself as close as I could to the ringleader. I couldn’t have gotten much closer.” He laughed.
“You deceived her and used her.”
“Never. I never used Maggie.” He raised his voice. “I was always fond of Maggie, but she was a missionary and I was a career officer in the Ministry for State Security. Our love could never be.”
“You can murder your own child in cold blood?”
“With regret. I’d planned on letting the Russians take care of you, but their usual sloppiness leaves me with little choice. Understand that tomorrow I’ll be leader of communist Germany and I can’t afford a capitalist bastard—no matter how lovely she is.” He reached forward and stroked Faith’s hair. “Before you die, forgive your mother. A Bible smuggler couldn’t have the child of a godless communist any more than an MfS general could claim an American daughter. What happened wasn’t Maggie’s fault. You were a child of the Cold War.” He paused. The moonlight caught his eyes and glistened on the tears that welled up inside them. “Join me.”
“I can’t.” Faith choked on the words.
Rift Zone Page 31
