“What is it?” said Chernov, his mind still on the French woman. Her coming here had disturbed him. It was something outside his control, something unexpected. He didn’t like that.
“A Mafia boss, his money man and two of his bodyguards were gunned down about a half hour ago. The only reason we got it so fast was that one of General Mazayev’s people happened to be out there and called me direct.”
“Where did this happen?” Chernov demanded with his full attention now.
“That’s the thing, we should have known. At the Grand Dinamo. It’s inside the stadium, not two thousand meters from the flea market.”
“That’s it. Did anybody see anything?”
“Not the murders, but about the same time a man came out of the club, jumped into a blue BMW and took off. But it wasn’t his car. The general description the valet provided more or less fits McGarvey.”
“All right, put out an all-points bulletin for that car.”
“I sent the bulletin before I called you. If that car is still in Moscow we’ll find it.”
“Don’t screw it up this time, Illen,” Chernov warned quietly.
“No.”
Downtown Moscow
McGarvey parked near a metro station around the corner from the Bolshoi Theater at 7:20. Taking the satchel with him lie found a public phone inside the station and despite the risk that the phone was being monitored for international calls, he used his Allain credit card to reach Otto Rencke. He figured that the staff at the Grand Dinamo would have been confused for the first few minutes by the theft of the car out from under their noses, and when they had gone looking for their boss, but instead found his body and those of his accountant and bodyguards, they might have panicked. It would take them time to get organized and even more time to decide what to do. The loss of a member’s car was nothing in comparison to the murders. But sooner or later they would realize that the two events were connected and they would do something. They’d either call the Militia, who might put two and two together in due time, or they’d put the word out on the street, which would be a lot faster.
“Hiya,” Rencke answered cautiously on the first ring.
“Have you heard from my daughter?” McGarvey asked.
“Oh boy, Mac, am I ever glad you called, because you’ve gotta get out of there right now. Whatever it takes, just run to the embassy and everything can be worked out.”
If the line was clear and Rencke could talk, he was supposed to respond that he’d heard from Elizabeth and everything was fine. But he hadn’t, and he sounded all strung out.
“I’ll come for you when I can.”
“Noo, Mac,” Otto cried. “You don’t understand. The line is clear, I’m okay, but it’s Elizabeth. Something’s happened. Something terrible.”
A cold fist clutched at McGarvey’s heart. “What’s happened?”
“Elizabeth is there in Moscow. Chernov picked her up in Riga, which means Tarankov’s probably got her, and is going to use her for bait.”
McGarvey closed his eyes. “Christ, Christ,” he said softly, as he tried to get ahold of himself. He opened his eyes. “I can’t talk very long, but from the beginning, Otto, what the hell is going on?”
“Call me from the embassy, please. Just get out of there.”
“Goddammit, Otto!”
“Oh shit, oh shit. The field officer Ryan sent over to look for you was Elizabeth. She’s working for the CIA now. She was with the DI, but Ryan recruited her to help find you. So she came to Paris but the SDECE picked her up, and she and Jacqueline Belleau were assigned to stake out your apartment.”
This wasn’t believable, and yet McGarvey knew goddamned well it was true. Ryan was capable of all of it. McGarvey held the phone so tightly his knuckles turned white, but if anyone passing in the busy station noticed anything they gave no sign of it.
“Mac, are you still there?” Otto asked fearfully.
“I’m here.”
“It took Elizabeth a couple of weeks, but she started surfing the net and she found me. She just put it together, Mac. I swear I was hammered right to my knees when she showed up.”
“How did she find out about Riga?”
“I told her,” Otto wailed. “I don’t know why, but you were walking into a trap by calling Yemlin. Chernov had his phone bugged and when you made the call it was traced~I had to stay here, so Elizabeth and Jacqueline took off for Riga. They were just supposed to warn you that Chernov was on his way. But Elizabeth got caught, and Jacqueline saw it all.”
“You shouldn’t have told her about Riga,” McGarvey said softly.
“I know that now, but there was no other way, Mac. Believe me, if I could rip my heart out I would.” Otto was practically in tears. “Just go to the embassy, Mac. Please, God, just do that for me. Once I know that you’re clear I’ll call Murphy and he can tell the President. Between the political pressure from Washington, and Jacqueline slowing Chernov down there’s a chance this’ll all turn out okay. But you’ve got to get out of there, Mac. Right now.”
“Now what are you talking about?” McGarvey demanded.
“Jacqueline convinced her people to send her to Moscow to work with the police commission—”
“Does she know who Bykov really is?”
“Yes. And so does the CIA, I think, but nobody’s going to do a thing until you get out of the way. Once you’re safely in the embassy Tarankov will have no reason to hold Elizabeth, and he’ll let her go.”
McGarvey’s head was spinning. “I don’t think so.”
“Yes, Mac. At this stage in the revolution the man would be a fool to alienate the West over a simple kidnapping.”
“He doesn’t give a damn about us. In less than two days he’s going to be running this country. It’ll be his finger on the nuclear triggers and all the Ryan’s of the world won’t give a damn. They’ll sacrifice my daughter’s life without batting an eye.”
“Dammit, Mac—”
“Get out of (here right now, Otto. I’ll catch up with you as soon as I can.”
“I’m sorry, Mac. I’m sorry—”
“It’s not your fault. Just get out of there while you can.”
McGarvey broke the connection, and for several minutes he was unable to do anything but sit there conscious of his beating heart, conscious of a tightness in his gut. He could see Elizabeth two Thanksgivings ago. He could feel her body, smell her scent as they hugged good-bye when she was leaving to go back to her job in New York, and his jaw tightened.
Tarankov would not harm her until after the May Day parade because he needed her until then. He was using her for bait, Otto said.
Well if you bait a hook, you should be prepared for what you catch.
He picked up the phone again.
Courbevoie
Rencke caught Roland Murphy at his desk in Langley just as the CIA director was about to leave for lunch. “General, this is Otto Rencke. I think you know who I am, because I’m helping Kirk McGarvey and you and the French are looking for us.”
There was a silence on the line for several seconds.
“We don’t have time to screw around, Mr. Director. If you’re trying to trace this call, don’t bother, because you can’t do it.”
“Where are you calling from?” Murphy asked, his voice measured.
“I’m in Paris. But that’s not important. Kirk McGarvey has reached Moscow, but so has his daughter, Elizabeth. Your DDO, Howard Ryan, sent her over a couple of weeks ago to help the French find her father. They traced him to Riga, where Colonel Bykov, who heads the Russian police commission looking for him, picked her up. The thing is, Bykov is an alias. His real name is Leonid Chernov and he works as Tarankov’s chief of staff. That means Elizabeth is probably being held prisoner by Tarankov. Do you understand what I’m telling you, General?”
“I hear what you’re saying, but I don’t know who the hell you think you are, or what the hell you’re trying to do—”
“Mac always said you were even mo
re stubborn than he was,” Rencke cut in. “But he said you were a smart and honorable man. Watch this.”
Before the call Rencke had entered the CIA’s computer system. He brought up the monitor on Murphy’s desk, and downloaded the
Bykov-Chernov file he’d generated, along with copies of the net chat he’d had with Elizabeth, and the records of the phone trace to the Riga apartment. “Your phone line and computer access codes are supposed to be super-secure,” Rencke said. “Remind me one of these days, and if I have the time I’ll show your people why they’re living in a dream world and how to fix it.”
There was another silence on the line, this time for nearly a minute.
“I see what you mean,” Murphy said. “I’m not going to ask right now how you-got this information, but it’s all new to me. I had no idea that Ryan was using Elizabeth McGarvey to find her father.”
“You picked him as your DDO, General,” Rencke said harshly. “The man is a dangerous fool, and because of him there’s a very good chance that Elizabeth will be killed unless you do something about it right now.”
“Even if Tarankov has her, he won’t do anything until after the elections, which gives us several weeks.”
“Wrong answer,” Rencke said. “Tarankov will make his move in Red Square tomorrow. And Mac will be there to try to kill him.”
“My people tell me differently.”
“Your people are wrong. We’re not talking about political correctness here, General. This isn’t what the White House wants to hear, this is the truth. Unless something is done immediately a lot of good people are going to get hurt, friends of mine. Not only that, Washington is going to end up with its trousers down around its ankles, as per usual. Use your friggin’ head, Murphy!”
“Listen here—”
“You listen,” Rencke shouted. “If you want to play games with me, I’ll crash your entire system. I’ll set a super virus loose in every intelligence and Department of Defense computer in the country! That’s something else your analysts tell you is impossible. But, Mr. Director, you can’t believe how simple it would be to do.”
“What do you want?” Murphy demanded.
“I’m not going to ask you to take my word, Mr. Director, I may be naive but I’m not stupid. Check with Ryan, and find out exactly what that bastard has been doing. In the meantime I’ll download everything in my files on Tarankov and what’s about to happen over there. When you’ve got all that, take it to President Lindsay. The Russians asked for his help, well he’s in a position now to do just that.”
“How?”
“Jumped up Jesus, do I have to explain everything?” Rencke said. “The Russians have to arrest Tarankov before the May Day rally in Red Square tomorrow. No matter what it takes. Because if Tarankov is sitting in a jail cell there’ll be no reason to hold Elizabeth.”
Murphy sighed. “I see what you mean. But I don’t know if the President will go along with such a suggestion.”
“Try, General,” Rencke said. “At least do that much. Mac has done a lot for his country, maybe it’s time that his country does something for him and his family.”
Lefortovo
“We found the car,” Petrovsky shouted. “It’s parked on Marx Prospekt around the corner from the Bolshoi, about a hundred meters from the Ploshchad Revolyutsi metro station.”
“Is there any sign of McGarvey?” Chernov demanded.
“Not yet, but we’ve got plenty of men down there so that if he shows up he won’t have a chance.”
“What about the metro station itself, you fool? Have you got any men inside?”
“Yeb was, no.”
“If he spots your people that’s where he’ll go, if he hasn’t already simply walked away. I want you to shut down every metro in the city, and station men at every stop. We might still have a chance to catch him.”
“I’ll get on it right now,” Petrovsky said.
“If your people see nun, shoot him on the spot,” Chernov ordered. “I’m coming down there myself right now.”
Downtown Moscow
The bellman Artur wasn’t expected back at the Metropol for another hour.
McGarvey hung up the telephone. He’d already been here too long. He had to put as much distance between himself and the BMW as possible, because by now the word might have gotten to the Militia. But it was hard to think straight for fear of what Elizabeth was going through at this moment. He wanted to lash out right now, strike back, but he was powerless.
A train had arrived at the metro station and a crowd of people came up the fast moving escalators and surged for the exit. McGarvey picked up the satchel and fell in behind them. Like Astimovich, Artur had connections in the city. But if he couldn’t or wouldn’t help with a place to stay, McGarvey would have to find an out-of-the-way workingman’s hotel where he could bribe the desk clerk into not requiring identity documents. It would be risky, but he had to get off the streets as soon as possible.
The crowd slowed down and stopped. There seemed to be some sort of a bottleneck at the exit, and a commotion started. McGarvey stepped to one side in time to catch a glimpse of at least three Militia officers in riot gear, pushing their way through.
They had found the damn car.
McGarvey turned and walked back to the turnstile leading to the down escalator, the babushka in the glass booth watching him.
“Halt! Halt!” someone shouted from behind.
In three steps McGarvey was at the barrier, and he leaped over the turnstile, nearly catching the satchel handle, and tumbling down the rapidly moving escalator. But he regained his balance and took the moving stairs two at a time.
He caught up with a knot of people halfway to the bottom and bowled his way through them. He didn’t think that the Militia would be desperate enough to fire in a crowded escalator or subway platform. But they wouldn’t let him get away either. All the stations on this line would be covered.
At the bottom he pushed his way through the packed corridor through the arch and onto the crammed platform with its vaulted ceilings from which hung huge ornate crystal chandeliers. A train, its doors open and crowded with passengers, was not moving. The public address system was announcing that because of technical difficulties the metro was temporarily shut down, but to have patience.
The platform was a hundred yards long, and by the time he reached the far end, a buzz of excitement was growing behind him, spreading like a tidal wave. The Militia were clearing a path down the middle by shoving the people to one side or the other, and it was obvious that it would take them only a minute or so to reach the end of the platform.
With nowhere else to go, McGarvey jumped down to the track level, and raced into the black maw of the tunnel. People on the platform shouted for him to come back, and before he got twenty yards the beams of several flashlights appeared behind him.
The next stop would be two or three hundred yards away, and by now the Militia would be heading down the tunnel from that end meaning to catch him in the middle.
His suspicions were confirmed in the next minute when he spotted the pinpoints of several flashlights in the distance ahead. But at that moment he also spotted his way out, a low steel door set in a recess in the tunnel wall, and secured by an old-fashioned iron padlock.
Standing to the side to protect himself from bullet fragments, he fired three shots into the padlock, the third finally springing it.
The Militia at either end of the tunnel, thinking they were being fired upon, opened fire with automatic weapons, bullets and sparks and stone chips flying off the tunnel walls, ceiling and tracks.
McGarvey pulled the ruined padlock away and forced the heavy steel door open on rusty hinges. In what little light there was he could see narrow concrete stairs leading down into the absolute darkness. A cold breeze wafted up from below, bringing with it the damp smells of water and sewage.
He” stepped through the door as something hot and very sharp slammed into his left armpit, shoving up against the op
en door, and nearly dropping him to his knees. But then he straightened up and raced headlong down the stairs.
Chernov shined the beam of his flashlight on the few drops of blood in the doorway off the metro tunnel. The trains were still being held, and the tunnel was busy with Militia cops searching the tracks centimeter by centimeter.
“At least one of your men got lucky,” Chernov said to Petrovsky. “Why didn’t anyone follow him?”
“Do you know what’s down there, Colonel?”
“Yes, I do.”
“With a man of his caliber I think we need reinforcements before I send any of my people into that maze. There are thousands of places where he could wait in ambush.”
“He only has so many bullets.”
“I’m sorry, Colonel, but I won’t give that order until the Army shows up. They’ll be here within a half-hour, and we’ll have a good chance of flushing him out.”
“In the meantime he could be anywhere.”
“He won’t get very far in the condition he’s in,” Petrovsky said. He shined his flashlight down the trail of blood droplets finally lost in the darkness. “If he keeps losing blood he’ll probably pass out or become too weak to-fight back.” Petrovsky looked into Chernov’s eyes. “The sewers aren’t such a healthy place to be for a wounded man.”
“Neither is Lefortovo for a healthy man,” Chernov said. “Keep me informed.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chernov walked back out to the tunnel, and up on the street General Yuryn beckoned him over to the limousine. He climbed in back and they took off.
“Tarankov will be at the rally in Red Square tomorrow and yet with all the resources at your command you have failed to stop one man,” Yuryn said coolly. “Are you going to merely stand by and let him succeed?”
“He’s wandering around in the dark sewers, wounded and losing a lot of blood,” Chernov said indifferently, although he was seething inside, and he was beginning to have his doubts that they’d ever had a true measure of the man.
“But I’m told he still has that shoulder bag. And we all know what that might contain.”
“The Army will be here in a few minutes, and they’ll make a systematic search of every hiding place down there.”
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