Then it would have been his responsibility. No, Toad told himself, then it would have been the responsibility of both of you.
Are you that frightened of Herb, Toad asked himself.
Yes!
In spite of the mild temperature, Toad Tarkington shivered.
Toad almost went to sleep in the afternoon briefing, a technical seminar on how properly to dispose of nuclear warheads. The speakers were physicists and chemists and weapons designers, all of whom were in love with their subjects as far as Toad could tell.
When Herb Tenney slipped in and dropped into an empty seat, Toad came wide awake. Herb looked none the worse for his ordeal and sat listening as if he could actually understand this technical mumbo jumbo.
Toad tried to ignore Herb, which was difficult.
He well knew that some people could sense when they were being watched, and he didn't want Herb to get the idea that he and Grafton were responsible for his recent unpleasantness, at least not for a while.
Still, when the break in the presentation came and he saw Jake Grafton angling through the crowd for Herb, Toad managed to be within earshot.
"Herb, I thought you were going to be here this morning," the admiral said.
"I'm sorry, sir. Something came up unexpectedly." "This is important," Grafton replied.
"I'm aware of that." Toad thought this reply had just a trace of disrespect in it, which would be typical of the Herb Tenney he had come to know and love.
"We're supposed to be working together on this, Mr.
Tenney," Jake said, his voice so low Toad had to step closer to catch the words. "I don't know what else you have going on here in Moscow and I don't really care, but if you can't give this assignment the attention required then I'm going to have to report you to Washington. I expect you to be at official functions clean and sober and on time." "It won't happen again," Tenney replied matter-offactly, without a trace of rancor.
"Fine," Jake said, and walked away.
That evening back at the embassy Toad Tarkington dug into his luggage. A couple years ago at a Virginia pawnshop he had purchased a Walther PPK, a slick little automatic in.380 ACP caliber. It had probably once belonged to a cop who had used it as a hideout gun because it had a spring-steel clip spot-welded onto the left side of the slide.
The clip allowed the pistol to be slipped behind the waistband in the small of the back and hooked onto the top of the trousers. It rode there quite nicely, such a small package that it would usually escape notice, yet it could be drawn easily with the right hand.
He had brought along only enough shells to load the magazine once, so he did that now and slipped the magazine into the pistol. He cycled the slide to put a round in the chamber, then lowered the hammer.
He tucked the pistol into the small of his back, checking carefully to make sure the clip engaged his waistband, then fluffed his shirt out over the protruding grip.
It wasn't much of a gun. Still, it felt good to have it.
He had brought more gun along, a 9mm Browning Hi Power, but it was too bulky to tote around unobtrusively.
Toad got out the Browning and cycled the slide and sat on the bed thinking about Herb Tenney and his little white pills.
He pointed the gun at the mirror above the dresser and squeezed the trigger. The hammer fell with a metallic thunk.
He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes.
Now he remembered the little square of paper he had found in the when he unfolded it this pocket of the shirt he was wearing p where morning. He fished it from his wallet and held it u he could read it.
Your touch, your kisses open the pathways to my heart Rita was fond of writing little love notes and putting them where he would find them at a moment when he least expected it. He wondered when she had written this one.
Perhaps when she was ironing the shirts, the afternoon he was packing.
Or days before.
Rita.
Funny, but when he was dating and playing the field he man. Or had never realized how much he could love a wo how much a woman could love him.
Strange how life reveals its mysteries. Just when you think you have the game scoped out, that you know all the rules and all the intricacies, all it has to offer, a new rich vein of truth reveals itself.
Rita is what you have to lose, Toad Tarkington. Death is not the threat. That's coming sooner or later any way you cut the cards. The richness of life with Rita and the extraordinary gift of what might be-that is what Herb Tenney and his little white pills can deprive you of.
He held the Browning up where he could see it.
Without realizing it he had eared back the hammer.
He pulled the trigger and listened again to the thunk as the hammer slammed down.
The embassy residents were at dinner when Herb Tenney dusted his bathroom sink with fingerprint powder. Yes, there were fingerprints there, most of them smeared but a couple fairly nice. He used tape to lift the best ones and placed the tape on a white file card.
Back at his desk he compared the prints to those on the fax he had received an hour ago on the CIA'S private com equipment. One of them was a perfect match.
So Jake Grafton had personally searched the place. That dweeb Tarkington was probably with him when he did it.
The fax also supplied him with a copy of Tarkington's fingerprints, but developing more raw prints for comparison hardly seemed worth the effort.
Herb Tenney sighed and stowed the bottle of powder and the brush and tape in the fingerprint kit.
That arrest this morning had been a farce. They had stopped his car a block from the embassy and handcuffed ,hm. Then a Russian had driven him and his car to KGI3 Headquarters. There he was escorted to a cell and stripped and X-rayed.
He had spent three hours sitting stark naked in an isolation cell before they returned his clothes.
Throughout the entire experience no one had asked him a single question.
Not when they picked him up, during the ride to the prison, nor while they were holding him.
After he was dressed, a man in a blue suit led him through the corridors to an office. Sitting behind the desk pawing through the stuff that had been in his pockets was General Shmarov.
"Find anything interesting?" Shmarov held up the white button that came off yesterday's shirt and looked from it to the CIA officer. "Maybe the cleverest transmitter I have yet seen, Tenney." Then he grinned and tossed the button on top of the currency and passport lying there. "Sorry for the inconvenience today." "Was this supposed to be funny? Should I laugh now?" Shmarov shrugged. "You know how these things are. I was asked to do a favor by a very high officer in the Defense Ministry. He wanted your passport checked. How could I refuse? He had been asked to do this by an American naval officer." "Rear Admiral Grafton? He was here?" of your "Yes. Grafton. With an aide. Did he leave any seams intact?" Tenney found a chair and dropped into it. "I think I caught a cold in your dungeon. I never realized how drafty these damned places are." "They searched your car and took the keys that were in your pocket. They brought them back a few minutes ago." General Shmarov displayed the keys and placed them beside the button on top of the rubles and dollars. He lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and filled the room with smoke.
Then he said, "Want to tell me what this is about)" "I'm as mystified as you are, General," Herb Tenney told him.
Shmarov displayed his gold teeth in a grin and puffed some more on his cigarette.
t Kolokoltsev9" "Who rubbed out The golden grin disappeared.
Shmarov stubbed out the cigarette and stared through the dissipating smoke at his visitor.
"Someone who wanted to make a lot of trouble.
They succeeded." was Hard to believe that something like that could happen here in Moscow, almost under your nose. Soviet Square is what, a half mile from here? A kilometer?" "What do you know about it, Tenney?" Herb Tenney got up and approached the desk.
He picked up his things and placed them in his pockets. Then
he put his knuckles on the desk and stared into Shmarov's face.
"I think it looks as if you people killed your own guys SO you could set up Yeltsin. They'll think that over at the KremLin. They'll think it in Washington too. Whoever pulled the cops out of that square really screwed the pooch.
"We are not that stupid." u I'd find "I'll tell them that at Langley. But if I were yo someone to hang it on, and damn quick." The ringing phone woke Jake Grafton. He had thrown himself on the bed and just dozed off.
"Grafton." "Admiral, this is Jack Yocke." "Hey. I I "I was wondering if you could come over for a drink." "Well, I don't think-was "See you within an hour, Admiral, in my room." And Yocke hung up.
Jake cradled the receiver and swung his feet over onto the floor. He looked at his watch.
Eleven at night. He was still fighting the jet lag and hangover and he felt lethargic, unable to concentrate. He put on his shoes and splashed some cold water from the sink onto his face.
Yocke's room was on the fourth floor of the hotel. He opened the door at Toad's knock.
"Come in." When he had the door closed Yocke said, "General Land called a little while ago.
You're to wait here with me." "For what? Another phone call?" Yocke shrugged. "I just take messages and deliver them.
Jake sank into the one stuffed chair.
"How's the foreign correspondent these days?" Toad asked Yocke as he dropped onto the bed.
"He's right in the middle of the biggest story in Russia and he can't make heads or tails of it," Yocke replied, stating at Jake Grafton.
"Can't print it either." "I guess assassins can be tough to interview if you can't find them." "That isn't the story I meant. Anyway, my editor took me off that and gave it to the senior man. I'm doing political stuff. Y'know, "Today the Russian Ministry of Economics announced a new stabilization policy for the ruble." Drivel like that." He sighed. "Other than that, the food here is barely edible and grotesquely expensive, the vodka tastes like rubbing alcohol, my bed is lumpy, the pillow's too big, and I had a devil of a time yesterday getting a roll of toilet paper from the maid.
Had to give her a U.s. dollar for it.
I've got to find an apartment by next week and get out of this hotel or the bean counters at the Post are going to get testy. What's new with you?" Tarkington just made a noise and stretched out on the bed, In a moment he said, "This pillow is too big." "Would I lie to you?" "I don't think the bed's lumpy though." Before Yocke could think of a reply, Jake Grafton asked, "How would you like to tag along with me and Toad for @u while?" The question startled Yocke. Toad opened his eyes, sat up and stared wide-eyed at Jake for a few seconds, then flopped back on the bed and groaned. comsort of like Washington a couple of years ago, eh?" Yocke said with a grin. "Same rules?" "Well, not exactly." Jake frowned. "I guess I don't know precisely what the rules should be. So I'd want some sort of promise that you won't print anything on any subject without my okay." "I assume that you're working with the Russians. Do they know I'll be there? A reporter?" "I've talked to General Yakolev about it. I told him I could trust Y." Toad groaned again. "Spreading it a little thick, aren't you, sir? I'd trust Jack the Hack with parking meter money, but.
"Yakolev? Isn't he the chief of staff for the new Commonwealth Army?" "That's the guy. Nicolai Yakolev.
"Soaks up vodka like a sponge," Toad tossed in.
"I agree." Yocke grinned broadly and offered Jake his hand. After the admiral shook it, he grabbed a steno pad and a pencil and plopped onto the edge of the bed, forcing Tarkington to scoot over. He flipped the pad open to a fresh page and said, "Shoot." con'ationo notes. None." "I have to take notes. I got a good memory but it ain't Memorex. Only way to ensure accuracy later on when I write the story." so Yocke steamed on.
Grafton appeared unmoved, e Alfalfa "We're talking the Washington Post here, not this County Clarion." Yocke added confidentially, "I'll use my own private shorthand.
No one can read it but me.
Honest." "Not even if you write in Swahili." Tarkington chortled.
Yocke tossed the steno pad on top of the dresser. "No notes." "The other part of it is that the CIA may try to kill you." Yocke's mouth fell open. He glanced at Toad, then back at Jake. "The CIA? Our guys? You're kidding, right?" "No." "I can't write a story if I'm dead." "That thought may occur to them too." "Them? The whole CIA or a couple of bad apples or who?" "I dunno." Yocke lost his temper. "Jesus Christ, Admiral! You don't give a guy much. What say we do this the conventional, tried-and-true traditional way? You tell me whatever you want to tell me and I'll write and publish it, just like a real working reporter. You'll be an anonymous, reliable source, an unnamed high government official. I won't reveal your name to another living soul, even if they throw me in jail. I'll stay alive and out of your hair.
Anytime you want to talk, just give a shout." "Be like having your own psychotherapist on the cheap, CAG," Toad said unctuously, "but you could skip the messy details about your sex life unless you wanted our modern Dr. Freud to make you famous." Jake Grafton shook his head. "Won't work that way," he told Yocke. "You either come along for the ride on the chance that someday you may get to write a story or you stay at home. It's up to you." "Just what do you get out of this arrangement?" Yocke demanded.
"I get an independent observer who has the power to reach the American public. I'm not sure what that will be worth because I don't know how things will shake out. But... if Toad and I get killed and you somehow manage to live to tell the tale, it might make very interesting reading in some quarters. I don't know. Too many ifs.
I just don't know." He eyed Yocke. "At the very least you're an unknown quantity added to the equation." He shrugged.
A knock sounded on the door.
"Well?" Jake asked. "Yea or nay?" "I'm in." Yocke went to answer the door. The man who came in was wearing a suit and overcoat and had a hard case that looked as if it contained a videocamera handcuffed to his wrist. The case displayed a diplomatic tag.
"Admiral Grafton?" "Yes." "I'm Master Sergeant Emmett Thornton.
I need to see your ID, sir." Jake took out his wallet and extracted his green military ID card.
Thornton gave it a careful look, then handed it back. "Thank you, sir." He extracted a piece of paper from his inside coat pocket and held it out. "Now if you will just sign for this equipment, it's all yours." Jake scribbled his name. "How much is this going to cost me if I lose it, Sergeant?" "About a hundred grand." Toad snapped his fingers. "We'll put it on our Amoco card." Thornton glanced at Yocke.
"He's okay," Grafton told him.
Thornton laid the case on the bed and used a key to open it. They gathered around for a look as he began unpacking items. "What we have here is a TACSAT'-TACTICAL satellite--com unit with built-in encryption device. The signal goes right up to the bird, which rebroadcasts it to the Pentagon com center. Nicad batteries and a universal recharger.
All you do is set the encryption code and use it like a twoway radio.
General Land wanted me to remind you that the codes were generated by the National Security Agency." Jake examined the switches and buttons on the device.
We'll need a brief and the codes." "Yessir. I'll come to that. This other item is simpler. It's a tape recorder with an encryption device attached. You merely record a message, anything you want up to thirty minutes.
Then you punch up a six-digit code in this window here. Find a telephone, call the party you want, and when they are ready, you hit the play button. The garbled sound goes out at high speed. Takes about sixty seconds to play a thirty-minute message. If the other party has a message for you, you then put your machine on record and hold it up to the phone. Later on you can play the message and the machine will decode it into plain English. This thing works with telephones or TACSAT." The TACSAT came with a set of codes on water-soluble paper. Since it was possible the codes could fall into the wrong hands, "unauthorized personnel" was Thornton's phrase, each authentic message should start with a code word t
hat the admiral was to make up. Now. After a moment's thought Jake wrote a word on a matchbook and showed it to the sergeant, who then burned the matchbook in the wastepaper basket.
"The code for the telephone encrypter is a little more difficult. If you other gentlemen would like to step out of the room for a minute?" "No, Sergeant," Jake told him. "Let's you and I go for a walk." Out on the sidewalk in front of the hotel the evening breeze was picking up. The sergeant explained: "General Land suggested this code.
Take the date, multiply it by the year in which you were born, then divide by the hour of the day in which you sent the message." He produced a sheet of paper. "Try it. Today is the second of July here so write that as seven oh two. And use local time in the military format, It's now twenty-three fifty, so use twenty-three hundred." Jake got a pen from his shirt pocket and did the math.
Stephen Coonts - Jake Grafton 5 - Red Horseman Page 15
