by Peter Riva
Pero was now angry. They had let Tische escape. “Lewis, unless Tische is in custody, this thing is not over. You have no idea what you are playing with. These people are not desperate, they are fanatic—worse than the al-Shabaab in Kenya. First, unless we get something out of his sister, he’s the only one who knows—or is our lead to—the whereabouts of other caches of gold and/or uranium. Or what—or if—he has already sold and to whom. Second, he has CIA agents at his disposal as well as ex-Stasi. Our friends are at risk. Third, he used the term ‘we’ several times when threatening me. I don’t think he was talking only about his sister, although that may be partly true. You had to see her reaction to me touching their Nazi flag. She was absolutely crazed. I suspect we’re talking about a legacy here, a legacy from his SS father for the Fatherland. Whether it’s the money or the disruptions and chaos such third party bombs would cause, leading to an opening for a new world order, again, I have no idea, nor do I care. What I am absolutely sure of—and I am sure Danny and Heep now also will agree,” they were nodding before he said it, “is that he is a fanatic, part of a fanatic organization of Nazis left over from the war. Cut off the head of this snake and there’s another there to take its place. Catch him, interrogate him, break him, and you stand a chance to catch the network. You guys at the CIA permitted this, it’s time you put a stop to it.”
“Nice speech Baltazar. I happen to agree, and I have no doubt the Senate will agree in hearings next week. But what are you going to do now? Your mission is over. Hand the sample to the major and let him take over.”
The major, standing next to Pero, looked at him questioningly. Pero hadn’t remembered, until then, that he still had the evidence Schmitz needed. “Nope, I am not going to give the major the sample and retire from the field.” The major tilted his head, puzzled. “I am going to take it to Tische as planned. Something tells me he’ll turn up. Then we’ll get him. Look, Lewis, if we don’t stop him now, what are you going to do when another uranium swap is made or perhaps has already been made? Without catching him, without breaking this ring, the whole world is in danger. There is only a day left to catch him. If he thinks I can give him the sample, so he can stop the impounding of his gold and uranium in Swiss customs, then he’ll turn up, I know he will. The bag is the only link to him and the uranium. If he gets it, he’s legally clear.”
Mbuno spoke up, “Hyenas never give up their prey.”
Pero nodded, “Right. He still thinks he’s got Danny and Heep, so he’ll be sure I’ll turn up. He knows he’ll get what he wants. His ego would not permit failure. He sees me as weak. He knows I value them more than any package I am carrying, even if I know what it is. We have only this one chance to catch him.”
“Who will you get to help you?”
Pero looked around. “I have friends here.” Everyone nodded. “And I am including the major. Stay out of the way, Lewis, we’re going to finish this mission. Tische must not get away.” He closed the phone, severing the connection and looked at the men around him. To show his good faith, he took the Russian bag out of his pocket and handed it to the major. As the major started to open it, Pero placed his hands over his as Sam had done for him, and shook his head. “It’s too hot, too dangerous.”
Schmitz looked around at Danny, Heep, Mbuno, Pero, and Negroni and calmly said, “Ja. Berlin in March, it’s cold and damp. We had better be going.”
Sergio Negroni had a headache, but he said he was fine to fly. Danny Redmond was typed—trained and certified—on his own Citation private jet, a lot smaller than the Boeing 737, but, banged up or not, he was more than useful in the right seat. Sergio and Danny seemed to hit it off. Heep, André Schmitz, two of his men, Mbuno, and Pero sat in the leather seats and strategized all the way to Berlin’s third airport, Schönefeld
* * *
Berlin’s Schönefeld Airport was built as the Henschel Aircraft Works in 1934. When the Russians took over the region, seven miles south of the center of Berlin in 1945, they blew the whole place up in a spectacular fashion. Henschel’s were bombers used to help kill 500,000 Russians during the war. At first, it became a Soviet Air Base and then, as the years went by, Aeroflot and East German Lufthansa began to fly in and out of there as well. The runway was long and ATC was better than the alternate airports. After the fall of the wall in 1989, the airport fell into relative disuse since Tegel was more modern.
But for private aircraft, Schönefeld was perfect. Sergio and Danny filed a flight plan and with authority being given by Major Schmitz, no Swiss authority asked questions.
Cell phones have a bad reputation in the air. They do cause interference to instruments, especially GPS and other navigational aids. The interference is problematical, especially in older aircraft without proper radio shielding in the cockpit. Sergio’s BBJ was brand new. Cell phones worked fine.
Heep was, thank God, back to his old self. Schmitz allowed him to call Mary in Florida. It was a tearful conversation, but it made him less anxious.
Meanwhile, Mbuno talked to Amogh and all was going well there. Mbuno made sure the two morani guards he had asked to protect Niamba in the hospital had shown up. Amogh said they had, and everyone was frightened at first because the morani were carrying five-foot spears, in the hospital. The administration had tried to get them to leave, but Amogh had everything sorted out just fine. Niamba had found it all amusing. Mbuno seemed relieved.
As the sun’s first light rose over Lake Constance, they took off. Pero knew they were flying, a short flight of less than an hour, into Tische’s stronghold. Schmitz explained that for anyone not familiar with the power of secret police and illegal organizations, it may be hard to understand the dread one feels. Like confronting a great white shark. You know it will bite first and ask questions later—or simply finish the meal. Facing an all-or-nothing opponent, you either win or lose, there is no compromise. “If we go up against Tische, we go up against his whole organization; there will be no mercy from them.” The SS and their successors, the Stasi, were known and feared for their ability to enter any battle with this mentality. Pero had no illusions about Tische, the blood lust he had shown in the museum concentration camp railcar, the pleasure in the lust to kill, well, Pero knew Tische’s desires to be real.
Lewis and André were on the speakerphone, again using Pero’s cell phone. Lewis was explaining, “But we may not be able to contact these men, the very nature of their job was to act on one set of command-and-control instructions until completion.” They were talking about the CIA contractees, under Tische’s control.
Schmitz was adamant, “You must keep trying. Can you send a text message to their phones? How about one from the DG?”
“Okay, André, I’ll try that, but would you expect them to listen to a countermanding text message?”
“No, maybe not …”
Pero chimed in, “No wait, Guys, you don’t want to call them off. If you do, Lewis, Tische will bolt and we’ll lose him. Let him think he’s still in command. I wish there was a way to make them accessible when we want, not when he wants … the last minute, tell them to back off, that sort of thing.”
“Baltazar, that’s the best idea yet. André, we’ll tell them the report times have changed, direct to the DG’s office. I’ll put Bergen on it. We’ll have them report in every thirty minutes … that’s the best we can do and still maintain Tische’s illusion. Agreed?”
Pero stopped him, “No, make it twenty-six minutes. I want an odd number they will know is odd.”
“Why Pero?”
“Because if I have to confront one of them, I’ll know something specific, it may give me the split second I can use to stop them.” Pero was fingering his neck. Would the assailant have stopped if he had said twenty-six minutes?
Danny shouted back from the cockpit and said the plane was passing over Ulm. Pero asked Lewis, “Any news on the field agent missing around Ulm?”
“Yes, not good I am afraid. He was found dead at an autobahn service/gas station, in his car
. He had no visible wounds except one—the flesh on his chest by his heart had sloughed off, literally peeled and disintegrated.”
André looked puzzled. Pero asked, “How long did he have the package?”
“Best we can tell, three or four days. He posted it, internal mail from Ulm to Phillips in Berlin.”
“Did he have a gun holster?”
“Let me see … yes he did, no gun though, didn’t like working with one.”
“The package killed him. He must have had it in there unshielded.” André, who had the Russian bag next to him on the table, moved to the next seat. “Relax, Major, that’s a Russian lead ball bearing bag. Sam says it’ll hold for a while.”
Lewis voiced concern, Pero knew because he used his first name: “How long did you hold the bag Pero?”
“Not long enough, I hope. Sam gave me and I am taking, iodine pills, ex-Chernobyl issue, again from Sam.”
“Christ, sorry.”
André wasn’t sure if he should be sitting next to Pero either. “Herr Baltazar, you take risks I am incapable of taking. I am, how do you say it? In awe.”
“No, Major, stupid, just plain stupid and,” he paused for effect with Lewis, “The CIA dumped this on me.”
“Okay, Pero, enough with the lectures. I said I was sorry, okay?”
“Actually Charles,” he called him by his first name, “I just like making your life miserable. You did all right under the circumstances.”
“Thanks, Baltazar.” Using his last name no doubt meant he wanted to get back to their professional relationship. “Hang on, something is coming in, or should I say someone.”
They heard a door being buzzed open and voices. “I have Baltazar on the line here with Major André Schmitz of Switzerland, head of their Internal State Security division. If you want to address them …”
“Hello? Can you hear me?”
Schmitz responded, “Yes, we’re at 34,000 feet over Southern Germany making our way to Berlin. Who’s speaking?”
“The director general of the CIA. Okay, I’ll get right to it … even though you’ve done a great job there, what you have done to American prestige and standing internationally is inexcusable. I order you to stand down and return to Washington immediately.”
He made all on board instantly angry. Pero responded, “The Swiss major as well?”
“Obviously not. That you Baltazar? No, just you. And bring along that actor and your Dutch friend, we’ll want words with them as well.”
“Is that an order?”
“Yes.”
“Bullshit. You can kiss my ass. Sorry Lewis, but who in the hell does this clown think he is …”
“You, you …”
“Shut up DG. I hope this is being recorded for the Senate. You empowered a Nazi and the Nazi’s son to handle secret funds, outside of Senate or Congressional control, and then you gave him our agents to kill other CIA agents to protect his identity. You were too stupid to know about his uranium sideline, thereby undermining SALT I and SALT II treaties and the IAEA. Reagan is spinning in his grave. The media will have a field day. So, just who harmed America? And you have the gall to think you are going to call me on the carpet? Guess again.”
“CIA DG? Major Schmitz here. We’re making a full report to the IAEA and the World Court, I’ll be sure to mention your name, personally.”
The phone was silent. Some noise like a slamming door was heard from Lewis’ office and then nothing.
“Lewis? Is he still listening?”
There was a chuckle, “Oh, no, Baltazar, he left. He went purple and left. He may be resigning tomorrow, but today you’ve made one powerful enemy there.”
“Bergen here, I got it all. And if you don’t spill these beans, Lewis, I’ll have to admit to the Senate Foreign Relations Review Committee that I have the tape. I have been making loads of copies, just in case. This has gone far enough.”
“Oh, yes I agree. So much so that I partied in a third party—a White House special counsel. You there George?”
A distant, cold, deep voice answered, “Yes.” Nothing else.
“Tomorrow should be interesting Baltazar. You’ve kicked this sleeping dog and shot at it as well.”
“What was the DG going on about when he said what you have done to American prestige and standing internationally is inexcusable? How can what we have done be considered damaging to American prestige and standing?”
“Oh, you don’t know … Ambassador Pontnoire, the fellow whose plane you saved? Well, he issued a State Department three red line,” meaning ultra-secret, “report to the Senate Intelligence Committee. His report explained that he had learned that the CIA was using Nazi extermination camp gold-teeth ingots from US Treasury assets. He also pried into his CIA resident’s reports on the package and added, in his report, that the Treasury was involved in illegal shipments of Uranium to circumvent IAEA verification to rogue nations. He even gave you credit Pero, saying that the plot had been uncovered by one Pero Baltazar. Overall, that’s why the Senate told the DG he had to resign effective tomorrow. The President agreed. Oh, and the President’s only angry comment, that we got here internally, was that you, perhaps, might consider reporting to his office in the future so he didn’t have to get the news after the fact. That right George?”
Again, that cold, distant voice, “Yes.”
Pero, although shocked that his name was being used, he nevertheless knew he had to get them all back on track, “Well, we still have Tische to go.”
“Oh, come on, still going through with that? I am not sure it’s wise. We’ll get him.”
Pero looked at the major and Heep.
The major answered for them all. They had been strategizing, planning. “The fish is on the line, we want to reel him in now and also see what other fish we can catch. To do that we need a favor. Allow us, the Swiss, to prepare to release the shipment at Zurich airport—start issuing shipping paperwork. Let them think they can make off with it, we’ll track it—we know where it is going and if it doesn’t go there, the Brinker factory, we’ll uncover another secret. But, most importantly, it will give Tische a sense that he is winning—with only the sample that could incriminate him. He needs that sample. I need him to focus on his weakest link, the package. We plan to give it to him.”
Lewis wasn’t so sure, “When that happens, he’ll call his men to kill and remove Heeper and Redmond’s bodies. He’ll get no reply, he’ll know …”
“No, he won’t. Communications in and around the Bodensee region—Lake Constance to you Charles—is broken. The papers tomorrow, sorry, this morning, will show a pylon, a tower, fell down in Schaffhausen cutting off phones, all phones. If he sends a message, he wouldn’t expect a reply. His sister is a bigger problem, but we let it be known to the newspapers that, in the dark caused by the blackout after the tower fell down, the head of the great Pi factory in Schaffhausen, Frau Spacil, was injured and is in the hospital. She really is in the hospital. It was the only secure place we had for someone of her age and condition. She has a bad heart. We want her alive, to question her. Before this call to you, my men had received a message from Zurich that they had found a series of microdots in the glass flag case. We’re working on those now.”
Pero thought and Mbuno nodded, reading his thoughts, the hyena keeps all the same meat in the same place. Pero looked admiringly at Mbuno.
Moments later, Sergio, popping two Panadol tablets for his headache, prepared the plane for landing, with Danny assisting. Pero took the opportunity to call Susanna to give her the good news but warned her to keep it secret. She assured him they weren’t going out of their room for any reason, so it would remain safe. Sam had arrived and was working with Bertha on chemical analysis to help identify the radiation signature in rogue nations’ atomic reactors—spotting the fake rods, the sheep in the wolf’s bath of heavy water, was how they put it. She would tell Bertha and Sam the good news.
What Pero did not explain right away was that they were still going after
Tische. Somehow, he was sure Susanna would not be happy to hear that.
Chapter 15
Potsdamer Platz
As the plane dipped a wing, settled, corrected, and then resumed gliding down to Berlin on final, Pero called Susanna back again. He explained that they were landing and would soon be on the way to help with a plan and with reinforcements. She was greatly relieved. There had been two attempts on them in the past hour using room service and maid service, neither of which they had ordered. The two men guarding them, Bernd and Wolfgang, were armed and determined. When the real maid knocked and let herself into the suite, Susanna saw the guards draw their guns, so she and Bertha ran into the bathroom and laid in the tub for protection while Sam guarded the bathroom door. After getting rid of the maid, the next people to arrive were the real police. Some of them were the nice cops from the shoot, so Bernd and Wolfgang decided to also ask them to help.
When the two women and Sam emerged from the bathroom, all they could see were six armed men in the living room, so they went back to the bathroom and decided to stay there. So far, everything was okay. After all, it was just over twenty-four hours since Pero had left and Heep and Danny had been kidnapped. Susanna explained that other than the three of them in the bathroom of Danny’s suite, there were the six police in the main part of the suite and all the film crew in the sixth floor lounge with two other guards, both police force friends of the friendly police from the shoot.
Pero thought, correctly, that Tische would expect Pero or perhaps an assistant to put protection on for the crew. It wouldn’t scare him off. Tische would, hopefully, see it as depleting Pero’s resources. As far as Tische knew, there was only one free agent not under guard—Pero. Tische would feel sure he still had Danny and Heep, and certainly, he would have no knowledge of Sergio, Mbuno, or Major Schmitz as long as nothing leaked from Schaffhausen or Washington.
