by James Quinn
Gorilla rolled onto his side and unhooked his arms out of the small, dark backpack. He rummaged inside and took out the pre-prepared portable oxyacetylene cutting kit, complete with a small gas tank. He pulled on a pair of safety goggles, fired up the gas cutter and spent the next ten minutes cutting a perfect circle to remove the metal grate. When he had finished, he pushed the gas cutter, the tanks, goggles and metal grate back down the tunnel in the direction from which he had had come. He had no intention of coming back this way.
The final part of the tunnel was beginning to rise up on an incline; he could see a faint glimmer of light in the distance. He was here! A series of rungs built into the wall helped him climb up. He carefully lifted up the vented manhole cover and peeked out. Nothing, only darkness and silence. He climbed up and out and then crouched quietly for a few minutes, listening, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness around him. He was in the service area of the castle, behind the kitchens and next to the waste disposal area.
Satisfied that he was alone, he unzipped the coveralls and took them off, stuffing them into the backpack. Underneath, he was wearing a sombre black business suit, white shirt and black tie. He removed his boots and swapped them for a pair of formal dress shoes. The final piece of his disguise was an accredited KGB security pass that had been provided by Vogel. He looked the very image of a professional bodyguard.
Gorilla removed the Sig Sauer and the silencer from the backpack, before pushing the pack deeper into the blackness of the drainage tunnel. He completed a quick chamber check of the Sig, flicked on the safety and then secured it in the holster on his hip. The silencer, he placed in his left trouser pocket.
He turned to his left, staying in the shadows and moved along the stone wall until he found the hatch to the service door. The door led to the cellar area and would gain him access to the interior of the castle. It was padlocked. Gorilla quickly removed his lock-pick set from his pocket and over the next sixty seconds expertly raked at the pins of the padlock. A final push and it sprung open.
He lifted up the door and stepped inside, closing the hatch carefully behind him, and then dropped down into the wine cellar. It was dark and musty, but he made out the emergency exit door and headed towards it. He opened it and stepped through into a brightly-lit corridor.
He was now exactly where he was supposed to be, in the wing that was being used by the Russian delegation. To his left was a storage room and to his right was the service staircase that staff would use. He took out the Sig and the silencer and connected them; a quick chamber check, flicking off the safety and he was ready.
He made his way up the winding staircase cautiously, the weapon out in front of him. He didn't want to shoot anybody, but then again he didn't fancy being shot by some overzealous KGB bodyguard, either! Gorilla needn't have worried – there was a notable lack of security personnel anywhere. This emboldened him, drove him forward, hoping that Oxley had done everything he could to get the Russians onside.
At the top, he opened the door and stepped through into a stylishly furnished corridor, but again no security was present. In normal circumstances, there would have been a minimum of two men on duty, with more in one of the adjacent rooms that would have served as a control room for the security detail. Obviously, the decks had been cleared to provide him with free access; the fewer people that saw his face, the better for the overall operation.
Suite 152. That was Sobolev's room.
Gorilla moved swiftly along the corridor, weapon up and leading the way, not wanting to prolong this any longer than he had to, until finally his eyes came to rest on the door at the end of the corridor; 152.
He reached out with his free hand and turned the ornate gold knob. There was no crashing of gunfire, no alarms, no rush of bodies wanting to take him to the ground. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The room was luxurious; ornate furniture, set against a stunning view of the mountains, and at the centre of the room was a king-sized bed.
A man was sitting on the edge of the bed, like a patient waiting to see a doctor, and he looked just as tense. Gorilla trained the pistol on him and with the other hand raised a single finger to his lips, in the universal symbol for silence.
He took two more steps into the centre of the room and only then did Gorilla Grant slowly raise his hands above his head, keeping his finger off the trigger of the silenced pistol, before lowering himself onto his knees in a submissive gesture. He carefully placed the pistol on the ground in front of him and then put both hands on the back of his head.
“Mr Sobolev. I surrender,” he said calmly, his eyes never leaving Sobolev's.
Then several things happened at once. Firstly, all of the doors to the suite burst open and what seemed like the entire world's retinue of bodyguards, all armed, swarmed into the room. Behind them and barking orders, was a tall, handsome man who looked like an Italian nobleman but who was evidently Russian, because he was giving out commands – “Opusti oruzhiye! Opusti oruzhiye” – telling them to lower their weapons before coming in and placing himself between Gorilla and Sobolev as a precaution.
And behind them all, and bringing up the rear, was a shabby British spy, the old Red Fox, who had a huge, beaming smile all over his face because his operation, as tenuous as it was, was finally coming to fruition.
He heard the alarms sound in the castle and watched as security lights came on all over the grounds. Men with two-way radios were running to cars and to cover the doors of the Schloss. He knew then that Gorilla had not made it and that he was dead.
Protocol dictated that he had to give the assassin another thirty minutes to get back to the emergency rendezvous location. His orders were to see that Gorilla went through with the assassination and then to witness any immediate aftermath. If Gorilla made it back to the RV, then he was to eliminate him; however, if he didn't arrive back within the allotted time, he was to report back that Gorilla Grant had been gunned down in his failed attempt to kill the Russian.
After that, Peter was to get away from the area, travel back to Vienna, change identities and take a plane to Paris. Once in Paris, it was a change of identities again, this time on a GDR passport, and fly directly to Berlin, his task completed.
But that was before; this was now and the rules of the game had changed drastically. He knew what the Harlequin was; a stone-cold, ruthless assassin, a blunt instrument to be used by senior officers of the Stasi who wanted a hit orchestrated or a kidnapping planned and carried out. But beneath that Harlequin mask was a man who was more than just a blade to be used. Peter was so much more than that, wanted so much more than that, and the revelation, the self-awareness and awakening to the knowledge that he had been lied to and deceived his whole life, made the anger rise within him.
And it had all happened in the last twenty-four hours when he had been told the truth by the man who was his father, who Peter now believed was his father and who he had known all too briefly and who was now probably dead on the floor of an Austrian castle.
Peter wanted to save the girl who was his sister, of course he did, but the Harlequin side of him wanted revenge against the man who had manipulated him from an early age. A man who had killed his mother, had ordered the abduction of his sister and had sent Jack Grant on a suicide mission.
Vogel.
All of this was so that Vogel could complete his political machinations and have petty retribution for a slight more than half a lifetime ago. Peter thought back to his childhood and his youth; the man had groomed him, castigated him when he had not performed to what Vogel considered an acceptable level, but above all he had been cruel and vicious to a young boy. But, like all monsters, he had demanded love and blind obedience from a child while giving nothing in return.
Peter began to pack up his kit from the hide and headed back to the Renault. He at last had a plan clear in his mind. Once he had his sister safe, he would look Ulrich Vogel in the eyes and seek out his lies.
And then he would kill the man.
Chapter Three
For the debriefing of their agent, Oxley and Krylov took Gorilla to the suite next to Sobolev's. A KGB bodyguard was stationed outside the door to ensure they were not disturbed.
The security teams had been ordered to stand down and return to their posts and to keep the subterfuge in place. A message had also been passed to the CIA and DGSE teams in the other parts of the castle that a minor security breach had taken place in the Russian wing; a small-time thief had been caught and even now was being turned over to the local authorities. Oxley and Krylov thought that would be enough, hoped at least, but only time would tell. Whatever the Americans and the French thought of the tale, the most important thing was that the meeting was still due to take place first thing in the morning.
Gorilla ran through everything that he had discovered about the assassination plot and who might be behind it. Krylov made notes and Oxley followed up with secondary questions for his agent.
“They must have a Russian involved with them,” said Gorilla. “The security ID that they gave me was perfect. Only someone inside Moscow could have gained access to that level of information.”
Krylov nodded. “We already have him in custody. He's a hard-liner from the GRU – a Colonel, no less. We have been watching him for many months. He is being… questioned… in Moscow. He has already given up the names of several of his co-conspirators inside East Germany and we expect him to give up more over the next few days. The Lubyanka is no place for people who wish to hang onto their secrets.”
“So what will the Harlequin do next?” asked Oxley.
Gorilla looked over at the SIS man. “I told him to get to his sister and get her away from Vogel. After that… well, we have to get them to the West.”
Oxley frowned. “I'm rather afraid that is out of my hands, Jack. You see, the deal we had was to keep the ruse in place about you going through with the assassination so that it could buy your daughter's life. Well, we've done that.”
“But what about getting them to the West? They can't survive in East Germany – they wouldn't last a day! You know they wouldn't!” argued Gorilla.
Oxley shrugged. “I agree, but neither I nor SIS has the structure in place to whisk them out of the GDR at this short notice. It would be simply impossible. I mean, if we could get them out of East Germany safely, then I could absolutely ensure their safety and provide sanctuary. SIS would honour that agreement absolutely.”
Gorilla turned on him, a snarl cutting across his face. “But how the bloody hell do you think they are going to escape? They will be hunted! Peter might just about make it out, he has the skills, but not with Katy in tow. She's an innocent about these things.”
A heavy silence hung in the air for a few moments.
“Fortunately,” said Krylov, interjecting, “I may have a solution.”
Gorilla knew that he was being played. He'd done it and seen it too many times in the past. These two bastards had already come up with a deal and wanted Gorilla to be their pawn. Typical, he thought, used by another bunch of spooks. Some things never changed in this game.
Finally he sighed, resigning himself to the fact that he was about to get shafted in some way. “Tell me what it is you want.”
The SIS man and the KGB officer shared a knowing glance, and then it was Krylov that took over the pitch. “We want your deniability and your skills. The KGB can't be seen to be going around eliminating its allies, certainly not in the current political climate. It would be unthinkable and be counter-productive to what the man in Moscow is trying to achieve. But you… as far as Vogel is concerned, you are dead. A corpse. You are deniable.”
“I'm not hearing specifics?” said Gorilla.
“The KGB wants you to go into East Germany, undercover, Jack,” said Oxley.
Gorilla looked sceptical. “And SIS has signed off on this?”
Oxley nodded. “SIS deems it a viable alternative. The alternative is to let these cabals rise up again, but this way, we stamp it out once and for all. Good for us, good for the Russians, good for the future.”
“We provide you with a list,” said Krylov, lifting his attaché case onto the table in front of them.
“A hit list, I'm guessing?” said Gorilla.
Krylov shrugged and then nodded. “If you wish to call it that, yes. You go in undercover. We will provide numerous identity papers, money, even weapons…”
“I can get my own weapons thanks,” he said, remembering the cache that Jojo and his people had stashed for him in East Berlin.
Krylov smiled and began rummaging in the attaché case. “Very well. You work in secret, you take out the targets on the list and when you have finished, you come home to the West. The Stasi, or at least Vogel's little network of traitors, won't know what has hit them. By the time they have figured out that the murders are connected, it will be too late; their cabal will be destroyed.”
“And my family? Peter and Katy?” asked Gorilla, leaving the question hanging, letting the two spooks fill the gap.
“We will make sure that they escape, ensure that they can get through the wall and then after that…” said Krylov, motioning over to Oxley.
“… After that, I will scoop them up at the border and put them under SIS protection. You have my word,” said Oxley, looking at his watch. “Look, I'm sorry to rush you…”
“No, you're not,” growled Gorilla. “You had this set up long ago, before I even went into Austria. You are both just as bad as Vogel.”
“Time is not on our side, Jack. We have to get you back in play so it's seamless. We need to get you over the border and into East Germany. You have to intercept the Harle… Peter… and get them on board with the plan. Knowing Vogel and his methods, he'll probably have them both eliminated within days,” said Oxley.
“I agree with Freddy,” said Krylov. “I will give you papers to get them over the border, but only on the proviso that you stay in East Germany and complete the mission. If you fail to do that, then both KGB and the British will remove the offers of protection for your family. I'm sorry, but that is the harsh truth.”
“Carrot and stick?” said Gorilla. He knew how it worked; last minute pressure to squeeze just a bit more out of the target.
“Yes, carrot and stick,” admitted Krylov.
Gorilla stared at them both, trying to figure a way out of this never-ending wheel of secret service manipulation. But really there was none; of course he would do it. If it kept his children safe, he would absolutely kill a dozen men and lay down his life. But maybe, just maybe, when all this was over and the spooks had left them alone, they could have a chance of being a family. It was worth the risk, but really what choice did he have?
Krylov took out an envelope from his attaché case and handed it over to Gorilla.
“Do we have an agreement?” he asked.
Gorilla looked down at it. He didn't need to open it, he had been handed envelopes like this many times in the past and they all contained the same things; a kill list, forged papers, access to money and a series of operational instructions. He looked over at Oxley, the manipulative old bastard. “And the kids, I have your assurance that SIS will protect them?”
The Red Fox nodded. “Once they've both been debriefed, yes. I've been given authorisation by the top – by 'C' himself.”
Gorilla raised an eyebrow at that; by the Chief of the Secret Intelligence Service himself! They were serious! “I want them both away from Germany, especially Peter. He'll have a Stasi termination order against him. They'll need a new identity, new life, everything!”
“Deal,” said the Red Fox, meaning it.
Gorilla held Oxley's eyes for a few moments more, weighing his intentions up, and then took the envelope from the Russian. “This is the last time and then I want all of my family away from this. Don't come back asking for a second bite of the cherry.”
One last time, he thought. One last kill.
Freddy Oxley returned to his room in the Schloss. He was spent, exhaust
ed and wanted nothing more than to have a large glass of Bushmills delivered to his room and then sleep. But first he had a phone call to make.
He dialled the number for the outside line and then the contact number that was stored in his memory. He waited while the ringing tone burred; finally, the line was connected.
“Yes?”
“It's Freddy.”
“Wait one moment. I'm going to the secure line in my study,” said Gerald, the Director/Ops. Minutes later, the phone was picked up once more. “How did it go?”
“As well as can be expected, especially with so many moving parts. 'Seamless' is the best way to describe it. Grant played his part well, as did Sobolev. We have Grant in harness now, he's agreed reluctantly to the new deal,” said the Red Fox.
“And will he play ball or sell us out, do you think?”
“Oh, he'll play. It's his children's lives in the balance. He's agreed to the deal, he makes his journey first thing in the morning. After that… well, we'll have to see. But my gut tells me that we've picked the right man for the job.”
Gerald held the silence for a moment, letting this latest intelligence sink in. “Remember, Freddy, the meeting that Sobolev is holding tomorrow, that's our real endgame! This nonsense with Grant and his family, that's just a sweetener, a bit of a private deal to help the Russians sort out that little bit of in-house trouble they've been having with the Stasi and the like. We want unfettered access to any post-Cold War intelligence that they can offer and a good working relationship with Soviet Intelligence in the years to come, so Grant popping a couple of East German hoods will go a long way to helping us achieve that.”
“I know,” said Oxley. “As it stands now, the fiction that has been played out is holding, and I have to say, Gerald, that it's been a pleasure working with Krylov. He's a real professional.”
