by James Quinn
“It's a fine way to end a career, Freddy,” said Gerald. “Bringing the KGB onside for us and keeping the Americans out of the loop. Now, I want you in there fighting for the Service tomorrow, Freddy. We already have a head start with the Russians, but we need you and your wily mind to close the deal. The Chief is very pleased with the way you've handled this… medals galore will be heading your way, if you get my meaning. Now, get a good night's sleep.”
The phone was put down and the connection severed. Freddy Oxley sighed. Maybe he was just getting old, or maybe he was really just that exhausted, or maybe it just didn't sit well with him sending Grant back out into the field for one last time. The man had earned his peace and here he was, being used once again, manipulated by the Red Fox to go back to killing.
Maybe this was just one last field operation too many for both of them. He rubbed his eyes and picked up the phone once again. He dialled 9.
“Room service? I'd like to order a very large glass of scotch, please.”
Chapter Four
When he landed at Schonefeld, Peter was collected by Franz, Vogel's bodyguard and factotum.
“Are we going to Normanstrasse?” asked Peter when they were in the anonymous saloon Mercedes.
Franz looked over at him in the rear view mirror and shook his head. “No. Your father wants to see you. He is waiting for you at the Lodge. It is important.”
Peter had completed the home run; Vienna to Paris, a day's stopover to change his identity and travel papers, before flying Paris to Schonefeld. He had changed clothes and washed the dark hair dye out and now he was back to his usual blond and bespectacled look. It would be more than an hour's drive before they arrived at the Lodge in Wandlitz, so Peter sat back in the back seat of the Volvo and worked through in his mind what he was going to do.
The drive in the evening darkness was relaxing and helped concentrate his mind, so that by the time they approached the lodge in Wandlitz he had a plan of action and knew what he was about to do; rescue, escape and betray his country. Like mother, like son, he thought.
In the distance, he noticed the usual armed security wandering the grounds and manning the gatehouse. Franz parked the car at the side of the building and escorted him up the driveway and into the main door of the lodge. The warmth inside gave him a false sense of security and he instantly snapped his mind into action mode; be alert, be wary and expect the unexpected.
“This way,” said Franz, pointing the way along the main hallway. Peter nodded and started to walk along the corridor, the bodyguard hovering at his shoulder several paces behind as they headed towards Vogel's study. It had bittersweet memories for him; the dark oak, the smell of the fire and old leather. It was where Vogel would berate him when he was a boy… where he would get punished and where he was given his first operational assignment by the man who pretended to be his father.
Ulrich Vogel sat behind his desk and next to him on a chair was Katherine. She was dressed in walking boots, jeans and a thick sweater, which suggested that she had been allowed out for her exercise period. She looked tense and exhausted.
“My Harlequin returns,” said Vogel, smiling, but Peter noticed there was a tension, an edge in his voice. He was greedy for news and it showed in the old man's face. Peter nodded to Vogel in acknowledgement, but he remained calm and impassive.
“Please tell me what happened,” said Vogel. “Oh, don't worry about Katherine. We are all friends here – in fact, we are almost family, are we not?”
Peter ignored him and instead concentrated on Katy. “I'm sorry, Katherine. Jack is dead. He didn't make it back,” he said solemnly. Peter noted the confusion that passed over Vogel's face. He knew what he was thinking; how dare my operative be so familiar with this girl! How dare he ignore me!
Katy burst into tears, partly because of hearing what she knew was inevitable and partly as an outburst of nervous exhaustion after spending weeks as a hostage.
But Vogel had no such restraint.
“Excellent! Then Grant is dead and our mission has been a success?” said Vogel, with a surety that he didn't feel. So far, there had been no outcry in the media about a shooting in Austria, or even rumblings of dissent among the Western or Soviet intelligence communities. Had it all been for nothing? He would only rest when his most trusted operative gave him the first accurate information.
But now his Harlequin was being… strange. Difficult, even.
“The mission is complete, though whether it was a success is open to interpretation,” said Peter, his eyes never leaving his sister. Katy was leaning forward, her head in her hands, softly crying.
“Harlequin, this child is irritating me. Take her away, finish what we started,” said Vogel dismissively.
But Peter remained still. “No,” he said simply, his eyes never leaving Vogel's face.
“No? You defy me?”
“If you want to kill her, then I think it is only right that you do it by your own hand, like you did with Lisbeth,” said Peter.
Katy looked up, her face streaked with tears. “Lisbeth? My mother's name was Lisbeth…”
Vogel's face was a mask of rage. “So he told you, did he? Told you what a whore and a traitor your mother really was?”
“He told me enough. He told me the truth about who and what you are,” said Peter coldly.
“What is going on?” asked Katy, her eyes moving from Vogel to Peter and back, searching for answers.
Vogel ignored her and instead concentrated his piercing gaze on Peter. “And if I said that what he told you was all lies, the ramblings of a desperate former spy, would you believe me?”
“No, I would not,” said Peter.
“Why?” asked Vogel.
“Because when he spoke of Lisbeth, there were tears in his eyes. When you spoke of my mother, there was only coldness and venom.”
Vogel smiled a sinister smile. “I don't blame you. I wouldn't believe me, either. It is a shame. I had high hopes for your future. Very well… so be it. Franz, take him out to the woods and execute him. He is no longer of use to me. I should have strangled him in that forest all those years ago.”
Instantly, the bodyguard raised his semi-automatic and placed the muzzle to the back of Peter's head.
“Peter!” cried Katy, terror in her voice.
“You see, my dear, there is something that I should have told you, and something that Peter, it seems, has just discovered,” said Ulrich Vogel slyly.
“No!” said Peter. “Please don't let her find out! Not like this…”
“Find out what?” snapped Katy, desperation in her voice.
Vogel turned to her and sneered. “Your mother was a whore traitor, your father was an assassin and this… this is your brother.”
It was the guard in the gatehouse who died first.
A double tap to the head from a silenced .22 Beretta finished him, leaving him slumped in his chair. The assassin had simply pointed the end of the muzzle through the open window and fired. There was little more than a swishing noise; a brush against metal.
With the gatekeeper out of the way, the assassin moved silently across the beautifully manicured lawn in the darkness. As he crested the slope in the driveway, he moved further into the bushes and waited. So far, he had spotted a five-man team including the guard in the gatehouse.
He waited a full rotation of the guards' route until he knew it. Ten minutes later, a two-man pairing walked past him; he simply stood up and fired twice into the back of their heads. The guards dropped to the ground, their weapons clattering onto the gravel.
The assassin knew that the last two guards would be doing a rotation at the back of the lodge, and so he quickly made his way to the rear. He waited behind one of the large trees that covered the rear of the property, Beretta ready, fresh magazine in place.
Moments later, he heard the crunching of boots on the gravel and the low murmuring of security guards trying to motivate each other on a cold, dark night. In truth, the assassin was a little d
isappointed. It had been so pathetically easy to get into the grounds and remove these 'elite' bodyguards of the SSD. It was as if they weren't even trying. It was, in his opinion, a sign of the times. The old guard Stasi would have been hardened veterans of the Cold War, but these modern operators… well, they liked wearing the bomber jackets and carrying the latest weapons but little else. They were as children playing with their fathers' tools.
Never mind. It was time to bring this to an end. So he simply stepped out of the shadows and executed them both.
“I will see to the girl personally,” said Vogel, pulling out a small Walther pistol from beneath his desk and holding it on his lap, the business end pointing at Katy.
“Move!” said Franz, guiding Peter with the weapon.
Against a cowed victim, using the pistol as a threat was an acceptable tactic, but against a trained operative like the Harlequin it was a foolish error. Peter took half a step backwards in the hope of locating the exact location of the pistol and felt it nudge him in the small of the back. He had his reference point. He allowed himself to be directed towards the door of Vogel's study – nudge, another nudge… and then he moved. His cat-like reflexes were honed and sharp, and for a man of his build and strength he was deceptively quick.
Peter spun his body round so that he was facing Franz and the pistol, while at the same time and in tandem, he looped his left arm over the other man's pistol arm, trapping it to his side and gripping the bodyguard's bicep. It was all done in one smooth movement.
Franz panicked and tried to pull away and retract the pistol, but the speed, skill and strength of the Harlequin meant that he now had full control of the bodyguard, the pistol and where it was pointed. Instantly, he took his right hand and thrust it up and outward, aiming at the bodyguard's face. The Tiger-Claw technique was devastating. The strike flattened the man's nose and snapped his head back with such force that, for a brief second, it looked as if Franz's head was about to break off. Peter hit him three more time before ramming him back with force into the wall. The bodyguard slithered to the floor, the gun falling from the fingers of his unconscious body. Peter finished him off with an edge of hand strike to the throat and then picked up the dead man's gun.
Then, from somewhere behind him, he heard the gunshot and a scream. His mind racing, he turned away from the now dead bodyguard and looked across the room.
Katy!
Vogel, torn between pointing the gun at the girl and pointing the weapon to stop his best assassin, hesitated for a brief second. It was all that was needed. Katy launched herself at the man in the wheelchair, throwing her weight at him and upending the chair.
She landed on top of him, causing him to lose his grip on the small pistol. She had enough time to see it go spinning along the wooden floor, out of reach of them both, before he started to flail with his fists. The first punch landed on the side of her head, causing her to see stars; after that, she knew enough to duck her head down to prevent further hits. In retribution, she thrust her fingers out and ground her nails into the disfigured flesh on the side of his face. Vogel howled in pain and instantly halted the incessant flailing with his fists.
It was all Katy need. She began to climb over his skeletal frame, edging ever nearer to the gun that had come to rest by the window. It was mere feet away, she was almost there, when she felt a claw-like hand grab at her ankle and begin to pull her back. She twisted her body around and saw the golem-like monster – skeletal, vicious and disfigured – his withered legs trailing behind him as he tried to drag her back so that he could murder her.
“Du schlampe Elisabeth! Ich werde dich toten!” screeched Vogel over and over, as his hands began to work up her body, his mind a frenzy of confusion. I will kill you, Elisabeth – you bitch!
Katy stretched out her arms, ignoring the killer with his hands on her body, until she felt the cold metal body of the gun at her fingertips. She hooked a finger through the trigger guard and at once it was comfortable in the palm of her hand. She looked back at Vogel, his head down as he used his strength to try to pull himself up to her torso. She kicked out with her foot, causing him to roll off her and onto his side.
Katy had never fired a gun before. In truth, she had no idea if it was loaded or if it would work. She pointed the weapon down at the old killer and pulled the trigger. There was a terrific bang, a brief plume of smoke and the smell of cordite. Vogel howled once more and then fell back, a newly-made bullet hole in his left shoulder and even now the blood was already seeping onto the floor.
She threw the gun to one side and dragged herself back to the window, out of his reach. She closed her eyes to shut out the horror and then she felt strong hands lift her and Peter's voice say, “Katy, come on, quickly, we have to move!”
She couldn't speak, and instead focused her energy on just keeping her legs moving. Peter was half dragging, half pushing her out of the study, through the door, down the staircase and into the main reception area, but all the time holding her hand.
“We need to get to the car,” said Peter.
They ran through the reception area, past the lounge, to the main door and out into the cold of the night. There were two bodies lying dead on the gravel pathway, their automatic weapons dropped by their sides. Peter went over to the first one; two bullet holes in the temple. The second body had the same. He looked down the path to the gatehouse and saw that there was another body slumped inside.
Then, to their left, he heard the start of a car engine and then the lights came on, blinding them momentarily. Now there were two cars. One was the dead bodyguard's official car and now this other one; dark in tone and shape. A door opened and a figure stepped out of the vehicle, boots crunching on the gravel as it walked towards them.
“Peter…” said Katy nervously.
Peter drew the gun that he had taken and pointed it at the figure approaching them in silhouette. He had his finger on the trigger, ready to depress it, when the figure's shape began to gain some definition. He knew who it was now; the stocky figure, the brawler's gait, the set of the strong shoulders.
“You won't need that with me, Peter,” said the figure and, like a magic spell that had been broken, Peter lowered the weapon and made it safe.
“D… Dad!” whispered Katy. She ran past Peter and into the arms of her father; Gorilla Grant.
Chapter Five
They were all bundled into an old Trabant; Gorilla was driving, with Peter and Katy in the back seat. He told them they were driving to collect his back-up car which was parked up on the route back to Berlin.
“What happened to Vogel?” asked Gorilla.
“There was a fight, he was shot,” said Peter, shooting a glance at Katy.
“Is he dead?” asked Gorilla casually, his eyes never leaving the road.
“I… I don't know,” admitted Peter.
“It was me who shot him, Dad,” said Katy quietly.
Gorilla gave her a hard look in the rear view mirror. “Are you okay, love?”
Katy nodded. “I'm fine, he deserved it. He was a pig, but no, I don't think he's dead. I shot him in the shoulder, I think he passed out.”
Gorilla grunted and shrugged. It was immaterial now, anyway. He would deal with that little problem at a later date. Today, his priority was getting his children out of East Germany.
He had come back into East Germany by train via the 'soft route' through Austria. Travelling on a Russian Diplomatic Pass, he had been very much left alone on his journey, aside from the brief glance at his papers by the train authority border guards at the East German border.
A vehicle had been provided for him by a courier, a trusty old Trabant and then he had taken the journey into East Berlin. The city had changed – whether in his memory or in actuality, he was unsure – but he knew that it was a city he didn't feel a part of anymore. Oh, the buildings were still the same, the same dreariness, the same concrete vertical villages and the same dour expression on the faces of people. But it was a place and a war tha
t he no longer felt a part of. For him, it would always be a city of concrete and barbed wire.
The Russian, Krylov, evidently had a sense of humour after all, because his operations base/safe flat was a KGB-owned, damp top floor apartment building a stone's throw from SSD headquarters in Normanstrasse. It was discreet enough that no one knew he was even there; he came and went sporadically without observing any of his neighbours. He was sure that, in time, one of them, probably a Stasi informer, would tip off the security police. But he wasn't planning on being in Berlin for that long.
Once he had recovered his weapons stash from the cache, actually a shallow pit in a nearby field, he took them back to the safe flat, inspected them and then cleaned and oiled them. He had several semi-automatic pistols, all tooled to take suppressors, with enough ammunition to keep him going for a good few months.
His primary task, once he had the 'plumbing in place', was to find the Lodge in Wandlitz. Peter had given him a good enough description of its location and he knew that Katy was definitely there. If Peter was there also, so much the better, but if he had to, he had been prepared to conduct a solo rescue.
Gorilla had spent the past few evenings conducting a close target reconnaissance of the area and had set up a surveillance hide on a nearby copse that overlooked the location. The first night had been freezing cold and the second not much better, so by the third night, when he had seen the black saloon pull up and Peter and the driver get out, he knew that this was his optimum time. Better to have two of them fighting their way out and rescuing Katy from Vogel's hoods, than one old and tired assassin.
“Katy, how much do you know? I think Peter knows most of it,” he said.
“I'm an innocent in this. Sometimes I think I'm too much of an innocent,” she said, and Gorilla sensed the rebuke in her tone. So he told her as much as he could in the broad strokes; his life, Lisbeth, Peter, Vogel, the hit in Austria. But the fine details would have to wait for another time.
