Rencke got into the Riga telephone exchange back directory in an effort to find out if there were other telephones in the building. But there were none. Even if there had been a telephone he could have reached, he couldn’t imagine what he would have said to whoever answered.
He backed out of that program, and pulled up the worldwide travel agent reservation system, and searched for flights between Paris and Riga with empty seats on any airline leaving as soon as possible.
The information came up on his screen, but he could only stare at it in frustration. What was he supposed to do? Jump on an airplane, fly to Riga and take a cab out to Mac’s apartment? Then what?
He looked up at the clock. Mac would be making his call in fifty minutes, and there was nothing Rencke could do about it.
He fished the Twinkies out of the wastepaper basket and dejectedly started to eat as he moved over to a computer hooked into the Internet.
Mac wanted to be back stopped so here he would have to remain.
“Nothing,” Jacqueline said, hanging up the phone.
Elizabeth sat with a glass of white wine in front of the laptop computer, staring at the messages scrolling up the screen. It was late and she was very tired.
They’d been trying without luck for the past thirty six hours to find out about the anonymous re mailer address that Twinkie had used on the net.
“Samat doesn’t exist,” Jacqueline continued. “There is no such remailing service anywhere, which means it’s a ghost service.”
Elizabeth looked up.
“If it’s Otto Rencke, then he created the address to hide his real location. But the fact is, that anonymous re mailer address exists only in cyberspace. And only he knows how to access it from behind.” Jacqueline threw up her hands. “The man’s a genius. We’ll never get close to him unless he wants us there.”
“Screw the bastard,” Elizabeth said. She turned back to the computer, and entered Twinkie’s anonymous re mailer address.
Subject: Re: CIA CLANDESTINE SERVICES 4/27/99 01 .38
Twinkie, it’s you who doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about. Your cats probably pissed all over your pc and shorted your brain. Get real!!!!!!! (lizmac item one)
Several unrelated messages scrolled up her screen, until Twinkie’s anonymous re mailer address appeared.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: CIA CLANDESTINE SERVICES 4/27/9901.43
I suppose you know what you’re talking about from long experience, lizmac. (twinkieitemseventeen)
“Don’t lose him,” Jacqueline cautioned.
“He has this number now, and if it’s Rencke, and if he traces it he’ll know that this computer is located in my father’s apartment. ““He think it’s a trap.”
Subject: Re: CIA CLANDESTINE SERVICES 4/27/99 01.44
I grew up with my dad’s stories. Twinkie handle have any significance, or is it just bullshit!!! (lizmac item two)
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: CIA CLANDESTINE SERVICES 4/27/99 01 .45
Do you have anything significant to add to this discussion or are you just trying to irritate us? (twinkie item eighteen)
Subject: Re: CIA CLANDESTINE SERVICES 4/27/99 01.46
I’m interested in the business. Care to chat? (lizmac item three)
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: CIA CLANDESTINE SERVICES 4/27/99 01.47
Standby and I’ll download some of the high points
The telephone rang, as the computer screen came alive with messages dating from last week scrolling at ten times normal speed.
“It might be him,” Jacqueline said, looking at the telephone. “You answer it.”
The telephone rang a second time before Elizabeth picked it up.
“Hello?”
The line was silent for a few moments, then there was a subtle shift in the tonal quality of the hollowness.
“Lizmac?” a man asked. His voice sounded high pitched, and strained.
“Yes. Is this Twinkie?”
“Tell me something.”
“This is an open line—”
“It’s being monitored, but I’ve taken care of it.”
Elizabeth held the phone so that Jacqueline could hear as well.
“My name is Elizabeth McGarvey. Are you Otto?”
“Do you still have the diamond necklace your father gave you in Greece?” It was something only her father knew about.
“Actually he gave it to me when I was in school in Switzerland. But I lost it in Greece, when he found it he gave it back to me.” It had happened during the operation her father had been involved with a few years ago.
“What are you doing here, Liz?” Rencke asked.
“Trying to find my father. I know that you and he are working together, and I know that Viktor Yemlin has hired him to kill Tarankov. But the Russians know about it, and they’ve asked the CIA and the SDECE to help out. Ryan’s agreed. So my father’s walking into a trap. Where is he, Otto?” It all came out in a rush.
“How do you know all this—”
“I’m working for the CIA now!” Elizabeth cut in. “Where is my father? I have to talk to him.”
The line was silent.
“Otto, goddammit, don’t hang up on me! Ryan’s an asshole, and I don’t have any intention of turning my father over to him or to the French. But I have to try to warn him.” Elizabeth was sick with fear. If she lost Rencke now she’d never get him back. “Jacqueline Belleau has agreed to help me.”
The connection had not been broken, but the line remained silent.
“We’ve got less than seven weeks to stop him. You have to help us, Otto. You’re our only hope.”
“You don’t have seven weeks,” Otto said, his voice very strained, even higher pitched than before. “I think Mac’s taking him out on May First. Four days from now.”
A vise closed on Elizabeth’s heart, but she immediately saw the logic in it. Tarankov wasn’t going to wait for the general elections in June. He’d be in Red Square on May Day and her father would be there waiting for him.
“There’s something else you don’t know. The Russian police commission supposedly headed by Yuri Bykov. Well, that’s not his real name. He’s really Leonid Chernov, who is Tarankov’s chief of staff.”
“Dear God,” Elizabeth said. “Is my father already in Moscow?”
