“Maybe Riga police,” Galan suggested. “Were your travel documents legitimate?”
“Out. But I have a hunch they were Russian.”
“Hunch? What hunch is this now?” Galan demanded.
“The man looked Russian*”
“Everybody in Latvia looks Russian, Jacqueline!”
“If it had been the Riga police there would have been squad cars around. Men in uniform. But there was just the van, the driver, and the man with Elizabeth. No sirens, no lights, no radio antennas.”
“I’ll have to turn this over to the Americans. They can make inquiries with the Riga police. It’s out of our hands now.” “Maybe the Russians tracked McGarvey here. Maybe they were waiting for him at the apartment when Elizabeth showed up.”
“It’s possible, but it’s no longer our problem. McGarvey is out of France, if what you say is—” “I can’t abandon them,” Jacqueline cut in.
“What can you do?” Galan asked. “Nothing, that’s what! I want you back here on the first available flight.”
“Won.” “Pourqoui pas?”
“Because I’m convinced that McGarvey is in Moscow, and so is Elizabeth. I want you to send me there, in an official capacity.”
“To do what, Jacqueline?” Galan demanded.
“To work with the Russian Police commission. Maybe I can find out something about Elizabeth, or her father. Maybe I can help stop this insanity.”
‘“Where did you learn about this commission?” “From Elizabeth. She said she was briefed before she left Washington.”
Galan was silent for several long seconds.
“I think that you are not telling me everything,” Galan said.
“At least let me try, man colonel. I have done questionable things for France. Allow France to do something for me.”
There was another long silence.
“First we’ll make sure that Elizabeth wasn’t arrested by the Riga police. In the meantime you can continue to watch the apartment building. Perhaps McGarvey will return there.”
“Please hurry,” Jacqueline said.
“Rest assured, ma petite, I will.”
Touching down at what appeared to be an air force base, the afternoon was clear except to the north where a thick haze defined the city limits of the Russian capital. When they were on the taxiway, a pair of MiGs took off side by side with a mind-numbing roar on tails of black smoke. In the distance several helicopters seemed to be hovering over a stand of white birch. And in some of the hangars they passed, crews were working on partially disassembled fighter interceptors
Elizabeth had been allowed to use the bathroom, but she’d not been offered anything to eat or drink a second time. She got the feeling that they didn’t care what she did. None of the crew paid any attention to her, and during the remainder of the two-hour flight Chernov had remained in the conference room with the other men.
Chernov, a smug look of satisfaction on his face, came out of the conference room with the others as the airplane stopped in front of an empty hangar. Several cars were waiting on the tarmac.
“You should have followed your orders, and not tried to interfere,” one of the men said to her as he passed. ‘ “The CIA should not have involved the man’s daughter, Illen,” another of the men countered angrily. “It’s a bad business that will not have a happy ending for anyone.”
The crewman opened the forward door as boarding stairs were pushed into place. Everyone got off the plane, climbed into all but one of the waiting cars and drove off, leaving Elizabeth alone with Chernov.
“Major Gresko is right, you should not have come to Riga, Ms. McGarvey. You’ve accomplished nothing. In fact you’ve jeopardized your father’s safety.” “Will I be allowed to call my embassy?”
“That won’t be possible.”
“The Chief of Station here will start making noises pretty soon. President Kabatov is a reasonable—”
Chernov dismissed her with a gesture. “While it’s true that you work for the CIA, you’re supposed to be in Paris at this moment staking out your father’s apartment with the French intelligence service in case he returns. No one knows that you came to Riga. That, you did on your own. Inventive, I’ll give you that much. But stupid.”
“My father is on his way to the States.”
“No he’s not. He’s on his way here to Moscow. Probably in some clever disguise, almost certainly traveling under false papers. The last time I saw him was in Nizhny Novgorod where he was dressed as a soldier. I didn’t know that he was coming then, but I know it now. And I know that he is coming here from Riga. There are only so many trains, airplanes, boat ferries and highways between here and there, and I assure you that all of them are being watched.”
“Then what do you need me for?” Elizabeth asked defiantly, although she was sick at heart.
Chernov thought a moment.
“Because quite frankly, your father is very good at what he does, and I have the utmost respect for him, and maybe a little fear. He might somehow make it to Moscow. He might even be in Red Square on May Day when Tarankov makes his speech atop Lenin’s Mausoleum.”
“That’s the day Tarankov will die.”
“I think not,” Chernov said. “Because you will be standing next to him on the reviewing stand. In plain sight for everyone, including your father, to see.”
Elizabeth didn’t know what to say.
Chernov had perched on the arm of one of the seats. He got up. “Now it’s time for you to meet him. I think he’ll enjoy talking to you, as I’m sure his wife Liesel will. They’re very persuasive people.”
THIRTY-SIX
At first appearances the banker Herman Dunkel and the car dealer Bernard Legler were cut of different cloth. Dunkel was an arch conservative who habitually dressed in dark three-piece suits, and was concerned only with the bottom line. Legler, on the other hand, affected American western dress, spoke garishly, and was only concerned with hiding the bottom line from his accountant, and pocketing the money thus diverted. They had several things in common, however. Both had worked for the East German intelligence service Stasi until the Wall had come down. Both were shrewd businessmen who were profiting from Germany’s reunification. And neither man trusted anybody.
They met for lunch at the Thuringer Hof, a centuries old restaurant tavern downtown, something they hadn’t done in several weeks. They liked to get together occasionally to talk over some of the interesting cases they’d worked on in the Stasi. The darkly paneled bar was quiet and anonymous. Voices did not carry, something of interest to both men who had carefully hidden their true pasts. Legler suspected that this meeting was different, however, because of Dunkel’s abrupt manner this morning on the telephone.
Their drinks came and Dunkel raised his glass. “Prost.” “Prost,” Legler responded.
When the waitress was gone, Dunkel gave his old friend a quizzical look. “How is your business with Herr Allain proceeding? Have you received any further orders?”
“Just the two units,” Legler said. “But his money is good.”
“He has plenty of money, there is no doubt about that. In fact I made further inquiries into his Barclay’s account — or I should say accounts.” Dunkel glanced toward the door. “I have an old friend over there who has worked for the bank since the mid-eighties. In the past his information was reliable.”
“It’s wise to have such contacts.”
Dunkel nodded sagely. “In part because of what I learned, I’ve asked Karl Franken to join us, I hope you don’t mind.”
