He could feel her body, smell her scent as they hugged good-bye when she was leaving to go back to her job in New York, and his jaw tightened.
Tarankov would not harm her until after the May Day parade because he needed her until then. He was using her for bait, Otto said.
Well if you bait a hook, you should be prepared for what you catch.
He picked up the phone again.
Rencke caught Roland Murphy at his desk in Langley just as the CIA director was about to leave for lunch. “General, this is Otto Rencke. I think you know who I am, because I’m helping Kirk McGarvey and you and the French are looking for us.”
There was a silence on the line for several seconds.
“We don’t have time to screw around, Mr. Director. If you’re trying to trace this call, don’t bother, because you can’t do it.”
“Where are you calling from?” Murphy asked, his voice measured.
“I’m in Paris. But that’s not important. Kirk McGarvey has reached Moscow, but so has his daughter, Elizabeth. Your DDO, Howard Ryan, sent her over a couple of weeks ago to help the French find her father. They traced him to Riga, where Colonel Bykov, who heads the Russian police commission looking for him, picked her up. The thing is, Bykov is an alias. His real name is Leonid Chernov and he works as Tarankov’s chief of staff. That means Elizabeth is probably being held prisoner by Tarankov. Do you understand what I’m telling you, General?”
“I hear what you’re saying, but I don’t know who the hell you think you are, or what the hell you’re trying to do—”
“Mac always said you were even more stubborn than he was,” Rencke cut in. “But he said you were a smart and honorable man. Watch this.”
Before the call Rencke had entered the CIA’s computer system. He brought up the monitor on Murphy’s desk, and downloaded the
Bykov-Chernov file he’d generated, along with copies of the net chat he’d had with Elizabeth, and the records of the phone trace to the Riga apartment. “Your phone line and computer access codes are supposed to be super- secure,” Rencke said. “Remind me one of these days, and if I have the time I’ll show your people why they’re living in a dream world and how to fix it.”
There was another silence on the line, this time for nearly a minute.
“I see what you mean,” Murphy said. “I’m not going to ask right now how you-got this information, but it’s all new to me. I had no idea that Ryan was using Elizabeth McGarvey to find her father.”
“You picked him as your DDO, General,” Rencke said harshly. “The man is a dangerous fool, and because of him there’s a very good chance that Elizabeth will be killed unless you do something about it right now.”
“Even if Tarankov has her, he won’t do anything until after the elections, which gives us several weeks.”
“Wrong answer,” Rencke said. “Tarankov will make his move in Red Square tomorrow. And Mac will be there to try to kill him.”
“My people tell me differently.”
“Your people are wrong. We’re not talking about political correctness here, General. This isn’t what the White House wants to hear, this is the truth. Unless something is done immediately a lot of good people are going to get hurt, friends of mine. Not only that, Washington is going to end up with its trousers down around its ankles, as per usual. Use your friggin’ head, Murphy!”
“Listen here—”
“You listen,” Rencke shouted. “If you want to play games with me, I’ll crash your entire system. I’ll set a super virus loose in every intelligence and Department of Defense computer in the country! That’s something else your analysts tell you is impossible. But, Mr. Director, you can’t believe how simple it would be to do.”
“What do you want?” Murphy demanded.
“I’m not going to ask you to take my word, Mr. Director, I may be naive but I’m not stupid. Check with Ryan, and find out exactly what that bastard has been doing. In the meantime I’ll download everything in my files on Tarankov and what’s about to happen over there. When you’ve got all that, take it to President Lindsay. The Russians asked for his help, well he’s in a position now to do just that.”
“How?”
“Jumped up Jesus, do I have to explain everything?” Rencke said. “The Russians have to arrest Tarankov before the May Day rally in Red Square tomorrow. No matter what it takes. Because if Tarankov is sitting in a jail cell there’ll be no reason to hold Elizabeth.”
Murphy sighed. “I see what you mean. But I don’t know if the President will go along with such a suggestion.”
“Try, General,” Rencke said. “At least do that much. Mac has done a lot for his country, maybe it’s time that his country does something for him and his family.”
“We found the car,” Petrovsky shouted. “It’s parked on Marx Prospekt around the corner from the Bolshoi, about a hundred meters from the Ploshchad Revolyutsi metro station.”
“Is there any sign of McGarvey?” Chernov demanded.
“Not yet, but we’ve got plenty of men down there so that if he shows up he won’t have a chance.”
“What about the metro station itself, you fool? Have you got any men inside?”
“Yeb was, no.”
“If he spots your people that’s where he’ll go, if he hasn’t already simply walked away. I want you to shut down every metro in the city, and station men at every stop. We might still have a chance to catch him.”
“I’ll get on it right now,” Petrovsky said.
“If your people see nun, shoot him on the spot,” Chernov ordered. “I’m coming down there myself right now.”
The bellman Artur wasn’t expected back at the Metropol for another hour.
McGarvey hung up the telephone. He’d already been here too long. He had to put as much distance between himself and the BMW as possible, because by now the word might have gotten to the Militia. But it was hard to think straight for fear of what Elizabeth was going through at this moment. He wanted to lash out right now, strike back, but he was powerless.
A train had arrived at the metro station and a crowd of people came up the fast moving escalators and surged for the exit. McGarvey picked up the satchel and fell in behind them. Like Astimovich, Artur had connections in the city. But if he couldn’t or wouldn’t help with a place to stay, McGarvey would have to find an out-of-the-way workingman’s hotel where he could bribe the desk clerk into not requiring identity documents. It would be risky, but he had to get off the streets as soon as possible.
The crowd slowed down and stopped. There seemed to be some sort of a bottleneck at the exit, and a commotion started. McGarvey stepped to one side in time to catch a glimpse of at least three Militia officers in riot gear, pushing their way through.
They had found the damn car.
McGarvey turned and walked back to the turnstile leading to the down escalator, the babushka in the glass booth watching him.
“Halt! Halt!” someone shouted from behind.
In three steps McGarvey was at the barrier, and he leaped over the turnstile, nearly catching the satchel handle, and tumbling down the rapidly moving escalator. But he regained his balance and took the moving stairs two at a time.
He caught up with a knot of people halfway to the bottom and bowled his way through them. He didn’t think that the Militia would be desperate enough to fire in a crowded escalator or subway platform. But they wouldn’t let him get away either. All the stations on this line would be covered.
At the bottom he pushed his way through the packed corridor through the arch and onto the crammed platform with its vaulted ceilings from which hung huge ornate crystal chandeliers. A train, its doors open and
