don't@' 'Who were those men, Eva? Police?'
'Stinking Russians, sweetie. Didn't you catch the name Misha?'
The taxi jounced onto the curb. 'Eva, how can I thank@' 'Go!'
Eva cried, squeezing Ilse's hand. 'Jump! Go!'
The screech of tires drowned Ilse's reply as the taxi sped down the
Gervinusstrasse. Ilse ducked into the alley just as Kosov's BMW
careened around the corner and surged after Eva and her cabbie friend.
She collapsed,against the cold concrete wall of an office building, her
heart beating wildly.
Ten seconds later a second BMW raced after the first.
Turning her back to the icy wind, Ilse doffed the sluttish clothes Eva
had given her and tossed the wig into an overflowing garbage bin.
Now she wore the conservative casuals she'd had on when she first
spotted the BMW. Habit made her hang on to one costume accessory Eva
had thrust into her hand-a large plastic purse. As she debated whether
to keep Eva's flashy coat, Ilse heard the rumble of a heavy automobile
engine. Seconds later a pair of headlights nosed into the far end of
the alley.
Ilse snatched up the discarded clothes and climbed into the only hiding
place she could see-the garbage bin. The smell was terrible, cloyingly
sweet. She held her nose with one hand and covered her eyes with the
other. The powerful purr of the BMW edged closer, a tiger trying to
spook its prey. Ilse knotted herself into a tight ball and prayed. It
took little imagination to guess how @thless the men in the black autos
must be. The young man who had propositioned her at the front door-the
one called Misha-his eyes had glazed almost to sightlessness when Eva
insulted him. Like fish eyes, Ilse thought.
She shuddered.
The BMW picked up speed as it approached the garbage bin, weaving
occasionally to probe every inch of the alley with its halogen eyes.
The walls of the trash bin vibrated from the noise. Ilse shivered from
terror and bitter cold. She h.ad no doubt that if the car engine were
shut off, the Russians would find her by the chattering of her teeth.
Suddenly, with a scream of protesting rubber, the big black sedan roared
out of the alley. Ilse scrambled up out of the garbage and dug into
Eva's purse for her shoes. Her hand closed over something soft and
familiar. She peered into the bag. Folded into a thick wad at its
bottom were three hundred Deutschemarks in small bills. Scrawled across
the top banknote in red lipstick were the words: ILSE, USE rr!
Stuffing the bills back into the purse, Ilse climbed out of the bin and
edged a little way down the alley. Damn all of this, she thought
angrily. If Eva can get me this far, I can do the rest. In less than
fifteen seconds she had analyzed her options and made a decision. She
kicked off the stiletto heels Eva had loaned her, pulled on her own
flats, and started running toward the hazy glow at the opposite end of
the alley.
1030 Pm. Tiorgartan District.- West Berlin
The moment Harry Richardson raised his hand to knock on Klaus Seeckt's
door, the door jerked open to the length of the chain latch.
'Go away, Major!' said a voice from the dark crack.
The door slammed shut. Harry moved to the side of the door, out of the
light. 'Open the door, Klaus.'
'Please go away, Harry!'
More puzzled than angry, Harry flattened himself against the wall.
Normally he telephoned Klaus before coming over, but tonight he hadn't
wanted to give the East German a chance to postpone the meeting.
Feeling exposed on the lighted stoop, he pounded his fist against the
heavy oak.
'I'm not in uniform, for God's sake! Open up! Now!'
The bolt shot back with a bang. Klaus pulled the door open but remained
out of sight in the dark foyer.
'Take it easy,' Harry said. 'We'll play it as an official visit.
However you want.'
Klaus's voice dropped in volume but doubled in urgency.
'Harry, get out of here! They're watching us!'
As Harry's eyes adjusted to the gloom, he recognized the stubby barrel
of a Makarov pistol in Klaus's hand. The East German wore only his
bathrobe, but his ashen face and the quivering pistol gave him a
frighteningly lethal aspect.
Harry glanced back at the street to try to spot watchers. He saw none,
but he knew that didn't mean anything.
'I tried to keep you out,' Klaus said resignedly. 'Remember that.'
Writing off Klaus's pistol to paranoia, Harry slipped past the East
German and started toward the living room. With a hopeless sigh Klaus
shut the door and locked it behind them.
When Harry reached the living room, he saw that Klaus was indeed being
watched-but from inside the house, not out. Five men wearing dark
business suits sat leisurely on sofas and chairs arranged around a
glass-topped coffee table.
Harry looked back over his shoulder at Klaus. The German hovered
ghostlike in the shadows of the foyer, the Makarov slack against his
leg. Harry considered bolting, but Klaus hadn't tried it, so perhaps
things weren't so bad. Orperhaps, Harry thought uneasily, Klaus didn't
run because he knows the front door is covered from the outside.
Harry turned back to the living room. None of the men around the table
looked older than thirty, and no one had said anything yet. Was that
good or bad? Suddenly the oldest-looking of the group stood.
'Good evening, Major,' he said in heavily accented English. 'What can
we do for you?'
The young man's accent was unmistakably Russian. There would be no
attempt to pass these men off as other than what they were, Harry
realized. A very bad sign. He cleared his throat. 'And by what rank
do I address you, Comrade?'
he asked in flawless Russian.
The Russian smiled, seeming to relish the idea of a catand-mouse game.
'You speak excellent Russian, Major. And I am but a lowly captain, to
answer your question. Captain Dmitri Rykov.'
'What are you doing so far from home, Captain?'
'Am I so far from home?' Rykov asked gamely. 'A debatable point.
