'Is this the way Americans return favors?' Schneider said stiffly.
'Last I checked, you hadn't done me any favors. We'll see how I return
one when you do. Now what the hell's this all about?'
'Major Harry Richardson,' Schneider answered, relishing the poorly
concealed look of shock that crossed Rose's face.
'You know him?'
'Go on,' Rose said noncommittally.
'Very well, Colonel. Tonight I was called to the scene of a murder. A
house near the Tiergarten. The murdered man was one Klaus Seeckt, an
East German trade liaison employed by my government. My colleagues
believe Seeckt surprised a gang of professional thieves who murdered
him, then tried to make it look like suicide. And they could be right,
of course. The Kripo are famous for their skill in solving homicides.'
'Get to the point, Detective.'
'I believe a real suicide took place, Colonel. Not a simple suicide,
but a suicide still.'
'I'm listening. You can speak,* German-if you like.'
Schneider sighed with reliel 'Physical evidence, Colonel.
First, eight 7.65mm slugs fired into an interior wall beside the front
door-burst pattern- We found no shell casings to match these slugs.
Second, no fingerprints on the pistol in the corpse's hand except his
own. Third, I found something odd outside the house. It was a white
business card'Schneider paused for effect@'with nothing but a telephone
number on it.'
He saw Rose's jaw tighten. 'When I called the number on the card, I got
an answering machine with a message from one Harry Richardson.
As I'm sure you're aware, Major Richardson makes a rather special effort
to know Berlin.
Consequently, we Berliners know him.'
Rose exited right off the Hohenzollemdamm onto ClayAllee, then looped
under to the Avus autobahn. Solemn ranks of bare trees closed about the
car as it rolled into the Grunewald. The colonel seemed to feel more
comfortable here, Schneider noticed. Perhaps because from the heart of
the Grunewald jutted the Teufelsberg-the Devil's Mountain-a massive hill
constructed from the millions of tons of rubble that was Berlin after
the war. Schneider thought it depressingly symbolic that the highest
peak in Berlin was crowned by the futuristic onion domes of a gargantuan
U.S./British radar spying station. Rose slowed and turned to Schneider
as they rolled through the darkness.
'And what does all that tell you, Mr. Detective?'
'The 7.65mm slugs tell me Czech vz/61 Skorpion machine pistol. I
translate that KGB. I know it would be stupid for them to use one here,
but they've made stupid mistakes before. I also happen to know that, in
spite of the drawbacks of the 7.65 cartridge, several Berlin-based KGB
agents still favor the Skorpion. Granted, burglars could use one, but I
haven't seen any pass through the evidence room lately.'
Rose eyed the German with increasing interest.
'Then there's the weapon that killed Seeckt. If burglars faked a
suicide, they had to shoot Seeckt, wipe the pistol, then press a set of
his fingerprints onto it. Leaving what?
One good set of Seeckt's prints. But there were dozens. If they used
gloves, they'd have smudged many of Seeckt's original prints. But they
didn't. So what happened? Burglars forced Seeckt to kill himself?
Unlikely. But the'KGB? It's possible. If KGB agents had just
discovered that Richardson had turned Seeckt, for example, Seeckt might
have preferred a quick bullet to what would have been waiting for him in
Lubyanka. My trieb, Colonel-my instinct-tells me that's what happened.
The question is, what was your man doing there in the first place? Was
Klaus Seeckt working for you?'
Rose said nothing.
'One more thing,' Schneider added. 'There was blood near the card.'
Rose winced.
'A good bit of it, too. Colonel, I think Richardson, dropped that card
as an SOS. Why else would it be there?'
Without really knowing why, Rose decided to trust the German.. He
really didn't have much choice. 'Harry Richardson's an exceptional
officer,' he said tersely. 'A bit of a loner, maybe, but sound as a
K-bar. Especially in tradecraft.
But even if he has been kidnapped, what makes you think he's not still
in West Berlin?'
Schneider's barrel chest swelled a size; he recognized the respect that
came with Rose's decision to trust him. 'Because Russians wouldn't have
the nerve to keep him here,' he explained. 'East Germans would-the
Stasi has assets all over the city. But this crime scene was too clumsy
for tt Stasi.
They would never, never use weapons of Eastern manufacture in the West.
Also, burglars-turned-kidnappers would soon recognize their mistake in
snatching an American officer. Unless they were part-time terrorists,
it would scare them to death. That leaves one option-KGB.
It has to be.'
'Alert the checkpoints,' said Rose, his voice taking on the weight of
command. 'See if any known agents have passed through tonight@' 'I've
already checked,' Schneider told him. 'It's too late.
A bordet officer at Heinrich-Heine Strasse told me four KGB agents with
flawless cover passed through at elevenfifteen tonight.
Richardson was probably inside that car.'
'Goddamn!'
'What was Richardson working on, Colonel?'
'Sorry, Schneider. I can't go that far.'
'I see,' the German said icily. 'Well, then. I'll leave you to
discover the remaining facts for yourself.'
Rose slammed on the brakes and glared at Schneider.
'Don't you hold out on me, Schneider! This is still a U.S.
military zone of occupation. I can have you r ass detained for a year
if I need to!'
'That is true,' Schneider retorted. 'But while you carry out that
useless exercise, your man could be dying in a KGB cell. Or worse yet,
he could be on the next flight to Moscow.
Even the KGB is smart enough to know that in East Berlin, a live
