Ivanov, the corporal from Klaus's house. Goltz had restless eyes and
dark hair cropped close against his skull.
'The major needs a chair,' said Kosov. 'Misha?'
The black-clad Russian moved lithely to the table, lifted one of the
armless wooden chairs and placed it opposite Kosov. Rykov shoved Harry
into the chair, then ripped the tape from his mouth. The sudden pain
brought tears to his eyes, but passed quickly. He held out his hands to
Misha, who looked questioningly at Kosov.
'No!' Rykov objected. 'He doesn't need his hands.'
'One gentleman to another,' said Harry, his eyes on Kosov.
Kosov chuckled, then nodded to Misha, who broug it out his stiletto and
cut through the sticky mess like tissue paper.
Rykov laid a hand on the Skorpion machine pistol in his belt.
'Now that you're comfortable,' said Kosov in heavily accented English,
'what have you to tell me?'
'What do you want to know?'
'What you were doing at Klaus Seeckt's house.'
'Routine debriefing,' Harry said offhandedly. 'Twice monthly.'
'He's lying!' Rykov snapped in Russian. 'He almost broke down the door
trying to get in!'
Kosov looked to Corporal Ivanov for corroboration.
'He's right,' Andrei admitted grudgingly. 'Nothing routine about it.
The major also speaks excellent Russian.'
'You see, Major?' Kosov said. 'There's no point in trying to deceive
me. I regret that my men brought you here at all, of course.
I asked for a German policeman, I got back an American major. An
unfortunate accident. But now that the mistake has been made, I intend
to use the opportunity to ask you a few questions. You would do the
same, I think.'
Harry shrugged.
'I simply wish to know the details of your relationship with Klaus
Seeckt. Then I can make arrangements for your safe return to West
Berlin.'
Harry almost laughed. Mistake or not, the Russians had kidnapped him.
To return him now would be admitting it, and they wouldn't do that. Even
if Colonel Rose had known he was going to Klaus's house-which Rose
hadn'the would have no way of knowing Harry had been taken into the DDR.
He might eventually suspect it, but by then the chances of getting Harry
back would be.slim. And if the Russians moved him any father east, the
odds fell to zero.
This situation required desperate measures. Shock tactics.
Looking straight at Kosov, Harry crossed his legs and began to speak
flawless, aristocratic Russian.
'You'd better write this down, Kosov. If you bungle this, Chairman
Zemenek will have you back in the Fifth Chief Directorate so fast you
won't have time to pack your shorts.
You'll be chasing filthy Tatars for the rest of your life.'
Kosov started, both at the perfection of Richardson's Russian and the
reference to his old job. 'What do you know about me, Major?' he asked
warily.
'Only what's necessary. Which isn't much, I'm afraid.
Ivan Leonidovich Kosov: Born Moscow 1943, entered service 1962, excelled
at repression in the provinces-notably Azerbaijan-for the Second Chief
Directorate. That and your father-in-law's influence got you
transferred to Directorate 'K' in 1971, stationed Yugoslavia. A little
more competent than the average K-man, you obtained a posting to the
East Berlin Rezidentura in 1978, where you've performed @uately for the
past ten years.'
'Leave us,' Kosov told his men.
Axel Goltz spoke up angrily. 'But Colonel@' 'Now!' bellowed Kosov.
'Only Misha remains.'
When the others had left the room, Kosov said, 'Your Russian is
excellent, Major. You have a good memory. So what? You think I don't
know as much about you?'
Harry looked over at the predatory Misha standing motionless in the
shadows. 'No, Colonel, I don't. There is a gap in your ...
'consciousness,' shall we say?'
Kosov grunted. 'What kind of gap?'
'The fact that we occasionally work for the same team.
Broadly speaking. I went to Klaus Seeckt's house tonight to deliver a
message.'
'Come now, Major, I would know if you had any connection with KGB.'
Harry snorted. 'You think you're made aware of everything that happens
in Berlin? Perhaps you are a fool, Kosov.'
The Russian paled as he held up a hand to restrain Misha.
'You speak confidently for a man facing death,' he said softly.
'I thought you were sending me bapk to West Berlin.'
Kosov grimaced. 'Tell me, do you have any proof of this fantastic
story? The rich American who secretly serves the worker's paradise?'
Harry played out a little more bait. 'I assume you, fare miliar with
the Twelfth Department of your Directorate?'
Kosov nodded almost imperceptibly.
'My contact is Yuri Borodin. Klaus Seeckt was one of our conduits.'
Kosov blinked. 'What can this fiction profit you, Major?
An extra hour of confusion? You are going to Moscow regardless of what
you say here, and it's there your fate will be decided.'
Kosov sounded confident, but Harry had seen the doubt flicker into his
eyes at the mention of the Twelfth Department. The Twelfth Department
was an elite branch of the KGB-an all-star team recruited from veterans
of other KGB departments who had proved themselves expert at moving in
international society. Developed under Yuri Andropov, the Twelfth
Department had more autonomy than any other branch of the service; its
agents were allowed to pursue their chosen quarry anywhere in the world.
Harry's personal history of wealth and privilege made him an excellent
target for a man like Yuri Borodin; plus he had seen Borodin in the
company of Klaus Seeckt. He thought his desperate story might stand up
to perhaps an hour's scrutiny.
'Tell me about this mysterious message, Major,' said Kosov.
My God, thought Harry. He's buying it. 'Sorry, Colonel,' he said
