Freedom Bridge: A Cold War Thriller (19 page)

Chapter 40

T
he man with brown hair, lying on the four-poster in the bedroom of the Brenner suite, wore a shabby blue suit and dark glasses.

The man bending over him wore a dress shirt, a black bow toe, and a tuxedo. His hair was white.

The white-haired man straightened up, went into the bedroom, and examined himself in the floor-length mirror. His lips curved into a practiced smile—contemptuous, amused. With an impatient gesture, he brushed away a few rebellious strands of hair that had fallen onto his forehead before stepping back for a final appraisal.

Closing Adrienne Brenner’s suitcase, still on the bed, he put the other suitcase in the closet. A gown and a bathrobe hung there, along with a raincoat and a woman’s cape. He put on the raincoat, took the cape, and picked up Adrienne’s suitcase.

He was about to shut the bedroom door when he spotted the glass on the bureau. Not much gin and tonic left, but the twist of lime was still there. He squeezed a few drops of lime juice into the half-sprawled man’s left eye, once again adjusted the dark glasses on the comatose face, and did one last check No more brown spots on the neck. A small spatter of the rinse had washed off easily.

He picked up the telephone and dialed, bracing himself for the tense voice on the other end. “Sorry it took me so long,” he told Aleksei in Russian. “I know I said I’d call right back, but things got a little unpleasant . . . No, nothing like that. Brenner’s initial panic is over.”

Kiril continued in Russian. “ . . . Get ahold of yourself, Aleksei. You sound ‘drunk as a skunk,’ as the Americans say. Yes, he’s agreed to everything. However, he has one precondition. Hold on. Brenner wants to tell you himself.”

Kiril held the phone against his chest, wondering if Aleksei could hear the rapid beating of his heart. After a few seconds, he lifted the receiver as a string of American slang expressions flashed through his mind. “You win, Colonel,” Kiril said in English, his voice more sonorous, and more than a little belligerent. “But get this straight. Any blackmail threats you people concocted against my wife are out of bounds. I’m taking Adrienne to Zurich out of harm’s way. . . .Of course I’ll be back! I can’t afford not to, can I? It won’t be forever, you said . . . . Right.”

A pregnant pause.

“One more thing, Colonel. That ‘unpleasantness’
your brother alluded to just now? Forgive my crudeness, but it seems that ever since he laid eyes on my wife, he wanted to get into her pants. He’s about to find out what I think of that offensive notion.”

Hanging up before Aleksei had a chance to reply, Kiril grabbed suitcase and cape and rushed down an empty corridor to his room. After stuffing a few items into the suitcase, he hurriedly dumped the brown hair rinse bottle into a waste basket in the bathroom, along with the diazepam and the syringe, then covered the contents with soiled towels.

For a long moment, Kiril closed his eyes. The next thing he knew, he was walking with brisk authority down the hallway toward an elevator in the characteristic stride he’d zeroed in on the moment Dr. Kurt Brenner had stepped off a plane in East Berlin.

When he realized that he’d begun to swing the suitcase as if it were a tennis racket, he felt a surge of adrenalin.

Maybe, just maybe, I can pull this off!

* * *

Aleksei had left the table he’d shared with his brother and Adrienne Brenner and was huddled with the press contingent in a lounge just outside the banquet room. When Adrienne’s husband headed for the table, Aleksei cast a suspicious glance at the suitcase in his hand.

“My wife’s things. She’s no part of this. Adrienne is not going anywhere near the Soviet Union. Given her political sentiments, I could barely get her to East Berlin,” he said waspishly.

Aleksei made his way back toward the table out of earshot of the press, teetering slightly, as if he were crossing the deck of a sailboat.

“Where’s my brother?” he asked.

“In the master bedroom—out cold on the bed. I trust you won’t take it personally.”

“I
always
take family matters personally but not in the way you mean. I picked up on my brother’s attraction to your wife. Nor do I rule out the possibility that it was mutual,” Aleksei added, unable to resist chipping away at Brenner’s pride after all the trouble the bastard had put him through. “Romance aside, Dr. Brenner,” he said, his words slightly slurred, “what will you tell your wife about your forced separation?”

“I’ll think of something.”

“Indeed. Is my brother badly hurt?”

“He’ll wake up with an aching jaw and a good-sized lump on his cranium where his head hit the bedpost. Does that disturb you?”

“Actually, it pleases me.” Aleksei downed a slug of vodka like it was water. “Kiril’s independent nature has always needed a few hard knocks.”

“I presume you have a limousine waiting?”

“A limousine to take you and your lovely wife to the airport, where you’ll board an executive jet for Zurich. The same plane will return you and me to Moscow in the morning.”

“Then let’s get to it.” He headed for the table where Adrienne Brenner sat leaning back in her chair.

Aleksei’s hand shot out, stopping him in his tracks.

“I have my own precondition, Dr. Brenner. A group of extremely curious newsmen are waiting impatiently in the lounge. They’re expecting to hear something out of the ordinary. Naturally, I cannot disappoint them. As soon as I invite them in, you will announce your intention to defect to the Soviet Union.
Then
you may escort your wife to Zurich.”

“So that after I leave, it will be difficult for me to change my mind.”

“Can you blame me? But you also benefit. Your parents are already in Zurich. Think of how your decision to take a—shall we call it a sabbatical?—in Moscow will soften the blow for them. By the time you reach Zurich, they’ll have had time to absorb what happened. I will arrange everything. We have friends in all the key Western cities who will make sure the press is alerted.”

“
The ultimate argument, Colonel. The hostage game. And I’m not even on Soviet soil yet.” Arching a contemptuous eyebrow, he said, “Very well. Let’s get this over with.”

“One last piece of advice. Your announcement can be as brief as you like. Just make sure it lacks the flavor of coercion. Keep in mind that a decision to defect is not made on the spur of the moment between cocktails and dinner.”

“I’ll do my best. Now if you’ll give me a moment alone with my obviously inebriated wife . . .” Without waiting for an answer, he moved to the table and took Adrienne’s hands in his.

She looked up at him. “Where’ve you been? Honestly, Kurt, making an entrance is one thing but . . . uh oh, I think I’m tipsy.”

Gently, he pulled her to her feet. “I know you are, dear, and I’m sorry. We’ll leave in about five minutes. Will you do something for me in the meantime?” he asked as he draped the cape around her shoulders.

She nodded, embarrassed by the state she was in. Disarmed by his uncharacteristic solicitude.

Noticing her suitcase in his hand, she said, “Where’s yours?”

“Later. I have an announcement to make to some newsmen— something you won’t
begin
to understand. But as soon as we board the plane, I’ll explain. Until then I don’t want these people to see your reaction. Mind waiting for me in the lounge outside? The press is about to come bursting in. The minute I finish dealing with them, we’ll take the elevator down and a limo will take us to the airport. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Shall I call the newsmen in, Dr. Brenner?” Aleksei asked.

“How about a simultaneous transition? You open the doors for the press while I move my wife outside to that bench near the bank of elevators. She avoids pandemonium, you avoid distraction.”

“Tit for tat. How American! Fine by me,” Aleksei said with a shrug.

As Adrienne Brenner was escorted out, Aleksei waved the press in, cautioning Brenner to hold off while the lights and television cameras got ready to swing into action. That done, he signaled Brenner to mount the platform.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the distinguished-looking white-haired gentleman, microphone in hand, “I think I have spoiled your dinner, or at least delayed it unconscionably, for which I deeply apologize. In that spirit, my announcement will be brief.”

A good beginning, Aleksei mused.

“I have kept you waiting because I was in the throes of a difficult decision,” he continued.

And paused to take a deep, almost labored, breath. “To better serve the humanitarian goals to which my professional life has been devoted, I have decided to practice medicine in the Soviet Union. For how long,” he added quickly, “I am not yet certain. I’m sure you realize that a decision to defect, even for an indeterminate period of time, is not something one makes between cocktails and dinner.”

Aleksei positively beamed.

“Suffice to say, my decision is the culmination of a great deal of soul-searching.”

He stepped off the platform, fought his way onto the main floor of the banquet room, and was swept along by a frenetic tide of people. At least the tide was moving inexorably toward the exit.

Poor Adrienne was being engulfed by a rush of eager faces and unintelligible questions. Just before he got to her, a reporter flashed his press credentials in her face, and asked if she planned to join her husband in Moscow.

“No comment,” she said, her expression dazed. “Please, I have nothing to say.”

Seizing her arm, he propelled her to the bank of elevators—and got lucky. An elevator door slid open and the car was empty. He pressed a button and down they went.

Not so lucky
. The elevator had slowed instead of going all the way down. Could they possibly be stopping on the same floor that housed what had euphemistically become known as “the Brenner Suite”?

* * *

Galya leaned against the elevator car, disheveled and in obvious distress.

I must say goodbye to Adrienne Brenner before it’s too late!

The inner command had broken through her lethargy after she’d learned of the Brenners’ imminent departure for Zurich. From her room on the same floor, she had managed to navigate the corridor, hoping against hope that they hadn’t finished packing yet. If they had, maybe she could still catch them before they left the hotel.

She pressed the down button. The elevator hissed to a stop. The door opened.

A woman was inside, a man behind her, but Galya saw only Adrienne Brenner. Turning to her, she impulsively took hold of Adrienne’s hands.

“You will please to forgive,” she murmured. “I have answered your so wonderful kindness with insults. I am so ashamed.”

Adrienne’s eyes welled up. She pulled Galya into her arms, the two of them swaying slightly.

She half-turned as she heard the man’s voice.

“My wife and I will never forget your many kindnesses, Galina Barkova, when you and
Kiril Andreyev
were our tour guides.”

Galya froze at the sound of his words, his voice . . .

She looked into Kiril’s face, then the white hair—

Dear god in heaven, don’t let me give him away!
If Adrienne Brenner doesn’t seem to recognize it’s Kiril and not her husband, then neither
does Colonel Andreyev
. . .

“Whatever you do, wherever you go,
Dr. Brenner
,” she said softly, forcing the words past a barrier of pain because she knew she would never see him again, “may it be with good luck and good fortune.”

“You’re very kind.” Kiril reached for her hand and gently pulled her close—close enough to whisper against her forehead, “Goodbye, Galya dear. I will never forget you.”

Chapter 41

G
alya was on the bed in her room when a voice cut into her thoughts.

“I think your services will soon be needed elsewhere, Galina Barkova.”

Colonel Andreyev stood in her doorway.

“My brother is unconscious in the Brenner suite. I’ll let him
fill you in on the embarrassing details when he wakes up.”

She stood up. “I’ll go at once. What happened to him?”

“Can’t you forget about your lover for two seconds?” he snapped. “This is a time for celebration.”

One look at his bloodshot eyes and Galya realized that the Colonel had been celebrating to excess.

“Dr. Kurt Brenner has defected,” he said smugly. “He just went public at a press conference. He’s coming over to us as soon as he deposits his annoying wife in Zurich.”

“Congratulations, Colonel!”

Her enthusiasm was forced. Her smile was not.

And when this intelligence “coup” blows up in your face, may your superiors take it out on your hide.

Minutes later, Galya was bending over the inert figure on the couch in the Brenner suite.

Bravo, Kiril! You seem to have thought of everything, even down to the redness in Dr. Brenner’s left eye
.

She opened Brenner’s shirt. Sure enough, she found the thin scar she had lightly followed with her fingertip on the beach. As she rebuttoned the shirt, her hand shook a little as she realized it was Kiril’s shirt.

Get on with it.

Straightening the tie, she raised Brenner’s head and pressed both eyelids open. The pupils had shrunk to the size of pinpricks. She wondered what drug Kiril had used. Wondered how long it would last.

As she passed by the bedroom she glanced at the open closet door. She saw a few garments inside.

She saw a patch of beige.

A lovely gown the color of rich cream . . .

So you’ve left me a gift, after all, Adrienne Brenner. What an odd trick of fate that I no longer want it.

On the way back to her own room, she stopped outside Kiril’s. The door was unlocked. The sight of the cheap suitcase, lying empty on his bed, was hard to bear.

Worse was a closet, because it
wasn’t
empty. She touched the things he had left behind. A robe. A few shirts and a pair of shoes. The new gray trousers they had picked out together on the day before they had left Moscow for East Berlin.

At least I’ve been spared the hardest thing of all. He never knew what I did. What I became.

She took a last lingering look in case something incriminating had been left behind. In case Dr. Kurt Brenner woke up ahead of schedule.

Nothing.

She checked out the bathroom—a more purposeful examination this time . . .

Nothing on the metal shelf above the sink. Something in the medicine cabinet maybe—a razor?

As she moved closer for a better look, her foot knocked over a waste basket. Stooping automatically to right it, she spotted an empty bottle—

A syringe had spilled onto the floor. Perfect.

But did she have the courage to go through with it?

Her hand tightened on the syringe.

Leaving the bathroom, she passed a long mirror over the four-poster bed and caught a glimpse of her reflection.

Drab black dress that complemented the dark circles under her eyes. Hair pulled back, giving her the pinched dry look of a spinster—

No!

She rushed down the corridor and reentered the Brenner suite.

A few minutes later, she stood once more in front of the long mirror, only this time she wore a cream-colored floor-length gown, her lustrous blonde hair swept down around her shoulders.

A glass of champagne in her hand, she tried to drink away her regrets, her desolation, her abject terror.

It took a while—an eternity—before all three disappeared.

It took what she herself set in motion as she walked about the room until she was quite breathless, head held high, arms slightly apart, stealing glimpses of herself in the mirror whenever she passed it.

Ending with a graceful pirouette.

She smiled one last time, indifferent to the tears because
this
time, her smile was right and true.

Then she returned to her own room.

* * *

How still he is.

Kiril should have revived by now, Aleksei thought. Could someone remain unconscious for three hours from a simple blow on the head—even a concussion?

And where the hell was Galina Barkova?

He leaned over Kiril’s body to press his fingertips along the back of his scalp.

He found the lump. Of course there was a lump! Why would Brenner lie about something like that?

There was no reason to be uneasy, he told himself, knowing damn well he’d been uneasy since he had first laid eyes on Kurt Brenner.

Uneasy, but not apprehensive. There was nothing unique about the strong resemblance between Kiril and Kurt Brenner. The Index was full of people who resembled one another. In some cases the men or women in question were virtually identical.

He shrugged off his anxiety. It was a trick of nature, nothing more.

But his “something-is-missing” feeling, liberated from the mental turmoil and stress of a long tension-filled day, persisted.

A clever man could turn a trick of nature to his advantage.

Could his brother be
that
clever?

Certainly Brenner would have had no conceivable reason to drug Kiril—

He forced himself to complete the sentence.

—but Kiril
would have had damn good reason to drug Brenner.

Why didn’t the possibility occur to me sooner?

But he knew why. Too many distractions. The aftermath of Stepan Brodsky’s attempted defection on the bridge. Intense pressure from General Nemerov about the microfilm in Brodsky’s cigarette lighter. Organizing a time-consuming search for the lighter only to discover a security leak spelled out in seven ominous words. A false assumption that Ernst Roeder was in league with Adrienne Brenner, culminating in Roeder’s fatal heart attack. Talking a venomous Colonel Emil von Eyssen into joining forces for their mutual preservation.

What he’d had to cope with in a very short span of time would have distracted anyone, he thought, willing himself to remain calm.

He stared at the form on the bed, thinking that the hair looked peculiar. He pulled at a few strands, wishing he could pull Kiril’s brain into consciousness. Instead, he chose hairs at random.

No wig. The hair was real! It was also slightly damp.

He removed Kiril’s dark glasses, remembering that he was supposed to have had some sort of eye infection—the left eye? He lifted the lid.

Of course the eye was infected!

He turned to Luka with obvious relief. “See if Galina Barkova is back in her room.”

“Barkova woman asleep,” Luka said.

“Really? When did you check her room?”

“One hour ago, maybe two.”

“Wake her, please, and bring her to me.”

Luka was back in five minutes. “She won’t wake up,” he reported, his brow furrowed. “Not even when I shake her.”

Aleksei shot to his feet and rushed down the hall.

She was stretched out on the bed, fully clothed in a gown of some kind. “Galina?” he said sharply.

His voice trailed off as he noticed the belt of a black dress tied tightly around her upper arm. A syringe dangled from her forearm.

“
Why
?” he cried out.

But he knew why.

His own words came back to haunt him. When he’d tapped his “most charming co-optee” to spy on her lover, he’d spelled out what he was after.

There are things a woman can see—and sense—more easily than a man.

Had she sensed something that he had not? Come to think of it, what was the matter of “great urgency” she’d wanted to speak to him about while he was bartering with von Eyssen and, in a fit of temper, had sent her packing?

Aleksei had never sobered up so fast after so much vodka.

There are only
two
possibilities, he thought in a wave of panic
.
If it’s Kiril on the couch, Brenner will be back. If it’s Brenner, Kiril has defected.

He knew what would happen once the real Kurt Brenner was safely back in the United States. Brenner’s outrage and victimhood would drive him to display his psychological and physical bruises, confirming what the world had seen on its television screens—a clever impersonation by Kiril Andreyev, brother of KGB Colonel Aleksei Andreyev.

A successful defection in full view of a banquet-hall of East Germans, then broadcast around the world. The embarrassment of the century!

He glanced at his watch. Too late to stop the plane. They were already in Zurich.

Think! If ever I need my wits about me, it’s now. When I release Brenner tomorrow—

“When,” he said aloud, “or if?”

What if he claimed that Dr. Kurt Brenner had changed his mind about taking his wife to Zurich? That he’d decided to go directly to Moscow from East Berlin? Who could prove otherwise? Who knew for certain that it wasn’t Dr. Kurt Brenner who’d announced his defection for all the world to hear?

That would leave Kiril as the only loose end. He’d deal with that later.

Aleksei grabbed the telephone from the night table and gave the operator a Zurich telephone number. When he was through talking, he replaced the receiver cautiously.

“We still have a chance,” he told Luka shakily. “We may yet survive.”