The Apocalypse Watch (34 page)

“Hello, Stanley,” said Drew. “You chaperoning? If so, you’ve nothing to fear. We’re discussing the post-Cold War situation, and the lady doesn’t like me.”

“I didn’t say that,” countered Karin, laughing softly. “You’ve done nothing to cause me to really dislike you, and I do admire you.”

“Translation. I’ve been shot down, Stosh.”

“Let’s hope that’s figuratively speaking,” said the colonel icily, the tone of his voice bringing Drew up short.

“What are you talking about?”

“You said you weren’t followed, youngster.”

“We weren’t. How could we have been?”

“I’m not sure, but there’s a man in a car down in the street who makes me wonder. He’s been on the phone and he keeps looking up here.” Drew quickly rose from the couch and started for Witkowski’s bedroom door. “Turn off the lamp before you go in there, you damn fool,” Witkowski barked. “You can’t allow any light to bleed through that window.” Karin reached over and switched off the single floor lamp above her. “Good girl,” the intelligence officer went on. “The eye-red binoculars are on the sill and stay low, away from the glass. It’s the sedan across the street at the corner.”

“Right.” Latham disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Witkowski and De Vries alone in the relative darkness, only the spill of the streetlights below providing what illumination there was.

“You’re really worried, aren’t you?” asked Karin.

“I’ve been around long enough to be worried,” replied the colonel, still standing. “So have you.”

“It could be a jealous lover, or a husband too intoxicated to go home.”

“It could also be the tooth fairy trying to find the right pillow.”

“I wasn’t being facetious, and I don’t think it’s fair for you to be.”

“I’m sorry. I mean that. To repeat what my old acquaintance—
friend
would be misleading, I’m not in his league—Sorenson said in Washington, ‘Things are moving too fast and getting far too complicated.’ He’s right. We think we’re prepared, but we’re not. The Nazi movement is coming out of the dirt like white slugs in a garbage heap, many real, many not, merely specks of light-colored refuse. Who is and who isn’t? And how do we find out without accusing everybody, forcing the innocent to prove they’re not guilty?”

“Which would be too late once the accusations are made.”

“You couldn’t be more accurate, young lady. I lived through it. We lost dozens of deep- and middle-level agents. Our own
people
blew their covers, sucking up to politicians and so-called investigative journalists, none of whom knew the truth.”

“It must have been very difficult for you—”

“The standard resignations included such phrases as ‘I don’t need this, Captain,’ or Major, or whatever I was at the time. And ‘Who the hell are you to ruin my life?’ and most terribly, ‘You clean my slate, you son of a bitch, or I go ballistic and blow your whole operation out of the water.’ I must have signed fifty or sixty ‘confidential memorandums’ stating that the individuals involved were extraordinary intelligence operatives, an awful lot of them far more flattering than they deserved.”

“Not after what had been done to them, certainly.”

“Maybe not, but a lot of those clowns are in the private sector now, making twenty times what I make due to the mystique of their past employment. Several of the lesser ones, who couldn’t decipher a cereal box code, are heading up the security of big corporations.”

“That sounds ‘nuts,’ an American expression, I believe.”

“Of course it is. We’re
all
nuts. It’s not what we do, it’s what we
did
—on paper, that is, no matter how ridiculous. Blackmail is the order of the day, from top to bottom, my dear.”

“Why haven’t you resigned yourself, Colonel?”

“Why?” Witkowski sat in the nearest chair, his eyes on
the bedroom door. “Let me put it this way, as archaic as it may sound. Because I’m very good at what I do, which doesn’t say much for my character—being serpentine and suspicious are not exactly admirable traits—but if they’re refined and applied to the work I do, they can be assets. The American entertainer Will Rogers once said, ‘I never met a man I didn’t like.’ I say, I never met a man in my business I didn’t suspect. Perhaps it’s the European in me, my heritage. I’m Polish by descent; actually it was my first language.”

“And Poland, which has given more to the arts and sciences than most other countries, has been betrayed more than most countries,” said De Vries, nodding.

“I suppose that’s part of it. I guess you could say it’s ingrained.”

“Freddie trusted you.”

“I wish I could return the compliment. I never trusted your husband. He was a burning fuse I couldn’t control, couldn’t stamp out. His death at the hands of the Stasi was inevitable.”

“He was
right
,” said Karin, her voice rising. “The Stasi and their ilk are now the core of the Nazis.”

“His methods were wrong, his rage misplaced. Both betrayed his cover and he was killed for it. He wouldn’t listen to us, to me.”

“I know, I know. He wouldn’t listen to me either.… By then, however, it didn’t really matter.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Freddie became violent, not only to me but to anyone who disagreed with him. He was enormously strong—trained by your commando troops in Belgium—and came to think he was invincible. At the end he was as fanatic as his enemies.”

“Then you understand where I come from when I say I never trusted your husband.”

“Naturally. Our last months in Amsterdam were not days I care to relive.”

Suddenly the door to Witkowski’s bedroom flung open, Latham in its frame. “
Bingo!
” he shouted. “You were
right, Stanley. That bastard down there in the street is Reynolds, Alan
Reynolds
in Communications!”

“Who?”

“How many times have you gone down to Communications, Stosh?”

“I don’t know. Maybe three or four times in the last year.”

“He’s the
mole
. I saw his face.”

“Then something’s about to happen, and I suggest we take countermeasures.”

“What do we do and where do we start?”

“Mrs. de Vries—Karin—would you please go to my bedroom window and let us know what develops?”

“On my way,” said Karin, rising from the couch and running into the colonel’s room.

“Now what?” asked Drew.

“The obvious,” answered Witkowski. “Weapons first.”

“I have an automatic with a full clip.” Latham pulled the gun from his belt.

“I’ll give you another one with an extra clip.”

“You’re expecting the worst, then?”

“I’ve been expecting it for nearly five years now, and if you haven’t, it’s no wonder your flat was blown apart.”

“Well, I have this instrument that stops anyone from opening the door.”

“No comment. But if the bastards send two or three after you, Lord love a duck, I’d surely like to ship a couple back to Washington. It’d make up for the one we lost there.” The colonel walked to an imposing Mondrian print on the wall and swiveled it back, revealing a safe. He spun the dial back and forth, opened the large vault, and withdrew two sidearms and an Uzi, which he clipped to his belt. He threw an automatic to Drew, who caught it, followed by a clip of ammunition which Latham missed; it fell to the floor.

“Why didn’t you throw them both at once?” said an irritated Drew, bending down to retrieve the clip.

“I wanted to watch your reactions. Not bad. Not good, but not bad.”

“Did you also mark the bottle?”

“Didn’t have to. With what’s left in your glass, you’ve had maybe a couple of ounces during the last hour. You’re a big fella, like me; you can handle it.”

“Thank you, mother. Now what the hell do we
do
?”

“Most of it’s been done. I simply have to activate the externals.” Witkowski walked to the kitchen sink, unscrewed the chromium faucet in the center, reached into the orifice, and pulled out two wires; each end was capped with a small plastic terminal. He broke the seals and pressed the wires together; five loud beeps filled the adjoining rooms. “There we are,” said the colonel, replacing the faucet and returning to the living room area.

“Where
are
we, O Wizard?”

“Let’s start with the fire escapes; in these old buildings there are two—one in my bedroom, the other over there in the alcove, in what I foolishly call my library. We’re on the third floor, the building has seven. By activating the external security devices, the fire escapes between the top of the second floor and the bottom of the fourth are electrified, the voltage sufficient to cause unconsciousness but not death.”

“Suppose whoever the evil people are simply walk up the stairs or take the elevator?”

“Naturally, one has to respect the privacy and civil rights of one’s neighbors. There are three other flats on this floor. My apartment is on the left front quadrant, the door twenty feet from the nearest resident on my right. You probably didn’t notice, but there is a thick, rather attractive Oriental runner leading to my door.”

“And once you turn on your externals,” interrupted Latham, “something happens when the bad guys step on the rug, is that it?”

“You’re exactly right. Four-hundred-watt floodlights go on, accompanied by a siren that can be heard in the place de la Concorde.”

“You won’t catch anybody that way. They’ll run like hell.”

“Not on the fire escape; and if they use the stairs, they’ll come right into our welcoming arms.”

“What? How?”

“On the floor below is a miscreant, a Hungarian who deals in, shall we say, misappropriated jewels. He’s barely above small-time and does no great harm, and I’ve befriended him. A phone call or a tap on his door and we wait inside his apartment. Whoever comes racing down these stairs will have bullets in their legs—I trust you’re a decent shot, I wouldn’t want anyone killed.”

“
Colonel!
” Karin de Vries’s voice from the bedroom was emphatic. “A van just pulled in front of the car; men are climbing out.… Four, five, six—six men in dark clothing.”

“They really must want you, youngster,” said Witkowski as he and Drew ran into the bedroom, joining Karin at the window.

“A couple of them are carrying knapsacks,” said Latham.

“One of them is talking to the driver of the car,” added De Vries. “He’s obviously telling him to leave. He’s backing away.”

“The others are spreading out, examining the building,” completed the colonel, touching Karin’s arm, forcing her to turn to him. “The young fellow and I are going to leave.” The woman’s eyes flashed in alarm. “Not to worry, we’ll be right below. Close the bedroom door and bolt it; it’s steel-plate and no one could break it open without a truck or a ten-man battering ram.”

“For Christ’s sake, call the police or at least embassy security!” Drew was cool but firm.

“Unless I’m grossly mistaken, my friendly neighbors will reach the police, but not before you and I have a chance to grab one or two of the bastards for ourselves.”

“And you’d lose them if our security was involved,” Karin broke in. “They’d be forced to cooperate with the police, who’d take everyone into custody.”

“You’re very quick,” Witkowski agreed, nodding at her in the dim light from the street. “You’ll hear a loud siren from the hallway, and most likely a great deal of electric static from the fire escape—”

“It’s wired. You activated the current.”

“You
knew
about that?” asked Latham, astonished.

“In Amsterdam, Freddie did the same with ours.”

“I taught him,” said the colonel without emphasis. “Come on,
chłopak
, there’s no time to waste.”

Eighty-five seconds later, the irritated Hungarian had been persuaded to accept the price offered by an influential American who had interceded for him in the past and might be helpful in the future. Witkowski and Drew stood by the downstairs neighbor’s door, which was open less than an inch. The waiting was interminable, the time elapsed nearly eight minutes. “Something’s wrong,” whispered the colonel. “It’s not reasonable.”

“No one’s come up the stairs and there’s no static from either fire escape,” said Latham. “Maybe they’re still casing the building.”

“That doesn’t make sense either. These old structures are open books, and like books on a shelf, close together.…
Jesus
, ‘close together …’ The
knapsacks
!”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m a damn fool, that’s what. They’ve got grappling hooks and ropes! They’re crossing from one building to another and scaling down the stone.
Out!
Upstairs as fast as we can. And for God’s sake, don’t step on the rug!”

Karin sat in the shadows across from the window, her weapon in her hand, listening for the sounds of high-voltage electricity from outside. None came, and it was now nearly ten minutes since the colonel and Latham had left. She began to wonder. Witkowski, by his own admission, was suspicious of everyone and everything to the point of paranoia, and Drew was exhausted. Was it possible all of them were wrong? Had the colonel mistaken a jealous lover or a frightened husband for something sinister? And had the tired Latham seen a face that reminded him of Alan Reynolds in Communications but was someone else’s entirely? Were the men in the van, men who moved so quickly they had to be young, merely a group of university students returning from a camping trip or a late night in Paris? She put the gun down on a small table beside the chair, and stretched, her head arched back and yawning. Good heavens, she needed sleep.

And then, like an enormous combination of thunder and lightning, a figure crashed through the window, shattering glass and wood, landing on its feet and releasing a rope. Karin sprang out of the chair, instinctively rushing backward, her bandaged right hand groping for anything and everything. And then came another silhouetted, dare-devil intruder, sliding on his rope until he landed by the bed.

“Who
are
you?” screamed De Vries in German, collecting what thoughts she could, realizing that her gun was on the small table. “What do you
want
here?”

“You speak German,” said the first invader, “so you know what we want! Why else would you speak our language?”