The Falstaff Enigma (5 page)

Ridgeway continued the conversation.
"There are other ways to go about it, of course. You could use a hard-ball approach. One in which you would seat the general and bombard him with questions." Ridgeway seemed to have been reading Austin's mind. "But to be blunt, given your respective backgrounds I would expect the general to turn the table on you very quickly."

"I imagine you're right."
The man from State said what was on his mind and Austin admired that.

"
Well, I'll leave you alone now. You will get a wake-up call at three, okay?”

"Okay."

"If you need anything, just dial one and it will be sent up immediately. And please call me Mark."

"All right, Mark.
You can make it Robert."

"Good enough."
Ridgeway walked out, closing the door behind him. Austin walked to the window. He had a good view of the small front yard and the street beyond. The embassy sat only about twenty feet off the street. The rows of buildings advancing down the street on either side appeared to be the type of mixed business and residential buildings that lined the streets of so many major European cities. The scene reminded him of the boulevards of Paris, except that there was little traffic and few pedestrians. The two Marine guards at the front gate were obviously nervous. They must know about their distinguished Soviet guest, Austin thought. He walked back to the bed and laid down on top of the covers with his clothes still on. He was asleep within a minute.

The ringing was incessant. Austin was deep in sleep and the sound waves seemed to him to be part of a dream. After ten sharp rings he grabbed the receiver and put it to his ear.

"Mr. Austin,
it’s three o'clock, sir," came the female voice with a thick Turkish accent.

"Thank you."
The reply was barely audible. Austin replaced the receiver and forced himself to sit up. He shook his head and picked up the phone again. He dialed one. "This is Robert Austin. Could you please send some coffee up. I'm on the fourth floor."

"Yes sir."
The reply was crisp. Austin was speaking to a Marine.

"Oh, you
’re an American. In that case could you make sure it's American coffee and caffeinated. The door will be unlocked."

"
We are well stocked with Folgers, sir."

“Perfect.”
Austin could get used to this type of service. He hung up the phone and headed for the shower.

He was out of the shower in ten minutes.
The coffee was waiting on the dresser. Austin drank it while shaving. An old habit. He dressed in the same suit he had worn on the flight over, a dark pinstripe. Only the shirt, socks and underwear were new. He walked to the window as he straightened his tie. He watched as an Audi station wagon come down the street. It pulled over to the opposite curb about three buildings down. A man stepped out of the driver's seat. Austin was going to turn away but something held his eye.
What is it? The man doesn’t fit
. He was a Westerner, not a Turk. His hair was light brown. He was holding something.
What?
He raised it to his mouth. Of course. It was a walkie-talkie. The man turned abruptly and walked away from the embassy. Austin looked down at the two guards out front. They were still nervous. One man was pacing but neither had noticed the Westerner. They lacked Austin's vantage point.

Austin was concerned.
He would have shrugged it off but for the hand-held communications device. Was he simply being paranoid? No, he had a legitimate basis for concern.
Hendricks
. The Marine officer would know what to do. Austin stepped to the phone and dialed one. "This is Austin. Is Captain Hendricks around down there?"

"Yes sir, he's right here.
Shall I get him, sir?"

"Please."
Austin waited anxiously. The three seconds seemed far longer.

"Mr. Austin, what may I do for you?"
Hendricks' calm revealed his ignorance of what Austin had just witnessed.

"I just saw something through the window and I wanted your reaction."

"Yes sir. Go ahead." There was an instantaneous alertness in the officer's voice. The Marine was primed.

"
I just saw a blue Audi station wagon came down the street. It parked against the opposite curb about a hundred yards down to the right as you face the street. A man got out. He was clearly a Westerner and he spoke into a walkie-talkie before walking off."

Austin waited for a reaction.
It didn't come. Austin was about to speak when the reply came. "Listen carefully, Mr. Austin. I want you to gather your things and wait there for Mr. Ridgeway. He'll be up in a moment." The officer's tone was frantic. He was clearly concerned.

"
Okay," was the only word that came in reply. Austin quickly gathered the few items he had removed from his overnight bag and replaced them. He pulled his briefcase from the closet and sat down on the bed.

It took Mark Ridgeway only two
minutes to reach Austin's room. He threw the door open. "Please follow me, Robert." Austin obeyed without hesitation. His heart was racing.

"What's going on?"
Austin instinctively stopped in front of the elevator.

"No, Robert.
We'll use the stairs." Ridgeway was already at the end of the hall. He was halfway between walking and jogging. "Please hurry." Austin ran to catch up. He was now scared and the fact that Ridgeway was too did nothing to help. As Ridgeway descended the staircase two steps at a time, he tried to give Austin some information. He paused between every third word to gasp for air. "We have received intelligence within the past six hours that indicates we may be the target of a terrorist attack. We are taking no chances. There is a bunker underneath the garage. You will get to meet the general there."

As they reached the final landing before the ground f
loor they ran into the captain. He was headed up. Ridgeway spoke first. "Where are you headed? The general's down here."

Hendricks did n
ot stop, but answered on the run. "No reply from the spotter. I'm going to find out why." The Marine officer navigated the next landing and was out of sight before the last word left his mouth.

Austin looked at the man from State.
"The spotter?"

"They keep a
Marine on the roof at all times." No more needed to be said. Both men suddenly realized the implications of what the officer had just told them and both realized that the captain had a loaded M-16 in his hands.

"My God."
Austin said it as a whisper. Ridgeway turned and bolted into the ground floor hallway. Austin was on his heels. The younger and more physically fit analyst nearly knocked the man from State over. A few yards down the hall stood a young Marine. Ridgeway shouted his orders.

"Get the general and follow us.
We are headed for the bunker." The young Marine opened the door behind him and said something to unseen people in the room. The general soon emerged, followed by another young Marine. Austin was astonished. The general was in his seventies yet still in remarkable condition, even if he carried a few extra pounds. His face had no expression. It was the only face in that hallway that wasn't etched in fear.

The entire party continued down the hallway and stopped in front of what appeared to be a broom closet.
Ridgeway opened the door and rotated a hook on the wall.
Right out of the movies!
The closet floor receded into the wall revealing a ladder down to a tunnel below. Ridgeway spoke to Austin. "Wait here." He then descended the ladder. A light was switched on. Austin could see that a door blocked further progress.

"Shit.
" It was a scream born of complete frustration. Ridgeway's voice bordered on hysteria. "The goddamn door is locked and the man with the key just passed us on the way to the roof." Ridgeway climbed up out of the hole. "We're not sitting around here, I can tell you that much. We can get in through the garage. That door can only be locked from the inside."

Ridgeway headed back down the hall a few feet and turned left into a short hallway with a door at the end
. It was the embassy's back door. Ridgeway stopped and peered through the glass into the yard beyond. "It looks good." He turned back to the others. "We'll run across the lawn into the garage. Very simple." That lie bordered on humor under the circumstances. "Ready?" He threw the heavy steel door open.

Darkness
.

Austin opened his eyes. Debris lay all around him. He was lying on his stomach. Dust filled the air. Visibility was about ten feet. He was on the sidewalk behind the embassy. But what of the iron fence that should have stopped him? It was gone.
Gone. The embassy
. The embassy was destroyed. Completely. Only minutes before.
Yes.
He remembered.
An enormous explosion.

Then it came.
Pain. Intense and complete pain. Austin looked at the back of his thigh. A piece of glass was embedded in his leg like a spike. The sight of it seemed to double the pain. He reached back and pulled the glass from his leg. The wound would require stitches. But he was alive. He would survive.

"Austin."
It was a barely audible moan. Austin recognized the voice.

“
Mark. Where are you?”

"
Here."

Austin saw an arm go up several yards behind and to the left of him.
"I think my arm is broken. I need your help. Can you make it?"

"I'll try."
Austin slowly, very slowly, rose to his knees. He was dotted with small cuts and abrasions. Blood streamed from his right ear. He forced himself to endure the pain as he crawled to Ridgeway. He could feel the blood flow from the back of his thigh. It was a sickening feeling. "Oh God." Austin's eyes fell on one of the young Marines who had been guarding the general. He lay face down, his head crushed. Austin turned his eyes away. He was living a nightmare. The only death he had known before was at funerals – funerals of those who had enjoyed full lives. Austin was near shock but he acted – or reacted – on instinct.

He reached Ridgeway.
The man from State had a sizable piece of concrete on his right forearm. Austin lifted it off, accompanied by Ridgeway's muted screams. The man's arm was clearly broken. "Don't move, Mark. There should be ambulances here any second." Ridgeway did not bother to reply.

The dust was settling.
Austin looked back at the embassy. The horror of the sight forced the breath from his lungs. A tear welled up in his eye. The embassy was flattened like an accordion. What had been five floors high only minutes before was now reduced to about fifteen feet of compacted concrete. Six slabs of concrete lay on one another like some grotesque existentialist sculpture. Each slab had previously been a floor or the roof. All inside were surely dead. Then it dawned on Austin. If that explosion had come only a second earlier, before that back door was thrown open, they would all be dead now. He would be dead. His body shuddered.

A low moaning
.
Words. They are Russian. The general!
Austin looked in the direction of the sound. He saw Poltovsky on his side only a few feet away. He was covered in debris but seemed to be in one piece. Austin crawled to his side. He spoke in Russian. "General Poltovsky, can you hear me?"

"Yes.
But I think I am hurt. I have not felt like this since I was wounded in Berlin." The old general gazed into Austin's face. "Who are you?"

"My name is Robert Austin.
I was here to …” Austin stopped because of the look on Poltovsky's face. The old man was smiling.

"Your name is n
ot unknown in the Soviet Union. There is a joke among the generals there: If you want to know the real capabilities of your weapons do not ask Moscow, wait for Austin's report to come around." Austin was amazed. Did his reports make it to Moscow? Apparently some did. The general grimaced and doubled up in pain. "I'm afraid ... I may not live for too long, Mr. Austin." The pain was easily detected in the old man's voice. "This is a fitting way … for an old soldier to die." Austin reached down and held the general's head. "Please help me to sit up." Austin complied. It seemed that only the most intense self-restraint kept the soldier from screaming. He was growing weak rapidly. Austin realized that he strongly wanted this man to live.

"General, please rest.
Help will arrive soon."

"No.
I am … hurt." The general's words were strained. He was speaking the truth. "You must know ... contact CIA; not your own ... must know." The general could no longer keep his eyes open. All his strength went into his speaking.

"What?
I don't know what you mean." Austin was bewildered.

"Vazhnevsky
... killed ... Govenin ... Israel … plot to kill ... speak with Borskov." The general spoke as he looked the American in the eyes.

Th
e general's head exploded backwards. His body went limp. Austin recoiled in horror.
What is happening? Am I in hell?
He crawled backwards, his eyes riveted on the pool of blood quickly forming in front of him. He bumped into Ridgeway.

"
He's been shot." The obvious observation was Ridgeway's. He began to scan the buildings. Visibility was now quite good. "There, above us. Austin, look!"

Austin tore his eyes from Poltovsky.
They searched the edge of the roof of the building that loomed above the street in front of him. This street ran behind the embassy and was just two lanes wide, not a boulevard like the front of the building.
There! A man. A rifle. A scope
. The gun was pointed at Austin. He closed his eyes in preparation for death.

The exp
losive thud came. Austin lived. One foot away lay the body of Mark Ridgeway. The side of his head was gone.

Austin pulled his right hand away from the area of
the deadly wound. His arm was covered in blood.

Dear Lord, run!
Run! Or die
. The pain no longer existed. He shot to his feet and forced his legs to move. His limp became a jog and his jog became a sprint for life – adrenalin masking all pain. The sidewalks were covered in shattered glass so he veered into the street. It came. A sharp whine accompanied the billowing of dust as the bullet ricocheted off the street in front of him.
The bullet that was meant to end my life
. He thought his legs were lead but they were serving him admirably. His years of jogging were now saving his life. It came again. The bullet missed.
Will it end?
Just a few more strides and he could turn the corner.
Now! Turn!
Austin turned the corner and ran into a doorway where he collapsed. His heart was running almost as fast as his brain. His hands and legs shook. His lips quivered. He could not catch his breath.

He br
oke into an uncontrollable sob. It was the best thing for him.