The Parsifal Mosaic (33 page)

A knob was being turned; it was the door directly across from Room 23. Havelock lurched to the wall to the right of the frame; the door opened and Michael spun around, the magnum raised chest-high, prepared to fire or deliver a blow—or drop his arm if it should turn out to be an innocent hotel guest. The man was in a crouch, and held a gun. Havelock crashed the barrel of the magnum on the man’s head. The Russian fell back inside the room; Michael followed and
gripped the door to prevent it from slamming shut. He held the crack open less than an inch, stood still and waited. There was silence in the hall except for the faraway sounds of traffic. He backed away from the door, the magnum leveled at it, his eyes scanning the floor for the man’s gun. It was several feet behind the prone, unconscious figure; he kicked it forward beside the body, kneeled down and picked it up. It, too, was a Graz-Burya; the detail sent to Paris was equipped with the best. He shoved it into his jacket pocket, reached over and pulled the Russian toward him; the man was limp and would not be conscious for hours.

He got to his feet, went to the door and let himself out. The violent movements had drained him; he leaned against the wall breathing slowly, deeply, trying to put out of his mind the weakness and pain in his body. He couldn’t stop now. There was the first man in the door beyond the staircase; the door was open. Someone walking past would look inside and go into hysterics—after no doubt furtively checking the dead man’s pockets for money. Michael pushed himself away from the wall, and silently, on the balls of his thick-soled feet, made his way down the narrow corridor past the staircase. He pulled the door shut and started back toward Room 23.

He stood facing the barely legible numbers and knew be had to find the strength. There was nothing for it but to depend on the shock of the totally unexpected. He tensed his chest and stepped back from the door, then rushed forward leading with his unwounded shoulder, and crashed the full weight of his body against the wood. The door splintered and broke open; the VKR officer pivoted away from the window, his hand reaching for the exposed holster strapped to his belt. He stopped, swiftly thrusting both hands out in front of him, his eyes staring at the huge barrel of the magnum pointed at his head.

“I believe you were looking for me,” said Havelock.

“It appears I trusted the wrong people,” answered the Russian quietly in well-accented English.

“But not your own people,” interrupted Michael.

“You’re special.”

“You lost.”

“I never ordered your death. They might have.”

“Now you’re lying, but it doesn’t matter. As I said, you lost.”

“You’re to be commended,” mumbled the VKR officer, his eyes straying above Havelock’s shoulder to the broken door.

“You didn’t hear me. You lost. There’s a man in the room across the hall; he won’t be attending you.”

“I see.”

“And another down the way, beyond the staircase. He’s dead.”

“
Nyet! Molniya!
” The Soviet agent blanched; his fingers were stretched, taut, six inches from his belt.

“I speak Russian, if you prefer.”

“It’s immaterial,” said the startled man. “I’m a graduate of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.”

“Or of the American compound in Novgorod, KGB degree.”

“Cambridge, not Novgorod,” objected the Russian, disdain in his voice.

“I forgot. The VKR is an elite corps. A degree from the parent organization might be considered an insult. The untutored and unskilled conferring honors upon its in-house superiors.”

“There are no such divisions in the Soviet government.”

“My ass.”

“This is pointless.”

“Yes, it is. What happened at Costa Brava?”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“You’re VKR, Barcelona! The Costa Brava is in your sector! What happened that night on January fourth?”

“Nothing that concerned us.”

“
Move!
”

“What?”

“Against the wall!”

It was an outside wall, built of mortar and heavy brick, solid for. decades, weight pressing against weight, impenetrable. The Russian moved slowly, haltingly in front of it. Havelock continued.

“I’m so special your sector chief in Moscow doesn’t know the truth. But you do. It’s why you’re here in Paris, why you put out the premium on me.”

“You’ve been misinformed. It is a crime tantamount to treason to withhold information from our superiors. As to my
coming from Barcelona, surely yon understand that. It was your last assignment and I was your last counterpart I had the most up-to-date information on you. Who better to send in after you?”

“You’re very good. You glide well.”

“I’ve told you nothing you don’t know, nothing you could not learn.”

“You missed something. Why am I special? Your colleagues at the KGB haven’t the slightest interest in me. On the contrary, they won’t touch me; they consider me a bad text. Yet you say I’m special. The Voennaya wants me.”

“I won’t deny there’s a degree of interservice rivalry, even departmental. Perhaps we learned it from you. You have an abundance of it.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“We know certain things our comrades are not aware of.”

“Such as?”

“You were placed ‘beyond salvage’ by your own government.”

“Do you know Why?”

“The reasons at this juncture are secondary. We offer refuge.”

“The reasons are never secondary,” corrected Michael.

“Very well,” agreed the Soviet officer reluctantly. “A judgment was made that you are unbalanced.”

“On what basis?”

“Pronounced hostility, accompanied by threats, cables. Delusions, hallucinations.”

“Because of Costa Brava?”

“Yes.”

“Just like that? One day walking around sane, filing reports, honorably retired; the next a cuckoo bird whistling at the moon? Now you’re not very good. You’re not gliding well at all.”

“I’m telling you what I know,” insisted the Russian. “I do not make these determinations, I follow Instructions. The premium, as you call it, was to be paid for a meeting between us. Why should it be otherwise? If killing you were the objective, it would be far simpler to pay for your whereabouts and telephone your embassy in the Gabriel, asking for a specific extension; I can assure you we know it. The information would reach the proper personnel and we would not be involved,
no possibility of errors leading to future repercussions.”

“But by offering me refuge and bringing me in, you take back a trophy your less talented comrades avoided because they thought I was a trap, programmed or otherwise.”

“Basically, yes. May we talk?”

“We’re talking.” Havelock studied the man; he was convincing, quite possibly telling his version of the truth. Refuge or a bullet, which was it? Only the exposure of lies would tell. One had to look for the lies, not a subordinate’s interpretation of the truth. In his peripheral vision Michael caught the reflection of a dull mirror above a shabby bureau against the wall; he spoke again. “You’d expect me to deliver information you know I’ve got.”

“We’d be saving your life. The order for ‘beyond salvage’ termination will not be rescinded, you know that.”

“You’re suggesting I defect.”

“What choice do you have? How long do you flunk you can keep running? How many days or weeks will it be before their networks and their computers find you?”

“I’m experienced. I have resources. Maybe I’m willing to take my chances. Men have been known to disappear—not into gulags, but to other places— and live happily ever after. What else can you offer?”

“What are you looking for? Comfort, money, a good life? We offer these. You deserve them.”

“Not in your country. I won’t live in the Soviet Union.”

“oh?”

“Suppose I told you I’ve picked out a place. It’s thousands of miles away in the Pacific, in the British Solomons. I’ve been there; It’s civilized but remote, no one would ever find me. Oven enough money, I could live well there.”

“Arrangements can be made. I am empowered to guarantee that.”

Lie number one
. No defector ever left the Soviet Union and the VKR officer knew it.

“You flew into Paris last night. How did you know I was here?”

“Informants in Rome, how else?”

“How did they learn?”

“One doesn’t question informants too closely.”

“The hell one doesn’t.”

“If they are trusted.”

“You ask for a source. You don’t leave a station and fly to a city hundreds of miles away without being pretty damn sure the source can be confirmed.”

“Very well,” said the’VKR officer, gliding confidently with the cross-currents again. “There was an investigation; a man was found in Civitavecchia. He said you were on your way to Paris.”

“When did you get the word?”

“Yesterday, of course,” replied the Russian impatiently.

“When yesterday?”

“Late afternoon. Five-thirty, I believe. Five-thirty-five, to be precise.”

Lie number two, the falsehood found in the precision. The decision to head for Paris was forced on him after Col des Moulinets. Eight o’clock at night.

“You’re convinced that what I can divulge about our European intelligence operations is of such value to you that you are willing to accept the retaliations that come with defection at my level?”

“Naturally.”

“That opinion isn’t shared by the directors’ committee of the KGB.”

“They’re fools. Frightened, tired rabbits among the wolves. We’ll replace them.”

“You’re not troubled that I may be programmed? That whatever I tell you could be poison, useless?”

“Not for a moment. It’s why you’re ‘beyond salvage.’ ”

“Or that I’m paranoid.”

“Never. You’re neither paranoid nor hallucinatory. You are what you have always been, a highly intelligent specialist in your field.”

Lie number three. Word of his supposed psychotic condition had been spread. Washington believed it; the dead Ogilvie had confirmed it on the Palatine.

“I see,” said Havelock, grimacing, feigning pain that needed very little pretense. “I’m so goddamned tired,” he said, lowering the magnum slightly, turning slightly to his left, his eyes millimeters from making contact with the mirror on the wall. “I took a bullet. I haven’t had any sleep. As you said, I just keep running, trying to figure it out …”

“What more is there to figure?” asked the Russian, his
voice now gliding into compassion. “It’s basically an economic, time-saving decision, you know that. Rather than altering codes, networks and sources, they’ve decided to eliminate the man who knows too much. Sixteen years of service in the field and this is your retirement bonus. ‘Beyond salvage.’ ”

Michael lowered the gun further, his head bent down but his eyes now on the mirror. “I have to think,” he whispered. “It’s all so crazy, so impossible.”

Lie number four—the most telling lie! The Russian went for his gun!

Havelock spun around and fired; the bullet snapped into the wall. The VKR officer grabbed his elbow as blood erupted through his shirt and dripped onto the floor. “
Ubliudok!
” he cried.

“We’ve only Just begun!” whispered Michael with controlled fury. He approached the Russian and pushed him against the wall, then removed the exposed weapon from the holster and threw it across the room. “You’re too sure of yourself, comrade, too sure of your facts! Never state them so confidently; leave room for error because there may
be
one. You had several.”

The Russian answered him with silence, his eyes full of both loathing and resignation. Havelock knew those eyes, knew the combination of hatred and the recognition of mortality; they were intrinsic to the nature of certain men, trained for years to hate and the. By any name they were recognizable:
Gestapo, Nippon Kai, Palestinian Liberationists, Voennaya
.… And there were lesser leagues, amateurs who knew nothing beyond arrogance and hate—their own deaths being no part of their childish bargains—screeching fanatics who marched to the drums of sanctimonious loathing.

Michael returned silence for silence, look for look. And then he spoke.

“Don’t waste the adrenaline,” he said quietly. “I’m not going to kill you. You’re prepared for that; you’ve been ready for it for years. Damned if I’m going to accommodate you. Instead, I’m going to blow off both your kneecaps—and then your hands. You’re not trained to live with the results. No one is, really, especially not your kind. So many routine things’ll be beyond you. Simple things. Walking to a door or
a locked file cabinet, opening either one. Dialing a phone or going to the toilet. Reaching for a gun and pulling a trigger.”

The Russian’s face went pale and his lower lip began to tremble. “
Nyet
,” he whispered hoarsely.

“
Da
,” said Havelock. “There’s only one way you can stop me. Tell me what happened at Costa Brava.”

“I
told
you!
Nothing!
”

Michael lowered the magnum and fired into the Soviet’s thigh; blood splattered against the wall. The Russian started to scream, collapsing on the floor; Havelock gripped his mouth with his left hand.

“I missed the kneecap. I won’t miss now. Either one.” He stood up, leveling the weapon downward.

“
No!
Stop!” The VKR officer rolled over, clutching his leg. He was broken; he could accept death, but not what Michael had promised him. “I’ll tell you what I know.”

“
I’ll
know if you’re lying. My finger’s on the trigger, the gun pointed at your right hand. If you lie, you won’t have it anymore.”

“What I told you
is
true. We were not at Costa Brava that night.”

“Your code was broken. Washington broke it. I saw it, I
sent
it!”

“Washington broke nothing. That code was abandoned seven days prior to the night of January fourth. Even if you sent it and we accepted it, we could not have responded. It would have been physically impossible.”

“Why?”

“We were nowhere near the area, any of us. We were sent out of the sector.” The Russian coughed in pain, his face twisted. “For the period of time in question, all activities were canceled. We were prohibited from going within twenty miles of the Montebello beach on the Costa Brava.”