Jack Ryan 1 - Without Remorse (73 page)

'Would be nice,' the American acknowledged.

'Try this.' Grishanov handed over some black bread his wife had sent him. The climate had already started to put mold on it, which Kolya had trimmed off with a knife. The American wolfed it down anyway. A sip from the Russian's flask helped.

'I'll turn you into a Russian,' the Soviet Air Force colonel said with an unguarded chuckle. 'Vodka and good bread go together. I would like to show you my country.' Just to plant the seed of the idea, in a friendly way, as one man talks to another.

'I have a family, Kolya. God willing -'

'Yes, Robin, God willing.' Or North Vietnam willing, or the Soviet Union willing. Or someone. Somehow he'd save this man, and the others. So many were friends now. He knew so much about them, their marriages, good and bad, their children, their hopes and dreams. These Americans were so strange, so open. 'Also, God willing, if the Chinese decide to bomb Moscow, I have a plan now to stop them.' He unfolded the map and set it on the floor. It was the result of all his talks with this American colleague, everything he had learned and analyzed formulated on a single sheet of paper. Grishanov was quite proud of it, not the least because it was the clear presentation of a highly sophisticated operational concept.

Zacharias ran his fingers over it, reading the notations in English, which looked incongruous on a map whose legend was in Cyrillic. He smiled his approval. A bright guy, Kolya, a good student in his way. The way he layered his assets, the way he had his aircraft patrolling back rather than forward. He understood defense in depth now. SAM traps at the ends of the most likely mountain passes, positioned for maximum surprise. Kolya was thinking like a bomber pilot now instead of a fighter jock. That was the first step in understanding how it was done. If every Russian PVO commander understood how to do this, then SAC would have one miserable time ...

Dear God. Robin's hands stopped moving.

This wasn't about the ChiComs at all.

Zacharias looked up, and his face revealed his thought even before he found the strength to speak.

'How many Badgers do the Chinese have?'

'Now? Twenty-five. They are trying to build more.'

'You can expand on everything I've told you.'

'We'll have to, as they build up their force, Robin. I've told you that,' Grishanov said quickly and quietly, but it was too late, he saw, at least in one respect.

'I've told you everything,' the American said, looking down at the map. Then his eyes closed and his shoulders shook. Grishanov embraced him to ease the pain he saw.

'Robin, you've told me how to protect the children of my country. I have not lied to you. My father did leave his university to fight the Germans. I did have to evacuate Moscow as a child. I did lose friends that winter in the snow - little boys and little girls, Robin, children who froze to death. It did happen. I did see it.'

'And I did betray my country,' Zacharias whispered The realization had come with the speed and violence of a falling bomb. How could he have been so blind, so stupid? Robin leaned back, feeling a sudden pain in his chest, and in that moment he prayed it was a heart attack, for the first time in his life wishing for death. But it wasn't. It was just a contraction of his stomach and the release of a large quantity of acid, just the perfect thing, really, to eat away at his stomach as his mind ate away the defenses of his soul. He'd broken faith with his country and his God. He was damned.

'My friend -'

'You used me!' Robin hissed, trying to pull away.

'Robin, you must listen to me.' Grishanov wouldn't let go. 'I love my country, Robin, as you love yours. I have sworn an oath to defend her. I have never lied to you about that, and now it is time for you to learn other things.' Robin had to understand. Kolya had to make it clear to Zacharias, as Robin had made so many things clear to Kolya.

'Like what?'

'Robin, you are a dead man. The Vietnamese have reported you dead to your country. You will never be allowed to return home. That is why you are not in the prison- Hoa Lo, the Hilton, your people call it, yes?' It seared Kolya's soul when Robin looked at him, the accusation there was almost more than he could bear. When be spoke again, his voice was the one doing the pleading.

'What you are thinking is wrong. I have begged my superiors to let me save your life. I swear this on the lives of my children: I will not let you die. You cannot go back to America. I will make for you a new home. You will be able to fly again, Robin! You will have a new life. I can do no more than that. If I could restore you to your Ellen and your children, I would do it. I am not a monster, Robin, I am a man, like you. I have a country, like you. I have a family, like you. In the name of your God, man, put yourself in my place. What would you have done in my place? What would you feel in my place?' There was no reply beyond a sob of shame and despair.

'Would you have me let them torture you? I can do that. Six men in this camp have died, did you know that? Six men died before I came here. I put a stop to it! Only one has died since my arrival - only one, and I wept for him, Robin, did you know that! I would gladly kill Major Vinh, the little fascist. I have saved you! I've done everything in my power, and I have begged for more. I give you my own food, Robin, things that my Marina sends to me!'

'And I've told you how to kill American pilots - '

'Only if they attack my country can I hurt them. Only if they try to kill my people, Robin! Only then! Do you wish them to kill my family?'

'It's not like that!'

'Yes, it is. Don't you see? This is not a game, Robin. We are in the business of death, you and I, and to save lives one must also take them;'

Perhaps he'd see it in time, Grishanov hoped. He was a bright man, a rational man. Once he had time to examine the facts, he would see that life was better than death, and perhaps they could again be friends. For the moment, Kolya told himself, I have saved the man's life. Even if the American curses me for that, he will have to breathe air to speak his curse. Colonel Grishanov would bear that burden with pride. He'd gotten his information and saved a life in the process, as was entirely proper for an air-defense pilot of PVO Strany who'd sworn his life's real oath as a frightened and disoriented boy on his way from Moscow to Gorkiy.

The Russian came out of the prison block in time for dinner, Kelly saw. He had a notebook in his hands, doubtless full of the information he'd sweated out of the prisoners.

'We're going to get your sorry red ass,' Kelly whispered to himself. 'They're gonna put three willie-petes through that window, pal, and cook you up for dinner - along with all your fucking notes. Yeah.'

He could feel it now. It was, again, the private pleasure of knowing what would be, the godlike satisfaction of seeing the future. He took a sip from his canteen. He couldn't afford to dehydrate. Patience came hard now. Within his sight was a building with twenty lonely, frightened, and badly hurt Americans, and though he'd never met any of them, and though he only knew one by name, his was a worthy quest. For the rest, he tried to find the Latin from his high school: Morituri ??? cognant, perhaps. Those who are about to die - just don't know. Which was just fine with Kelly.

'Homicide.'

'Hi, I'm trying to get Lieutenant Frank Allen.'

'You got him,' Allen replied. He'd been at his desk just five minutes this Monday morning. 'Who's this?'

'Sergeant Pete Meyer, Pittsburgh,' the voice replied. 'Captain Dooley referred me to you, sir.'

'I haven't talked to Mike in a while. Is he still a Pirates fan?'

'Every night, Lieutenant. I try to catch some of the games myself.'

'You want a line on the Series, Sarge?' Allen asked with a grin. Cop fellowship.

'Bucs in five. Roberto's real tough this year.' Clemente was having a career year.

'Oh, yeah? Well, so are Brooks and Frank.' The Robinsons weren't doing so badly either. 'What can I do for you?'

'Lieutenant, I have some information for you. Two homicides, both victims female, in their late teens, early twenties.'

'Back up, please.' Allen got a clean sheet of paper. 'Who's your source?'

'I can't reveal that yet. It's privileged. I'm working on changing that, but it might take a while. Can I go on?'

'Very well. Names of victims?'

'The recent one was named Pamela Madden - very recent, only a few weeks ago.'

Lieutenant Allen's eyes went wide. 'Jesus - the fountain murder. And the other one?'

'Her name was Helen, sometime last fall. Both murders were ugly, Lieutenant, torture and sexual abuse.'

Allen hunched forward with the phone very close to his ear. 'You telling me you have a witness to both killings?'

'That is correct, sir, I believe we do. I got two likely perps for you, too. Two white males, one named Billy and the other named Rick. No descriptions, but I can work on that, too.'

'Okay, they're not my cases. It's being handled downtown - Lieutenant Ryan and Sergeant Douglas. I know both names - both victims, I mean. These are high-profile cases, Sarge. How solid is your information?'

'I believe it to be very solid. I have one possible indicator for you. Victim number two, Pamela Madden - her hair was brushed out after she was killed.'

In every major criminal case, several important pieces of evidence were always left out of press accounts in order to screen out the usual collection of nuts who called in to confess to something - anything that struck their twisted fancies. This thing with the hair was sufficiently protected that even Lieutenant Allen didn't know about it.

'What else do yon have?'

'The murders were drug-related. Both girls were mules.'

'Bingo!' Allen exclaimed quietly. 'Is your source in jail or what?'

'I'm pushing the edge here, but - okay, I'll level with you. My dad's a preacher. He's counseling the girl. Lieutenant, this is really off-the-record stuff, okay?'

'I understand. What do you want me to do?'

'Could you please forward the info to the investigating officers? They can contact me through the station.' Sergeant Meyer gave over his number. 'I'm a watch supervisor here, and I have to roll out now to deliver a lecture at the academy. I'll be back about four.'

'Very well, sergeant. I'll pass that along. Thanks a lot for the input. You'll be hearing from Em and Tom. Depend on it.' Jesus, we'd give Pittsburgh the fuckin' Series to bag these bastards. Allen switched buttons on his phone.

'Hey, Frank,' Lieutenant Ryan said. When he set his coffee cup down, it appeared like slow-motion. That stopped when he picked up a pen. 'Keep talking. I'm writing this down.'

Sergeant Douglas was late this morning because of an accident on 1-83. He came in with his usual coffee and danish to see his boss scribbling furiously.

'Brushed out the hair? He said that?' Ryan asked. Douglas leaned across the desk, and the look in Ryan's eyes was like that of a hunter who just heard the first rustle in the leaves. 'Okay, what names did he -' The detective's hand balled into a fist. A long breath. 'Okay, Frank, where is this guy? Thanks. 'Bye.'

'Break?'

'Pittsburgh,' Ryan said.

'Huh?'

'Call from a police sergeant in Pittsburgh, a possible witness in the murders of Pamela Madden and Helen Waters.'

'No shit?'

'This is the one who brushed her hair, Tom. And guess what other names came along with it?'

'Richard Farmer and William Grayson?'

'Rick and Billy. Close enough? Possible mule for a drug ring. Wait ... ' Ryan leaned back, staring at the yellowed ceiling. 'There was a girl there when Farmer was killed - we think there was,' he corrected himself. 'It's the connection, Tom. Pamela Madden, Helen Waters, Farmer, Grayson, they're all related... and that means -'

'The pushers, too. All connected somehow. What connects them, Em? We know they were all - probably all - in the drug business.'

'Two different MOs, Tom. The girls were slaughtered like - no, you don't even do that to cattle. All the rest, though, all of them were taken down by the Invisible Man. Man on a mission! That's what Farber said, a man on a mission.'

'Revenge,' Douglas said, pacing Ryan's analysis on his own. 'If one of those girls was close to me - Jesus, Em, who could blame him?'

There was only one person connected with either murder who'd been close with a victim, and he was known to the police department, wasn't he? Ryan grabbed his phone and called back to Lieutenant Allen.

'Frank, what was the name of that guy who worked the Gooding case, the Navy gay?'

'Kelly, John Kelly, he found the gun off Fork McHenry, then downtown contracted him to train our divers, remember? Oh! Pamela Madden! Jesus!' Allen exclaimed when the connection became clear.

'Tell me about him, Frank.'

'Hell of a nice guy. Quiet, kinda sad - lost his wife, auto accident or something.'

'Veteran, right?'

'Frogman, underwater demolitions. That's how he earns his living, blowing things up. Underwater stuff, like.'

'Keep going.'

'Physically he's pretty tough, takes care of himself.' Allen paused. 'I saw him dive, there's some marks on him, scars, I mean. He's seen combat and caught some fire. I got his address and all if you want.'

'I have it in my case file, Frank. Thanks, buddy.' Ryan hung up. 'He's our guy. He's the Invisible Man.'

'Kelly?'

'I have to, be in court this morning - damn it!' Ryan swore.

'Nice to see you again,' Dr Farber said. Monday was an easy day for him. He'd seen his last patient of the day and was heading out for after-lunch tennis with his sons. The cops had barely caught him heading out of his office.

'What do you know about UDT guys?' Ryan asked, walking out into the corridor with him.

'Frogmen, you mean? Navy?'

'That right. Tough, are they?'

Farber grinned around his pipe. 'They're the first guys on the beach, ahead of the Marines. What do you think?' He paused. Something clicked in his mind. 'There's something even better now.'

'What do you mean?' the detective lieutenant asked.