The Berkut (25 page)

Ezdovo's eyes lit up.

"I know a spot where we can-fraternize," Molanaro said. "Fraternize?" Rivitsky asked.

The captain joined the forefinger and thumb of his left hand, then vigorously poked his right forefinger in and out.

"Fraternize!" Ezdovo shouted brightly.

"Technically it's against orders for us to fraternize with Krauts," the captain explained.

"Fraternize," Ezdovo growled happily.

They spent the night drinking warm German beer in a tavern on the ground floor of a small hotel. The three woke up with women in their beds and painful hangovers. When they finally arrived at the American army camp near the airfield at noon, a corporal was waiting nervously for them. "Sir," the corporal said to Molanaro, "CO wants to see you and your Russians PDQ."

The battalion commander was a solidly built lieutenant colonel in his fifties. When Molanaro reported in, he left the Russians to wait outside the commanding officer's office. The look on his CO's face told him that he had a problem.

"You asshole," the colonel hissed. "Are you trying to start another war? These two Russkies are traveling under diplomatic orders, not military papers. If something happens to them, we could have a ... a goddamn
incident
on our hands!" He ran a hand through his hair. "Let me guess: booze or broads?"

"You're warm," the captain said with a smile.

"I thought you'd bring them back to me yesterday
before
you did anything," the major said. "What do they want?"

Molanaro related what they had found and seen at the SS camp. "Autogyro, huh? I never heard of such a thing.",

"Me neither, but the Russians sure seemed to know all about it." The colonel stared at the ceiling for a moment, then looked at his officer. "I'm calling a halt to this hands-across-the-sea shit. I don't know exactly what this machine is, but it sounds like something the Russians would want. If they want it, we want it-that's the way it's gonna be from now on. Intelligence says they're stealing everything in Germany that isn't bolted to the ground."

"I don't know," the captain said. "They seemed more interested in records-personnel folders and things like that."

"Smoke," the colonel countered. "They're shittin' you." Molanaro shrugged.

"Any idea why such a machine would be in a rathole camp like that?"

"It's Skorzeny's camp," Molanaro said.

The colonel jumped to his feet and slapped his desk. "Goddamn! Skorzeny! If that machine was Skorzeny's, you can bet your ass it's top secret. That cinches it, Molanaro. You tell your Russian pals their tour is
over-kaputski.
Stick them on their plane, then take a couple of squads and haul your ass back up to that camp until I can get intelligence up there."

"A couple of squads is overkill," Molanaro said. "There's an MP up there at the gate and the place is mined to the gills. A piss ant couldn't get in there."

The colonel suddenly smiled and sat down, beaming. "Take two squads anyway."

"What's so damn funny?"

"Skorzeny. The Russians are a day late and a dollar short. Our people captured Skorzeny yesterday in Austri
a." He laughed. "Bring 'em in. I
want to see
their sorry Cossack faces when I
tell them we've got Skorzeny by his short hairs."

Ezdovo and Rivitsky could sense the change in the Americans' attitude. Their escort was suddenly very cool and formal. They showed no emotion when the colonel gleefully informed them of Skorzeny's capture. The major's pleasure in the news was quite obvious. Rivitsky said only, "We would like for you to arrange for us to interview the prisoner. "

The colonel turned red and waved his hands in front of his face as if he were warding off some evil spirit. "No way," he said. "I don't have that kind of pull."

"We
have the pull," Rivitsky told him. After some discussion, the colonel allowed Rivitsky to send a telegram to Petrov through Vishinsky's office in Berlin. It read:
ATT
N v PETROV STOP HAVE IMPRESSIONS STOP ONE GAP STOP SKORZENY CAPTURED YESTERDAY IN AUSTRIA STOP HELD BY THE AMERICANS STOP CAN YOU ARRANGE INTERROGATION STOP AWAIT YOUR REPLY STOP RIVITSKY.

To the colonel's astonishment, by 6:00 P.M. an order had come from General Eisenhower's chief of staff granting permission for Skorzeny to be interviewed by the two Russians, and an hour later Ezdovo and Rivitsky said good-bye to their American escort at the airport.

"Someday we fraternize again," Ezdovo said with a wink to the captain.

"Can do. Kick Skorzeny in the balls for the Airborne."

"Can do," Ezdovo said in English as he dosed the hatch and the plane taxied into the darkness.

When they were airborne, Ezdovo suddenly produced the strange shotgun Molanaro had stolen from the SS camp. "You took it from him?" Rivitsky asked.

"I prefer to think
I
liberated
it from the capitalists." They laughed together.

As Molanaro stood watching the Russian aircraft taxi away he was approached by another man. "Evening," the stranger said. "That the Russian aircraft?"

Molanaro turned to look at the man. He was tall, six-five at least, and heavy, two hundred and fifty pounds or more. He wore a tan shirt that hung on him like a tent without pegs. His hands were huge,
and his brown eyes were set close together over a thin avian nose that dipped precipitously at the tip. There was a bald spot the size of a silver dollar on top of his skull, but his blond hair was stiff as straw and stood up in the night breeze. He had tiny ears, like small butterflies, and when he walked, his legs seemed to flip forward jerkily as if they were mechanical, their joints in need of lubrication. His size-fourteen feet splayed out at angles.

"Yep," Molanaro said. The man had no insignia. "Thought so," the stranger said.

Maybe the guy was Red Cross, Molanaro thought, but his suspicions were rising. "Say, pal, what's it to you?"

The stranger smiled and patted the captain's shoulder with one of his massive paws. He understood instinctively that the captain's suspicions had been aroused, and he smiled to defuse a possible confrontation. It was a technique with which he had plenty of practice. Since joining the Office of Strategic Services, he had become adept at deflecting direct confrontations-or creating them; he could do whatever circumstances required. "I'm with the Red Cross," he lied, flashing a false ID. "Just arrived. Haven't seen too many Russians," he added. He was used to the close scrutiny of others; he looked so peculiar that most people meeting him for the first time could not take their eyes off him. Women especially warmed to him, a fact that struck other men as odd. But male or female made no difference when Beau Valentine wanted information; with charm or violence, he usually got what he wanted.

"Me neither," the captain said, relaxing. "Thought we'd link with them in Berlin, but I guess the brass has different ideas about how to run this war." Suddenly he began looking around and, after several glances toward his jeep, went to it and began rummaging through the backseat.

Valentine followed. "Problem?"

"Yeah," Molanaro muttered. He looked up just as the Russian aircraft clattered by, lifted and banked hard to the right, climbing. Then he smiled. "Bastards copped my weapon," he said. There was grudging admiration in his voice.

"What were the Russians doing here?" Valentine pressed. "This isn't their zone."

"Some kind of investigation," the captain said. "Find what they wanted?"

Molanaro smiled as he slid into the driver's seat. "Not really. I
think we've got what they really want." He looked at the Red Cross man. "Need a lift?"

Valentine got into the jeep and grabbed hold of a corner of the windshield for balance. "What is it we have?"

Molanaro depressed the clutch, shifted to neutral and started the motor. "Skorzeny," he said with a chuckle.

Beauregard "Beau" Asherford Valentine stiffened at the name. He had been sent into Germany to "sniff around for scientists." Skorzeny, his mind repeated. This was a scent to be followed. Two Russians searching for Skorzeny. Two Russians being helped by the Americans. He was interested.

"Where can I drop you?" the captain asked
. "Someplace where I can find a
beer. Interested?"

"Can't," the captain said. "Duty calls. How about a rain check?"

"You got it," Valentine said. Before he made any moves, he wanted to know what this officer knew about the Russians and their mission. He'd make sure the captain got his beer, and he'd get his information.

29 – May 20, 1945, 12:55 P.M.

Before parting company with the Airborne captain, Valentine got the man's unit number and an invitation to visit. "They'll put you up till I get back," Molanaro said. "Then we can tie one on."

Valentine found the unit and was given a tent to himself. He kicked off his boots, shed his shirt and trousers, lay back on the cot with wooden cross braces that jabbed him in the kidneys and went to sleep.

He woke at noon to find the captain sitting on a nearby cot. He thrust a bottle of beer at him. "Lukewarm, but it's wet." Valentine sat up to clear the sleep from his brain and drained the bottle in one long pull.

Using a shortened bayonet, Molanaro popped the cap off another bottle and handed it to Valentine with a friendly grin. "You
OSS
?"

Valentine choked on the beer. "What do you mean?"

"First I bump into you just as the Russians are leaving, then I hear from the CO that you're asking a lot of questions about them," he said. "You trying to find them?"

"Not exactly. I'm more interested in information. Can you help me?"

"You bet. There were two of them. Nasty-looking critters with diplomatic IDs. Whole thing was cleared from the top."

"What did they seem to be after?"

The captain laughed. "Not sure. Just like you, they said they were after information."

"I'm more interested in the Russians themselves-everything they did, everything they said."

For two hours Molanaro told his story, first talking, then drinking, backtracking, adding to his recollections. Slowly Valentine began to get a feel about the visit. "Why were they so interested in the records?"

"Beats me," the captain said. "They drew up an organization chart. Near as I could tell they had a complete list, all except for one guy."

"Anything else?"

"Nope. My CO thinks they were after that autogyro gizmo, but I think all they gave a shit about were those folders. After we looked through the records, we had us a quick tour of the camp and headed back to Munich."

"You don't think they were interested in the autogyro device?" "I don't think so, though they were surprised to find it there. One of them said the Krauts had built two prototypes, which the Russkies thought had been blown away. One of them said kind of matter-of
-
factly, 'This must be a third one.' That's all they said. You know, like they'd seen a two-headed snake in a jar or something."

"Did you try to pin them down?" Valentine asked.

"Hell, yes. I asked them point-blank if they were after war criminals. They said, 'Something like that.' They were playin' it cute the whole time they were here. Real sneaky bastards. You tangled with any of them?"

Before Valentine could think of an appropriate follow-up, Molanaro continued. "Course, it wasn't all bad. After I got back to camp I told the CO what we'd found and it took him about half an eye blink to figure out that the autogyro was a first-class G-2 goody, so he made me haul ass back up there to hold down the camp till intelligence came in. That's where I've been. Anyways, the way it spilled out, I'm gonna get me a promotion outta the deal; CO just told me a little while ago."

Valentine smiled.

"Can you beat that?" the captain went on. "Dogfooted my way from Normandy to Munich and got diddley squat for what we done. Now I drive a couple of Russians around, luck onto a screwball airplane, and for this I get promoted. Can you figure it? This is one fucked-up war, pal. I show the Russians around, get drunk, get laid and, bingo, I get to put on the gold leaves. CO's gonna make full bull, too."

"Let's get back to the Russians." Valentine didn't want him to stop talking yet.

"Not much to tell. I drove them back after a little recreating with some German broads. I told the CO they were interested in Skorzeny, so he called them in and told them we'd captured Skorzeny in Salzburg. Everybody was looking high and low for Skorzeny because of his connection to Hitler. They may have gotten Berlin, but we got Skorzeny. He really jammed it down their throats, too."