The Falstaff Enigma (7 page)

Kemp's eyes fell on the empty bed in the next room. "Austin, are you here?
It's John Kemp."

"
Yes, I'm here," came the reply. Austin stepped into Kemp's line of sight and sat down on the bed. He held his head low. He was frightened by his own reactions, his own emotions. They were those of a caged animal and they would not have come from the Robert Austin of a day earlier. He realized for the first time what he had been through and his fear grew because he knew that the event would not leave him for the remainder of his life.

"Are you feeling any better?" asked the fie
ld agent as he closed the door. "You've been asleep about five hours."

"Physically, yes; mentally, I think it may take some time to feel better."
Austin now had his head up and was examining the bags in Kemp's hands.

"Understandable,” Kemp continued. “
I think you are now a combat veteran. Welcome to the club. It’s not one that I wish on anybody." Kemp noticed Austin's penetrating eyes wandering over the items he had just acquired. "I bought some food and …” Kemp paused long enough to pull a sweater and dress shirt from one of the bags, " ... some clothes. Here, try these on." Kemp handed Austin the items. "I used the sizes from the clothes you took off when you went to sleep. I bought what amounts to a miniature wardrobe for you at a men's store that carries only Western European clothing. I hope you find my choices acceptable. I simply put the picture of the stereotypical New York or London banker in my mind and went to it.”

"In that case, I'm
sure everything will be fine," Austin felt laughter in his voice for the first time that day. In minutes he had showered and was fully clothed in high quality apparel that he was relieved to see and feel. Kemp had spared no expense.

"Now,"
Kemp continued, "we are going to eat dinner and while we do I want you to collect your thoughts. Afterwards, we're getting down to business."

Suddenly
Austin’s eyes widened. “My wife.” It was a whisper, but Kemp heard it clearly. The next words were out loud. “I have to call her.”

Kemp silently chided himself. “Yes, we must let her know you’re okay. But I have no phone here and I don’t want you
outside just yet.”

“She is thinking that I’m dead.
She knows I am in Ankara. By now someone from the government has probably called to tell her I am missing.”

“I understand and
I agree that she needs to know.” Kemp paused and exhaled, thinking through his next words. “Let’s do this. I will call her and let her know you are safe. But I will let her know that she must keep this information quiet until she hears from you.” In return, Austin gave him a look that was at once both quizzical and accusational. Kemp did not wait for the objection. “You have to put your trust in me right now. We have a major problem. We don’t know what is going on. For all we know, you were the target of this.” The words hit Austin like a punch. He had never considered this possibility. “We have only one advantage. No one knows if you are alive or dead and no one knows you are with me.”

“The sniper knows,” Austin
corrected.

“A sniper?”
Kemp asked.

Austin shook his head from side to side. “Yes, there was a sniper. It’s a long story.”

“Well, hold off for now.” Kemp was skeptical, but kept his feelings to himself. “Whoever this sniper was may or may not have known who you were,” Kemp responded. “Besides, he and his team are on the run now. Depending on who they are, he may very well have reported that no one escaped.”

“Who
are ‘they’?”

“Don’t know yet. But we will figure this all out in time.
Now back to your wife. I need her name, a personal detail to prove that I am for real and her phone numbers.” Austin provided the information the field agent needed. Kemp took care of this detail while Austin enjoyed his first real meal since leaving Maryland.

"Was that enough for you?" The question came mechanically from Kemp's lips as he cleaned the wooden table where the analyst had just eaten. The meal had consisted of sausage, soup from a jar, and several slices of dark bread covered liberally with butter and jam.

"Yes.
Thank you." Austin had not reacted to the food on a pleasure basis; he had eaten only to satisfy the immediate sensation of hunger, and that had been accomplished. Austin approached eating on such a coldly rational basis only when he was deeply involved in a project. Now he felt that this project would mean life or death. "Let's get to it, Mr. Kemp. I need your reaction to the events of the past couple of weeks."

"Good.
I was wondering what your attitude would be toward this. You've just made it much easier for me." Kemp walked over to one of the suitcases, opened it and pulled out a notebook and pen.

"Where should I start?" Austin
asked.

"First, I want you to recount the events of today starting with your arrival in Ankara.
I want you to take your time and include as much detail as you can. Remember: nothing is too trivial."

Austin began to relate the events of the day.
He searched his mind for every detail and held nothing back. He mentioned the American-educated driver, the guard with his loaded weapon, Ridgeway's knowledge of Austin's background, everything he could recall. It took him about twenty minutes to get to when he was awakened after his short nap. "... and then I walked over to the window. I noticed a station wagon, a blue Audi, being parked close to the embassy. A Westerner got out, spoke into a walkie-talkie and quickly turned and walked off. I immediately called the Marine captain and told him what I saw. His voice became tense and he told me to pack up and wait for Ridgeway to arrive. He came shortly and was quite panicky. I found out why. He told me that they had received intelligence reports suggesting that the embassy would be the target of a terrorist attack."

"Is that all he said along those lines?
No names or dates?" Kemp spoke while he jotted down notes. His hand never stopped moving.

"No, that was it.
He just told me to follow him, which I did. We went down the staircase. On the way we passed Captain Hendricks, who was going up to check the roof. He said that the spotter, who was a Marine they always kept on the roof, was not responding to calls. I realized a second later that the captain had been carrying an M-16. Needless to say, both Ridgeway and I reached a fevered pitch. We dashed into the ground floor hallway. Ridgeway had two Marines bring General Poltovsky into the hall. It was the first time I had seen him. He was in good physical and mental condition. I could see no fear in his face.

"Anyway, Ridgeway led us to a closet where the floor
recessed to reveal an underground tunnel to the bunker we were headed for."

"Bunker?" interjected Kemp.

"I'm sorry. Ridgeway said there was a bunker underneath the garage which was adjacent to the main building. Going back to the tunnel: it turned out that the door underneath this closet was locked and the key was held by the captain. So Ridgeway came out of the closet and said that we could run over to the garage building, which meant that we had to go outside. He led us to the embassy's rear door and threw it open.” Austin's flawless voice suddenly cracked on the final word. He struggled to regain complete composure. Kemp picked up on this and allowed Austin his time.

"And
... um … that's when it happened," Austin said.

"The explosion?"

"Yes." Austin rubbed his eyes and ran his sweating palms down his face. He needed a shave. "I can't remember. I must have been unconscious for, oh, about four or five minutes, I'd say. When I came to, the building was completely leveled. Destroyed."

"
Where were you? Caught underneath rubble?"

"No, no.
As I said, Ridgeway opened the heavy rear door. As soon as he did, the explosion occurred. We were all blown out into the small courtyard behind the building." Austin's eyes were open but his mind did not see. It raced over the moments before, during and after the cataclysm. "My God, we ... I would be dead now if that blast had occurred only a second sooner."

John Kemp looked up from his notes.
He felt compassion for Robert Austin, but he could not dwell on it now. He had to keep Austin's mind geared toward its usual business precision. "What happened after you regained consciousness?"

"Yes, let's return to the business at hand.
When I came to, the air was full of dust and visibility was only a few feet. Almost immediately I heard the voice of Mark Ridgeway. I crawled over to him. His arm was broken but he was coherent and not in great pain."

"Did he say anything to you?"

"I can't remember specific words, but he spoke only a little. He called me over, I asked him what was wrong. He told me. I said help was on the way, and that was it."

"Okay, what happened next?"

"Then I noticed the embassy building.” Austin threw his head back and gazed at the ceiling. His mind did not see what his eye picked up. He was lying on a debris covered sidewalk in a land alien to every tradition he had ever known. "It was flattened. Devastated. It was simply an awe-inspiring sight. That massive building of seemingly impregnable concrete laid flat in a matter of seconds."

Austin brought his head back to level.
Back to the present
. "Then I heard General Poltovsky. He was alive, lying a few yards away. He was badly hurt but they were not external wounds. I think it was a combination of internal injuries and just general shock. It was as if this were the final straw. The old warhorse who had withstood so much over the decades was finally dealt the blow that broke him. Something inside told him that it was time to quit, to give up. What it boils down to is that the general was very weak when I reached him. The first thing he told me was that he was hurt. Then he asked me my name and I told him.” Austin paused to reflect on what followed. “He knew who I was. I was astounded. He said he knew my name and he told me a joke relating to my analysis reports."

"Can you remember the joke exactly?
It's important.”

"I'm just paraphrasing but it went something like, if you want to know the capabilities of your weapons systems then don't ask Moscow, wait until Austin's reports come around."

John Kemp finished putting his thoughts on paper and looked up. There was awe in his eyes. "If we learn nothing else, you've just told me something invaluable. We now know that someone on the circulation list of your reports is either intentionally or unintentionally leaking them to the Soviets. But that is something we will come back to. Please continue." Kemp's pen was immediately poised for action.

Austin shook his head.
He had not thought of the logical conclusion that Kemp had just presented. The omission on his part brought home the fact that he was not on top of his usually impeccable mental form. He continued with his narration. "I helped him sit up. He was in my arms, telling me the whole time that he was going to die. He was quite convinced of it and I believed him. With each breath he was growing weaker and his speech was more strained. Then he said a series of sentences. No, not sentences, they were phrases that made no sense to me." Austin paused to recall the words. Instinct told him that they were crucial to solving the puzzle that was only now forming in his mind. They came back to him. "These are the words exactly: 'You must know, contact CIA, not your own, must know’. Then he paused and I told him that I didn't understand what he was saying. He mustered his reserves and said, 'Vazhnevsky killed, Govenin, plot to kill, speak with Borskov.'" Austin stopped, his eyes gazing past Kemp into the wall behind.

Kemp filled the void.
"What did you say back to him?"

"Nothing.
His head was blown apart by a bullet." Austin spoke flatly, most of the emotion now gone.

"Excuse me?
"

"You heard correctly, Mr. Kemp.
A moment after he said the name Borskov, his head was destroyed by a sniper's bullet. I hate to say this, but I think I went into a mild state of shock. I released him – dear God, I can't believe what I've been through."

"Well, Mr. Austin, I think I understand for the first time exactly what you have been through, but we must continue now while it is fresh in your mind."
Kemp was ever a professional.

"
Yes, you're right." Austin said as he inhaled. "So I found myself crawling backwards until I bumped into Ridgeway. He seemed to be far more in control of himself than I was. Obviously he was looking for the sniper while I could only keep my eyes on the general's corpse. Anyway, he found the sniper. By the way, the dust was settling and so visibility was returning to normal. As I said, he found the sniper and pointed him out to me. The guy was on the roof of a building directly across the street. I was able to pick him out. When I looked at him I thought he was pointing his rifle at me, but he wasn't. He fired and Ridgeway was killed; hit in the head. I suddenly came to the reality of my situation. I got to my feet and ran down the street. He fired at me maybe two or three times. I can't remember. I just ran until I could turn the corner and rest.

"The Turkish police were the last people I wanted to deal with. I saw 'Midnight Express.'" Both men exchanged strained laughs. "You were the only viable alternative, so here I am."

John Kemp stood up, walked over to the counter and sliced two pieces of dark bread from the loaf he had just purchased. He knew that both men had now been thrust into something that would shape their lives. Their destiny was out of their hands. "I've already reached some decisions regarding several different matters, but I fear that you are not quite aware of what has happened to you over the past couple of weeks. I'm going to try to help you come to that awareness right now by going through this thing in a kind of free-thought question-and-answer session."

"I'm not sure I understand, but I have formed the
outline of an enigma in my mind and I'm all for trying to sharpen that picture."

"Good.
Let's get to it." Kemp returned to his seat and handed Austin one of the slices of bread.

Kemp began his queries designed to open Austin's eyes. "What do you think of the timing of this event?"

"I think they were obviously after the general."

"
Maybe. And who are 'they'?"

"My guess would be some terrorist group or another hired by the Soviets to take out Poltovsky."

"A possibility." Kemp looked through his notes for a minute. "Now tell me again whom you saw get out of the car parked in front of the Embassy and talk into a walkie-talkie. Wasn't he a Westerner?"

"Yes.
Tall, broad shouldered, light hair, soft features and a purposeful stride. He was definitely of Northern European stock."

"Now, if you were in the KGB and wanted to use a terrorist group to make an attack on the U.S. Embassy in Istanbul, whom would you use?"

"The Armenians."

"
Agreed." Kemp paused, waiting for Austin to see the reasoning in front of him.

"Of course, a
Westerner would not be a part of an Armenian revenge attack. But it could have been a European group such as the Baader-Meinhof. Or the KGB could have insisted on having a Russian or East German lead the raid.” Austin was suddenly shocked by the last word he chose.

"Raid!
That's it! You said it all,” Kemp responded. “Raid. Assault. Professional precision. Those were the hallmarks of this attack. It had characteristics that went beyond Baader-Meinhof capabilities, not to mention that it was in a city that is hardly in their backyard and they haven't really been active for years. But let's examine the evidence further. I want you to concentrate on the sniper. Close your eyes and tell me what you see."

Austin complied with the field agent's instructions. His
face turned to stone. His mind relived those moments of death. His words were forced. "I can't see his face."

"Hair?"

"I don't know. Dark, I'd say. Brown at the lightest, but it could easily be black. I just can't picture it."

"Okay, what's in his hands?"

Austin strained to formulate a picture in his mind. Details began to come into focus. "A weapon."

"An AK-
47?"

"No.
It wasn't an automatic. It was … it was bolt action.”

"Modern?
A target weapon such as an Anschutz?" Kemp quizzed.

"No.
I think the wood stock extended the length of the barrel at an even thickness throughout. There were no pistol grips. It was just a plain, mass-produced stock."

"The vintage?"

"World War Two, I'd guess. Similar to a Garand or a Mauser 98K. Even the scope was plain looking. I think it was a single diameter tube, in other words no flared end."

“Magazine?”

"Nothing protruded. The magazine had to have been internal, again similar to the Garand rifle."

"Then you,
an expert on weaponry, would say that the weapon was probably one of the standard infantry weapons of World War Two?" Kemp was trapping the analyst and Austin knew it, but he had no choice but to go on.