Ultimate Issue (44 page)

His flashing gold shoulder boards proclaimed his rank to Verago’s startled eyes: a Marshal of the Soviet Union. He had a gold belt, gold braid on his sleeves, and his cap, jauntily sitting on his head, was a dazzling display of oak leaves. His chest was covered with decorations.

Everyone in the room except Verago turned into marble at his appearance. Colonel Machenko was strictly at attention behind his desk, the lieutenant stood rigidly straight, and the soldiers guarding Verago were frozen stone.

Marshal Koniev nodded to them. He came in, went up to Verago, and stood looking at him.

“So,” he said at last in English, “you are the mysterious American.”

“Captain Verago, sir. United States Army.”

Koniev tilted his head to one side, inspecting Verago.

“Well, Captain Verago, you are a nuisance.” He said it quite amiably. “I and my staff are far too busy at this moment to be bothered by you, you understand?”

“Sir,” said Verago, “I’m more than anxious to get out of your hair.”

Koniev said something in Russian to the colonel who replied, still standing at rigid attention. Koniev nodded.

He turned back to Verago.

“A decision has been made about you,” he announced. “You are a very lucky man. No one wants an incident in

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valving an American this week. Next week, who knows? But this week, no.”

He smiled. “You understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” said Verago, but he wondered if he did.

“I am advised that, all things considered, we would just as soon be rid of you.” Koniev paused. “No, don’t misting derstand me. By that I mean we want to see the back of you. You are not worth a crisis that could upset everything.”

“I think I ought to explain “

Koniev held up one hand. “Do not explain anytlung. It is better.”

“The dead man … he tried “

Koniev shrugged. “I am not interested. Omar Bradley taught me an interesting phrase. Rocking the boat. I do not want you to rock this boat. I have bigger things to worry about this week.”

He said something sharply to the colonel, who bent down and opened a cupboard in the desk. Hastily he produced a bottle of Armenian brandy and four glasses. He poured the brandy.

“A pleasant trip,” toasted Koniev, and drank his brandy in one gulp.

Lieutenant Borisova had taken off her glasses. Verago was right; it made a lot of difference. He wondered what else she did besides interpreting. She could certainly drink brandy. She too made it disappear in one gulp.

The colonel snapped his fingers, and the two soldiers who were still guarding Verago saluted and stiffly walked out.

“I would invite you for dinner,” said Koniev, “I enjoy the company of Americans. I like talking to them.”

He pointed to the ribbon of the U.S. Legion of Merit on his chest.

“You see, I still wear it. Yes, I’d like to, but unfortunately I have a big staff meeting. It is after all, as Eisenhower called it, D-day minus three.”

Verago stared at him.

The marshal held out his glass, and Colonel Machenko poured some more brandy. He said something peremptorily in Russian, and the colonel clicked his heels.

“I have arranged for you to be escorted back to your sector,” announced Koniev. “The colonel will provide a car. You will have no problems. You are a lucky man, Captain. Be grateful for good friends.”

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He smiled again, but this time rather enigmatically.

“Thank you, sir,” Verago said slowly.

Koniev’s steely blue eyes seemed amused by something. “I will leave you in good hands. Lieutenant Borisova here will be your escort officer. She will deliver you safely, I am sure.”

“It will be my pleasure,” she said in English.

She hadn’t put the glasses back on, and the way she looked Verago thought, The movie people are right, it can do wonders for a girt

Oberbaumbruecke

The car was an unmarked civilian one with ordinary license plates. The driver was a military man, his whole manner betrayed that, but he was in plain clothes.

And Lieutenant Borisova had changed for the journey. No uniform, no spectacles. She was smartly, attractively dressed and now that she was out of uniform, Verago realized what a good figure she had. Her makeup too was different, the lipstick a deep red, the mascara artfully used.

“I am sorry it has had to be such a short acquaintance,” she said as they rode through the countryside. “I would have liked to practice my English with you.”

“I don’t think you need any practice, Lieutenant.”

“Sonia,” she said. “My first name is Sonia.”

She waited expectantly, but Verago did not respond.

“When do we get there?” he asked.

She looked at her watch. “It has been arranged for twenty-three hundred hours.”

“Where?”

“You know the Oberbaumbruecke?”

He shook his head.

“It is a bridge between our zone and your sector. Near the Warschauer strasse. Your friends will be there.”

“Friends?”

“I am sure you will have a reception committee,” she said dryly.

“You’ve been in touch with the Americans?”

“I,” she said, “have not done anything. That is all a matter for high authority. But,” she confided, “I think there is contact.”

She took out a pack of cigarettes. To his amazement, they were Lucky Strikes. She offered him one.

“Where did you get those?” asked Verago.

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“I told you,” she said. “There is contact.”

She held a cigarette lighter in her hand and lit his Lucky.

“May I see that?” he said. He took it from her, turning it over. It was familiar. The same make as the one Tower had. Well, that made sense. Tower’s was Russian too, and there wasn’t much variety in consumer goods in the Soviet Union. It was probably the standard model of People’s Cigarette Lighter.

“Why are you so interested?” she inquired curiously.

“I I know somebody who has one like this.”

“Is he Russian?”

“No, he was given it.”

The car was roomy, and she crossed her legs. She had very good legs. In uniform, she looked efficient, military, practical. But like this….

“Tell me,” said Verago, “where did you learn to speak English so well?”

“We have schools,” she said.

“Your accent is very good.”

“They are good schools.”

They were stopped at a checkpoint, but the driver produced a document that passed them through without the passengers even being scrutinised.

“Do you have a family?” asked the blonde.

“No.”

“Not married?” She was surprised.

“Not now.”

She thought for a moment. Then she said, “I suppose it is better for people in your work not to be married.”

“What do you mean?”

“It can be difficult when one is an intelligence agent.” “Listen,” said Verago, “I am not in intelligence.”

“Of course not,” she said, with a very knowing smile.

“I am an attorney.”

“Sure.” She smiled.

Half an hour later they entered Berlin.

“It won’t be long now,” she said.

The driver in front said something in Russian, and she replied briefly.

“We’re right on time,” she said.

Then he saw the bridge, ahead of them. The car stopped.

“You get out by yourself,” she said. “I will stay in the

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car. You walk across the bridge. Halfway across somebody will meet you. That is the arrangement.”

“Well,” said Verago, “thanks for everything.”

She held out her hand. “Here,” she said, “for you. A souvenir.”

It was the lighter. Verago stared at it.

“Something to remember me by.” She smiled.

“Thanks,” muttered Verago. He put it in his pocket. ‘Y’hanks again.”

He got out of the car and started walking across the long steel bridge. He didn’t look back.

From the other side, a figure came toward him. A man.

Verago was more than halfway across before he recognized Unterberg.

“Welcome back,” he said, his hand outstretched. Then he took Verago’s arm and led him toward the end of the bridge.

“Don’t look so scared, you’re safe now,” he exclaimed.

“Yes,” Verago agreed dully. He wished he felt safe. He glanced sideways at Unterberg; the big man was leading him forward purposefully. Ahead was a parked car and two men stood beside it.

Verago stopped. They were three quarters of the way across the bridge. He turned and looked back. The Russian car on the other side had departed.

“Come on,” Unterberg said impatiently, “let’s get out of this.”

The two men beside the car stood silent when they arrived. Unterberg gave them a quick nod, then opened the door of the car.

“Pile in,” he said.

Verago got in. The driver in front reminded him curiously of the Russian driver in the other car. The same erect, military bearing. The same soldierly appearance despite the civilian clothes.

Unterberg eased himself in beside Verago. The two men stood watching as the car moved off. Out of the window, Verago saw one of them raise a walkietalkie to his mouth.

“Who were they?” asked Verago.

“Friends.” It was final. You don’t need to know.

Unterberg glanced at Verago. “You okay, Tony? You look a little pale.”

“I’m all right,” replied Verago.

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“Had a rough time, eh? Well, I guess you asked for it. You’re lucky some people care.”

Verago opened his mouth to snarl at him. But then he controlled himself. “What’s happened to the trial?”

“It’s all over,” said Unterberg. “Finito. You can relax.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“What I said. It’s finished. He finally pleaded guilty.”

“Fuckl” cursed Verago, with feeling. “What did he get?”

“A discharge and six months. He’ll be out by Christmas.”

“He’s finished,” said Verago. “Dishonorable discharge. You know what that means?”

“He should care. He wanted out anyway, didn’t he?” Unterberg smiled cynically until he noticed Verago’s expression. “Jesus, Tony, what did you expect? You didn’t show up in court, no word, no nothing. Of course they carried on.”

“Sure,” Verago remarked bitterly. “That’s what they wanted all along, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Unterberg growled. “Stop bleeding to death.”

Verago turned his head away. He stared out at the Berlin streets, but he had no sense of direction, no idea where he was.

“Where am I going?” he asked at last.

“Relax, buddy.” Unterberg popped a stick of chewing gum into his mouth. “l told you, you’re safe now.”

“I I’ve got to pick my things up from the Hilton. I’ve got a room there.”

“All taken care of,” said Unterberg. His jaws were moving rhythmically. “And your bill. Cheap trip, eh?”

Verago looked out of the window again.

“You know what’s going to happen here, don’t you?” he said after a while, still staring out at the passing streets of Berlin.

“Tell me.” Uuterberg’s voice betrayed nothing.

“A million people, imprisoned behind a wall….”

“Really?” said Unterberg, chewing.

Verago looked him full in the face. “You son of a bitch,” he said.

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Thursday, August 10, 1961 London

THr, buzzer at the front door of her flat was followed by a sharp rapping sound, as if somebody was also knocking with a coin.

Laurie unlocked the door, but kept the chain on as she opened it cautiously. Through the gap, Ivanov smiled at her.

“My God,” she said, “do you know what time it is?”

“After midnight, does it matter?” he cried. “Does it matter when one brings good news?”

Momentarily she hesitated. Then she pulled out the chain and opened the door. In the corridor, a couple was waiting for the lift.

She was in her pajamas, and, almost defensively, she ran a hand through her hair, to tidy it.

“You should have phoned,” Laurie said reproachfully, and shut the door.

“I thought you would want to know right away,” said Ivanov. He walked past her into the living room. “Tony Verago is safe. You’ll soon be hearing from him, I feel.”

He beamed at her, and her relief was such she forgot her confusion at his sudden invasion.

“You sure he’s all right?”

“Absolutely in one piece.”

“When did you hear?”

“Tonight.” He was amused by her eagerness. “Through my people. That’s why I came now.”

The color flooded into her face. “That calls for a drink,” she said.

He watched her slim figure as she went over and poured them two Armagnacs.

Then she raised her glass. “Thank you for your help, Gene.”

He took a massive gulp without blinking. “And now,” he said, “I would like very much to seduce you.”

She laughed.

“No, I am serious,” he said solemnly. “I would like nothing better than to come over, pick you up, and carry

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you to that bed in there. I think I told you once, I find you most desirable.”

It was so stylized she still had to smile.

She played it lightly. “Now, Gene …” she began, but he cut her short.

“Unfortunately, that is not the way it is to be.”

Her violet eyes were suddenly hard. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said sadly, holding up his glass to the lamp and gazing into the amber liquor, “that in this world nothing is for nothing. You understand?”

She suddenly understood very well, but all she said, coldly, was “No.”

“Oh, you do, sweetheart, you do very welt It’s not much to ask, is it?”

His mouth was still smiling, but nothing else.

“It is so sad,” he went on reflectively, “that with you around, duty demands that I console myself with little playmates who don’t mean that to me.”

And he snapped his fingers.

“Like Stephen’s girls?” she said.

“Targets of opportunity, that’s all,” he replied. “Of no meaning to me.”

“Including the one you share with that British cabinet minister?” said Laurie.

He didn’t betray any surprise that she knew. “Oh, her. She’s a good swimmer,” he said. “No, Laurie, now you and I….”

He sighed again.

“It won’t be made difficult for you, I promise,” he said encouragingly. “We will know where you are, and when we need you, we will be in touch, and you can … repay us.”