Shadow of the Condor (29 page)

"Hand me the glasses," ordered Roe.

The infrared binoculars were one of the Captain Roe's prized possessions. He slowly scanned the area south of the missile where Parkins had died. The glow from the missile's security lights interfered with his vision, but he didn't worry too much. He had that blind spot covered by Fox.

Captain Roe might not have picked it out among the lumps of dirt, the tumbleweeds and the rocks if it hadn't moved just as he skimmed the glasses over its location. He turned the focus adjustment and concentrated on the image. He made out a hand, then a boxlike device. When the figure moved again, Roe saw the outline of a man. The color distortions of the infrared lenses did not prevent Roe from noticing the man's camouflage clothing. He watched the man briefly, then handed the glasses to his assistant. He smiled as he whispered into the mike.

"This is Fox to all units. We have a confirmed -hostile one hundred yards south of the Prime site. He's just on the east side of the ridge, about twenty yards from the gully. Fox Seven, Eight and Nine, cut off his retreat. Fox Three and Ten, block his west flank; Fox Eleven and Four, block his east side. Fox Fourteen cut down and take up position on the north side of the missile. Stay out of the glow so he can't see you. You'll block his access that way. I'm moving in with Fox Five. My team will go on the east side of the missile, Fox Five will cut along the west side. Fox Two will stay at command and coordinate. ETA is two minutes. We will apprehend on my signal. Go."

Nurich had hidden the car behind a highway-maintenance gravel pile at a country-road intersection with Highway 2. He reasoned no one would bother it there at 2:30 in the morning. He shed his outer clothes, greased his face, donned dark protective camouflage gloves, checked his gear one final time and crossed two miles of fields to the missile site. He crawled much of the last three-quarters of a mile, carefully using natural cover whenever possible. Soviet intelligence experts disagreed on how much closed circuit TV security the missile sites used. Nurich didn't want to show up on -any Air Force monitoring machines.

His superiors told him he needed only to get within a quarter mile of the site for. optimum readings, but they stressed that the closer he got, the better the results would be. He crawled one hundred yards before activating the machine. Five minutes later the small red light blinked, signifying the end of recording. Nurich slipped into the cumbersome pack and began crawling back the way he had come.

He had gone less than twenty feet when they hit him with the portable spotlight. The bright glow momentarily blinded him. But before they had finished their command to "Halt! Stand and raise your hands above your head!" Nurich had drawn his. 45, loosened the straps on the machine and rolled to his left. He squeezed off two quick rounds. The Russians train their agents well. His second bullet shattered the glass and killed the spotlight. The heavy bullet continued through the metal flash-pan and smacked into the arm of the soldier who carelessly forgot to stand away from the light he held.

Captain Roe's orders were to do all he could to capture the saboteur. He held his fire even after the man had wounded one of his men. Just maybe he could bring the agent back alive. He yelled for him to surrender once more.

Nurich still did not know he had been ambushed. He assumed routine security guards had stumbled-onto him. He knew he had wounded one, and he doubted there could be more than a total of three guards. He knew he had to kill the other two before they could radio for reinforcements. He flicked the last strap holding him to the machine. He also punched the delayed self-destruct switch, rolling away from the machine just as Captain Roe yelled his second warning.

One of the many lies Nurich's KGB superiors told him involved the self-destruct mechanism. They said it had a two-minute delay, enough time to set the switch, check it and get clear before the explosion. The switch actually was set for ten seconds, just enough time for Nurich to rectify a mistake if he accidentally tripped the self-destruct switch. When the switch was thrown, the machine emitted an easily identifiable buzz, and the technicians told Nurich that if he acted within twenty seconds, he could shut off the self-destruct mechanism. It was true that any operator faced with the accidental destruction of the machine could turn off the mechanism within seven seconds after the buzz began. All this suited Ryzhov's purposes admirably. If Nurich was to destroy the machine, there was no reason why the operator couldn't be found dead too. Such "accidents" happened, and a body would help draw the American's attention to the possibility of espionage.

But Nurich didn't linger even ten seconds. He was almost twelve feet away when the explosion tore through the small machine, shredding it just enough to make complete reconstruction impossible for American intelligence technicians.

The blast blew Nurich even farther from the machine. A few pieces of stray machine-turned-shrapnel cut his leg, but he escaped serious injury.

The blast surprised Captain Roe who had no idea why it occurred. But he operated on the asumption that their enemy had exploded some type of grenade. That meant he was heavily armed, determined and very dangerous. It also meant Captain Roe was relieved. of the responsibility of exercising restraint in dealing with the saboteur. Not without some pleasure, he gave his squad the order to fire.

The tumbling action of an M16 bullet shreds a metal ammunition can in a manner described as obscene. The blasts from the three M16's carried by Captain Roe's squad mangled Nurich Beyond that. The Soviet agent patriot died before he realized his predicament.

Captain Roe studied the form lying before him on the ground. It looked unreal in the flashlight's glow. His assistant, thinking that perhaps his commander felt regret for having lost the chance to capture the saboteur, consoled his leader with, "You had no choice, sir. You had to fire."

Captain Roe looked at his executive officer puzzledly. The captain-motioned for the sergeant carrying the radio connecting him to Malmstrorn to hand him the mike. Just before he-transmitted the news to the base, Captain Roe told his executive officer, "But of course, Lieutenant, I know that."

Captain Roe never understood his executive officer's concern that night: After all, the game plan worked.

"I declare it's marked out just like a large chessboard!"
Alice
said at last. "There ought to be some men moving about somewhere-and so there are!" she added in a tone of delight, and her heart began to beat quick with excitement as she went on. 'It's a great huge game of chess that's being played all over the world-if this is the world at all, you know. Oh, what fun it is! How I wish I was one of them! I wouldn't mind being a Pawn, if only I might join -though of course I should like to be a Queen, best!"

The phone jarred Malcolm awake at 7:14 Saturday morning. The shrill ring startled him and he knocked his glasses off the bed table as he grabbed for the receiver. He cursed, picked the glasses up and lifted the receiver on the fourth ring.

"Condor?" the voice asked coolly.

"Yes?" replied Malcolm. He looked over his shoulder. Sheila lay on the bed, staring numbly at the ceiling. He moved his hand back toward her. Without looking at him, she slid her arm over the sheets, groping until she covered his hand with her own. He held the receiver away from his ear so she could hear.

"This is Carl. We stopped a Soviet mission against the missile site early this morning. Rose is dead. The only loose end left is your little survey. Wrap that up Monday, say your good-byes to the town and return the vehicle to Malmstrom Air Base. Travel orders await you there."

"I see," said Malcolm after Carl paused.

"I have been instructed to inform you that we are pleased with your performance. While nothing concrete or usable came from all your efforts, you were an important part of the team."

Malcolm angered Carl by not responding.

"By the way," Carl continued, a snide note blatantly running through his tone, "the report on those people came through about an hour ago. You evidently gave us the wrong information because the authorities in what you said were their home areas have no records of them at all."

Malcolm carefully controlled his reply. "I'm sorry if I made a mistake," he said flatly.

"Hmmph. You needn't bother checking in again until you reach Malmstrom. The mission is operationally complete."

Malcolm slowly replaced the receiver. He turned to look at Sheila. She avoided his eyes and stared at the ceiling.

"You heard?" he asked.

She slowly nodded her head.

"I think Carl's wrong. There's something there, but before we do anything, you better, call Chou. Hell want to know, and I need him to help me with my ideas."

Sheila slowly turned to him. She shook her head back and forth.

Malcolm frowned. "What do you mean, no?" He slid across the bed and gently touched her cheek with his free hand. "We have to call him sooner or later, you know that."

Malcolm felt a tear roll across his hand. Sheila put her arms around him and pulled him down. "Later," she whispered painfully, "call him later. It doesn't make any difference for a while, but it will be too late for everything else if we call him now. Call him later. Hold me now. Hold me now."

"And they gave you no other information?" Chou asked as he paced the room. "Nothing else about this man?" Chou tapped the candid picture of Rose the old man had sent four days before.

"Nothing more, except what they found out or rather didn't find out about the Robinsons and the Kincaids."

They had called Chou shortly before eleven. He arrived at their motel ten minutes after noon. Given that time interval, Malcolm still had no idea where he was staying. Chou could have been as close as a motel across town and deliberately delayed coming for an hour, or he could be staying in a town as far away as twenty miles.

Chou frowned at the picture, then tossed it back on the bed. "I still think he's too young for Krumin. Besides, a mission like that just isn't his style."

"What is Krumin's style?" asked Malcolm. "What do you think he's doing here? How does it tie in with the Robinsons, the Kincaids and that man they killed last night?"

Chou smiled at Malcolm. "Oh, my impatient friend. So snappy, so aggressive. I think I liked you much better before, when you had your personality but you knew your place.

"Times change."

"Indeed they do," replied Chou, "indeed they do. I think I can answer most of your questions. But I won't, at least not yet. We need one more little test before I'm ready to tell you and before we're ready to act. I may be wrong, perhaps we shouldn't be waiting so, but I think not. I think not."

"I think-"

"Don't interrupted Chou. "Don't think, don't form your opinions, don't extend your logic. You aren't good enough to handle that yet."

"What are you talking about?"

"Your 'poker face' ability, or rather the lack of it. You're not used to living in a world of double and triple lies, not yet. I'm sure one reason your superiors tell you as little as they do is they know you function better when you don't completely understand what is going on. You're the kind of person who is easily betrayed by his knowledge. So don't try to extend it just now."

"So what do we do?" asked Malcolm after a pause.

"Today? Nothing." Chou rose and walked to the door. "I think there has been enough activity for one time period. Let us wait until the calm after the storm. Tomorrow, a nice, pleasant spring Sunday. Tomorrow we act.

A pleasant interlude a nice escape from the games she must play with that stupid airman.

"Radio me if anything develops. And don't stray too far from this bedroom. I'll want to find you quickly when I return."

Malcolm closed the door behind Chou. He stared at the smoothly painted wood, listening to Chou's footsteps grow fainter and fainter in the carpeted hall.

"He knows," Sheila said dully. "He knows about us."

…..

I really am old, thought Serov as he staggered from his cot to answer the phone. Once there was a time when I would have flown off the bed and caught the phone before it finished its second ring. Now I'm groggy when I open my eyes, it takes me a ring to pull myself together and two more rings to cross my office. Counting the ring which wakes me up, that makes four rings before I'm getting the message. Yes, he thought as he lifted the receiver, interrupting the start of the fifth ring, I'm old.

"Serov." At least, thought the bureau chief, I don't sound old.

"Comrade Serov," the voice at the other end said firmly, "I’m afraid I have some rather bad news for you."

Serov's stomach churned, the acid fires building. It was Commander Ryzhov.

"Yes," continued Ryzhov drolly' "as you know, another operation group has a very highly placed double in the American FBI. They use him rarely, and he communicates to his control only items of the utmost importance. One hour ago he reported that American security troops killed a Russian saboteur-spy after interrupting his mission near a missile in the northern border state of
Montana
. The Russian agent carried a machine which, unfortunately for the Americans, was destroyed by him just before he died. The Americans have also detained two of their citizens who allegedly helped this Russian spy, and yet a third American was killed in a gunfight with
Chicago
authorities. Our FBI contact reports his superiors are quite pleased with the way they have thwarted another Soviet spy ring. There are still some policy matters to be settled, such as whether they will have a public trial and mass publicity or settle for a quiet exchange, but the Americans are ecstatic at their success."

Serov's heart pounded with joy. He wanted to shout his happiness, but he wasn't sure how Ryzhov would take such an outburst, nor was Serov sure who might have a tap on the line. Instead, he decided to match his superior's droll sarcasm. "It is indeed a pity that we failed."

"Yes, yes, it is. I assume you will see to it that proper noises along such lines are made at the proper points!'

"Of course, of course."

"I have already informed Krumin. And, Serov

"Yes, sir?" Serov asked nervously.

‘’. . I won't forget the excellent work you've done m this matter. Neither will others."

"Thank you sir, thank you. I tried my best."

"It was good enough." The line clicked silent.

Serov returned the receiver to its cradle, closed his eyes and allowed himself a long sigh of relief. It's over, he thought, except for getting the proper leaks back through the double agents. In another few hours I can go home.

He sighed again, then picked up the phone, his energy revitalized by his happiness.

"You don't seem pleased, sir," Kevin commented,, his eyes bloodshot from the lack of sleep but still alert enough to detect the subtleties in the old man's demeanor. "I realize it would have been nicer if we could have captured the Russian and his machine, but at least we stopped him."

"Yes," sighed the old man reluctantly, "at least there is that." He lowered his coffee cup to the table and stared at the plate of half-eaten fried eggs. He never liked Sunday working breakfasts at the office.

Kevin didn't know what to say. He had flown back from
Montana
late Saturday night on a military transport plane after attending to minor housekeeping chores. The transport plane also carried the Russian7s body and the debris of the machine. Both were undergoing intensive examination by CIA technicians. The preliminary reports were interesting: The Russian's fingerprints were not on Me with any of the intelligence agencies, nor had he been identified through examining the thousands of photographs of known and suspected Russian agents. But the CIA pathologist, who knew the details his employers had on this "case," had gone so far as to paste an index card with Krumin (Code name: Rose) typed in neat letters on the table which held the Soviet agent's mortal remains.

"There's something about this that bothers me," the old man said at last, "something that I can't place or identify. It's very seldom we have everything we want or need to know. We have a good deal more in 'this instance than in most. But something doesn't seem right."

"Is there anything I can do?" Kevin asked hastily. He looked across the room as he spoke. He was sure Carl lurked behind the slightly open door, eavesdropping.

"No, my boy, nothing," the old man consoled. "You did a marvelous job, simply marvelous. As soon as Condor gets back and you've had a chance to talk with him, I want you to take some time off. Then you, Dr. Lofts and I will take our Condor under our wings and see if we can't build him up a little more. He's had a nice, easy mission so far, nothing dangerous. The experience must have been very good for him. Couple that with what we do have from this little affair, and the picture seems much brighter, much brighter."

…..

Malcolm pulled the emergency brake tight, then settled back in his seat with his hands on the jeep's steering wheel. Bright sunlight and government wax combined to reflect the small-town images of Whitlash off the jeep's hood.

"Beautiful Sunday," Chou had said when he woke them early that morning, "calm, peaceful, beautiful. A perfect day, a day to rest after a crisis' end. What better day for you to go muddle things up once more, eh, Malcolm? What better day for a Condor to fly?"

Malcolm slowly climbed out of the jeep. He walked to the car behind him. Sheila rolled down the window as he leaned over to talk to her. He used his body to screen the motion of their hands touching from the house behind him.

"Be very careful," she told him, "do exactly as Chou said. You should be in no danger. If you do run into trouble, remember, we're not far away. If you're not back on the road in thirty minutes, we'll come in after you. If something goes wrong, just hold out thirty minutes."

Malcolm smiled. "I'll see you in less than half an hour."

He turned and walked up the stairs to the Robinsons’ front door. Behind him, Sheila pulled her car from the curb and drove away.

"Why, Mr. Malcolm," said Grandmother Stowe as she opened the door and led Malcolm into the kitchen, "this is a pleasant surprise. We weren’t sure who it was when you and that lady drove up. We certainly weren't expecting company, but you're more than welcome."

"Thank you," Malcolm said. He walked in the front door, through the living room and into the kitchen. He took the seat offered by Fran Robinson, who had a puzzled smile marring her look of housewifely hospitality.

"Is everyone home?" Malcolm, asked as pleasantly as be could.

Fran Robinson glanced quickly at her mother before replying. "Well, yes. Pete is working in the shed. My husband, Neil, is lying down upstairs. He doesn't feel too well. And his brother-in-law, Dave, you remember, Dave Livingston, he was visiting us the last time you were here with . . . with your questions, well, he's up there.

Oh, Dave! I didn't hear you come down;"

Dave Livingston stood in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. Malcolm thought the look on his face might be a smile, but if it was, the smile took some of
Livingston
's youth away from him. It was a middle-aged man who replied to Fran's greeting.

"I'm very quiet. Neil is back to sleep now. How are you, Malcolm?"
Livingston
asked, crossing the kitchen. He sat across the kitchen table from Malcolm. "I didn't think we would see you again so soon. Are there some questions from the survey you forgot to ask?"

"Dave, dear," interrupted Grandmother Stowe sweetly, "did you notice that this time Mr. Malcolm didn't come alone? When he drove up, another person, a nice young girl, followed him in her own car. She drove away, though, but not before I saw our Malcolm flirt with her."

Malcolm smiled at the teasing remark. Very smoothly done, he thought, and I had better expand on it. "She's an old friend. She wanted to come with me, but I made her agree to meet me elsewhere in ... oh, in just a few min. utes. She'll be quite upset if I'm late."

"I imagine she would be," Dave replied thoughtfully. He changed his smile slightly. Some of his youth returned, but