The Falstaff Enigma (37 page)

"Continue with most things as if normal and at the same time rally those forces that will remain loyal."

"You know that the Politburo is scheduled to convene Monday morning." The premier was still gazing at the painting.

"No, I did not know. I suggest that you keep the meeting as scheduled and perhaps yo
u will be ready to move by then. You can start with Marshal Khuzhotzov. Do you trust him?"

"Very much so. He has advised me closely on many matters and has always endeavored to keep me well informed on military affairs. He is a wise man who values peace and order. I am sure he would not plot to
overthrow civilian leadership. Yes, he must be loyal."

Borskov could not be sure if the
general secretary's judgment was distorted by an unwillingness to admit betrayal. But the marshal's questions regarding de-mothballing seemed to prove his innocence in the plot. "That gives you all of the forces based in Moscow. Is there anyone else who you think will be loyal?"

"All  of them, I hope." Andropov bowed his head and rubbed his balding forehead. "Sorry, Colonel." He returned to his armchair. "Given that Timolenko is the ringleader, then I would bet that Marshal Golanov is not involved. They hate each other."

"Marshal Golanov? I am not familiar with the name."

"He is the commander-in-chief of the Group of Soviet Forces in Germany."

"Ah, yes. Wouldn't he be central to this coup attempt?"

"I don't see how. He replaced Timolenko and they hate each other. Marshal Golanov
would never take orders from Timolenko. Never"

"Then ask him to fly here tomorrow. If he comes then he is loyal. If he makes an excuse, he is a traitor.''

"Very good, Colonel. I like that idea. Now what about this Jew you said had a plan?"

"He is a Mo
ssad spy. He and the American discovered what was going on and are here to stop it. The plan was to put the Israeli in the place of the American mole and we succeeded. If he learns anything he has a way to get in touch with us."

"Where is he now?"

"He is in Marshal Timolenko's headquarters in Minsk."

"That's suicide. Is he crazy?"

"No, sir. But there was no alternative. We know a coup is imminent and this seems the only way to find out when and how.”

"I don't think I want to pin my hopes on this." The
general secretary began drumming his fingers on the chair's arm. Again, the action was just the release of nervous energy, not registering in his present thoughts. "You know, I trust you, Colonel Borskov." Andropov's voice had suddenly assumed a conspiratorial tone. "In the morning, I will have a meeting. Not of the Politburo, but of those I know to be loyal. I want you there by my side.

"In fact, I want you to stay here now. I have already had an office prepared for your use. All of those within the KGB who are w
orking for you will be welcome. Lieutenant Vasilevsky is assigned to assist you in any way. He is under your command." Andropov paused for a moment to interpret Borskov's blank look. "Oh, he is the man who escorted you here tonight."

"Thank you for your trust, comrade
general secretary."

"Now
, my question is: How do you think we should run governmental affairs until this is resolved? I don't know whether I should adopt a bunker mentality or not." The premier continued to drum with his fingers, oblivious to his own distraction.

"I think that if you disappear from sight then you may only embolden those
Army officers whose loyalties are now on the fence." The KGB colonel was trying to manipulate his leader. He knew that if the premier were no longer an available target, it might only drive the conspirators underground. "You must continue to appear in control and that means going about most of your routines as if all were normal, while we work behind the scenes to unravel this group of traitors."

"But won't I be an easy target?"

"We will, of course, have extraordinary security and that should include wearing a bulletproof vest. It will be only the important events that we keep scheduled."

"I appreciate your point, but I am not sure." Andropov wanted the
colonel to tell him to take refuge in the strongest and most remote shelter. But he knew in his heart that he could not hide.

"Premier Andropov, please, I must stress that the future of this country now rests with you." Borskov paused for a moment, remembering to whom he was speaking. He began
again, his tone calmer. "Forgive me, comrade general secretary, but if you entrench now, then one of two things will happen. Either all these traitors will wait or they will act anyway. If they wait, then this cancer will continue to spread at a time when we can only see the surface – Marshal Timolenko. And he has an entire Army to protect him, so surgery could not even be performed. If they act now, thinking that you have entrenched, then we will be facing civil war. We have the Israeli there to tell us what their plans are, but if you are inaccessible then they will just line up their troops and prepare for war." Borskov was pleading. He waited and looked into the premier's eyes, appealing directly to his soul.

The
general secretary shifted his body weight and stopped his drumming. He ran through a couple of scenarios in his head and realized the logic of his new advisor. "Yes, you are right. But what about the Politburo meeting Monday?"

"That is very Important.
You must convene and address the meeting as usual." Andropov nodded his head, accepting his upcoming role. Borskov thought about those who would be attending the meeting. How could they find out who was a traitor? Then he remembered. "You mentioned that Marshal Khuzhotzov had asked you something."

"He wanted to know whether I had ordered any units out of mothballs."

"Meaning tanks and self-propelled guns and items like that?"

"Yes, exactly."

"I don't understand," the colonel said. He folded his thick arms across his chest. The weight of his forearms pressed down on his stomach, forcing his belly to curl over the top of his belt buckle. "Assuming that Timolenko ordered these units out of mothballs, why would he do it?"

"To
have units ready for civil war,” the premier replied. “It's obvious."

"Right. But if he was so sure that civil war was breaking out, why would he be sending most of his troops into Germany to take part in July maneuvers? That's the part that doesn't make sense."

"Especially if Marshal Khuzhotzov is not one of the traitors," Andropov added as an after-thought. "I see your dilemma. Perhaps he feels obligated to carry on the ruse by continuing with plans for the maneuvers in Germany. These are very big operations that are planned. Over 300,000 troops are scheduled to be involved."

"Another possible explanation is that he expects fighting to break out with Marshal
Golanov's forces in Germany. What if there is someone else in Moscow that Timolenko thinks will hold sway over the Moscow District?"

"Who?"

"I don't know."

Andropov looked around the room as if looking at all the possible suspects in the eye.
"Maybe the defense minister. I say his name only because he argued to keep Marshal Timolenko in a command post. Obviously he prevailed."

"Yes. It does make sense. He would hold sway over the
general staff here in Moscow. That would leave only Marshal Golanov as a threat."

The Premier stood up again and walked to the large painting. "No, it can't be," he said while facing the huge work of art. "He has been one of my most trusted advisors. You said before that the young officer you caught and interrogated made some monologue about all of this being a backlash against my campaign to improve relations with the West. I guess they fear any demilitarization." Andropov spun around. "But the
defense minister has been a strong supporter of my campaign. We have even had discussions on these recent deaths. We both thought some secret purge was going on. He could not be a traitor. What motive does he have? Why would he do that?"

Borskov shrugged, his eyes running along the edge of the coffee table. "I ... I just don't know." His thoughts pored over all of the prior events, trying desperately to lead to a logical conclusion that he knew had to exist. Every action has a reason at this level of chess.

Chess! It’s there! It’s my favorite strategy. Apparently pulling back while all the time preparing for a massed offensive. Defensive moves only drawing the enemy into an inescapable noose. War! Annihilation!

"What if," Borskov
said slowly, his voice containing a noticeable level of fear, "the July maneuvers were just a cover?"

"A cover for what?"

"An invasion of Western Europe."

The Soviet leader's eyes opened wide, his jaw muscles relaxing involuntarily. "No, I don't
accept that. It is preposterous."

"It explains everything.
Taking units out of mothballs, moving troops to Germany, the largest maneuvers ever, and it explains why they are not concerned with Moscow. The day war starts, then all generals will have no option but to fall in line under the leader of the Western Strategic Direction. Civil war will mean suicide for the Soviet Union. The country will be instantly galvanized. You told me yourself that Timolenko tried to start a war last year."

Andropov stood in stunned silence. Each sentence by Borskov seemed to sap more energy from the leader. His advisor was right; this new and deadly twist explained all of the
unexplainables. It was a theory without any obvious holes. "We must bring in Marshal Khuzhotzov and discuss this with him."

“Tell me again the name of the man who escorted you.” The interrogator’s English was very good, even though his pronunciation lacked practice. He held the rank of major, his age suggesting that he had been passed up for promotion many times.

"Andrei Glinka. You want me to spell it for you?"
David Margolis was tired and irritated. He was now in the middle of the second interrogation in the three hours since he last inhaled fresh air. He faced the same interrogator and the same questions.

"How did he contact you?"

"Yuri Savitsky had a phone number he could use to contact me in an emergency. Glinka used that number. He used Savitsky's cover name in Washington and set up a meeting. He knew all about Savitsky's cover as a gold dealer." David' s words were mechanical. They reflected his mood. "The next morning we met. He told me that Savitsky had been killed and that I was in danger if I stayed.

"Look, by now you have had plenty of time to verify everything I've told you. You must know that I
'm missing in the United States. You can verify that I was on that Air France flight and you can verify that I passed through your customs in Moscow. Now what is the problem?"

The maj
or tried to appear sympathetic. "These are just formalities, Mr. Berkshire. Unfortunately, we here in the Soviet Union are not ... what is that phrase?" The Mossad spy offered no help. "I can't think of it. Anyway, we have more bureaucracy here. It can be frustrating, but you learn to live with it.

"I forgot to ask you before about the $1,800 in traveler's checks in your wallet. This is a great deal of money. Where did it come from?"

"Andrei Glinka gave me $3,000 at our meeting. It was to cover my traveling costs. It belongs to you, if you want it back."

The major ignored the statement and leafed through two passports he was holding. One was Berkshire's real U.S. passport and the other was his traveling Swiss alias. Both had been created earlier that day
after Nikolai arrived in Moscow. They were identical to the authentic passports except for the photographs and the visa stamps of various countries. The KGB men who prepared the fakes could only guess about Berkshire's actual travels from his file. "You enjoy traveling, Mr. Berkshire?"

"No, not really. I have us
ually traveled because I must."

"You have been to England how many times?"

"Four, that I can remember offhand – not including my time at Oxford."

"But your passport shows only two visits."

"One is not on there because it was when I was younger and had a different passport. The other is missing because I flew in on a military plane and avoided customs. Anything else, Major?"

The major looked down at the pages of the Swiss passport with the name Tomas Strauss and  the photograph of David Margolis. It was empty of any stamps whatsoever. "Yes. You used this passport to fly here, didn't you?" The major held up the passport. It was held open by his fingers and he turned it so that the binding faced David.

“Yes.”

"Have you ever used this before?"

"No. I had that passport only to be able to get out of the United States."

"Then tell me, Mr. Berkshire, why there is no stamp from Soviet immigration?"

"I don't know," replied David. He thought a little about his response. "I remember. Andrei Glinka arranged for me to be waved through your customs people. They never even bothered to stamp that passport."

"Your
flew through Paris, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Did they also forget to stamp your passport?"

W
as this an oversight?
David silently cursed the man who put together these documents. David thought quickly. He realized that his interrogator had never travelled through a Western airport. “I never went through customs in Paris. I just deplaned and went to the gate for the flight to Moscow. You don’t pass through customs in that situation.”

The major continued to flip through the pages of the Swiss passport. He believed Berkshire's answers and thought of a new line of questioning. "After Glinka was arrested, what did you do?"

"I immediately found a phone and called you."

"How did you know how to do this?"

"Yuri Savitsky had told me about Marshal Timolenko. And then in Moscow, Glinka told me we were coming to Minsk to meet the marshal."

"Colonel Savitsky told you about Marshal Timolenko? You did not mention this before."

"I needed to know exactly whom I was working for and why. I didn't give Yuri much choice. I was not willing to continue otherwise.” David was nervous for the first time. Austin was sure that the real Berkshire already knew about Timolenko and the coup plot. But what if Austin was wrong? What if Savitsky never had any contact with the marshal?

"I don't understand. You have worked for us for years. Why do you suddenly have a problem with continuing?"

"Well, since you don't seem to know, Yuri felt me out and then revealed the plot. He knew that I wanted to see the Soviet Union return to a truer course."

"What plot are you talking about?"

"You know what I am talking about. If you don't, then talk to the marshal; he will tell you."

"When did Colonel Savitsky tell you
this?"

“I don’t remember exactly, but it was three or four months ago.”

“And when he told you this, you demanded to know who the leader was?”

“Yes, exactly.”

"How did you know what phone number to use?"

"Yuri gave me the number just in case I might need it. Glinka also gave me the same number. He didn't know that I already had it. He was very nervous after we arrived in Moscow."

"What about the code words you used?"

"Yuri told them to me."

"What was Andrei Glinka afraid of?"

"He thought we might be arrested at any time. He had me follow him at long distances in the airports."

"Where were you when he was arrested?"

"He was near the front of the terminal and I was around thirty, forty yards back down this long hallway.” Margolis recalled the next few questions from the previous interrogation. He preempted the major. "There were two men who arrested him. They wore dark suits. They took him outside and put him in the back of a police car that pulled up. At least, it looked like a police car. I got out of the middle of the hallway as soon as I could and called."

"Why do you think you got away?" This question was a new addition to the series from last time.

"I guess they didn't know who they were looking for other than Glinka. I got lucky."

The major stood up from the edge of David's bed. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket, removed one and placed it in his mouth unlit. He removed another and offered it to the Mossad agent.

David hesitated. He did not recall reading anything in Berkshire's KGB file about smoking. He did not remember seeing the DIA advisor smoke during those brief moments when the man was under his surveillance. But they were stressful moments, times when a smoker is weakest to his addiction. "No, thank you."

The major's eyes opened widely. David wasn't sure whether the reaction was genuine. He went with his instinct: the reaction was forced. "That's interesting, Mr. Berkshire," said the major, his voice assuming the tone of a cross-examining prosecutor, "your file says you are an avid smoker." He withdrew the cigarette and waited for a response.

David looked into the major's eyes. He had two possible responses. One was more probable but the other was defendable under any circumstances. "I always thought Soviet intelligence was much better than that," he said coolly. "I have never been a smoker and if your file says otherwise
, then it's wrong."

The major smiled. His adversary had successfully called his bluff and in so doing had convinced him of his legitimacy. He pulled out his lighter and lit the cigarette that still dangled between his lips. He inhaled d
eeply, craving the satisfaction of nicotine. He extended his hand. "Welcome to the Soviet Union, comrade Berkshire." David shook his hand, not certain of what the man's greeting really meant.

The major walked out of the room and only a few meters down the hall. Marshal Timolenko stood there waiting for the major, his face asking the question on his mind. The major looked back to make sure the guard had closed the door into Berkshire's room and then spoke. "Yes, comrade
marshal, I would say that he is really Thomas Berkshire."

"You don't sound certain."

"If his file had photographs or fingerprints, then we could be certain, sir."

"What about the man who brought him here?"

"His name is Andrei Glinka. We tried to get his file from the KGB central computer but it had been protected. That is a good sign since you will remember, sir, that we had Colonel Savitsky protect the files of all our men in the KGB. Unfortunately, the colonel never told us who worked for him within the KGB. It sounds like him to set up a back-up in case he was killed. That means that everything this man describes is plausible. The weight of evidence says this man is really Berkshire. There is one thing for certain, sir. This man is a native-born American. His English is flawless."

"Good,
Major. Now come back in so that you can translate." The marshal brushed past the major and walked into the room of Thomas Berkshire. Keeping in line with his style, he walked quickly over to David, who was now lying down on the bed. The Israeli stood rapidly and the marshal shook his hand. The commander kissed each cheek of this man who was destined to be a Soviet hero. Timolenko loudly proclaimed a few sentences.

The major remained just inside the now closed doorway of the room. "He says: Welcome, comrade Berkshire. It is his pleasure to greet such a brave hero as you. Finally, he expressed sadness at the death of Yuri Savitsky."

The major waited for a response, but David was speechless for a moment. "This is Marshal Timolenko," the major finally said, trying to shake a response from the American in front of him.

David shook the marshal's hand again, only this time more vigorously than before. "Tell the marshal that I am the one who is honored to be in the presence of such a brave leader." The major repeated the words in Russian and Timolenko laughed loudly. "Tell him that I offer whatever services I can give." The message was forwarded and the marshal spoke in reaction. David tried to distract his mind by thinking of something – anything – else as the marshal spoke in order to avoid any reaction to the words he understood as well as English.

"He says that he likes you already. He can tell an army officer when he speaks with one." Timolenko looked back at the major as the officer spoke. When he was sure the translation was over he shook his head and walked out of the room. As he passed through the door he waved his arm without looking back or slowing down. "We will follow the marshal," said the major.

"Where are we going?"

"I don't know, but we have to hurry. He has the energy of a teenager." Both men walked rapidly to catch up with their leader. The three men continued through several hallways. In less than two minutes, the trio walked through a waiting room and into the same conference room in which the marshal had begun his day. He issued orders to the two guards to close the door.

Timolenko and the major began speaking to each other. The marshal had told the major to ask the American how much he had been told by Savitsky. The major told Timolenko, using the information from the last interrogation. David looked over the small conference room, feigning ignorance at the conversation in front of him. The marshal finally asked a quest
ion the major could not answer. "Marshal Timolenko would like to know if you consider yourself an avid Marxist."

"Yes.
A Marxist/Leninist." David watched the commander's face as his response was relayed. The face was glowing with excitement.

"He asks if you wish to see Marxism spread throughout the world?"

"Yes, of course." David was impatient at having this needless intermediary.

"Do you feel that armed struggle is the only way the capitalists will eventually release their grip on power?"

"No. Inevitably the masses will gain control." David rethought his answer. "I mean yes, in the sense that revolution will eventually occur in all countries."

"What time frame do you foresee?"

"I guess ... I'm not sure. It will be a long process."

"Marshal Timolenko says that in the meantime the masses will continue to suffer under the yoke of exploitation."

"I don't understand what point the marshal is trying to make."

Timolenko stepped onto the
dais and walked to the podium. He turned the same knob that had sealed the room earlier that day. Once again, the green light came on. He spoke to his translator as he stepped back and grabbed the lower right corner of a white sheet that covered what David half expected to be a painting.

"The day of liberation has arrived," said the translator. David stepped forward, his pulse quickening.

Marshal Timolenko tugged at the sheet, his effort easily forcing the shroud to succumb to gravity. David eased forward slowly, his legs quivering, instantly unsure of their course of direction. Before him lay the plan of battle for World War III.