Vortex- Berlin

by Lee Jackson

Collins scoffed. “You know the answer. Yermolov killed Gonçalo because he was the only person who could say that a man survived the crash.”

  “I had to ask. All right. I’m not sure I’m totally on board, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. What do we do with this information? Is it something we can print?”

  “Not yet. It’s explosive, but we don’t have to worry about anyone scooping us. Our competition never knew about Yermolov, aka Clary. Get it to the Pentagon. I’ll let Sofia know as soon as I get back to Berlin.”

  After his conversation with Jakes, Collins settled into his seat aboard the plane. His mind was restless. Could Yermolov have survived that crash?

  With an overnight layover in Lisbon, Collins arrived in Berlin the next morning. As soon as he cleared customs, he headed to the Mövenpick. There, he learned that Atcho and Sofia had checked out. Although relieved to hear that Atcho had escaped, he felt pressed to get word to him about Yermolov.

  He went to the Berlin offices of the Washington Herald and watched in fascination the news clips of Atcho’s rescue. He surmised that Atcho must have moved to a safe place under the Army’s protection. At midmorning, he arrived at Berlin Brigade’s headquarters, and after a few inquiries and phone calls to Jakes in DC, and to the Pentagon to confirm his credentials, he was directed to a guest apartment. A pair of sentries frisked him, and then one called up to the room.

  Atcho answered the phone. Upon learning who sought admittance, he told the guard, “We don’t have time for interviews,” and hung up.

  “Call him back,” Collins insisted. “Tell him that Borya Yermolov escaped.”

  The young soldier complied reluctantly. After a short conversation, he told Collins, “He wasn’t happy about your arrival, but he said to escort you in.”

  When they knocked on the apartment door, Atcho answered. “You’ve meddled enough,” he said by way of greeting. “We don’t need you broadcasting to the world before we can figure out what’s going on. This had better be good.”

  “You need to hear this,” Collins retorted. “There are things you need to know about besides Yermolov’s probable escape.”

  Atcho glowered but led him into the living room. Sofia and Burly were there, seated. Sofia appraised him guardedly. Burly stood and greeted him. “Great to see you, man. It’s been a long time.”

  Collins returned the greeting coolly. “The last time we met, you weren’t so congenial.”

  Burly laughed. He remembered the encounter a year earlier at Camp David, during which Collins had been treated less than courteously. “All in a day’s work,” he replied. “Professional distance. But you did a superb job.”

  “Can we get down to business?” Atcho cut in. “Collins says that Yermolov escaped.”

  Astonished, Sofia and Burly asked in unison. “Has that been confirmed?”

  Collins shook his head. “The helicopter that took him away crashed in the Atlantic. No reported survivors. The Pentagon thought he was dead.” He related his investigation in the Azores, including that João thought Gonçalo had been murdered. He told them about the bloody uniform with the entry and exit holes in the left leg.

  Atcho groaned. “That’s where I shot him.” His jaw had drawn taut. “Any idea where he’s gone?”

  “Maybe.” Collins took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. The burden of weighty matters showed on his face. He felt on edge. “Our DC office informed the Pentagon, but no one has had time to run it to ground.” He wiped his glasses. “He could be here in Berlin. He might be behind the two attacks on you.”

  Atcho, Sofia, and Burly exchanged startled glances. Burly was the first to speak. “Are we off the record?” His tone left no room for nonsense.

  “Of course,” Collins replied testily. “Until you tell me otherwise. Do you want to hear the rest?”

  The three remained seated. When no one’s expression changed, Collins turned to leave. “Suit yourselves.” He headed toward the door.

  Atcho stood. “Wait. Let’s hear it. Please sit down.”

  Collins still felt on edge. “I haven’t asked questions or requested an interview,” he snapped. “I came to give information. It gets worse. If you don’t want to hear it, I’ll take it to Army intelligence across the parking lot.” He paused. “I have a family too. I want to see my kids grow up.” He rubbed his eyes again, obviously fatigued.

  Burly beckoned. “We’ll listen. Have a seat.”

  “As I said, Yermolov might be in Berlin,” Collins began, not relishing the news he had to pass along. “He’s either seeking or already has a nuclear bomb.”

  Now he had their full attention. Sofia put her hand over her mouth. She started to speak, and then stopped herself.

  The group asked Collins a few terse questions about what else he had learned in the Azores. He informed them of his visit earlier in the year with the Rasputin followers, including Veniamin.

  Twenty minutes after he arrived, Burly walked him to the door. “Thanks for coming. You know we can’t reciprocate, at least not now. We’ll have to escalate this to the White House immediately. You could lose your scoop.”

  Collins nodded grimly. “I know.” He paused when they reached the front porch. “I know I screwed up by not reporting Veniamin.” He shrugged. “I thought Yermolov was in prison…” His voice trailed away, his shoulders drooped. Then he straightened his back and locked eyes with Burly. “Get that bastard. Before something bad happens.”

  “We’ll give it our best shot. And when there’s a story to tell, you’ll be the first to hear it.” He clapped Collins on the shoulder. “You’ll probably know it before us anyway.”

  “What do you think?” Burly asked after Collins had gone.

  “Wolfgang’s announcement is in thirty-six hours,” Sofia blurted. “The time for talking is over. It’s time to put plans in motion.”

  “I agree,” Atcho interjected. “We’d better brief the commanding general and Shelby. We need to know what other resources we can get.”

  “I’ll set it up,” Burly said. “This new information needs to get to the White House. Now.” He went to the phone.

  Atcho stroked his chin. “That must be how the East Germans know so much about you and me,” he said to Sofia. “That had to be Yermolov on the phone with Klaus the other night. Collins could have saved us a lot of trouble if he had told us about Veniamin last year.”

  “We can’t dwell on that,” Sofia cut in. “I’ll get the intel listening guys to see if they can pinpoint the cousin’s location. The Paris office can run down the Rasputin group there. That should give us a good start. We might get lucky and intercept Veniamin before he makes delivery.”

  Atcho stood quietly with arms crossed. “Tell them to use their best guys on the intercept. We want the bombs and Yermolov. I promise you, he has bigger plans.”

  While Atcho spoke, Burly returned from the phone.

  “What does he want?” Sofia asked.

  “That’s not hard to figure,” Atcho replied. “He’s always been after major roles in the Soviet Union. If he blows a hole in the Wall with a nuke and blasts another critical Soviet target, Gorbachev is done. Yermolov sees himself as top dog in Moscow.”

  “I agree,” Burly said. “Sorry to interrupt. The general wants a full briefing this afternoon with all parties present. Sofia, you need to get your team over here from the east side. He understands the urgency but won’t go off half-cocked.

  “Atcho, to complete what you were saying, if Yermolov succeeds, the only good part for us is that the Soviets will be so busy stitching their empire together, they won’t have time to mess with the US for years. They’ll have to use military force. Poland is about to seize its independence. Chechnya is always a problem. The Baltic states are agitating to follow Poland, and the neighboring Eastern Bloc countries won’t be far behind. Czechoslovakia is moving in that direction. The farther east you go on the Soviet border, the less control they have.

  “Then they’re smack in the middle of Islamic cou
ntries, who don’t like the Soviets anyway. Hell, Moscow already pulled its troops out of Afghanistan ten months ago.” He shook his head. “This can turn ugly real fast.”

  Sofia listened, her worry deepening. “Look,” she said, “so far, there’s no evidence that Yermolov knows about my mission, but if he’s calculating like we are, he’ll anticipate a move to open the Wall in less than a week. That means the bombs must arrive soon. They might already be here. We’ve got to move. I’ve got to go get my team.

  “Burly, while you’re running this up the chain, check on signal intel.” She stopped, her face grave as a thought struck her. “You know the Soviets have to be informed.”

  Burly nodded grimly. “I’m sure our higher levels are thinking of that, but I’ll check to make sure.”

  “The president should talk to Gorbachev quickly. If word gets out, Yermolov could accelerate. When is the rest of Atcho’s team arriving?”

  The phone rang. Atcho answered, spoke briefly, and hung up. “Collins wants another minute of your time,” he told Burly, “and my guys just arrived.”

  22

  A guard knocked on the door. Burly opened it and showed Collins and five other men into the apartment. The newcomers were in excellent physical shape and walked with a quiet calm that turned into exuberance when they saw Atcho, Sofia, and Burly.

  Atcho recognized his old Bay of Pigs comrade, Rafael. Behind him was Ivan.

  Sofia greeted them quickly. “I’m sorry,” she told them. “I have to go retrieve my team. Atcho will explain.” They hugged her, and she darted out the door.

  Rafael clasped Atcho in a bear hug. “There’s trouble whenever you and Sofia and Burly show up at the same time.” He spoke in a jocular tone with a Cuban accent.

  “I’m glad you came, hermano.” Atcho stepped back so that Burly could greet Rafael. Then he turned his attention to the next man in the group, one who bore a passing resemblance to the comedian Bob Newhart, but with a serious countenance and a muscular physique. “Ivan!” Atcho’s enthusiasm was unbridled. “You came! Sorry the circumstances couldn’t be better.”

  “No worries,” Ivan said. “That’s why I’m here. I didn’t even have to be coerced.” The former KGB officer spoke with an easy midwestern American accent, one for which he had trained prior to being assigned in the United States on a Soviet intelligence mission. He greeted Burly while Rafael introduced Atcho to the three remaining individuals.

  The men had laid-back smiles and projected good natures, albeit with an unstated warning that said, “Cross us at your peril.”

  “These men didn’t stop fighting Castro at the Bay of Pigs,” Rafael said. “They were also part of Brigade 2506 supporting the CIA in the Congo. They rescued those missionary children in 1963. If not for them, those kids would be dead.”

  Atcho stood back to scrutinize them, his demeanor demonstrating increased respect. Rafael broke in again. “That’s why I chose them. They’ve done this before.”

  One of the men stepped forward. “I am Juan,” he said. He indicated the other two. “This is Fernando and Pepe.” He faced Atcho. “We’re honored to work with you.”

  “Don’t get all gushy,” Rafael interjected, laughing.

  Atcho looked critically over the men. He liked what he saw, but still had reservations. “That Congo operation was more than twenty-five years ago.”

  The three stared back in sudden silence. Rafael stepped close to Atcho. “When you called me to go to Siberia last year, you didn’t ask my age. You called. I came.” He spoke firmly. “These are my brothers. They fought alongside of me many times. They would have come just because I asked, but when I told them it was you who called, they were eager. I trust them with my life. You can trust them with yours.”

  Atcho looked into the weathered faces of each man and held out his hand. “Thanks for coming. Do you know why you’re here?”

  “Just a general outline,” Juan replied.

  “Burly couldn’t tell us much,” Rafael chimed in.

  “Well, things just became a lot more urgent,” Atcho said. While he filled them in, he looked across the room to where Collins talked quietly with Burly. After a few moments, Collins made eye contact with Atcho and left.

  “What did Collins want?” Atcho asked Burly a few minutes later.

  “He thinks he might be able to help,” Burly replied, “like he did last year with that Rasputin story. The one planted in Pravda.”

  “He wants to plant another story?”

  “This time he’ll do it on television. Time is short. We have to be sure Yermolov hears it. Collins’ editor is contracting with a Berlin videographer to join him. He also thinks he can do some more ferreting. He’s going to France to find Veniamin.”

  Atcho felt uneasy. “You’re okay with that? We don’t know where the bombs are.”

  Burly shrugged. “Can’t hurt. Everything Collins knows about this situation he found out on his own. He doesn’t need our permission to do the digging or to run with the story. If his report is dropped on the public at a critical juncture, it could give us an advantage and get Yermolov’s supporters to turn on him.”

  “Maybe, but this is Germany, not Russia. Yermolov couldn’t have much of an organization behind him now.”

  “Sure. That’s what we thought last year, but it turned out that he had a good chunk of the Soviet military and intelligence services behind him, and a huge part of the bureaucracy. He even had a couple of politburo members and the head of the KGB. He’s been out on his own for nearly a year. The last thing we should do is underestimate him.”

  “You’re right,” Atcho acquiesced. “Collins gets full credit for smoking Yermolov out last year. Maybe he can do it again.”

  23

  That afternoon, the entire team moved to a secure conference room at brigade headquarters, prepared for a discussion with Commanding General Marsh. Sofia arrived with two men and two women trailing behind her. “This is my team,” she said quickly. After introductions, she told Atcho, “The commanding general is on his way. I briefed him before I came in. With a possible nuclear bomb in the mix now, he wants to be informed up to the minute. His intelligence and operations officers are coming, too. You already met the intel guy yesterday morning at your debriefing.”

  Before Atcho could respond, an orderly stepped in and called out, “A-tten-tion!” The room fell silent. “The commanding general,” the orderly announced.

  Atcho swung around for a better view. Two generals walked into the room. Atcho shot Sofia a questioning glance.

  “General Marsh is in command now,” she whispered, pointing him out. “General Shachnow will take over in a few days. They both want to be in the loop.”

  Atcho knew both men by reputation. Marsh’s career already spanned twenty-nine years, and he showed no signs of slowing down. He was a quiet man who did not speak of his accomplishments, but they were many, including two tours in Vietnam. As an infantry officer, he had also trained for airborne operations and was a distinguished helicopter pilot. Before assuming command of the Berlin Brigade, he had been the assistant division commander of the storied 101st Airborne Division. His awards and medals included those of the highest levels. Atcho had little doubt that his further career would be equally sterling.

  Prior to coming to Berlin, Atcho had studied the incoming commanding general, Shachnow, out of curiosity. The man was a legend. Born in Lithuania, he had spent three years in a German occupation prison during the war. After his release when the war ended, he had enlisted in the US Army and had risen rapidly. Upon reaching the rank of sergeant first class, he had attended Officers’ Candidate School and became a commissioned officer. His assignments had included command of Special Forces units.

  And here he is at this historic moment, Atcho thought. How incredible for him to witness Berlin’s liberation after decades of Nazi and Communist occupation.

  “Where’s the two-star?” he whispered to Sofia.

  “On his way stateside, to brief his state depa
rtment boss, the Army chief-of-staff, and the chairman of the joint chiefs. The situation here is gaining a lot of visibility. He’ll back whatever the commanding general here on the ground decides.”

  Two colonels stood by the sides of Marsh and Shachnow. Atcho recognized one of them, the intelligence officer, from yesterday’s debriefing. The colonel guided the generals to meet Atcho.

  “I know about you,” Marsh said, “your whole story.” He spoke in low, clipped terms. “I came to tell you and Sofia personally that you have the full support of my command and my highers.” He introduced General Shachnow and the other colonel. “Colonel Melger is my ops chief. He’ll coordinate whatever you need.”

  As they were about to begin, the door opened, and Sean Shelby came in. He made eye contact with Sofia and moved to the front table with the generals.

  After they had taken their seats, General Marsh turned to Burly. “I understand you have the president’s ear?”

  “I did have, concerning the mission to rescue Atcho. When I first spoke with the CIA director, Atcho had been abducted, but by the time I got here, he had escaped.”

  The general contemplated that. “What’s your role now?”

  Burly shrugged. “You know the nature of Sofia’s mission?”

  “I know the outline. I know that she and her team will be disavowed if things go wrong. And I know things just got a lot hotter with Yermolov and his bombs. The president is keenly aware of both situations and wants frequent updates.” He steepled his hands under his chin. “I can confirm that Yermolov was on the helicopter that went down in the Azores. We do not have confirmation of his continued existence.”

  Silence settled in. Burly broke it. “Atcho will tackle going after Yermolov and the bombs. He’ll be in radio contact with me. Sofia will continue with rescuing Wolfgang and his family. I’ll coordinate between those two missions, and the third one.”

  Marsh’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not familiar with a third mission.”