Warning Order

by Jamie Fredric

  Lampson eyed the ribbons on Grant's uniform. Five medals for valor, two purple hearts. He failed to identify the remainder. "Captain, I appreciate your seeing me. And please call me 'Rick.’ By the way, how's the arm?"

  "Dr. Adler knows his stuff," he laughed. "Thanks for asking." Grant immediately detected the shakiness in Lampson's voice but decided to hold off on any comment.

  The maître'd approached them. Lampson requested a table in the far corner that would offer them more privacy. Once seated, both men ordered only coffee. Grant quickly scanned the ceiling above the table, then lifted the white napkin, intentionally knocking a spoon onto the floor. As he bent over to pick it up, he shot a quick glance under the table. It wasn’t likely there’d be any hidden devices, but an extra gram of caution wouldn’t hurt.

  Lampson reached into his pocket and withdrew the note, sliding it across the table to Grant. He spoke in a hushed voice, still wary of his surroundings. "This was taped to the inside of the medicine cabinet in my room."

  Grant read it, then looked at the photograph Lampson passed to him. He instinctively thought to himself: How the hell did they get this note into his room so fast?

  "They're my sons, Captain." Grant looked at him completely expressionless. Lampson's voice trailed off. "I feel as if I've handed them over on a silver platter from being so stupid in thinking no one would find out." He shook his head slowly. "I should've gotten them out, but Greta..."

  Grant put the photograph face down on the table. His mind was already racing at full throttle. "You have a picture of her?"

  With sadness in his voice, Lampson responded, "Regrettably, no. We couldn't risk it being found in case my things were riffled through."

  "Understood. Now, what's her last name?"

  "Verner," Lampson answered, then spelled it out.

  "Okay, Rick, why don't you start from the beginning?"

  Lampson nodded. He placed his fingertips on the photo, sliding it closer to him. "Greta and I met at the university. We'd occasionally have lunch or dinner together in public, but never met at either one of our apartments. Her uncle had a place on the outskirts of the city with a small cottage at the back portion of the property, totally secluded. Then one day," Lampson continued, "she disappeared. She just up and left her job, her flat...and me."

  No one had to tell Grant that Lampson wasn't a hard-core agent. The man was truly shaken. He couldn’t hide the bewilderment he was feeling from the incident. Grant pushed the half-filled coffee cup further from him, then rested his arms on the table. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Adler holding his coffee cup in his left hand. Grant knew that was the all-clear signal. Then he refocused his full attention on the story Lampson was unfolding.

  Lampson sat back against the brown leather chair. "About eight months later, out of the blue, she called and asked me to meet her at her uncle's place. I knew something was wrong right away, but she refused to tell me anything over the phone." He picked up the photo, staring at the little faces.

  "Why didn't she let you know right from the beginning about her pregnancy?" Grant finally asked.

  "Old world thinking, Captain. It meant embarrassment and disgrace for herself, but she was thinking mostly of her family. She had nowhere to go but her uncle's. The babies were born there, so he was kind enough to let them stay in the cottage." He lowered his head, then slowly raised it and looked directly at Grant. "But it was old world thinking on my part, too. They're all my responsibility, but more than that...I love them. I need to get all of them out."

  Grant swirled the coffee around in the cup, then took a swallow of the warm brew. "You were planning to go back after the debriefing, weren't you?" Lampson looked away, unable to bring himself to answer. "Now you want my help, right?"

  "I don't know who else to turn to, Captain. Right now, you're the only one I can trust, considering the number of individuals that could have planted that note. I mean... shit! My extraction from the East was supposed to be a top secret operation."

  Grant’s brown eyes seemed to bore right through Lampson, and in a low, deep voice he said, "I've got some ears in D.C., but I think that before I commit to 'grabbing my ankles,’ I'd better check with my boss. You do understand, right?" Lampson nodded his response. "Now, you're going to have to answer some questions. Why did word come down to extract you? What was your debriefing with Wharton going to cover?"

  Lampson's chest heaved, as if he were trying to rid it of a huge weight. He knew that security was about to be thrown right out the window. "I don't even know if you're aware of why I was sent in."

  "Why don't you fill me in?"

  "Our intelligence reported that the East German military was working on a new virus, a strain of Monkey Virus B that's been mutated. It's so potent that half a pint would eliminate the population of New York City in twenty-four hours."

  Grant leaned closer. "What about the drug, Rick?"

  "Shit! You seem to be one step ahead of me, Captain. Who's your source?" One look at Grant's expression and Lampson knew it had been foolish to even ask. "But you're right. That's the worry...never mind the virus. The drug, SD-7, is mind-altering in every sense of the word. Its base is a derivative of LSD, but much more powerful. There was a helluva lot of mixing and matching. Depending on the dose, one could expect anything from complete lethargy, to insanity, to death."

  "I get the picture," Grant said grimly. "I assume they tested their new 'tools'?"

  Lampson paled. "We tested on rats and mice, but..." He lowered his head momentarily before looking up. "It was never confirmed to us, but we knew they randomly chose political prisoners, and even drug addicts they'd find in the streets."

  "You can’t feel guilty about that, Rick. Now, why don't you pick up from your orders."

  "The Company checked out several professors at Humboldt Universitat au Berlin. I was instructed to make contact with Herman Schmitt, head of the law faculty. Schmitt had been a newly appointed judge in Berlin when the Russians began flooding the courts with their own partisan personnel. He was allowed a chair at the university where he became involved with Dr. Josef Von Wenzel who worked in the university's chemistry department.

  "Dr. Von Wenzel had been ordered to develop deadly strains of mutant viruses and agents from other known biological and nerve agents. He sought out Schmitt to explore the legal and Geneva Convention positions as to the work he had been ordered to undertake. Through Schmitt, word was leaked to the U.S. intelligence community.” Lampson weakly smiled. “I'm that result. The West knew Schmitt had a strong desire to see Germany reunited, and he was in a perfect position to assist in getting me hired. I already had papers prepared in advance, you know, like resumes and recommendations. So, I followed him for a week or so trying to find out what he did in his spare time. The man has a penchant for art and architecture of the ancient world. Every day he’d go to the Pergamon Museum. That's where I struck up a conversation, standing by the Ishtar Gate from Babylon.

  “After several meetings and dinners, he took me under his wing, and it was mostly by his word alone that got me hired as a biochemistry professor. Five months later, because of my background and reputation at the university, plus a few good words from Schmitt, I was recruited by the military command to assist in bringing the virus and drug to fruition."

  Grant made a mental note to run an intel check on Schmitt anyway, and one on Greta Verner. Then he said, "Look, I know that the Russians had rounded up German scientists to work in Soviet industries. The ones working with you at the military lab must be the cream of the crop."

  "You're right. There were five: Rolf Ehrdmann, Franz Wilstoff, Wilhelm Freidling, Josef Von Wenzel and Fredric Heisen."

  "'Wilstoff,’" Grant mumbled. "Wasn't he nominated for a Nobel Prize awhile back?"

  Lampson confirmed with a nod, shaking an index finger in Grant's direction. "Now, Heisen...there was a remarkable individual."

  "How so?

  "He’s been deaf since birth. He communicates with sign language
and he reads lips." Lampson realized he'd drifted off the main reason for the conversation. "Sorry, Captain, didn't mean to..."

  "Not a problem," Grant interrupted.

  "My original assignment had been completed. I was to become a part of the inner circle of chemists and biologists hand-picked by the Soviets and East German military command. Since the Company was already aware that the project was being backed and funded by the Russians, the last part of the assignment was to get the entire formula for the virus and drug, then get the hell out. What the Company was going to do with them wasn't my concern. Then, I received new instructions. I was to somehow infiltrate..."

  "Let me guess," Grant interrupted, "the FSG, the infamous Freiheiten Soldaten Gruppe, the Freedom Soldiers Group."

  "You already know about them, too?"

  Grant nodded, with his face reflecting obvious disgust.

  Lampson fumbled with a teaspoon in the saucer. "Word was that they were trying to get the drug, and the Company wanted to know how much they knew about it. Specifically, I had to name names, find out who the leader was. So, I started hanging out at beer halls and cafes where we suspected they frequented, dropping words here and there that I was disgruntled with having to live under Russian rule."

  "That could've gotten you arrested, if not killed."

  "Yeah, well, it got me in the door, and that's what I was after. Eventually, I was approached by Klaus Steiner, the leader. Initially, he never gave details of his intentions for using the drug."

  "And their reason for selecting the drug over the virus," Grant added, "was because the virus is too unstable. One whiff and it's over. Steiner couldn't risk it."

  “Right. So, I gradually began passing bits and pieces of the formula to Steiner, some false, some not. I expected he'd eventually take me wholly into his confidence and bring me to their lab."

  "Did he?"

  "If you mean take me to the lab? No. And he trusted me as much as he trusted anyone, which isn’t a whole lot."

  "Who's working at the lab?"

  "Von Wenzel and Heisen were, shall we say, 'recruited' by the FSG. Von Wenzel and I got to be good friends while he was working at the university. It was only after the Company gave me orders to find out about the FSG that I discovered he was working for Steiner, and only because he voluntarily told me. And in case you're wondering, Captain, I can assure you that neither of those men were willing participants. Von Wenzel was one who did take me into his confidence and told me threats had been made against them and their families."

  With a raised eyebrow Grant responded sarcastically, "No surprise there. Did Von Wenzel know it was you who was passing information to Steiner?"

  Lampson shook his head. "No one knew."

  "But...weren't they afraid of being followed by the military or the STASI (East German state security)?"

  "With the threats being made against their families, I guess the STASI felt that was enough."

  "Can't imagine the STASI taking that attitude." There wasn't a doubt in Grant's military mind that the scientists' homes were bugged. He was well acquainted with the East German organization. They conducted foreign intelligence in West Germany and even monitored activities of their own citizens. As far as their effectiveness among Soviet bloc intelligence organizations, they were second only to the KGB.

  "Any idea where the lab is, Rick?"

  "No, only that it's somewhere within the city."

  Grant rubbed his chin, already picturing answers to his next question. "Did you use dead drops to pass the info?"

  "Yeah. The usual way...books left on park benches with certain pages marked, notes left in waterproof pouches that I weighted down with small rocks and dropped into trash cans or buried, and always at different locations. Never saw anybody, though. Guess I should have made an effort and hung around."

  "You did exactly what you were supposed to do, Rick. You could've jeopardized yourself and your mission. You were probably followed by Steiner's man and possibly the East Germans." Grant's respect for the Company was still just about nil. The 'Cowboys in Action.’ Christ! Sending an inexperienced agent to fill such a critical mission seemed preposterous.

  Lampson smiled, nervously patting his pockets. Cigarette smoke drifted through the room, heightening his craving. "I couldn't be lucky enough for you to have a cigarette, could I?"

  "Sorry. Never touch the stuff."

  "Just as well."

  "I'm assuming you didn't write down the formula, right?" Lampson responded with a nod and pointed to his head. "Rick, did Greta know you were involved with the FSG?"

  "No! Absolutely not!" he answered in a loud whisper. "I tried like hell to keep her shielded from anything that could put her in danger." He nearly choked on his words. "I guess I didn't do a very good job."

  "Look, you can't just assume that something's happened to her, Rick." A waiter approached their table, carrying a silver coffee pot. Grant motioned him away, then took a quick look at Adler. The side of his mouth curved up into a brief smile as he watched Joe partake in his own private breakfast buffet. The coffee cup was on the left side of his plate.

  Lampson rotated the white china cup in its saucer, seemingly mesmerized by the beads of oil floating on the coffee's surface. He jerked his head up when he heard Grant's low pitched, authoritative voice.

  "Come on, Rick. You've gotta keep it together."

  "Yeah, I know. I know." He coughed and cleared phlegm from his throat, then he raised a glass of water to his lips and swallowed a mouthful. "Where was I? Oh, yeah. The final phase of my assignment was to find out what Steiner planned on doing with the drug. They're going right for the big guns, Captain. Their timeframe called for them to have the final product ready in order to strike the first blow during a conference in Moscow. Their sights are set on the Kremlin first and then KGB Headquarters."

  That got Grant's attention. He pushed himself back against the thick leather chair. "Christ! Talk about having balls!" he muttered. Then, he leaned forward, staring at his fists resting on the table while he thought out loud. "The highest Russian officials, the powerful KGB...all in la-la land, or dead, in one fell swoop. Sounds like a perfect time for a military coup, taking into consideration the feelings the military and Politburo have for each other." Grant suddenly went silent. He seemed to be looking right through Lampson, as his mind reviewed the words he'd just spoken. File it, Stevens, he told himself.

  His eyes refocused on the CIA agent who was now staring back at him. "Uh, sorry, Rick. I was doing some mental filing. Now, how? Do you know how they'll carry out their plan?"

  "Simple." Lampson spread his hands out in front of him. "Someone will slip it into water, tea, any liquid that's been brought into the conference hall. Of course, there's always the possibility the Kremlin's entire water supply system could be contaminated."

  "Hmm. That would kinda take all the fun out of it, wouldn't it? I mean, there'd be nobody to negotiate with."

  "It was just a thought," Lampson smirked. "I can only assume that Steiner will immediately make contact with, oh, let's say, President Dropovsky. He'll tell him to stop in and take a look at the meeting's participants. Then, all he has to do is threaten more widespread use of the drug unless the Russians get their fuckin' asses out of East Germany."

  "Ah, the plot thickens."

  "Just the beginning, I'm afraid. The group will announce that the East Germans are in it with them."

  "World opinion will certainly side with the Russians,” Grant commented, “even when it's made known that the project was being funded by them."

  Lampson shook his head. "Three weeks later, several villages throughout East Germany will have their water supplies contaminated with the drug...very heavily contaminated."

  "Let me guess," Grant said as he propped his elbows on the table, grinding his knuckles against his palm. "The world will assume the Russians are retaliating. A meeting of the Security Council will be called. All parties involved will be condemned by the United Nations."


  Something resembling a smile spread across Lampson's face. "Sounds like a plot made for television, doesn't it?"

  "Of course," Grant said, "if there were a military coup, no one could guarantee what the outcome would be for any of this."

  Lampson continued with his own train of thought. "Steiner said that he had a significant plan for helping the people of East Berlin."

  Grant's sarcasm was more than evident. "Yeah, right. And the Pope's Greek Orthodox. Listen, Steiner's only in it to make a name for himself, to augment his own psyche. He fits the profile perfectly. He's willing to murder countless numbers of his own countrymen, to commit genocide, and that makes him more dangerous and totally unpredictable."

  Silverware and china clattered when Lampson's fist struck the table. It was as if a shot had been fired in the quiet restaurant. Heads snapped around in his direction. Adler was half out of his chair, automatically reaching inside his uniform jacket.

  "Shit!" Lampson whispered disgustedly through clenched teeth.

  Grant stared intensely into Lampson's sweating face, then shifted his eyes to Adler, giving him an "okay" look. He waited for Lampson to settle down, then asked with concern, "Do they have the complete formula, Rick?"

  Lampson just stared, as if reality had set in. "I can give you a fair estimate that they could be done within two weeks, in time for the conference. They probably would've been done sooner if Von Wenzel and Heisen were able to work on the project more often. They had to do a lot of sneaking around as it was. But one good thing, if you want to call it that, is that none of the components will cause harm as separate entities. The original components of LSD were broken down completely, like starting from scratch. The way it was being formulated meant that only when all the components are brought together will it become lethal."

  "Then we've got to get our asses in gear, don't we?" Grant grinned, trying to ease Lampson's anxiety. "Now, who can help us? Who can you trust?"

  Without hesitation, Lampson responded, "Has to be Schmitt and Von Wenzel."

  "Very well." Grant tapped the photograph with his finger, pointing to the distinguishing feature of the man's hand. "You don't happen to recognize that, do you?" Lampson shook his head, frustrated he wasn't able to give Grant any valuable information. "You know who that insignia belongs to?"