The Death Dealer

by Nick Carter

  Hawk turned to the Polish artist and his wife and continued. "Mr. Borczak," he said, his body settling back into his chair, "if you would start, please? Tell the others here exactly what it was you told the agents at debrief."

  The dissident moved himself to the edge of the sofa, his hands grinding away at the carved fist of his cane handle. His wife's eyes remained glued to the floor. "Perhaps some background? At least for Merc… Mr. Carter's sake?"

  "Yes," Hawk nodded. "It would be good for all to hear."

  Nick shifted in his chair until he could face Borczak directly.

  "First of all," said the artist, his sightless eyes remaining neutrally pointed on the far wall, "I owe you something of an apology. My behavior since the defection has been — what — distant, shall we say? It has occurred to me…"

  His voice suddenly stopped, his hand moving over to touch his wife's knee. She responded by lifting her gaze from the floor and staring at the man. "Let's be accurate, shall we?" he continued. "My wife has made it clear that perhaps I have been less than grateful for what you did, Mr. Carter. My treatment of you, on the return flight and at the debriefings, has been less than cordial. For that, you have my deepest apology."

  Nick shrugged. "Accepted, but unnecessary. Berlin was an incident both of us have had to live with — you more than I. I have never forgotten it and trust that I'll never again have to make a similar choice. I ask you to forgive what had to be."

  The man smiled. "It is more important to dwell on what that event has yielded, yes?"

  "I think so," Nick answered.

  "I quite agree," Borczak nodded. "Now, since that time several things have occurred. Briefly, I was taken by the Dealer, and blinded. That event was not an arbitrary one, and it was extremely effective in terms of my commitments to Polish freedom. The Dealer knew his man. With my sight removed, I lost all desire to fight for anything. I — surrendered to reality."

  Nick's eyes flickered around the room. No one seemed able to meet the dead eyes of the speaker. He was confessing, and that made them uncomfortable. Borczak seemed to sense it.

  "What this means to all of you," he continued, "is that I accepted the Dealer's will. I suppose the man was generous, at least in his own terms. He took my sight, but did not turn me out. Instead, he put me to work — in his own office."

  That bit of information immediately got everyone's attention. There was an audible gasp from Tori Bacchus, and Rackley leaned forward intently in his chair.

  Borczak smiled and nodded. "I thought that would interest you. The Dealer is a very cautious and secretive man, even within his own organization. He has a system, one that has to be admired. It is his habit to surround himself with those who cannot see; his files are kept in Braille. It is a system designed to accommodate the greatest of security. There can be no betrayal. There are no documents that can be photographed. There is only a small group of blind men, punching out records, records laid down from verbal sessions with the Dealer himself."

  Borczak turned once more, sightless eyes leaning toward the woman to his left, his hand touching the knee beside him. "There was even the question of companionship, again taken care of by the Dealer himself. Women were ordered to mate with the blind men upon whom the Dealer's security depended." His voice became very low. "It was not the most pleasant of assignments, and not all of the women took to their tasks with the dedication that Hela has. For that, there can never be enough gratitude — or enough love."

  The woman removed her gaze from her husband, her own eyes returning to the floor, her face a hard mask that Nick could not penetrate. Respect, Nick could read, even admiration. But the word love seemed to drive the lady's eyes deep into the carpeting.

  Borczak's hand rose from her knee and settled back onto the cane. "But that has little to do with these proceedings. What does affect you is this: I accepted my defeat, at least until about a year ago. It was then, through the good promptings of my wife, that I became aware of the events blossoming at Bern. It was through her interest in the hopeful results of the conference that I began to make certain discoveries. As time moved on, it became clear that, while Hela was seeing the conference in one light, the Dealer was seeing it in quite another. More and more office time was being consumed with this conference, and its results had little similarity to the discussions I was having at home."

  He paused, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Once I was able to sense the events," he continued, "I found certain animosities rekindled within me. I rediscovered the will to tight. With Hela's support, I found the courage to attack the Dealer's files."

  Albert Rackley's eyebrow shot up. "Just how is it you were able to accomplish that?"

  A low chuckle rumbled from Borczak's chest. "A good question, my friend. The Dealer is a very thorough man; his system is quite sophisticated. He ran his sessions with us on a rotation basis. Whenever anything needed to be recorded, we would be summoned individually. All reports were delivered verbally, each man taking the assignment by virtue of his position in the rotation. In this way, he was able to keep any one of us from ever getting a complete picture. But — it is a system designed to protect from the outside. The Dealer never anticipated activity from within. Broken and blinded men do not fight, gentlemen, I can assure you from experience."

  "So how is it you were able to accumulate your data?" Rackley persisted.

  "I went about my duties, as ever, but whenever the Dealer was out of the office, I would spend greater amounts of time at the files. I would enter my own work, but take advantage of my access to read the entries of the others. Who was there to stop me? The blind may lead the blind, but they can never catch them."

  Rackley nodded his satisfaction as Hawk leaned forward intently over his desk. "So you were able to gather the data. What did you do then?"

  "I created my own file…" Borczak's right hand came up to tap his brow"…here! And when I felt the picture was as complete as it ever would be, I began to plan my escape, using the Dealer's own channels, I might add. I asked for Mercury, invoking a name from the past, and the rest you all know."

  There was a general stirring in the room as everyone digested the information they had just heard. Then Hawk leaned forward once more.

  "What we are here to discuss is the plot that Mr. Borczak has uncovered. It is a plan, authored by the Dealer, to cripple the conference at Bern."

  "But why?" Tori Bacchus asked. "They can do that by just not showing up. Instead, if the newspapers are accurate, they'll be coming to Bern in force. Why the elaborate efforts, when they could avoid the conference and pretty much make a sham out of it."

  Hawk shrugged. "Partly, it's the old cat-and-mouse game. They could avoid it, but the Russians arc very short on good public relations these days. An appearance, especially in the face of such delicate issues, would give them quite a boost. More accurately, though, it's a matter of solid politics — internal politics. The Premier is new to the top job, and he must still consolidate his power within the Politburo. If what Mr. Borczak has told us is accurate, the Dealer has given him one hell of an attention-getting stroke."

  "For the Premier and himself," Borczak interjected, and then turned in Nick's direction. "Do you remember your encounter with the Dealer in Berlin, Mr. Carter?"

  "I could hardly forget it," Nick replied, his voice like stone.

  "Just so," Borczak nodded. "But in Berlin, Mr. Carter, he was young, and climbing. Since Berlin, events have been kind to him. Thanks to you, his efforts in Germany came to an end, but something occurred that night that affected him. I can only attribute it to you. Mercury. You gave him a new name. The Death Dealer, you called him — and he seemed to take to it with abandon. From that moment on, assassination became his trade. He climbed the hierarchy of the KGB using this as his method. The leaders above him could not remain blind to such effectiveness. The Director nurtured the Death Dealer, growing ever more fond of the results he could create."

  His cane lifted to stab the air. "N
ow, with the ascension of the Dealer's old mentor from chief of the KGB to Premier of all the Soviet Union, the Dealer sees even a brighter political future for himself. He sees it as a future with more power and an even vaster scope for his unique talents! For now, he is dedicating more of his efforts to the man who once led him than to the country he claims to serve. But it is ultimately the Dealer he serves. Never forget that! Never!"

  Hawk stood and moved from behind his desk. "What we have, ladies and gentlemen, is a dilemma. What we also have, thanks to Mr. Borczak and his wife, is knowledge of that dilemma. The Dealer has used both his own and the Premier's experience in intelligence affairs to create a dossier. Details of the dossier are sketchy — it wasn't the kind of information the Dealer shared with his staff. But enough of it was discussed or referred to for Mr. Borczak to at least give us a clue of its scope."

  "How bad is it?" Tori asked.

  Hawk eased his bulk onto the edge of the desk and folded his arms across his chest. "As far as we can determine, nothing too outrageous. But then, it doesn't have to be. It is presentation, rather than content, that makes this situation unique. In the first place, you have a Soviet Premier with firm intelligence connections behind him, years of intimate, firsthand contact with the events. This in its own right will carry a certain power."

  He heaved a thoughtful sigh and moved to stare out the window behind his desk. "Beyond that," he continued, "the Dealer has arranged a little show, one that will add even further impact to the accusations he intends to see leveled. It seems that we have been harboring a mole in our midst, one who is scheduled to be at the conference, and one who intends to defect the instant the Russians make public their accusations. It is their intent to provide the world with proof positive of U. S. human rights violations, and then have the mole defect and confirm the story."

  "But it's all a sham!" Rackley thundered, jerking in his chair. "Surely that will be obvious! Is the dossier really so damaging? Don't we have information of our own to throw back at them?"

  Hawk turned from the window and raised a hand to calm the outburst. "The dossier may or may not be damaging — and, yes, there are no doubt stories we can toss back. The question, really, is whether or not we can afford to turn the conference into a slug-fest. Truth or not, reality or not, the President cannot afford to have the conference break down in verbal battles that will divert events from their true purpose."

  "Do we know the identity of the mole?" Tori asked.

  Hawk sighed. "Unfortunately, yes. His name is Jacek Januslawski."

  "What?" Nick roared, instantly coming out of his chair. "Jacek…?"

  Hawk nodded, and Borczak's voice sounded from behind Nick.

  "Yes, Mercury. The one man who made it over the wall that night in Berlin. Even then, it would seem, the Dealer was weaving his webs."

  "You Ye positive about the identification?" Nick said, turning back to Hawk.

  "Absolutely," came the answer. "The Dealer placed his man well. Jacek is the personal aide to Congressman Ganicek, the President's chief negotiator at the conference. We can all imagine the significance of such a highly placed individual, not only defecting in protest over Soviet revelations, but redefecting! If you add to this the fact that Congressman Ganicek also serves on the Combined Congressional Committee for Intelligence Oversight, you have an aide with a highly credible access to the very accusations the Soviets intend to make."

  "Well, stop him!" Rackley bellowed. "You know who he is — arrest him! Keep him from showing up at all!"

  Hawk looked wearily at the man with the strident voice and the bureaucratic manner. "Mr. Rackley, we don't want to."

  Under other circumstances, the astonishment on Rackley's face would have evoked laughter. His mouth dropped and his jaw made vague stabs at speech, but anything approaching sound seemed to lose itself in the saucer-wide eyes. "But… but…" he stuttered.

  Hawk's voice became more soothing and tolerant. "If we don't face this now," he said, "it will always be a sword hanging over our heads. Yes, we can arrest Januslawski and keep him from the conference. But then we never really learn what it is the Soviets think they've got. On the other hand, we can proceed. We can allow the Soviets to think they're going to pull it off. but take our own countermeasures. If we can convince them to hit us with their weapons in closed session, we can counter them, gaining both the absolute knowledge of their information, and impressing them with the uselessness of this sort of approach in the future."

  "You can do that?" Rackley asked. There was a naiveté in the question that neither Tori nor Nick could continue to ignore. The first burst of stifled response came from the female agent. There was a choking gasp of air, and then the diligent attempt to wipe the smile from her face. Rackley just turned to her, his eyes a blank desert of incomprehension.

  "Yes," Hawk said, his own voice disguising humor. "We think we can. As it stands right now, the Dealer has sold the Premier on his scheme. He has convinced him to match the President in his commitment to the conference, and he has persuaded him to include several of his own rivals in the Soviet delegation. The Dealer himself will be in Bern to run the show. The Premier will get the credit, of course, but the Dealer will gain his own rewards."

  "I still don't understand," Rackley said, honest confusion furrowing his brow.

  "If they win," Hawk explained, "the negotiations break down in chaos. The Premier cements his position in the Soviet hierarchy, and the Dealer gains power with him. If they lose, the Premier will suffer a setback, and we discourage any such attempt in the future." He shrugged. "It's a gamble — but one we feel compelled to take."

  "What kind of ammunition do we have to use against them?" Nick asked.

  Hawk gestured to where Stefan sat on the couch. "Fortunately, Mr. Borczak departed his country with more than just a plot in his possession. Perhaps he can explain it better."

  The blind man nodded. "As I mentioned, I gathered information in bits and pieces, and filed it. But there was one project that the Dealer gave to me alone. Why, I'm not sure. Perhaps he felt my allegiance was secure. In any event, this particular project was sort of an insurance policy for the Dealer himself. He is a man very aware of the mechanics of Soviet life. He knows that purges are a part of Russian history that no one ignores. To protect himself from such a purge, he created a cache of personal records that outlined missions and assassination decisions in full detail. He keeps this diary, if you will, outside the borders of Russia, with people he has developed on his own. It is inaccessible to any within the KGB, to any who do not know how — and where — to find it."

  "And you do?" Rackley chimed. Borczak nodded. "Well, good! Get it!"

  "We intend to," Hawk interjected. "We will get it. And we'll shove it down the Russians' throats at the conference. At our convenience, of course. In the meantime, we'll be keeping the Soviet mole under surveillance, and doing all we can to convince the Russians that their plan is still operative."

  This time Tori stepped in. "With Borczak's defection, won't the Russians back off? The Dealer has to know what the extent of his losses are."

  "I'm not entirely sure he knows I'm gone yet,"

  Borczak answered. "I timed my departure with care. The Dealer was visiting the Premier's dacha outside Moscow for several days of planning. He would only be returning tonight. It is possible he will be searching for me, but I doubt he knows I've reached the West."

  "He knows." It was Nick's turn to interrupt. All eyes turned in his direction. Two dozen Czech militia don't show up at a defection just for practice. You may have had the run of the office, Stefan, but the country has very watchful eyes to guard it. I promise you, the Dealer knew you were gone within the hour. His involvements with the Premier may have kept him from throwing his usual finesse into stopping you, but he ordered it."

  Borczak sighed, then nodded slowly. "It is possible."

  Nick turned to Hawk. "The whole Czech affair has been bothering me. Now I know why. The Dealer tried to stop it; he j
ust couldn't get there to head it off. We're lucky he couldn't. We made it."

  Hawk nodded his agreement. "The Dealer may know Stefan is gone, but he doesn't know how much homework he's done, how much information Stefan has given us. As far as he's concerned, Borczak only knew portions of the Bern project. And the setup is too ripe; it's too great an opportunity to get the Premier planted firmly for the Dealer to back out now. The only thing in doubt is his private little 'insurance policy. »

  "And he's damn sure Stefan knows about that." Nick mumbled, as much to himself as to the others.

  A smile creased Borczak's lips. "But he doesn't know that I have unearthed the location of his private diary. Therefore, I doubt that he will move it."

  "Unless," Nick added, "he thought we were going after it."

  "And that will be a big part of our job," Hawk said, rising and leaning forward across his desk with his weight firmly on his palms. "We must keep him thinking the diary is safe, until we can get to it."

  "How do we do that?" Tori asked.

  "Well, we've concocted a little plan of our own," Hawk said. "First, we've planned a five-city European tour for the dissidents — the Borczaks and the four who made it over with them. We can hope that the Dealer will see the tour as an abatement of danger. As far as he's concerned, Borczak can only tell us bits and pieces of the Bern project. Hopefully, the Dealer will read the tour as proof that we couldn't add up the bits and pieces to the whole of his plan."

  Nick smiled. "And one of the cities on the tour will be the location of the Dealer's personal diary."

  "Right," Hawk nodded.

  "What's our cover?" Tori asked.

  "Amalgamated will give the tour top news coverage. You and N3 will go along to do the covering."

  "When is go?" Nick asked.

  "In two days, "Hawk replied. "It will last a little more than a week. In the cities that don't interest us, you'll serve as guards and reporters, filing your stories with the greatest emphasis on the connections between the dissidents' claims and the upcoming Bern events. In the city with the diary, you will locate it — and then 'liberate' it."