The Berlin Target

by Nick Carter

  "Yes, I'm here. I'm thinking. Is the woman still there?"

  "Yes."

  "Put heron!"

  She held the receiver out to the Russian. "He wants to talk to you."

  Anna Palmitkov removed a Cartier earring and spoke into the phone. "Yes."

  "Who are you?"

  "It doesn't matter. What does matter is that I am willing to suppress the information I have in return for certain… indulgences on your part."

  "You're asking me to commit treason!"

  "Murder, treason… it's all the same."

  "Damn you!"

  "I have very little time, Mr. Conway. What do you say?"

  "I'd like to tell you to kiss my ass."

  "I'm sure you would." She chuckled mirthlessly.

  "I'll have to see you first… talk to you in person."

  Anna paused, reasoned. "That could be arranged."

  "I'm due to inspect my Spandau plant in the morning. There is a beer hall on Pininberger Strasse in Staaken, near the wall."

  "I can find it."

  "Shall we say noon?"

  "Noon would be fine. Guten Morgen, Herr Conway."

  Anna hung up the phone and replaced her earring.

  "He's not going to do it," Ursula said, her already wide eyes even wider.

  "He wants to talk. But I'm sure, my dear, that he will do it."

  * * *

  "Are you awake?" she asked from the darkness beside him.

  "Yes."

  Carter moved his arm over her stomach, but there was no response. She had been waiting in his room, in fact in his bed, when he returned from the meeting with Voigt.

  "What happened?" she had asked.

  Carter told her as he undressed and slid into the bed beside her.

  They talked, and the more they hashed it over, the more desultory she had become. Carter made overtures and she responded, weakly. The lovemaking was mechanical, no passion, minimal result.

  Afterward, they had lain for many moments in silence, apart.

  Now it seemed she wanted more talk, and Carter wasn't really up to it.

  "I've got a gut feeling, right there" — she pressed his arm — "that no matter what you uncover, it will all lead to the Rhinemann woman, and Stephan will end up walking away."

  "Not if I can help it."

  "Perhaps not even you, Nick, can work a miracle this time. The more we learn about Stephan, the more I realize that he is rich, clever, powerful, and completely amoral. People like that can get away with anything. There are no laws for them."

  The dull monotone of her voice struck him. It wasn't like her, and the fatalistic viewpoint she was taking could be dangerous.

  "Hey," he said, squeezing her.

  "What?"

  "I think you've got post-coital depression."

  "Don't patronize me, Nick."

  "All right," he sighed, "I won't. We need the shooter. I think Hans-Otto will give him to us."

  "And then, hopefully, everything will fall into place?"

  "Hopefully. Everything in this business is bits and pieces. You only pray they come together."

  "Remember Hong Kong?" she asked, her voice raspy with mood.

  "Yeah."

  "You stayed with me all that night and the next day. That next night I woke up and gave you a name. You left my hospital room. I know where you went and what you did, Nick."

  Gently, Carter rolled away from her.

  He remembered. He had very carefully worked the Chinese underworld and gotten himself an Uzi. Then he had gone to a Kowloon warehouse and blown away three men.

  No report had ever been filed, nor was any connection ever made.

  But Lisa had known.

  Suddenly he was conscious that she was up, out of the bed, and slipping into her robe.

  "Where…?"

  "You need your sleep," she replied, moving toward the door. "Tomorrow is a big day… for both of us."

  He started to object, but the door was already closing behind her.

  Carter was bone-tired, but he lay awake for a long time after she left, worrying about the way he thought her mind was perhaps playing tricks on her.

  It was first light when at last he allowed his eyes to close and let sleep overtake him.

  Thirteen

  Stephan Conway slid the photos and the sheets of paper back into the manila envelope and dropped them on a table between himself and the woman. Even though they were in a very private, screened cubicle, he looked around before speaking, as if someone were peering over his shoulder.

  "Other than the photographs, it's pure supposition," he growled. "And so what? Many married men have affairs. Half the men working for me are probably screwing their secretaries."

  "If they are working for you," the dark-haired woman replied coolly, "they probably are."

  "You are a snide bitch."

  Her red lips played with a smile. "Your opinions don't bother me, nor do they interest me. Added to what you have seen, we can send Klauswitz back to the West in person to tell his story."

  "It still wouldn't touch me."

  "Perhaps not. But it would put a rather large dent in your credibility. You could, as you Americans put it, kiss politics good-bye."

  Stephan Conway rubbed his temples. "What do you want?"

  Anna Palmitkov passed across the same list she had presented to Ursula Rhinemann in the wee hours of that morning. Conway perused it, then slammed it on the table in disgust.

  "It's treason!"

  "It's business. And if you don't want to do business…"

  She gathered the list and the manila folder and started to rise.

  "Sit down." Conway sighed and mashed his unlit cigar into a coffee cup. "If I agree, I want more in return than this material."

  "Such as…?"

  "All traces eradicated."

  Anna Palmitkov lit a cigarette. She inhaled deeply and let the smoke seep from her nostrils. "The man who supplied the rifle is already dead. So is the woman, Fräulein Klammer."

  The Russian agent fully expected the man across from her to blanch, gasp, or otherwise show some shock at the realization of her ruthlessness.

  She was totally unprepared for his own ruthlessness.

  "Good. I want this Dieter Klauswitz dead as well. I want his body delivered to the West German SSD, along with another confession that it was me he was planning to kill."

  "I think that can be arranged."

  "It will be arranged," Conway hissed. "And that's not all. I want Ursula out of the way, and I want it to appear to be an accident."

  It was the woman's turn to blink. She had been trained to forswear any emotion, to kill without question, to use her body for any reason under orders. There was literally nothing she would not do to further her cause.

  Yet even she was shocked.

  "That may be difficult."

  "But it can be done." he countered.

  "Yes, it can be done."

  "I'm leaving early this afternoon for Munich. I want to be there, out of Berlin, when it happens."

  "Excuse me. I must make a phone call."

  Stephan Conway ordered fresh coffee and a brandy while he waited. He unwrapped a fresh cigar, and this time lit it. It was going well by the time the Russian returned.

  "Well?"

  "Call her. Tell her you must see her in person, but not in West Berlin. Tell her to drive through East Germany and enter the West on the Number Fifteen autobahn toward Hamburg. Tell her to leave at six this evening. Do you have that so far?"

  "Of course."

  "At Ludwigslust, she is to take the highway north toward Schwerin. Tell her that you will intercept her on that road. That is why her timing must be precise."

  "It will look like an accident."

  "It will."

  Conway nodded. He even smiled. "She drives…"

  "…a new 190 SL gray Mercedes convertible, license number D944-941. We are very thorough, Mr. Conway. Now, your part of the bargain."

  Conway chec
ked his watch. "I can have the order to our research facility in California within the hour. They will transfer it to our warehouse in Pennsylvania. It can be on the five o'clock flight from Dulles, Washington time."

  "That means it will be here at five in the morning."

  "Barring weather in Frankfurt."

  "At noon tomorrow, Mr. Conway, the West German authorities will be informed to pick up the body of Dieter Klauswitz at Checkpoint Charlie."

  "And the originals… the confessions and the photos?"

  "Will be delivered to you in Munich as soon as the equipment is in East Berlin. I, myself, will escort the transfer."

  "And if you get caught out of Frankfurt?"

  "There will be someone to take my place. We will just have to try another shipment, won't we?"

  This took Conway slightly by surprise, but he quickly recovered and countered by going right back on the offensive.

  "I don't know who you are, but I can guess what you are: Russian, and probably KGB. Well, you know what? I don't give a rat's ass as long as I get mine. I have as much money, as much power, and as many contacts as most Third World countries."

  "I am sure you do."

  "Remember it. Because, when this is over, if you ever try and contact me again, I'll have you killed just like I did my wife. Only it won't be so quick and painless. And I'll do it no matter where you are, even in Moscow."

  With that, he was gone.

  Anna Palmitkov followed a trail of smoke down the cigarette in her hand.

  The Fingers holding it were shaking.

  * * *

  "Herr Carter?"

  "Ja." Carter recognized the voice on the phone at once, and he rolled from the bed, shaking the fog from his brain.

  "Need I say who this is?"

  "No. What have you got?"

  "Our man was hired through Oskar Hessling. It was done by a woman who made the original contact in the U.S. But somehow I feel you already had that information, correct?"

  "Yes. I was testing you."

  "I respect that. The man you want was very difficult to identify since he was not a pro."

  "He wasn't?"

  "No. but he was extremely qualified. Pan of that bastard Hessling's genius was finding people like this."

  "Who is he?"

  "His name is Dieter Klauswitz."

  Carter lit a cigarette and let the smoke burn his lungs as he listened to a brief history of the shooter.

  "Where can I get him?" he said at last.

  "I am afraid that will be difficult. Right now. Klauswitz is being held in an East German prison. He is also being closely guarded as a prisoner of the state."

  "Damn."

  "That is all I can tell you, Herr Carter. You mentioned you might have need of another service before our agreement was complete?"

  "No… wait, maybe. Hold on!"

  Carter dropped the phone. He padded to the bathroom and ran the sink full of cold water. Quickly he doused his head twice into the water to clear the cobwebs.

  Risky, he thought, his brain functioning on all cylinders again, but it might provide the leverage.

  "Voigt?"

  "I am still here."

  "I want you to kidnap a woman and hold her."

  "That will take some time, surveillance, a setup…"

  "I want it done sometime tonight."

  "I will arrange it."

  "The name is Ursula Rhinemann…"

  * * *

  "Ursula?"

  "Yes."

  "Go to the corner phone and call me."

  Conway replaced the receiver on its cradle and snapped his two bulky suitcases shut. He always did his own packing. It was a fetish of his, knowing where everything was at all times, even his underwear and handkerchiefs.

  He grabbed the phone on the first ring.

  "It's me, what happened?"

  "Listen, darling, I don't have time to tell you everything now. I must see you."

  "But how? It would be too dangerous for us to be seen…"

  "I don't care, Ursula, darling. I have to see you, now most of all."

  "I suppose it could be just business," she said after thinking for a moment. "Should I come to the hotel?"

  "No… no, I want you to drive into West Germany."

  "What?"

  Carefully, Conway gave her the instructions the Russian woman had given him. And then he repeated them.

  "But where do I meet you?"

  "Just keep driving. I will intercept you."

  Sobs came over the phone. "Oh, Stephan, it's all going to catch up with us, isn't it!"

  "No, no, it isn't, not if we keep our heads. Just do as I say, Ursula, and we'll be together forever… soon. And, Ursula…?"

  "Yes?"

  "Don't tell a soul where you are going."

  "I won't. Does that woman who came last night have anything to do with this?"

  Conway almost replied in the negative but thought better of it. "Yes, in a way."

  "Oh, Stephan, you're not going to give them the equipment, are you?"

  "Ursula, how can you even think it? What we have done is for us, but I would never become a traitor. You know that."

  "Yes, of course I do. I love you, Stephan."

  "And I love you, darling. I'll see you tonight." He hung up and brusquely moved to the door. "John?… John, where the devil are you?"

  "Right here, sir."

  "Is the car ready?"

  "Yes, sir, and the plane is ready to leave at Tegel."

  "Good. Get my bags. Let's get the hell out of here!"

  * * *

  Carter dialed Lisa's suite, and a voice still full of sleep answered.

  "It's me," he said. "Feel better?"

  "Not much. Just sleepy."

  "Go ahead, get lots. If we can wrap this thing up by tonight, we head for Munich."

  "Munich?"

  "To put the vise to Stephan Conway. He's gone down there early; I just talked to Vintner. I'm headed for his office now."

  "Anything new?"

  "We know who the shooter is."

  "Nick, I'm coming along."

  "No need. Sit tight, I'll keep you informed."

  He hung up before she could ask more questions, and headed for the elevator. The SSD car and driver Vintner had assigned him were waiting at the curb.

  The ride was twenty minutes through the drizzle and rain-slick streets.

  "Good morning," Carter said, pouring himself a hot mug of coffee and taking a seat across from the SSD man.

  "It's afternoon. Here's the Klauswitz file. He's got a short rap sheet, but the background fits the profile."

  "Any chance of bargaining for him?"

  "Depends if they know what they've got."

  Carter nodded and sipped the steaming brew as he leafed through the file. That's what I was thinking. Also, if he went over right after the hit, it wasn't Klauswitz who snuffed Klammer."

  "After reading that, I think you'll agree it wouldn't be his style anyway. He might take her with his bare hands, but never a piece of piano wire. I've sent feelers over the wall. We'll just have to wait. Ja, Bruchner, what is it?"

  Carter looked up. Bruchner was in the doorway, a mixture of disgust and puzzlement clouding his features.

  "The Turk. They found him on a raft in the middle of the Hallensee about an hour ago… dead."

  "How did he get it?" Carter asked.

  "Gunshot, one slug behind the right ear. They already identified the gun. It's one of a whole case stolen about a month ago from the military barracks armory at Protag."

  "On a raft?" Vintner said.

  "Yes, sir. His prints are the only ones on the gun. They're calling it a suicide."

  Carter and Vintner exchanged looks. Their eyes said it all: bullshit.

  * * *

  The bad weather had gotten worse. Through the tall windows the sky above West Berlin had turned to the color of lead with the fading light. The drizzle drifted across the city in a gray wash that made Carter even mor
e depressed than he already felt.

  It wasn't difficult to put together now. The KGB or the East German Stasis — or both — had nailed Dieter Klauswitz. Not only had they nailed him, but they were also already moving on what he had told them.

  A fast phone call to D.C. and some rapid-fire questions to Limpton/Simonov had filled in a few of the gaps. There were things under the intensive questioning that he had remembered telling Anna Palmitkov. Such as the connection he had set up with Oskar Hessling to blackmail Stephan Conway.

  When Dieter Klauswitz fell in their lap, it was like manna from heaven, or fruits of a good operation, depending on how one looked at it.

  Taking the Klammer killing and the Turk «suicide» together fit for Carter. Chances were that an East German team had been sent over to do the kills. That meant the East had already figured it out and was way ahead of the West.

  Next step?

  Get what they wanted out of Conway.

  God knows, Carter thought, if he were guessing right, they have more than enough ammunition.

  They had someone set to watch Conway and his entourage in Munich. In Berlin it had been difficult to keep tabs on his every move. Vintner had snidely informed Carter that "Herr Conway has a great deal of very influential friends. The two men I had on him were pulled after a few phone calls to Bonn."

  Politics, Carter thought, looking at the chiaroscuro of auto and city lights far below.

  "Damn."

  Carter whirled around. Jamil Erhanee sat at a huge horseshoe desk in front of a bank of computer screens. He leaned far back in his chair, his thumbs digging into his eyes.

  "You need some more coffee, Jamil?"

  "No, I need forty fingers and two brains. Can't you get this stuff legit? Flash a badge or something?"

  Carter chuckled. "Conway covers his ass too well for that, I'm afraid. Keep at it."

  Carter moved to a table laden with sandwiches and a huge coffee maker.

  "Getting into his bank accounts was a piece of cake compared to this," the Indian groaned. "Christ, Nick, shipping, inventory, and classification on the output of a company like Protec is like trying to crack Fort Knox with a water cannon!"

  Carter handed him a fresh cup of steaming coffee. "Keep at it, my friend. If the KGB has a lever on Conway, I want to know if he bends or topples. Right now it's all we've got."