The Berlin Target

by Nick Carter

  With a sigh, Erhanee sipped his coffee and rolled forward in his chair to tap out more sequences in an effort to find the key that would let him into the Protec computers.

  The phone rang. Carter noted the line and grabbed it. "Carter here."

  "It's Lisa, Nick. Vintner gave me this number. What's new?"

  "Not much." Quickly he brought her up to date.

  "They've got him," she replied, "and they'll turn him. He'll do anything to escape something like this and keep himself lily white!"

  Again there was that tremor in her voice bordering on hysteria.

  "Calm down, Lisa, we're doing all we can."

  "I know, I know. It's just… well, dammit, it's frustrating!"

  "I know it is… damned frustrating."

  "Anything I can do?"

  "No, Stay cool at the hotel. I'll call you if anything breaks."

  "Thanks. 'Night."

  "Yeah."

  Carter dropped the phone and checked his watch.

  It was seven o'clock. Hans-Otto's boys would just be moving in on Ursula Rhinemann.

  * * *

  Ursula cleared the last barricade and made the powerful engine whine as she shifted through the gears. Ahead, the autobahn twisted like a white ribbon.

  In the rearview mirror, she could see that the black Volvo was still following her. The car had picked her up at the Spandau Gate and stayed with her, matching her speed, all through East Germany.

  She had slowed several times to a crawl. Always the Volvo slowed with her. Halfway across the GDR, she had decided that Stephan was in the Volvo. Who else would follow her in such a manner?

  She resumed a normal speed for the autobahn, which was, of course, as fast as the Mercedes would go.

  The windshield wipers fought the rain with a hypnotic intensity. They made her drowsy, and her constant surveillance of the car behind her didn't help.

  She thought of stopping at Perleburg, the three-quarter mark, but vetoed it and drove on. At Ludwigslust, she spotted the sign for Highway 106 and headed north toward Schwerin. The road narrowed here, and, because it was tightly hemmed with trees, it was also much darker.

  She was forced to slow her speed to fifty miles per hour.

  The Volvo had dropped far back, but its lights were still visible in the distance.

  Suddenly, from a rest area turn-out, a large Mercedes sedan swerved onto the road and took the lane directly beside her. There were two men in the car, and out of the corner of her eye, Ursula could see them glancing over at her.

  She speeded up, and so did they. She slowed, and so did they.

  Ahead about two miles, the road narrowed to enter a tunnel. Its thick concrete sides gleamed in the glare of the oncoming lights.

  Behind her, she could see the lights — she assumed they belonged to the Volvo — picking up speed and coming on fast.

  Ursula increased her speed. Suddenly there was no room. The sedan was edging toward her.

  She lifted her foot from the accelerator and stomped on the brake pedal.

  It was too late.

  She had been traveling at eighty-five miles an hour. The brake had only slowed her to sixty when the nose of the little convertible smashed into the concrete side of the tunnel.

  * * *

  Carter watched Erhanee's fingers fly over the keyboard, and the letters and characters blip up and then disappear on the computer screen.

  The Indian hadn't said so, but Carter could tell from the glazed look in the man's eyes that he was making progress.

  "You've got it"

  "Not quite, but I think I'm close. The access codes were simple. I just made them too hard. Get that, will you?"

  Carter grabbed the phone. "Ja?"

  "Herr Carter?"

  By now Carter knew the raspy voice well. "Speaking. Have you got her?"

  "I'm afraid not. My people were ready to move, but she left her fiat and drove through the wall."

  "To East Berlin?"

  "No. She took the Number Fifteen autobahn to West Germany."

  Carter was sweating. "That should have made the grab easier."

  "It would have," Voigt answered, "if she had not crashed into the side of a tunnel."

  "An accident?"

  "It will appear so to the authorities. Two of my men were following her. They saw a large Mercedes sedan force the crash."

  "She's dead," Carter hissed.

  "Very. Her head went through the windshield, and her chest was crushed by the steering wheel."

  "Your people didn't get the license number, did they?"

  "Yes, but later."

  "Later…?"

  "Needless to say, they didn't remain at the scene. As they were returning, the Mercedes passed them on the East German autobahn. They saw it pull off an Nauen."

  "In East Germany?" Carter gasped.

  "Quite."

  Voigt didn't need to elaborate. If the people who killed Ursula Rhinemann left the autobahn in East Germany, particularly at night, they were official.

  "I assume, Herr Carter, that our agreement is now finished?"

  "Ended, Herr Voigt. Danke."

  "Bitte."

  The connection was broken, and Carter eased the phone back to its cradle.

  Too many people dead, the connection with the East too strong.

  He was pretty sure he had it now. The killing of Ursula Rhinemann capped it. She was the Last link that could put Stephan Conway in the hot seat.

  "I've got it!"

  Carter moved to stand behind Erhanee at the console. He already knew what had come up. The KGB had been ahead of him. They had figured the wrong-way kill, and laid it to Conway.

  It was ten-to-one the future senator had played ball to save his own skin.

  Erhanee confirmed it.

  "There it is, the shipment, almost down to the last microchip you got from the Pentagon."

  "Whose authorization code?"

  "Personal, Stephan Conway."

  "Where's it going?"

  "Lufthansa out of Dulles. Lands at Frankfurt, five a.m. local time."

  "They'll make the switch at the airport right after customs."

  "It's scheduled to be shifted to a military transport to West Berlin."

  "They'll have phony crates ready," Carter growled.

  "That's your department, not mine, "Erhanee said, turning to face Carter.

  The Killmaster was already headed out the door.

  * * *

  The radio crackled in the aide's hand. He lifted it to his ear and spoke. When it was still, he turned to his superior.

  "Comrade Colonel?"

  "Da."

  "He is in the forbidden zone now, heading for the Mitte Gate."

  "Da, I can see him," Balenkov replied, moving the high-powered glasses along with the hurrying man. "He is following instructions to the letter."

  Bile boiled in Balenkov's belly. He himself had given Dieter Klauswitz the instructions that would send him to his death.

  "I am afraid, Herr Klauswitz, that we cannot afford to allow you to leave East Berlin aboard Aeroflot. However, you are free to reenter West Berlin. The Mitte Gate will be kept open for your crossing. Once back in the West. I am sure your American papers will still be enough to allow your escape."

  Balenkov moved the binoculars to the closed gate and then back to Klauswitz. The man had spotted the deserted gate. The colonel, from his rooftop observation post, could almost see the fear and realization on the killer's face.

  Klauswitz whirled, his eyes searching the raked sand of no-man's-land between the two walls. His mind now knew that he had been deceived. But he was still loose. How could he get over the wall and grab a second chance at freedom?

  He couldn't.

  His only choice was the East German countryside.

  He walked away from the wall and began to run.

  Then it happened.

  A blinding white glare blasted the street and the running figure. Staccato bursts of gunfire broke the night still
ness.

  Klauswitz fell, rolled, and came to his feet again. He staggered.

  There was another short burst, and he fell.

  This time he didn't move.

  "The casket is ready?"

  "Da, Comrade Colonel."

  "I will inform the SSD that the assassin has been killed while trying to escape. Also, that we have a signed confession that he attempted to kill Stephan Conway."

  "Comrade Colonel Palmitkov is a thorough woman," the aide said, pride in his voice.

  "Yes, isn't she," Balenkov replied drily, and added mentally. Aren't we all very efficient killing machines?

  * * *

  Carter smoked and peered through the little waves of rain that trickled down the windshield. Beside him, Bruchner fidgeted in the seat. Marty Jacobs sat quietly in the back.

  They were in one of the oldest and grubbiest sections of Frankfurt, staring at an old, grubby warehouse.

  Knowing what to look for had made spotting the switch at the warehouse easy. Cartons of everyday radio gear had been switched with the Protec equipment. The four Protec crates had been relabeled and loaded on a truck with the rest of the nonclassified gear.

  Four of Bruchner's men were already waiting to pounce on the cargo handlers who had made the switch.

  The three of them had followed the truck to this warehouse. Now they waited.

  "Someone's coming… it's a van!"

  "I see it," Carter said, mashing out his cigarette.

  The van pulled up to the wide double doors, and someone stepped from the driver's side. There was movement in front of the van's headlights, and the doors swung open. The figure turned, and for a brief moment was fully illuminated.

  "Jesus Christ," Marty Jacobs hissed. "It's Anna Palmitkov herself!"

  "It sure as hell is," Carter growled as the van entered the building and the doors closed behind it. "Now a lot of things are clear."

  And all bets are off! he thought, sliding from the car.

  "Both of you stay here. This one's private!"

  Neither man moved.

  Carter crossed the wet pavement to the side door of the warehouse away from the main double doors.

  He had already jimmied the lock, so he was able to slip in quietly and quickly. He removed his shoes and made his way through piles of boxes stacked on wooden pallets.

  She was just pulling the last crate off the truck. She moved quickly, efficiently. The cardboard crates were bulky but not heavy. She picked one up easily and headed for the van.

  Carter slipped in behind her and waited until she dropped back to the floor.

  "I told you to stay in Russia, comrade."

  Her face registered shock and surprise. With obvious effort she got control of herself and spoke in a small tight voice. "It will make no difference. We have the proof on Conway. If this shipment doesn't go through, he will find a way to get another to us rather than ruin his future."

  "I've already figured that. Anna," Carter said, moving toward her as he jacked a shell into Wilhelmina's chamber but left the safety on. "That's why I'll make a deal. I want Conway."

  "Oh?"

  "That's right. What have you got on him?" She told him, and Carter nodded. "I figured that. We trade. You give me the means to squash Conway, and you can have the Protec boxes."

  "Do you think I'm a fool, Carter? Besides, the photographs and confessions are in East Berlin. I don't have them to trade."

  "Then I'll just kill you and do whatever I can to get Conway."

  She shrugged and stepped to the right, away from the van's open doors. Carter lifted the gun. He wasn't going to fire, he was going to bluff.

  He wanted to kill her, but alive she might still be the key to getting Conway.

  She read him like a book.

  With a rapid movement, she darted around the side of the van and headed for the big double doors.

  Jolted by her sudden action. Carter didn't catch her until she was almost at the door. He grabbed her waist with one arm just as their momentum slammed them both into the closed doors.

  She was good, and fast — maybe even faster than Carter.

  She recovered first, twisted, and jabbed a knee toward his groin. He blocked it with his thigh. She grabbed for the hand that held Wilhelmina, fingers clawing with surprising strength. Her finger jammed his through the trigger guard. But the safety was still on.

  Changing tactics, she rotated her hips into his stomach and prepared to throw him. Carter knew from past experience that she was as strong as a man, and fought with quiet desperation.

  He blocked the attempted throw and twisted the gun out of her grasp. It was a mistake. She heeled his instep, snapped the back of her head into his face, and clawed at his groin with both hands.

  His eyes teared and he felt blood rushing from his mashed nose. A silent scream rose in his choking throat as her squeezing fingers found his testicles.

  Involuntarily his hand opened, dropping Wilhelmina to the concrete. Her gasps of exertion turned to grunts as she squeezed harder and dropped to one knee. Like a snake, one hand freed him and darted to the Luger. In the same movement, he saw her flip the safety to «off» and bring the gun upward.

  She meant to level the barrel over her own shoulder, and he could see that it was about to work.

  He had no choice.

  His right arm encircled her throat, and her straining gasps were stilled. The gun was at her shoulder now, and his arm tightened over her throat. Slowly the hand at his groin relaxed, but she still tried to take blind aim with the Luger.

  He applied more pressure, and at last she went limp.

  He squeezed one last time to make sure, and then let her lifeless body settle to the concrete floor. He tugged a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the tears from his eyes and the blood from his face as he looked down at the still form.

  She hadn't moved. His fingers found the carotid artery in her neck. There was no pulse. She was dead.

  "I warned you, Anna," he said, and staggered to the doors.

  The moment he was outside, he could see Bruchner and Marty Jacobs running toward him.

  "Did you…?" Jacobs said.

  "She's dead," Carter croaked. "The Protec boxes are on the truck. Load them and her in our car."

  He headed for a phone booth on the corner. Behind him, he could hear Bruchner's voice. "Did you get anything out of her we can use on Conway?"

  "No," Carter growled over his shoulder. "The son of a bitch is away clean."

  It took him five minutes to get through to West Berlin and Horst Vintner. In terse sentences he laid out the last two hours to the SSD man.

  "So the only way we can get the bastard is to get our hands on Klauswitz. Call over the wall, and don't tell them sweet Anna's dead. Do tell them we've got her, and we'll trade."

  There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and then what amounted to a low groan. "Klauswitz is on his way over now," Vintner said. "In a box."

  "Shit," Carter groaned.

  "But don't worry about Conway," Vintner said, his voice almost a whisper. "Lisa Berrington emptied a 9mm Beretta into him in his hotel room a half hour ago."

  Carter froze, his mind whirling. He should have known… Hong Kong… her mood… He should have known.

  "Were there any witnesses?"

  "I thought the same thing," Vintner replied. "But there's nothing we can do. She shot him in front of five people."

  Carter didn't even reply. He just dropped the phone back on its cradle and started back toward the warehouse. Suddenly he stopped, lit a cigarette, and changed his mind.

  He turned on his heel and began walking into the rain. It was almost dawn, and the light didn't make the streets any less grubbier.

 

 

 
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