by Eddy Shah
'When I first met you, I took you for a pleasure anorexic.'
She looked up. 'A what ?'
'Pleasure anorexic. A none person. No smoking, no alcohol, only eating food that was good for you.'
'Thanks for nothing.'
'Don't get snappy. As I said, that's what I thought when I first met you.'
'And now ?'
'You're okay.'
'Do I get a medal for that, or something ?'
'Or something.'
She laughed. 'You know,' she said after a while, 'I enjoy...I feel the past doesn't matter as much, somehow.'
'What's brought this on?'
'You. And this place.'
'I don't understand.'
'You've learnt to live with loneliness. No. No, that's not true. Not loneliness. You've just learnt to live alone. Most of us can't do that.'
'Learnt that at a young age. Loneliness becomes an obsession. A demon in your brain. Sort of takes over your imagination. I learnt young to ignore it, build my own values. It's the only way you can cope.'
Afterwards, when Billie had helped clear up and Adam had finished the list of instructions for Lily, they settled down in the living room with a large jug of coffee.
'We haven't any decaf, I'm afraid,' said Adam when Lilly brought it through.
'No sweat. Be good to taste real coffee again.' Billie noticed the quick look between Adam and Lily. She smiled. 'I haven't always been a pleasure anorexic. Whatever you think.'
'Want a cigarette?' he responded quickly.
'No. Not that ready to jump over the edge yet.'
'Will you be seeing Mr. Marcus before you go?' Billie heard the housekeeper ask Adam in the kitchen as he followed her through for a new packet of cigarettes.
She didn't hear his answer.
At ten Lily left and Adam escorted her to the door. Billie could see their closeness when Adam let her out, saw that they cared deeply for each other. She wished she had a Lily. Maybe that's what she would look for when she returned to La Jolla. That's if the lawyers left her anything after they'd picked over the bones.
For more than half an hour Adam took Billie through his plan for the next stage of their self initiated assignment. She listened without interrupting and was impressed with the way he had thought it through, his plans being laid before they'd even landed at Manchester.
'You can get out now if you want to,' he said, after he had told her about the phone call to Coy. 'My people think you were taken away from New Orleans under threat and that you're now stringing along just to see what I'm up to. That's what they'll tell the CIA.'
'That's not nice. They'll think I blurted everything out. About the computer and the asset base?'
'I said I overheard you and Tucker and also picked things up as I went along. They'll believe that. It's what they'd expect.'
'What the hell? I'm probably unemployed anyway. You think I should drop out?'
'Your decision. It all started out as an adventure. Now it's real. If you want to....'
'I won't. Unless you want me to.'
'You're going to be in the way.'
'You don't have to worry about me,' she replied, irritated with him. 'I'll look after myself. Don't smirk, I mean that.'
He laughed. 'I wasn't smirking. But you need some protection.'
'A gun.'
'We'll sort that out later.'
'You're not going to sneak out on me, are you?'
'It had crossed my mind.' He grinned at her.
'You would as well. I'm going to have to sleep across the front door so you can't.'
'You're safe. If I did, you'd only tell them where I'd gone.'
'I wouldn't. And please don't go without me.'
'Time to rest up. We start early.'
'I've only just got out of bed.'
'Us secret agents have got to ride above things like jet lag, you know.'
'I'll never get back to sleep.' She looked at him earnestly. 'Are you really tired?'
'No. But I know what's good for me.'
'Meaning?'
The attraction was growing between them. It was something they had both known since New Orleans. Adam realized this was not the time to bring it out in the open. He couldn't afford anything that could blunt his instincts. He stood up. 'Meaning that I'll need all my strength in the next few days. I need the rest.' He wasn't rude, just matter of fact. 'If you can't sleep, watch TV.' He grinned, tried to take the sting out of his words. 'You'll feel at home. Most of our programmes are American.'
He reached out and touched her shoulder, squeezed it and bade her good night. He saw her lift her chin, trying to once again stretch and hide the wrinkles. He said nothing, she was beautiful as she was. Then he left her and went to bed.
He was restless and knew it would be difficult to sleep. The smell of her was still in his nostrils, the scent of sex and all that that brings. Damn, he needed a clear mind. He listened for the sound of the television from the lounge. Maybe she'd decided to try and go back to sleep.
She came in five minutes later, just as he had brought himself under control, and quietly slipped into his bed.
He lay still, his back to her, curled up, pretending to be asleep.
'I know you're awake,' she said, snuggling up to him, putting her arm round him, pushing gently against him until she fitted in with his body, becoming one person in the big bed. 'Companionship or sex. It doesn't matter, tough guy. I just wanted to be with you.'
He said nothing, just squeezed her arm to let her know it was all right, that he wanted her to be there as well.
After that it was easy. What they felt was out in the open and they both knew it could go no further until whatever lay ahead was over.
She nuzzled his ear. 'Beats sleeping across the door.' They slept until four a.m. Then the alarm buzzed and they knew it was time to restart their deadly game.
Ch. 60
1 a.m.
Georgetown
Washington
USA.
The DDA put down the phone and wiped his hands on his pyjamas. The phone call had made him sweat.
'How the hell did they get to England?' the Exec Director had asked him on the phone. It was the first the DDA knew about it. 'Fuck it, you said they were still in New Orleans.'
'We presumed....'
'Weren't we watching all the airports and ports?'
'Yes, sir. The DDI had his men there, too.' He quickly tried to shift some of the blame. 'We even had the roads covered. I don't see how...'
'Well, they did. Get on to our embassy there. Get them to ring this number.' The Exec Director gave the DDA a number that he had just received from his bureau chief in London. 'That's British Intelligence. Guy called Coy. You just get on with it and come back to me in the morning.'
The DDA went downstairs to his study and dialed the number in England. It was engaged. While he waited he switched on the television, flicked it onto CNN. There was an item on a big drugs haul in Seattle and then the President's face came up on the screen.
'The President left last night for a series of visits to Europe...' the picture cut to the President boarding Air Force One at Charles De Gaulle Airport, '...which will culminate in a private meeting with the Russian President in Germany. His first port of call will be London where he is to meet with the British Prime Minister. After that, he flies to Paris to see the French President, then on to Germany for the first historic conference with the Heads of all the NATO, European Community and Warsaw Pact countries. This meeting, seen by many as the first step towards a united Europe spanning east and west, is...'
The DDA had left the phone on automatic redial and now it was ringing back from London. He picked up the receiver, listened, then introduced himself.
'My name's Coy,' came the answer. 'Our man's done a runner.' He wasn't about to tell the Yank that he'd also been duped, that he'd sat on the information for nearly twenty-four hours.
'Runner?' queried the DDA.
'Yes. Bolted. He got back
to his flat and our people spotted him. I spoke to him, on the phone, and he said he would come in this morning. Next thing I know, he'd driven out of there, hell for leather, in a bright red sports car, and headed south. We're trying to trace him now.'
'Was the woman with him?'
'Yes.'
'Did he say why?'
'No.' Coy lied back. 'I would've found that out this morning. I think the best we can do is wait until we find them.'
'I can't understand how you....'
'Listen. This was your show. We were there to help. You lost them in the first place. I'll contact your embassy when something turns up. Goodbye.'
The phone went dead in the DDA's hand. He slammed the receiver down.
On the television he saw the President waving at the cameras before the doors on Air Force One closed.
He also saw behind the President the smiling face of the DDI.
The bastard had gone with him.
He suddenly felt very alone.
Shit to the British. Shit to them all. They'd destroyed his career and he didn't even know if he'd ever find out why.
It was time to start digging. Go back into the files. He'd salvage it somehow. Dig into everything. Something always turned up.
Ch. 61
Dresdener Heidi
Dresden
Germany.
Their feet crunched on the brittle undergrowth, leaving sharp footprints where the early morning frost had taken hold. Kragan and another senior Stermabeitalung officer, in the standard mustard brown shirts, dark brown riding breeches and black leather boots, led their leader through the woods. It was an important time for them, they had to prove that they were on target and ready to execute their task successfully.
Frick was proud as he walked between them, his long black leather coat reaching to the ground. Their military insignia excited him. He imagined it as it would be, centred in red and gold on a black flag, high on a standard, waving in the wind over the stadiums where they would hold their rallies, a symbol of a proud and new Germany, the Fatherland in its true glory.
The wood cabin with its chalet style sloping roof, some forty metres long and twenty wide, was in the middle of a clearing. It was sheltered from prying eyes by trees, in the very heart of that section of the Dresden Heidi that Mitzer had purchased for the Party. It was far enough from anywhere to be unnoticed, far enough for the loudest of to be muffled and lost to passers-by.
As they approached, storm troopers stepped out from cover of the trees. All were armed; two of them had machine guns. It was not a place that unexpected prowlers would ever escape from. Round here, security was tight.
When they saw Frick, whom they had been told to expect, the Stermabeitalung snapped to attention, their arms held out in the traditional Nazi salute.
'Heil, heil.' The salute was repeated, different from the old Nazi one that had been discredited when Germany lost the last war. In their wisdom, the Council had decided that to repeat all the slogans, wear the same swastika insignia and copy all the other mannerisms of the old Nazi party would simply create a credibility gap. So things were changed, honed down, made to appear not quite so militaristic. Frick said nothing. He could live with it. Until it was time to change and emerge as the Party it really was.
He returned the salute as he passed the guards. They had a common cause. It was imperative that they looked up to him, feared him, respected him, loved him.
A Stermabeitalung opened the door that led into the cabin and Frick walked through, the others following. It was dark inside. A long narrow corridor ran down the middle of the building with doors leading off it. Each door had a single glass pane in it. This was ostensibly a centre for the teaching of self defence and disciplined order; in truth it was a training ground for killing and subversive terrorism. Its sole purpose was the development of the Stermabeitalung.
Frick idled his way along the corridor, looking in this window, then that. He saw the storm troopers practising karate, crowd control, baton practice, skills with the knife and their knuckle duster.
Near the end of the corridor was a fully equipped modern shooting range with ten bays. They didn't keep the weapons or ammunition here, however. They were hidden elsewhere in the Dresden Heidi, in a safe place. All the equipment here could be explained away; this was no more than a training ground for those interested in self defence, martial arts and war games, It was, to the outsider, a complete survival centre.
The door of the last room, beyond the range, had no window in it. Kragan excused himself as he pushed past Frick and opened it. His leader and the other officer entered and Kragan closed the door solidly behind them. You could tell it was a heavier than normal, probably wooden clad on a solid steel frame surrounded by high ratio sound proofing. The rest of the room was similarly protected. A single electric bulb dangled from the ceiling. In the middle there was a Formica covered kitchen table on spindly metal legs. Three chairs were pulled up at it. One was empty, the other two occupied by men in civilian clothes. Their hands were tied behind their backs and they were gagged. Behind one of them was a shop window dummy dressed in a military uniform. Another dummy was placed by the window on one of the walls. Beyond the window there was another wall. In all, there were three other windows in the room, and one further door. It was a room within a room, with windows looking out onto the cabin walls beyond. A third dummy was in a seated position on the fourth chair that was set away from the table.
'Please don't cross the white line,' Kragan warned Frick as he handed him a set of noise excluders. The white line, painted on the floor, ran across the room, no more than three feet from the door and parallel with it. 'We shall be another two or three minutes,' Kragan added nervously; he knew Frick hated being kept waiting.
Frick nodded. It should have all been ready for him.
'The white line....' said the second officer, '....is drawn across to protect you. If you cross it, then you will come into the line of...'
The look of contempt on Frick's face stopped him. 'I know what it's for,' stated Frick coldly.
'Of course, sir.'
Kragan waved the officer to step back, then moved closer to Frick. 'We've had calls from Council members about the Charlottenburg riots.'
'What did they say?' asked Frick, now partly deflected from the irritation he felt.
'That the reports on television and in the papers support your view. The public is becoming sickened by these pictures of violence and death. It seems you are right - it may well be time for the Party to come out into the open.'
Frick smiled. 'They said that?'
'That was the gist of it.' He didn't add that he had argued Frick's case vigorously, had hammered the points home until they could do little but agree with him.
'And Albert Goodenache?'
'Nothing yet. We know he flew to Frankfurt from New York. He's somewhere in Germany.'
'Find him. He's dangerous, with all that knowledge. Trimmler's death will have terrified him.'
'He could be coming here.'
'Let's hope so.'
The door opened behind them and a junior officer came in. He nodded to Kragan, who turned to Frick. 'We're ready now. If you would put on your sound protector.'
Frick and the others slipped the protectors over their heads and turned towards the table. The single light dimmed to half strength.
They waited for nearly a minute for something to happen.
Frick was getting restless once again when the place simply exploded into action. A stun grenade was hurled through the window on the left and landed in the middle of the room. It exploded, sound and brilliant light smashing through the room and dulling the senses, smoke gushing out and fogging the scene. The door on the left was blown off its hinges by strategically placed charges that slammed flat onto the floor.
At the same time a balaclava masked soldier rolled in through the window where the stun grenade had come from, his Kalishnikov automatic aimed at the dummy that stood by the opposite window. The b
ullets sliced the dummy in half. A second soldier burst through the door which had been blown open and fired his automatic rifle at the kitchen table, its powerful round of bullets knocking the head off the dummy planted in the chair.
Another stun grenade was thrown in and a third soldier hurled himself through the window after it, before it had exploded. As the grenade went off, he opened fire with his semi automatic hand-gun and shot the dummy in the chair away from the table.
The first two soldiers had now crossed the room and dragged off the men who were tied up to the floor. They cut their bonds. The third soldier covered them, his weapon at the ready for any surprise intruders.
Then the floodlights that were hidden in the roof came on. The soldiers relaxed, laughing, whilst the hostages stood up and joined in the celebrations. The whole thing had taken no more than five seconds.
Frick took off his sound protectors and walked across to the young man he knew to be the leader. 'Well done,' he congratulated Kaas. 'You have trained your men well.'
Kaas snapped to attention and gave the salute, and the others all followed his example.
'Using your men as hostages,' questioned Frick, 'is that a good thing? You might lose one. We need all our young men, you know.'
'It's the only way...to understand the reality of death,' replied Kaas. 'They've got to face it if they're to inflict it'.
'And you move the positions of the dummies and hostages every time?'
'Yes, mein Fuhrer. The whole action must take no more than five seconds. My people have to identify the enemy and act instantly.'
'Good. Excellent. Is this the full complement of men you'll need for our next operation?'
'Yes. Plus Krische, the officer who came in to tell you we were ready.'
Frick turned to Kragan. 'When will this room be ready to represent our next objective.'
'This afternoon,' answered Kragan.
'The most important mission of all,' Frick said to Kaas. 'Your men will not be told the location until they arrive there. This time, security must be absolute. We cannot afford failure. Now, let me meet your men.'