by Jon Land
“I have one,” boasted Vaslov. “Showed it to my daughter last Christmas. She’s quite taken with you, comrade.” His face grew somber. “What of Locke?”
Dogan’s eyes lowered. “I can’t be sure but I think they got him this time. Their intelligence was too tight for him to slip through again. The body of my contact at the hotel turned up last night.”
“Unfortunate. I would have liked to hear what the Dwarf passed on to our college professor.”
“It couldn’t be more than I learned in San Sebastian.”
“Especially concerning this SAS-Ultra group. Last night I discovered that three agents from another KGB Directorate had infiltrated the group in an attempt to influence them toward our politics. It was from these I was able to learn the present location of this man Masvidal.”
“Where is he?” Dogan asked eagerly, marveling at Vaslov’s professional prowess. The man was a true master of his craft.
“You’re not going to believe it, comrade, but he’s here! In Geneva! Staying at …” Vaslov consulted a piece of paper he had scribbled notes on. “… the De la Paix across town. He must be here for the hunger conference, which will begin Monday. Perhaps he has an agenda of his own to present.”
“But he can’t go public with what he knows. He’s a terrorist.”
“What other choice does he have now, comrade? Perhaps he will have South American diplomats do his talking for him. Better yet,” Vaslov theorized, “maybe he is planning to use his people to disrupt the conference. How ironic that he might be doing exactly what the Committee wants him to… .”
“No,” said Dogan, “we were wrong about that. The Committee never did have a strike planned against the hunger conference. They want it to go on. They want the world’s attention drawn to the issue of food, an issue so desperate that the United States and Soviet Union are about to join forces in dealing with it. Unless I miss my guess, the Committee’s operation will go into effect early next week to coincide with the beginning of the conference. Suddenly in a world concerned about a means to better feed itself, reports will surface of massive crop destruction in the fields of the world’s largest crop producer. A climate of panic will be created.”
“The perfect atmosphere for the Committee to strike… .”
“And the crop destruction will continue unchecked even as the second phase of their operation—planting their rapid-growing crops in South America—gets underway. Within three months, they will be ready to start shipping, effectively taking the place of North America in the marketplace.”
“At the time when the world has no alternative but to turn to them,” Vaslov completed. “Brilliant. But what of the words of that woman you killed in San Sebastian? If there is validity to them, matters might be complicated considerably.”
“There’s validity, all right. The woman thought I was part of the Committee, which meant she must have represented a different part. And it’s not her words that bother me as much as the presence of her and the other killers in the first place. They weren’t dispatched to eliminate us, they were already in the area.”
“Expecting your arrival perhaps?”
“More likely standing guard over San Sebastian.”
“Dead towns do not require guards, comrade.”
“There’s something very much alive down there, something I got too close to. And whatever it is, it’s tied into the part of the Committee those killers represented.”
“So the Committee has become factionalized. What is it they say, divide and conquer?”
“Except this time we had nothing to do with the dividing and I’m not sure it’ll make conquering the Committee any easier. That’s why I have to speak with Masvidal. This is a war now and he has access to the troops we need. The problem is we’re running out of time.”
Vaslov raised his thick eyebrows. “I may be able to help us there. In the last thirty-six hours, a series of well-timed, brutally elaborate executions of important men have taken place all over the globe. The American Secretary of State was one, a ranking KGB scientific specialist another. The killings cannot be random. There must be a connection.”
“The work of the Committee?”
“If you count killing off its own members, yes, comrade,” Vaslov affirmed. “It’s the only possible common denominator among the victims. As you said, the divisions in the Committee are already there. One faction, perhaps, is taking steps to destroy another. An old regime toppling, a new one emerging; we Russians are experts on such happenings.”
“What does that gain us, though?”
“Precisely the question I asked myself last night. If these men were in fact Committee members, they would have had to meet somewhere together on various occasions.”
“Locke said Austria.”
“Indeed, and my computers are at work now, comrade, trying to narrow things down a bit. Men this important cannot simply vanish. There will be clues, references, patterns left to uncover. Mileage on rental cars, vouchers, arrival and departure times—everything is being analyzed. My experts assure me we will have an answer shortly.”
“We’d better,” Dogan told him.
Masvidal returned from breakfast and inspected the electronic seals he had left on the door.
All the seals had been broken, evidence that someone had been or was still inside. Masvidal looked closer. The breaks had been recent. Yes, the intruder was probably still within. Only an amateur would have disregarded all his precautions. Masvidal yanked his pistol from beneath his jacket. Amateurs died the same way as professionals.
He unlocked the door silently and burst into his room in one swift motion, expecting to catch the intruder totally off guard. But he didn’t catch the intruder at all because none was present in the room.
“Drop it” came a voice from behind him.
Masvidal considered a quick turn and shot but the voice was too seasoned, too precise to challenge.
“I said drop it.”
Masvidal complied.
“Now raise your hands and turn around slowly.”
Dogan kicked the door closed behind him, as Masvidal turned and met his eyes. For some reason Dogan had expected someone colder. As it was, only the eyepatch gave the SAS-Ultra leader even the semblance of a sinister appearance. He looked more tired than anything, like a broken boxer who’s tried the ring a few too many times. His face was littered with small scars and one long one that ran from his left jaw through his chin. His one eye was ice blue, almost hypnotic in its reflective gaze.
“I know you,” Masvidal said, his one eye boring into Dogan. “You were in the lobby this morning. At the front desk. If you came here to kill me, you should have acted while my back was turned.”
“I haven’t come here to kill you. I need you to listen to me.”
“Except you have the advantage on me.”
“The name’s Dogan. And you can put your hands down. Slowly.”
Masvidal lowered his arms, surprise showing on his features.
“The famous Grendel? I am honored. Who sent you after me?”
“No one. Now kick your gun over here.”
Masvidal did as he was told. “You’re free-lancing then. I didn’t realize there was such a hefty price on my head.”
“I’m no bounty hunter. I’m here because I need your help. I’m here about San Sebastian.”
The color drained from Masvidal’s face, but the long scar glowed red. “You know about …”
“I was there.”
The man’s hands clenched into fists. “I swore I wouldn’t rest until we had revenge.”
“Forget about revenge. You don’t know what you’re up against here.”
“I know about a group calling itself the Committee. I know they were trying to destroy South America when we committed ourselves to destroying them.”
“Be glad you got that far, but it goes much deeper. San Sebastian was a field test for two major experiments: rapid crop growth and even faster crop destruction.”
; “One of our people witnessed that the day of the massacre. He didn’t know what it meant.”
“The beginning of the end of America as a global economic power. Buying up the countries you’re fighting for has given the Committee the land they need to take over the market.”
Masvidal looked shaken. Clearly this was beyond anything he had considered.
“I learned about San Sebastian because an American agent also witnessed the massacre and sent a report,” Dogan continued. “Another man was sent out in his place to pick up the trail he uncovered. London, Liechtenstein—am I making myself clear?”
“The man we tried to kill… . I had my suspicions about him from the beginning. His moves were too random to be professional. But he managed quite well to stay alive.”
“Only because it suited the interests of the people actually controlling his movements, the same ones who were behind San Sebastian and the takeover of your lands. They needed to know where the leaks were. With Locke’s help, they started plugging them.”
“Were they aware of our commitment to fight them?”
“They must have known some organized group was standing against their interests in South America, and another of Locke’s unwitting duties was to show them which. Since you’re relatively new, and independent, they had no pipeline into you as they have into other similar groups. I would imagine you had them quite frustrated. But by now, almost surely, they’ve discovered it’s SAS-Ultra who’s their enemy.”
“Then why haven’t they struck at us?”
“They’re waiting for the right time. The Committee never moves on impulse.”
Masvidal’s mind worked frantically, trying to assimilate all the information Dogan was passing on. It answered many of the questions that had so frustrated him for months. Still, he wasn’t convinced.
“You said you needed my help,” he said suspiciously.
Dogan nodded. “I’ve got an associate who’s just about to come up with the location of a prime Committee stronghold, possibly even their headquarters. I want to storm it. I need men.”
“Why not get them from your own CIA?” Masvidal asked with his one eye narrowed.
“Because all of a sudden someone on the Committee wanted Locke dead and I was assigned to do the job. I decided on my own not to. That got the wrong people pissed off. My own superiors had to punish me for not following orders and the Committee was worried I’d interfere with their plans. So I ended up under a restricted quarantine. My file’s been deactivated. I don’t exist anymore.”
“How convenient,” Masvidal noted. “Your tale is quite convincing, almost too convincing. You didn’t kill me before, Grendel, but if you had, the identities and location of my people would have died with me. So perhaps you concocted a story that would convince me to join you. That way, once my people were out in the open, yours could have us all.”
“I don’t have any people.”
“So you say. CIA deep-cover agents rarely come to terrorists for help. You’re asking me to take a risk that might threaten the entire existence of SAS-Ultra.”
Dogan shrugged. “If I were in your place, I’d feel the same way. No words will convince you. Maybe this will.” He turned his gun away from Masvidal and tossed it to him. The terrorist snatched it out of the air with surprise. Then Dogan kicked the pistol on the floor back to him as well. “Now the roles are reversed. You have the gun and I am your hostage. All I ask is that you listen to what I have to say.”
Masvidal held the gun but didn’t point it. “Go on.”
“You’re here to attempt to expose what’s going in South America at the hunger conference, aren’t you?”
Masvidal made no response.
“You’ll probably try to do it through diplomats you trust. You’ll set up meetings, tell them everything you know in the hope they will bring these horrible injustices to the conference floor. So to expose the Committee you first have to expose yourself, and that’s when they’ll strike, possibly through the very diplomats you feel you can trust. They’ll strike before you have the opportunity to resort to a more active form of disruption. The reach of the Committee extends everywhere. It’s the way they work.”
“So basically you’re asking me to trust you instead of these diplomats I was planning to utilize,” Masvidal concluded.
“I didn’t give you my gun out of bravery,” the American told him. “I did it out of fear. I’ve escaped them several times myself but my luck won’t hold out much longer. If I don’t get them, they’ll get me. But to get them, I need you … and your people.”
“You already said we’re no match for them.”
“Not on their terms. We must make the terms our own.”
“By raiding their headquarters? Terms that include suicide aren’t acceptable.”
“They won’t be expecting an assault, nor will they be prepared for it. We’ve got to find out the details of the operation they’re about to initiate. I don’t think we can stop it altogether in Austria, but we can at least learn where and when it’s going to start … and why San Sebastian is still important to them.”
“San Sebastian doesn’t exist anymore.”
“There were armed guards down there two days ago, and I need your help in Austria to find out why. It might take an army to defeat them before we’re through.” Dogan paused. “Your army.”
“You’re mad, Grendel.”
“So are they. We start out even.”
Masvidal moved forward and handed Dogan back his gun. His features were softer, more reflective, but equally determined.
“I’ve been fighting this war for years,” he said distantly, “even before the Committee, for as long as I can remember. We started as children, throwing rocks through the windows of capitalist invaders. When armed guards came to scare us off, we attacked them with sticks. Others have always wanted our land for themselves. They deny us an identity. We exist only to serve them. I grew up hating these men for their manipulations but I never feared them.” Again the color drained from Masvidal’s face, flashing only in his long scar. “The Committee frightens me, chills my very soul. They deny us not only identity but also our very lives. They stand against everything I have fought for these long years. I have seen evidence of their work for years but never do they leave more than a shadow for us to pursue. If you can turn that shadow into substance, I will help you any way I can.”
Dogan breathed easier. “How long before you can call up your people?”
“For a trip to Austria, an hour. I have enough to suit our needs right here in Geneva.”
Dogan started for the phone. “Let’s hope we’ve got a target.” He dialed the Du Rhone and asked for Vaslov’s room, dreading the possibility that the Russian’s computers had turned up nothing.
“How nice to hear from you, comrade. I was beginning to think Masvidal had gotten the better of you.”
“We’ve reached a mutual understanding.”
“With good cause, I can now safely say.”
“You found it!”
“Kreuzenstein Castle, comrade. Did you ever doubt me?”
When Locke awoke that morning, Nikki had already showered and dressed.
“We’ve got to get moving,” she told him. “Austria’s a long way away.”
Locke stretched. “Have you made the arrangements?”
She nodded. “We have reservations on a nonstop excursion flight. It should be jam-packed, so it will be easy to hide ourselves.”
“And then?”
“From Vienna, we’ll drive to the castle. Then everything will be made clear for you.”
Locke didn’t press her further. He would let Nikki lead him because he was sick of making the decisions for himself and so far they had got him nowhere. This was her world he had entered. She knew its territory and laws far better than he did. In the dim light of their room with the shades still drawn, she looked suddenly familiar to him. He knew her face, yet he didn’t know it. The spell faded. It was time to get ready to leave.<
br />
They ate a quick breakfast and made the long drive to Heathrow, arriving at a peak late-morning time. Their flight was overbooked and delayed, and the gate was much too small to accommodate all the frantic passengers waiting to board. Chris had become quite frantic himself when he remembered his lack of a passport but Nikki swiftly produced one with a different name but his picture. He would have asked her how she managed it if the answer had mattered at all.
They were the last two people to receive seats and had to sit separately, he in the front and she in the back of the plane. That vantage point allowed her to watch for any people watching them. Chris had a seat next to an older man wearing a green porkpie hat who passed the flight doing crossword puzzles. Locke was grateful for his silence. The last thing he felt like was talking.
The plane landed in Vienna over an hour late. Locke rose from his seat, exchanged smiles with his crossword-playing neighbor, and headed out into the aisle after him. Waiting for Nikki inside the plane would make them stand out too much. Just because they had made it safely out of London did not mean Mandala would not have men waiting for them in Vienna.
She passed him as they moved into the terminal and smiled, as if at a stranger. Chris got the message and fell in comfortably behind her. He stayed always within sight as they passed through Customs, and finally caught up outside, crossing into one of several parking lots.
“You’re getting rather good at this,” Nikki said as she led him toward a dark-brown Mercedes. She inspected it very thoroughly to insure it had not been tampered with and, satisfied, she jammed her key in the door.
“How far to the castle?” Locke asked, climbing in.
“Twenty minutes,” Nikki replied. “Far enough.”
When they swept into the semicircular drive before Kreuzenstein, her hands tensed on the wheel.
“The guards,” she uttered breathlessly. “Where are the guards?”
“Maybe they’re—”
The crunching sound of tires spitting gravel buried Locke’s words as Nikki jammed the brake pedal down. She screeched to a halt before a pair of huge doors and sprinted up the heavy granite steps. Chris kept up as best he could, feeling out of place and unwelcome. The doors swung open just before Nikki reached them.