Weep, Moscow, Weep

by Gar Wilson

  "Fektistov pinned one on my jacket," the Fed replied with a grin. "I left it on the floor under the table. Tried to crunch it under my foot. Think I mashed it pretty good."

  "Nothing like mutual distrust," Katz commented. "Anything you want to say without our two friends from the Soviet Union listening in?"

  "Not really," Brognola said as he fired the cigar and puffed deeply. "I was pretty straight back there. The big question is: How straight is the Kremlin being with us?"

  "They're never straight with their own people," Katz remarked. "Why should we believe them now?"

  "If this is a setup," the Fed said with a shrug, "they're sure going to a lot of trouble. If the Kremlin hadn't just handed over a sample of the VL-800 to our government, I wouldn't even consider that this might be for real."

  "It's a big risk," Katz commented, taking a pack of Camels from his pocket. The Israeli wore a prosthesis attached to the stump of his right arm. The device was largely cosmetic, with a metal "hand" complete with five fingers. Inside a pearl-gray glove, the prosthesis looked very lifelike, but functionally it was of little use. Katz shook his left hand to loosen a cigarette from the pack.

  "Yeah," Brognola agreed. "But there's a lot to gain if this works."

  "We'll all get killed if it doesn't," Katz said, gripping the cigarette with his lips and pulling it out of the pack. "Even if it isn't a KGB trap, we might not be able to find the bastards who ripped off the Russians. After all, the KGB has been working on this for over a month."

  "You've never let us down, Yakov," Brognola stated. "Maybe we've gotten used to expecting miracles from Phoenix Force."

  "Ask God for miracles," the Israeli replied as he snapped his lighter and lit the cigarette. "We're professionals, and we're very good at what we do, but teaming us up with the KGB is changing the rules pretty drastically. Damn it, Hal. The KGB is our worst enemy."

  "I know," Brognola nodded. "But we might have a mutual interest that puts us on the same side this time."

  "I'll talk to the others," Katz sighed. "But I don't know if they'll agree to it. Frankly, this is a bad time for another mission to hit us so soon. We haven't had a chance to report the details of the Vatican mission, Hal."

  I understand it was a total success," Brognola replied.

  "Calvin and Rafael were captured and tortured by the enemy," Katz explained.

  "My God." The Fed shook his head with dismay. "How bad was it?"

  "Physically the damage was minor," the Israeli said. "Encizo's hand was burned, and James lost the tip of the little finger of his left hand. Neither injury is enough to put them out of action, even for a day, but I'm worried about the psychological damage. They've survived a nightmare, Hal. After a man has been tortured, he's never quite the same afterward."

  "Encizo was tortured before, in Cuba," Brognola stated.

  "Twenty-five years ago," Katz replied. "Time may not heal all wounds, but it can certainly reduce the sting. His most recent experience is bound to revive the horrors of those days in Castro's prison."

  "You think they're unfit for duty?" the Fed asked.

  "No," Katz answered. "They're both tough, and they've got sound minds. But I've seen men who'd been tortured freeze under stress, and not necessarily in a combat situation. A threatening gesture, a careless remark, a sound that reminds them of the ordeal or a wall that reminds them of the room they were tortured in... anything that would bring the terror and pain rushing back to them could make them a liability to themselves and to the mission."

  "Christ, Yakov," the Fed said, biting down on his cigar. "What do you think we should do?"

  "I wish we had time to let them rest for at least two weeks and then go through some simulated combat exercises," Katz answered. "But there isn't time for that if we take this mission."

  "Maybe they should sit this one out."

  "That would leave only three of us for the mission."

  "Four," Brognola corrected. "I think you'd better take Trent."

  "Trent's a civilian, Hal," Katz reminded the Fed. "He's very good, and his survival instincts are excellent, but he isn't a professional."

  "Shit," Brognola said, laughing. "He's been through two missions with you lunatics. That makes him a professional."

  "I'll ask him," Katz sighed. "But if Trent wants to go back to San Francisco, that's up to him."

  "Trent might be useful if it turns out the KGB are right about the Chinese being involved in this," Brognola stated. "According to his file, Trent speaks Japanese and Chinese — Mandarin and some Cantonese."

  "I didn't know you had a file on Trent."

  "We do now." Brognola explained. "What do you want to do about Encizo and James?"

  "They're smart enough to understand the situation if I hit them with it point-blank," Katz answered. "If they don't want to go into the field right away, nobody will blame : them. God knows, they don't have to prove their courage. If they agree to go on the mission, then I'm going to respect their decision. But I'll also watch them for any sign that they're having trouble dealing with stress. If that happens, we're pulling out as soon as possible, and the KGB can clean up their mess on their own."

  "You know even the President doesn't always get what he wants," Brognola commented. "Nobody can blame you guys if you decide to pass on this one. Maybe the others will turn thumbs-down on the assignment after you tell them about it."

  "Are you serious?" Katz laughed, more in irony than in amusement. "I know those four men as if they were parts of my own mind and body. They're not going to pass up a mission. You know that as well as I do."

  "Yeah," Brognola agreed. "But take extra care on this one, Yakov. We don't know who stole the VL-800 formula, but we know who you guys will be traveling with. Like you said: The KGB is your worst enemy."

  4

  "I can't believe we're really doing this," Calvin James muttered as he sunk into the cushioned seat and leaned against the backrest. "And I feel like I'm going to a Halloween party."

  All five members of Phoenix Force and John Trent wore transparent plastic masks that covered their faces from forehead to upper lip. The clear plastic distorted their features, yet the masks were virtually invisible from a distance. The commandos also wore black knit hats and tight-fitting gray gloves.

  "Trick or treat," Rafael Encizo remarked as he sat beside the black commando. "I just hope the trick isn't being played on us by the KGB."

  "I never thought I'd enter a Soviet airliner with a Russian pilot unless my hands were cuffed behind my back and somebody was holding a gun to my head," David McCarter commented. He glanced up at the Cyrillic letters that lit up on a sign overhead. The Briton did not understand Russian, but he assumed it meant he was supposed to buckle his seat belt.

  The plane was a Soviet TU-144. It belonged to Aeroflot, the state-owned commercial airline. Soviet aircraft were a rare sight at the international airport in Rome. Brognola's sources and the Soviet embassy had helped cut a lot of red tape with the Italian officials. Of course, Soviet embassy personnel had the advantage of diplomatic immunity that allowed them to avoid customs under most circumstances. Phoenix Force had entered the airport with the Russians and so had passed through customs without any trouble.

  "Those masks look ridiculous," Major Viktor Ivanovich Alekseyev remarked as he buckled himself into a seat across the aisle from Phoenix Force. "Do you seriously intend to wear them throughout the entire mission?"

  "For now," Yakov Katzenelenbogen replied.

  "We've got to consider our security," Gary Manning added. The muscular Canadian placed a backpack on his lap. He opened it and slid a gloved hand inside.

  Alekseyev shook his head. The KGB case officer was a tall, athletic man with a long face. His features were strong; lantern jaw, high cheekbones and bushy blond eyebrows beneath a high forehead. Forty-two years old, Alekseyev had been recruited into the KGB when he was a student officer in the Red Army. He had been in the Special Operations Section for the last eight years.

 
His performance in the field had been exceptional. Alekseyev had been promoted from captain to senior captain to major. Alekseyev had been up for promotion to lieutenant colonel when he had been ordered to Rome to team up with a mysterious group of commandos working for the Americans. The idea was outrageous, but Moscow had told Alekseyev that if the mission succeeded he would be promoted to full colonel with a guarantee of making senior colonel — the equivalent of a brigadier general in the American army — within two years.

  The Kremlin was clearly desperate. The VL-800 formula had become a threat and an embarrassment. The latter worried Moscow as much as the former. The fact that Alekseyev had been chosen to handle the assignment proved that his superiors thought highly of his ability. Of course, Alekseyev realized that if he failed Moscow would be less than sympathetic. His superiors would use Alekseyev as their scapegoat. He would be lucky if they assigned him to permanent duty in some godforsaken post in Siberia.

  Alekseyev wondered which senile Bolshevik dinosaur in the Politburo had decided to bring these demented Americans into the mission. Alekseyev was extremely suspicious of the six strangers, but he and his fellow KGB personnel did not insist on wearing masks to prevent anyone from getting a good look at them.

  "We're not hiding our faces," the major remarked.

  "You're not on board an American aircraft either," Katz replied as he felt the plane race along the runway. The Israeli squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. Katz disliked flying under any conditions, and he decided he liked traveling in a Soviet aircraft least of all.

  "I thought we all understood that this was to be a cooperative venture between your group and our people," Professor Sudoplatov commented, polishing the lenses of his wire-rimmed glasses with a silk cloth. "After all, we share a common concern here. Da?"

  "Trust isn't part of our agreement, Professor," Manning replied. "Expecting us to trust the KGB is expecting too much."

  "Too bad for you, American," Boris Abakumov, a wiry, grim-faced KGB operative, sneered. "You're playing this game in our court, so to speak."

  "But that doesn't mean you blokes will be making all the rules," McCarter stated.

  "Is that so?" Abakumov smiled. "Do you know where we're going? We're flying to Moscow. How many rules do you think you can force on us there?"

  "Moscow?" Encizo asked, his hand sliding inside his jacket, toward the Walther PPK in shoulder leather under his left arm.

  "We're just going to Moscow to get fuel," Alekseyev explained quickly. "Then we'll fly to Mongolia as we agreed before."

  "I fail to see what this will accomplish," Abakumov complained. "What's the point in going to the installation in Mongolia? Our best specialists have already thoroughly investigated the remains of the building. They didn't find a single clue to help us track down the thieves."

  "One starts at the beginning," John Trent told him. "This business started in Mongolia, so we must start there as well."

  "Might help if we knew more about this VL-800 chemical weapon," Calvin James remarked. "What can you tell us about it, Professor?"

  "VL-800," Sudoplatov began, "is the official abbreviation for Vacpalenee Lagkech: Experiment 800. Actually, it was Experiment 816, but the science department decided to clip off the sixteen."

  "What does vaspal... that Russian word mean?" James asked.

  "Vacpalenee Lagkech," the professor said with a nod. "I believe the English translation is 'pneumonia.' As I'm sure you know, it is very simple for a person to catch the common cold, and a cold can easily lead to pneumonia under certain conditions. Pneumonia can be lethal."

  "There's more than one kind of pneumonia," James stated. "The most common is lobar pneumonia, which can be treated with penicillin and can usually be cured within four days. Bronchopneumonia and most atypical pneumonias can be effectively treated with broad-spectrum antibiotics. In the United States about five thousand people die every year from pneumococcal pneumonia. Most victims are elderly or suffer from chronic lung or heart disease. Is this VL-800 sort of a super strain of pneumonia, maybe similar to the pneumococcal form?"

  "I didn't know you were a medical man, Mr.?.." Sudoplatov said with surprise.

  "Just call me Johnson," Calvin James said with a shrug. "And I've studied medicine a little."

  "VL-800 is not a form of pneumonia or a super strain, as you suggested," the Russian professor continued. "The formula is inhaled by a subject, and it breaks down the person's natural immunity to pneumonia. The individual soon develops a severe case of pneumonia, usually involving two or more strains. However, penicillin and broad-spectrum antibiotics don't help because there is no natural immunity system to build on. So the person dies within five to ten days."

  "So the victim appears to die from natural causes," Katz remarked. "Thousands could die from a mysterious pneumonia before anyone knew a CBW weapon was involved."

  "Wait a minute," Gary Manning said angrily. "This VL-800 breaks down the body's immunities to pneumonia when it's inhaled. Did your wonderful CBW research-and-development teams create anything similar to this in the past?"

  "It should be mentioned that VL-800 was developed by accident," Alekseyev declared. "Originally, the staff was trying to make a more effective antibiotic..."

  "Did somebody 'accidentally' make a similar virus that causes the body to lose its immunity to disease?" Manning demanded. "Maybe one that's transmitted by sexual intercourse or through the blood?"

  "AIDS," Encizo said grimly.

  "That's what I was thinking," Manning confirmed. "Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome. Thousands of people have died from AIDS in the United States alone. There's no cure for it. Not yet."

  "That's a paranoid notion," Abakumov snorted. "You think the Soviet Union made this disease that kills homosexuals? It is a bit absurd to suspect that AIDS is a Soviet CBW virus even if it is similar to VL-800. If you're going to raise this theory, don't forget that your country runs experiments in CBW weapons as well. Perhaps your CIA or the Defense Department created the AIDS virus and it got out of control."

  "Cute theory," Manning replied. "But it occurs in other countries besides the United States. A lot of people think it may have first occurred in central Africa. There have certainly been a large number of cases in that part of the world. Neither the United States nor any other Western democracy has been very active in that area for more than a decade. But the Soviets and Cubans sure as hell have been."

  "Bloody right," McCarter agreed. "There are tens of thousands of Russian and Cuban troops and 'advisors' in Angola. The Soviets also have people in the other African Marxist countries, such as the Republic of the Congo and Ethiopia."

  "The Kremlin has used dissidents at Siberian labor camps to test CBW stuff on in the past," Encizo commented. "Maybe some of your comrades in Africa decided to use a few villages as group guinea pigs in some experiments."

  "That's a ridiculous accusation!" Alekseyev snapped.

  "Gentlemen," Katz urged. "Let's stop this conversation right now. Major Alekseyev doesn't have any more to do with his country's research in CBW than we have in whatever our countries are doing in the field, yet you're putting him in a position where he feels obligated to defend his country's activities. We'd do the same if the situation was reversed."

  "Since this is a Russian airliner," Trent added, "the major is, in a sense, our host right now. This argument is becoming unfriendly, which means it's rude."

  Trent shook his head sadly. His Japanese upbringing had made him regard bad manners as a major sin.

  "I guess I was out of line," Manning said with a sigh. "Sorry, Major. If we've got to work together on this mission, we'd better start by trying to get along."

  "Even if we can't manage trust," Alekseyev said with a shrug.

  "No wonder our countries are always bitchin' at each other," James commented. "We can't even work together without butting heads."

  "But we've got good reason to be suspicious of the KGB," Encizo reminded the black warrior. "They might be planning to capt
ure or kill us when we arrive in Moscow. Major Alekseyev might not know what they have planned. They could lie to him as easily as they can to us."

  "Well," Manning began. "They won't take us alive. I have four kilos of C-4 plastique explosives in this backpack. If they try to raid this plane or come aboard with any sort of hostile intent, I'll blow this craft to bits and all of us with it."

  "You really are lunatics," Abakumov rasped.

  "Like you said, mate," McCarter told the KGB agent, "this game is being played in your court, so we have to be ready to deal with any trick plays you blokes might serve us." McCarter smiled. "You put us in a position where we can't win and we'll settle for checkmate... even if it kills us."

  "Is this the way we're going to cooperate?" Alekseyev asked. "By threatening to blow each other up?"

  "That's how your country and the United States have cooperated with each other the last thirty-five years," Katz said simply. "Don't worry about it. Let's just hope the Kremlin doesn't force us to use drastic methods when we reach Moscow."

  "Drastic methods seem to be the only type you people know," Alekseyev said sharply.

  No one spoke for almost a full minute until Calvin James asked, "Hey, man. Do we get to watch a movie on this flight?"

  "A movie?" Major Alekseyev chuckled. "As a matter of fact, the regular Aeroflot flight usually includes a fifteen-minute documentary about the Soviet Union. It shows people driving tractors and working in steel mills and some Ukrainians folk dancing. I've seen this movie maybe fifteen times. Got to tell you, it's really boring."

  Laughter relieved some of the tension.

  "After you saw it fifteen times..." James began.

  "It was pretty boring the first time," Alekseyev insisted.

  The mood within the plane lightened until the pilot announced that they were approaching the Soviet Union.

  5

  Major Alekseyev was curious about the man who called himself "Mr. Gray." The unit commander of the mysterious group was obviously the oldest of the six men. Despite the mask, hat and gloves, Alekseyev could still make a rough estimate of the age and general physical characteristics of the strangers. Gray was probably in his late forties or early fifties. He was slightly overweight, showing the beginnings of a paunch, yet he seemed to be in good physical condition otherwise.