Red Horseman

by Stephen Coonts

  When everyone was inside, Dalworth closed the door and dogged it down.

  “Any time, Rita.”

  “Give me a minute, sir.” She was looking at the controls.

  The seconds dragged by. Finally she adjusted a lever and pushed a button. The engine turned over but didn’t catch.

  More fiddling.

  “Maybe our guy here knows how to drive,” Dalworth suggested.

  “Ask him.”

  Dalworth did so. The soldier’s eyes got big, but he held his tongue. He was young, about twenty. Not a trace of beard showed on his face.

  Rita ground some more with the starter. Then the diesel caught. She wrestled with the shift lever, ground the gears, then engaged the clutch. The thing lurched, then got under way.

  “Empty his rifle,” Jake told Dalworth, “and throw it in the back.”

  Dalworth popped out the magazine and handed it to Jake, who tossed it into the back of the vehicle. The rifle followed.

  The APC lumbered along at a stately pace. Rita steered it toward the center of the street. Two blocks later they saw a line of cars waiting in front of a roadblock with several dozen soldiers milling about.

  “Drive right through,” Jake told his pilot. “And don’t run over anybody.”

  “Admiral!”

  “They’ll get out of your way.”

  She floored it and the soldiers ahead scattered. Amazingly, no shots were fired.

  “Maybe they would have let us through,” Dalworth remarked.

  “Maybe,” Rita agreed.

  Jake kept his maybes to himself.

  The APC rumbled the two blocks to the embassy along an empty street. She turned the corner from the boulevard and dropped down the street to the main entrance of the embassy, where she braked to a stop.

  At least the stars and stripes were still flying.

  The Russian soldier sat glued to his seat staring dumbfounded as the trio walked past four armed U.S. marines in battle dress and entered the little brick reception building.

  The marine on duty behind the desk punched the button to let them in and spoke through the window. “The ambassador wants to see you, sir, and so does Captain Collins. And welcome back!”

  He was rewarded with a grin from Rita.

  The security door hadn’t even closed behind the trio as the sergeant at the desk dialed Toad’s telephone number. Lieutenant Commander Tarkington had been down here three times this evening—the sergeant was delighted that he had some good news to deliver for a change.

  Toad came thundering down the stairs as Rita started up.

  “Hey, Babe!”

  “Hello, Toad-man,” she said as she was lifted from her feet in a fierce bear hug.

  21

  General Shmarov is dead,” Tom Collins told Jake.

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “Nope. Apparently had a heart attack last night. Died in bed. At least that’s what I hear from the Defense Ministry and Yeltsin’s office. Of course, someone might have taken him for a ride last night and pumped a lead slug into his chest. Lead poisoning is a leading cause of heart attacks among the upper echelons in this neck of the woods.”

  “Humph,” Jake Grafton replied, trying to visualize how Shmarov’s demise fitted in. “So what is CIA up to today?”

  “Nothing, as near as I can tell. Toad escorted Herb Tenney upstairs right after breakfast this morning. Harley McCann”—McCann was the ranking resident CIA officer—“went to his office and did the usual. I think he’s still there.”

  “At nine-thirty at night? He’s got to know we have Tenney under lock and key.”

  “Well, even if he’s the worst spy we have, you’d think he’d find an event like that hard to miss. We’ve had armed marines guarding your apartment all day.”

  “Shmarov had a heart attack.” Jake Grafton shook his head. “What’s the ambassador want?”

  “He’s been on the phone to Washington all day. Probably has some instructions, wants to know what happened at Petrovsk…”

  “I’ll have a little visit with Herb first. Then you and I will go see the ambassador.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “In the meantime get the marine, Captain McElroy, and have him stand by outside my apartment. Have him wear his sidearm.”

  Herb Tenney’s color wasn’t good when Jake entered the apartment. His shirt was wet with sweat and his forehead was shiny. He looked as if he hadn’t shaved in days.

  “Where’s Toad?” Jake asked Jack Yocke.

  “In the bedroom with Rita.”

  “Ask them to come out here, will you please?” Jake pulled a chair around to face Tenney, who was still on the couch.

  While the reporter knocked on the bedroom door, Jake ripped the tape from Herb’s mouth, wadded the strip up and tossed it toward a wastepaper basket. He missed. Rita and Toad came out of the bedroom holding hands.

  “I want to go to the bathroom,” Herb said belligerently.

  Jake weighed it for two seconds, then nodded. Toad and Jack hoisted him to his feet and carried him. When they got their guest settled on the throne with his pants down, Toad came out and shut the door.

  “It went okay today. He hasn’t said a word, we haven’t questioned him. He’s eaten a little and had a couple naps. Maybe I misread him, but I thought he looked slightly stunned when the gate guard called and said you and Rita were back. I told Yocke, and Herb had trouble controlling his face. I thought.”

  “No questions today even when you had the tape off?”

  “No, sir. The man knows how to keep his mouth shut.”

  “A truly rare talent in this day and age. Find anything in his room?”

  Toad took the pill bottle from his shirt pocket and handed it to Jake. “There’s four of each left in the bottle—eight pills.”

  “Get my pill bottle from my bag.”

  Rita asked, “Admiral, do you want me here?”

  “Yep. You and Toad and Jack and Spiro Dalworth. But everyone keeps their mouth shut, no matter what. Toad, take Jack into the bedroom and tell him if he says one word, he’ll be ejected. Then rig up Jack’s cassette tape recorder just out of sight under the couch.” Toad went and Jake turned to Rita. “Call Captain Collins and ask him to send Dalworth up.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  In the bedroom Toad delivered the message to Yocke, who merely nodded. Toad popped the magazine from the Browning and removed a handful of cartridges from his pocket. He pushed the shells into the clip one by one.

  “Why didn’t you have your pistol loaded today?” Yocke asked.

  Toad was tired, emotionally drained. His mind wasn’t working fast enough to come up with a quip, so for once he told Jack Yocke the unvarnished truth. “Jake Grafton wanted him alive. Sitting there looking at him with a loaded gun, waiting…I don’t know if I could have resisted the temptation to kill him.”

  Yocke watched as Toad finished loading the magazine and snapped it into the handle of the pistol. He worked the slide, thumbed the safety into position. Then he slid the pistol into the small of his back.

  “Why are you loading it now?”

  “Maybe I’ll get lucky.”

  In the bathroom Jake filled a dirty glass with water and examined the white tablets from Herb’s bottle. He selected one marked Aspirin on both sides and dropped it into the water.

  It all came down to this. If Herb knew Jake had substituted aspirin for half the binary cocktail, he was too many steps ahead for Jake to catch him now.

  He held the glass up to the light and swirled the water as the tablet slowly disintegrated. Into a pile of white powder.

  Aspirin.

  Thank God!

  Out in the living room Herb Tenney was back on the couch. Jake Grafton emptied the pill bottle onto the table. He picked up each tablet and examined the markings. When he was finished he had two small piles of tablets.

  “General Shmarov died last night,” he remarked conversationally. “Tell us about that.”

  Her
b had watched Jake examine the white tablets. Now he looked at the faces of the other people in the room, then back at Jake. “I don’t have anything to say.”

  “Tenney, I don’t think you understand how tight the crack is that you’re in. You are going to talk or we’re going to force these pills down your throat. All of them.”

  “Now you listen, Admiral. I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing, but I know my rights. I have the right to an attorney and I have the right to remain silent. You’re an agent of the government.”

  “You think there’s going to be a trial? You’re joking, right?”

  Jake Grafton hitched his chair closer to Tenney and leaned forward so his face was only a foot or so from Herb’s. “Let me say it again—either you answer my questions with God’s truth or I’m going to stuff these pills into your mouth and tape it shut. The pills will dissolve in your mouth even if you don’t swallow.”

  Herb Tenney looked at the tablets and he looked at Jake Grafton. He was perspiring. Everyone was looking at him except Jack Yocke, who was staring at the tablets on the table.

  Herb cleared his throat. “Get these other people out of here.”

  “They stay.”

  “All this is classified.”

  “Yeah, and if you tell me your pals will have to kill me. I’ve heard that crap before.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Who made the decision to kill Nigel Keren?”

  Herb Tenney licked his lips. Sweat formed a little rivulet down his cheek and a drop coalesced on his chin. Then it fell away.

  “Who?” Jake repeated. He picked up a tablet and examined it. Finally he placed it back on the table and stood up.

  “Toad, Spiro, hold him down. Rita, get the tape and tear off a strip.”

  Toad came flying across the room like a linebacker. He slammed into Tenney and knocked him flat on the couch, then sat on his chest. Dalworth was just a step behind. Rita charged for the bathroom to get the tape roll.

  Herb tried to scream. He couldn’t get air with Toad sitting on his chest. Then Jake held his nose until his mouth popped open. Herb’s skin was slippery with sweat and he was still trying to scream. Jake stuffed the tablets in as Herb bucked and writhed, even with Toad on his chest and Dalworth on his legs. Jake used both hands to hold his jaw shut.

  “Where’s the damn tape?”

  “Jesus H. Christ, Grafton!” Yocke’s voice, from somewhere behind.

  “Let me in there,” Rita said, elbowing her way into the pile. She slapped a strip of tape over Tenney’s mouth. Then they released him.

  The naval officers stood back, breathing hard. Herb was snorting through his nose, his eyes wild.

  “Can you feel them dissolving, Herb?” Jake leaned over until his eyes were only a few inches from those of the CIA agent’s. “The poison will be absorbed through the sides of your mouth into your bloodstream. You know more about the effect than I do. How long will it take? How long before your heart stops? An hour? Five hours? Twelve? Maybe you have a whole day. I hate to see you die like this, Herb, but it was your choice.”

  Tenney was moaning in his throat.

  Jake let him moan. Now Herb managed to get into a sitting position. He was bobbing his head.

  “You want to talk now?”

  Tenney’s head bobbed vigorously.

  Jake reached over and ripped the tape away from Herb’s mouth.

  Herb spat the pills onto the floor. He sobbed convulsively. Then he vomited.

  “Who?”

  “Let me wash my mouth out.”

  “Who?” Grafton roared savagely.

  “Schenler.”

  “Harvey Schenler? Deputy director of the CIA?”

  Herb Tenney nodded.

  “Answer me, goddamnit!”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t think—”

  “I don’t give a fuck what you think! Why?”

  “Keren was giving the Israelis money to get Soviet Jews to Israel. The Arabs don’t want them there. We’re trying to stabilize the Mideast.”

  “So you poisoned Nigel Keren. How’d you do it?”

  Tenney rubbed his mouth, then bent at the waist and wiped his tongue on his trousers. When he straightened he looked from face to face. “It was in his aspirin bottle,” he said finally.

  “You murdered a man and stabilized the Mideast. Everything’s okay down at the corner gas station. Congratulations.”

  “Now look here, Admiral,” Tenney said heatedly. “The world is a cesspool and you know it. We need oil. The Arabs have it. We have enough troubles with the ragheads without idiots like Nigel Keren using their fat wallets to cause more. The situation is volatile.”

  “Albert Sidney Brown? Did he stick his fat wallet somewhere it didn’t belong?”

  “I don’t know anything about General Bro—”

  “Don’t lie to me!” Jake thundered. He could really roar when he wanted to; this time he rattled the windows. “You are one answer away from the grave. I’ve killed four men today, maybe five, and believe me, I won’t lose any sleep if I have to kill you.” Jake Grafton paused, then shook his head with annoyance. “In his aspirin bottle! Well?” he demanded.

  “Brown was about to cause serious problems.”

  “What kind of problems?”

  “He sent a written report of the bugs to Schenler. Demanded an investigation. There was no other way to cork him.”

  Jake changed direction. “General Shmarov—why’d you kill him?”

  “I am not—”

  “Sit on him, Toad.”

  Tarkington stiff-armed Tenney on the shoulder and he toppled. “No,” he sobbed. “For Christ’s sake, no!”

  “Answer the question.”

  “Shmarov set up the weapons sale to Iraq. He arranged everything, the transfer of the money, the reactor explosion—everything. He was in the junta but he was hedging his bets, showing the American delegation KGB files, files that they shouldn’t see, just in case Yeltsin came out on top after all.”

  “Didn’t he bribe the deputies?”

  “Yeah, but you know how it is. Those kind of swine won’t stay bought.”

  “What kind of files?”

  “You’re so fucking smart, you tell me.”

  Jake opened his mouth to say Toad’s name, but he refrained. Another episode with the pills and Tenney might indeed die, even if one-half the binary cocktail were aspirin. Perhaps he already had the missing chemical in his system.

  “Okay,” Jake said slowly. “The CIA and the KGB have cooperated on numerous matters in the past. Those were the files Shmarov was going to hand to the senator and the people with him. Those files would inevitably lead the Americans to Harvey Schenler and his cronies, people like you, people who have been running their own foreign policy within the CIA. So Shmarov had to die. And all along I thought you were just trying to poison me. Ha! You were sent here to make sure Shmarov didn’t spill the beans either. How many people in Moscow were on your shit list, Tenney?”

  “Kiss my—”

  “Richard Harper.”

  “Who?”

  Jake Grafton bent down and began picking up the tablets from amid the vomit on the floor. Several of them were soft but intact.

  “Don’t fuck with me, Tenney. I’m out of time and patience.”

  “We caught Harper in some of the computer files and tracked him down,” Herb Tenney said, his voice rising slightly. “He wasn’t a very good hacker, nowhere near as good as he thought he was.”

  “He found the money trail, didn’t he?”

  “What money trail?”

  “The money trail, you simple shit.” Jake Grafton unzipped a large chest pocket on his flying suit and extracted an envelope. He removed the contents. “Here is a letter to me written by Richard Harper. Look at it. It’s in Harper’s handwriting. Look at it!”

  Tenney looked.

  “Harper sent it to my wife,” Jake continued, his voice like brok
en glass. “She took it to Hayden Land and he sent it here by diplomatic pouch. You got to Richard Harper too late!”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “I’m talking about Saddam Hussein’s three billion dollars. I’m talking about the Mideast Palm Oil Import Corporation, a CIA front. I’m talking about J. W. Wise Organic Commodities, Inc., another CIA front. I’m talking about seven more corporations controlled by the CIA that shuffled Saddam Hussein’s money back and forth all over the world until it ended up in Moscow—in the hands of General Shmarov and his allies in the military and in the legislature. Money for nuclear weapons. Money to buy friends. Money to overthrow Yeltsin. Blood money! Tell me about that money!”

  “I don’t—”

  “If you tell me you don’t know just one more time we’re gonna do the pills. This time the tape stays on.”

  Tenney shook his head and sweat flew. “I didn’t know he wrote a letter.”

  “I guess not. If you had, my wife would be dead now, huh?”

  “Listen, Admiral. We—”

  “So now Saddam Hussein has nuclear weapons? Is that right?”

  “We helped possible friends in high places in crucial nations with money! Okay? We’ve done it before. We’ll do it again. Jesus, where do you think you are? Oz? Never-never land? We—”

  “Answer my question!” Jake roared. “Saddam Hussein has nuclear weapons?”

  “Israel has them. Russia is in meltdown. We need a stable government in Russia or the world is facing a new dark age. Hussein wants to be a regional power. A couple dozen nuclear weapons—shit! We have tens of thousands. He knows that. So he can be a big frog in a little pond and we can make damn sure he doesn’t get out of line.”

  “You think you can control him? What about the Gulf War?”

  “Let’s call a spade a spade, Admiral. We can control him or kill him. America needs a stable government in Russia. That’s priority number one. With Russia on its feet and in our corner, the two of us can keep Saddam on a short leash or knot the noose.”

  “So you let Shmarov and Yakolev murder a half-million Russians. No, let me rephrase that—you helped them murder a half-million Russians!”