Rift Zone

by Raelynn Hillhouse

  “What are you doing?” Zara said.

  “Putting the brake lights back before we get pulled over for something stupid. It also helps to focus on a trivial task when you’re pondering global destruction.” He put the car in neutral and set the parking brake.

  Faith opened the door, kicking off her shoes. She picked them up and beat them together to dislodge chunks of mud. “Actually, I think I’ll take advantage of the rest stop to get these filthy coveralls off and to get the shoe polish off my face.”

  “My clothes are in a garment bag in the back. Please get them out along with a clean undershirt. We might need me in uniform.”

  Summer returned to the car wearing a faux leather coat Mama Whitney had found for him. He handed Faith a rag and her own jacket.

  “Thanks.” Faith rubbed the tattered T-shirt against her cheek, instantly turning the rag dark. “You know, Berlin is two hours behind Moscow, which makes it a little after nine-thirty there. I doubt they’d take any action until the middle of the night, since West Berlin is a party town. The good bars don’t fill up until midnight and they close around four, though the streets start to really clear out by three. That’s when I’d make my move and get troops in place before anyone realizes what’s going on.”

  “Then there could still be time to do something,” Summer said. “How do you think they’ll do it? What comes first?”

  “Sever communications,” Zara said without hesitation. “The MfS—the Stasi—has access to the entire West Berlin phone system. It’s no problem to shut it down. Also they’d sabotage the power stations.” She pulled off the soiled undershirt, exposing her small breasts. Summer stole a glance. Zara pulled the clean garment over her head.

  “Close the corridor,” Faith added. “It drives the East Germans crazy that they don’t have complete sovereignty over all air, land and sea routes through their territory. If you closed it first, the West would assume it’s the beginning of another blockade, like in the forties.”

  “And they won’t go through the Wall,” Zara said. “At least at first.”

  “The U-Bahn.” Faith leaned over, resting her arms on the front seat. “Two West Berlin subway lines go under the East connecting to points in the West.”

  “East to west sounds pretty direct to me. Why the heck would they build the thing under East Berlin, then back into West Berlin?” Summer said.

  “It was built before the division, and it’s not like Berlin was divided on a perfect north-south axis. When they put the Wall up, they boarded up the stations on those lines. You can see them when you ride those lines. They look like they haven’t changed—or been cleaned for that matter—since sixty-one. I’ve actually seen guards there, sleeping on the benches with machine guns on their laps. Anyway, they can reopen the stations, commandeer U-Bahn cars and send in advance troops posing as civilians.”

  “How do you think the Americans would respond militarily?” Zara said.

  “We won’t give up Berlin,” Summer said. “No way. Not even a Democrat in the White House would do that. I don’t know the defense plans, but I think you know as well as I do they’ll punch through the corridors, and they’re not going to stay in a neat little convoy on the Autobahn. They’ll fan out.”

  “As soon as the Americans stray from the established corridors, the Warsaw Treaty takes effect and the WTO states will respond.” Zara retrieved fresh ammunition from the glove compartment.

  “I’ve heard rumors the plans call for the use of tac nukes, and I’d expect it,” Summer said.

  “As in tactical nuclear weapons?” Faith said.

  “Afraid so.”

  “If we can get word out to the Americans,” Faith said, “they can at least put the Allies on alert and mobilize the West Berlin police. They’re trained as paramilitaries for just such a possibility, since the West Germans aren’t allowed to station troops in the city. They also have channels—military attachés and the like—to alert the Soviets to rein in their dogs. With Soviet opposition, the East Germans would stand down.”

  “You agree, comrade?”

  “The East German regime cannot survive without our backing.” Zara slid a fresh magazine into her gun.

  “Then we have to figure out a way to warn them. Any ideas? I take it phone calls aren’t an option—not even to the embassy?” Summer said, his voice tailing off as the first set of headlights appeared ahead of them. He put both hands on the wheel and scoped out the nearby terrain. The ditch looked shallow, but the car would never make it through the muddy field. Whatever happened, they would have to stay on the road. The car dimmed its lights and slowed down. Summer set the gun on his lap. After a few long moments, the car passed them, its taillights disappearing in the rearview mirror.

  “My nerves are shot. I was sure that car was going to come after us,” Faith said with a sigh.

  “It’s not a bad idea to stay alert,” Summer said, returning the gun to the seat beside him.

  Zara picked it up and exchanged magazines. “To answer your earlier question, we couldn’t get a line to the West. You have to order the call well in advance, and I seriously doubt you would get one to the European Command or NATO or any military installation, for that matter. You could probably get through to the American embassy, but it would be monitored.”

  “I don’t think that’s much of an option,” Faith said, “even if we got through to the political attaché, or, better yet, the economic liaison—isn’t that usually the cover for the CIA station chief?”

  “One or the other.” Zara nodded.

  “So even if we got through to someone who counts,” Faith continued, “we’d have a hard time getting them to believe us. Let’s say we made it over those hurdles. It’ll go from there to the State Department; they’ll deliberate over it for a while and if they deem it credible, they’ll reluctantly pass it on to the CIA. After the CIA does its bureaucratic number, they’ll go to either the White House or Defense Intelligence Agency, most likely the former. By the time the governmental bureaucracy gets through with the information, the East Germans will be in Bonn. The problem is getting it into the right channel. Frankly, I think our best bet is the media. The whole world monitors CNN. If we could get to their Moscow bureau—”

  “We might be able to warn the Allies and even Gorbachev,” Summer said. “Their offices can’t be heavily guarded.”

  “They’re not. They’re in a building designated for foreign businesses with one or two guards posted there to keep Soviet citizens out and to monitor who’s coming and going. Of course, the offices are under electronic surveillance, though I doubt anyone’s listening at this hour. It’s probably only taped and archived, but they might go live if the guard gets suspicious. We’ll have to be fast. But one last detail: Why would anyone be at the CNN offices at this hour?”

  “Depends on what time it is in Atlanta, I’d bet. What’s the time difference to the East Coast?” Summer said.

  “I think it’s seven hours right now,” Faith said. “Which makes it a little before five in the afternoon in the non-Soviet Georgia.”

  CHAPTER

  FIFTY-FOUR

  INSIDE THE MOSCOW RING ROAD

  12:07 A.M.

  Faith had almost dozed off in the backseat when Zara directed Summer into an alley a couple of blocks away from the foreigners’ compound housing the Moscow CNN bureau. Zara pulled on her blouse, slowly easing the fabric over the bandaged wound. She buttoned it and handed Summer the pistol with the silencer. “I’m not bad with my left hand, but I’m going to give this to you anyway. If the sentry gets suspicious, you know what to do. Since you won’t understand the conversation, I’ll lean back to signal you to take care of him.”

  “I’ll understand the body language. Hey, where’d we pick up the new toy with the silencer?”

  “Kosyk. But keep in mind it’s a Czech-made CZ-52, so Makarov magazines won’t fit it. We also picked up his shoulder holster.” Zara handed Faith the Makarov Summer had used at the dacha. “And we now have
enough to go around.”

  “No, thanks. I’ve done enough damage for one night,” Faith said.

  “Take it, Faith. You never know.” Summer took the shoulder holster from Zara’s lap. “You don’t mind, do you? I can put it under my jacket, and I don’t think it’d feel real good on you right now.”

  Summer stepped out of the car and circled it while Zara slid across the seat. Faith helped her into her uniform jacket. Zara drove to the compound and pulled up to the guardhouse.

  “Good evening. Papers.” The guard spit out the words, his breath reeking of alcohol.

  “Komitet.” She held up her identification.

  The guard closed his eyes and motioned with a nod for them to proceed.

  The door of the building was open. They found no building directory, so they searched the halls until they came upon a white door on the third floor with the familiar red CNN logo. Summer reached for the latch, but it was locked. He knocked and they waited. Faith wiped a smear of shoe polish off Summer’s face. He tried again and eyed the security lock, probably imported from the West.

  “Can’t we take it off?” Faith pointed to the hinges on the outside of the door.

  “True Soviet workmanship,” Zara said. “They’re probably not allowed to change anything outside the unit.”

  Summer pulled the Leatherman from his pocket and selected the appropriate tool. In less than a minute, he removed the door and Faith helped him lower it to the floor. He unlocked it and hung it back.

  Zara led the way into the empty CNN bureau, holding a flashlight. The office looked like it had been imported as a package from West Germany. The walls, chairs, desks, sofa and tables were clinical-white and spotless. Modern halogen lights sat on each desk. Everything was carefully arranged either parallel or perpendicular to the walls.

  They searched the offices for the studio.

  “No wonder they’re not working late. Looks like they have too much time on their hands,” Faith said, looking at a bookshelf with each section of books fastidiously arranged by size.

  “We do put excessive restrictions on them so they don’t go snooping around too much,” Zara said.

  “Found it. Here’s the studio,” Summer said.

  They hurried to join him.

  They all stepped inside and Faith closed the door behind them. She held up her arm, shielding her eyes from the sudden glare. An assortment of cameras and other electronic equipment was crammed into the limited space and cables crisscrossed the floor. A blue screen covered one wall, where Faith guessed that they projected shots of the Kremlin or other Russian scenes when they filed reports.

  “Anyone have a clue how to do this?” Faith said as she studied the control console and flipped a switch, but nothing noticeable happened.

  “I think we’re over our heads. Comrade?”

  “I’m sorry,” Zara said as the three stared at one another.

  “Well, fuck. Pardon my Russian,” Summer said. “I saw a fax machine in one of those offices, and I can’t imagine how they’d do business having to order a line for a fax hours in advance.”

  “They have special arrangements for overseas lines. I totally forgot since I don’t work domestically. I’m not that up on things here.”

  “Well, hell, let’s go make some phone calls,” Summer said.

  Faith commandeered the first office she came to, snatched up the phone and punched in the country code for Germany, then the West Berlin prefix.

  “Anyone know the country code for the US?” Summer yelled down the hall.

  “Dial eight, wait for the dial tone, then one-zero-one,” Faith shouted as she hit the number for Hakan, not knowing whom else to call. The phone beeped and then a recorded message came on in German informing her that the circuits were down. She tried again, but got the same recording.

  The takeover had begun.

  Zara dialed her uncle’s home phone, but no one answered after a dozen rings. A corporal finally answered his work phone.

  “This is Lieutenant Colonel Zara Bogdanov. Let me speak with my uncle, General Ivanovski.”

  “The general’s unavailable.”

  “Perhaps you didn’t understand. I am Colonel Bogdanov with the Komitet, and it’s imperative I speak with my uncle the general now. I don’t care if he’s asleep, drunk or screwing my aunt.”

  “He’s having dinner with General Titov and ordered me not to disturb him. He’ll have my hide if I interrupt him.”

  “He may, but the KGB can get your entire family—including the cousins you have never met.”

  The line clicked. She was on hold.

  “Ivanovski.”

  “Uncle Yuri, it is I. I have an urgent message from Stukoi. Honecker has ordered the NVA to take over West Berlin tonight. They had planned on doing it tomorrow, but Kosyk double-crossed them and set them up. He’s in custody. Stukoi is interrogating him right now. He wants you to stop the NVA and keep them from getting us into a war with the Americans before the deed in the morning.”

  “Idiot Honecker. Doesn’t he understand that would mean—”

  “I have no time. If you can keep the Germans in line, everything should go fine with our friend tomorrow. Can you do that?”

  “We’re not ready for war with the Americans,” the general shouted into the phone with a drunken slur. “Not yet.”

  “This is Lieutenant Commander Summer. Get me Captain Moberly on the double.” Summer opened a desk drawer and poked around inside.

  “Can I tell him what it’s regarding, commander?” a yeoman said.

  “An imminent threat to national security. Get Moberly in the next five seconds or I’ll personally see you’re busted down to an E-1 and spend the rest of your tour painting the same goddamn bulkhead over and over again. Get to it!” The phone clicked and Summer found himself on hold, the closest thing to purgatory in this world. Within a minute, a voice came on the line.

  “Moberly here. You’d better have a good one, Summer. My officers don’t go AWOL on me.”

  “Sir, we’ll deal with that later.” The line crackled.

  “Where the fuck are you?”

  “This is going to sound crazy, but I was kidnapped and brought to Moscow, but that’s not the problem right now. You’ve got to get word to the Joint Chiefs and the President that East German forces are mobilizing to take West Berlin tonight. They’re going to cut off the corridor and probably invade through the subway.”

  “Moscow, my ass. That’s a good one, Summer. Next you’re going to tell me the Chinese are in Higgins boats, crossing the strait for Taiwan as we speak.”

  Faith walked into the room. “Lines are down to West Berlin.”

  “I just got word civilian communications with West Berlin have been severed. Listen to me. It’s critical you tell them the Russians aren’t behind it. They don’t even know it’s going on. We’re trying to use back channels to notify them right now. The East Germans are acting on their own accord without Soviet knowledge or backing.”

  “How the hell can that happen? And how do you know about it?”

  “Sir, I don’t pretend to understand the politics, but I know it’s going down right now. There’s no time for details. Get them on alert. Cut through whatever red tape you have to—”

  Faith interrupted. “Tell him to check on the last Pan Am or BA flight of the day and see if they’ve closed the air corridors. Make sure they understand it’s not just a blockade.”

  “Sir, check on—”

  “I heard it. Do you know what will happen if you’re bullshitting me?”

  “Do you know what will happen when the commies take Berlin? And that’s not all, sir. Tomorrow morning they’re going to assassinate—”

  The line went dead.

  CHAPTER

  FIFTY-FIVE

  NAVAL ORDNANCE STATION, INDIAN HEAD, MARYLAND

  5:28 P.M. EDT (12:28 A.M. MONDAY, MAY 1, MOSCOW TIME)

  Who? Assassinate who? The base commander held the phone for a moment, listening to the d
ial tone in disbelief. Captain Moberly had known Max Summer for fifteen years and would have trusted him with his life. In fact, he had—more than once. He flipped through his Rolodex until he found the number of Colonel J. D. Drake. The Pentagon’s joint services mandatory training seminar on environmental issues facing base commanders had been a colossal waste of time, but he did at least make some friends in other branches of the service through it. He punched in Drake’s number and browbeat the corporal who answered the phone until he had Drake on the line.

  The Navy captain cleared his throat. “J. D., this might sound a bit unusual, but I need to check something out with you before I make an ass of myself somewhere that counts.”

  “I’m busy right now. We have a situation here.”

  “Wait. Has anything unusual happened in the Berlin corridor tonight?”

  “How the fuck do you know about that? I just found out two minutes ago. We think the goddamn Russians knocked down a Pan Am jet. Looks like they’re throwing up another blockade. I knew that glasnost crap was to get us to let our guard down.”

  CHAPTER

  FIFTY-SIX

  CNN BUREAU, MOSCOW

  12:28 A.M., MONDAY, MAY 1—MAY DAY

  “They cut the line. They’re on to us,” Summer shouted as he threw down the phone. He leaped from the desk chair, drawing his gun. He grabbed Faith’s shoulder and spun her around, pointing her toward the door. She shined the flashlight ahead of them until Summer cupped his hand over it. “Turn that off.”

  Zara held her gun with her elbow bent, pointing it into the air. “Ready?” She flung the door open and aimed her service pistol down the hall while she shielded herself with the door. “All clear.” She darted past the elevator to the stairwell. She took several steps at a time, but by the second floor she was breathing hard and holding her bullet wound.