COPS SPIES & PI'S: The Four Novel Box Set

by David Wind

  Now, it seemed to Chapin, his wait was paying off.

  “What happened?”

  Ben-Moshe picked up the glass near his hand and drank the cold coffee. When he set it down again, he wiped his lips with the back of his left hand. Chapin caught the crescent scar on his palm. He remembered seeing the scar for the first time during an operation they had worked on together.

  “When you first came to Jerusalem, we had our doubts.”

  “You, too?”

  Ben-Moshe shrugged. “Agents have been known to have been turned. I was hesitant to believe such a thing had happened to you; I knew you, and I knew if you had been turned, you would not have come here. No, my friend, if they’d turned you, you would have disappeared to a place where no one would ever find you. Your face would have been altered, and your fingerprints as well.”

  Ben-Moshe glanced at the descending sun. “But you did not disappear; you came to me. Even so, your director was very convincing when our people checked on you. Yet, we held off making our judgments until we could check with depth on your story.”

  “Which you’ve done,” Chapin said, impatience getting the better of him. Three and a half months of inactivity had taken its toll.

  Ben-Moshe smiled. “Yes, we’ve checked your story. I asked for a favor, and it was granted, based on what you had explained. We have an agent, a secretary to a member of the Politburo. This member of the Politburo has huge influence within the KGB.

  “His secretary, our person, is his lover and above suspicion. Recently, a report was sent to us in answer to our query. We all know the KGB and the GRU have special divisions to handle different sectors of internal and external intelligence. That, my friend, is one very major item that has not changed with the political shifts within Russia.”

  Chapin raised his eyebrows and Ben-Moshe continued. “It…ah…came to our agent’s attention that there is a special branch within the KGB which has recently risen to the …surface. This division is very small and exclusive. It exclusively oversees the planning and execution of long-range and extremely elaborate espionage operations.

  “This division reports only to the director of the KGB, and to the premier, himself. It was only luck that our agent’s lover is a favored member of the Politburo, and this member knows of the special operations branch.”

  Shifting in his seat, and gazing into Ben-Moshe’s green eyes, Chapin did his best to mask his impatience. “The member’s name?”

  Ben-Moshe shook his head. “That is not for you. But we do have confirmation that an operation, code name Sokova, is in progress and has entered the final stages.”

  Chapin’s excitement grew. There was finally independent corroboration Sokova actually existed. “Which means what?”

  “That we must be ready to move at any moment, if your theory is right.”

  “What else could the operation be? Sokova is going to assassinate the president; Robert Mathews’ twin brother will then become the president of the United States.”

  “That is what everyone, including myself, is still having trouble with.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not,” Ben-Moshe said with a half laugh. “If you were me, and I came to you with a story that someone had replaced the vice president with his identical twin brother, what would you think? How would you explain a man who no one knew existed because he was kidnapped at the moment of his birth, and brought to Russia and raised to become the president of the United States? Then I tell you the president will be assassinated and this false vice president put in his place. Please, Kevin, at the least, it is a hard theory to accept much less promulgate.”

  It wasn’t the first time he had heard or even thought of this himself. Yet, the fact remained that everything Ben-Moshe had said, had indeed happened. “Eli—”

  “Kevin... we have not dismissed it. But we cannot act on it until our agent can learn what the complete Sokova plan is and confirm your story. Until then, we must wait.”

  “Can you at least speak to The Company and tell them what you’ve found out?”

  Ben-Moshe shook his head. His Semitic eyes filled with compassion. “Not until we learn more.”

  Chapin’s mouth was dry, and he hated himself for giving in to his needs. “When do you think you will know more?”

  Ben-Moshe looked uncomfortable. “I had hoped to already have had the information when I came here, but we have not heard from our agent in a few days; but soon—a day or two at the most. We have put a priority code on this.”

  “Thank you, Eli,” Chapin said, meaning it.

  Ben-Moshe smiled. “There are some people to whom one must listen as there are those whom one must ignore. You, my friend, are never a man to be ignored.”

  “You are so right, Eli; he hates being ignored.”

  Both men turned to the speaker, who had just entered the balcony and was walking toward them. Chapin smiled, Eli Ben-Moshe stood and gave a slight half bow.

  “I see you had another successful shopping trip,” Chapin said.

  Leslie Brannigan bent and kissed Chapin’s cheek. “Are you staying for dinner, Eli?”

  “Thank you, Leslie, but I have a meeting.”

  Chapin stood and offered Ben-Moshe his hand. Ignoring Chapin’s hand, Ben-Moshe pulled Chapin into a bear hug. When he released him, he stepped back. “Be patient, Kevin,” he counseled.

  “I have been, for three and a half months.”

  “No, until today you’ve had no real choice. Now is the time for patience. I’ll be in touch, soon,” Ben-Moshe promised. He left the balcony by the rear stairs and went to the car that awaited him.

  Chapin put his arm around Brannigan’s waist. Both stood silently, watching Ben-Moshe drive away. When the car was out of sight, Brannigan looked up at Chapin, saying, “Nothing new, I take it.”

  “Actually, there was. One of their people confirmed there is a KGB operation coded Sokova.”

  Brannigan’s eyes brightened with excitement. “That’s wonderful. Then, we should be able to—”

  He cut her off with a hard shake of his head. “They won’t move on it until they have absolute confirmation.”

  “Jesus, Kevin, just having the Sokova name corroborated should be enough for the CIA.”

  “But not for the Mossad. They can’t afford to be in the middle of something like this without the proof to back it up. What are they going to say?” Chapin asked as he released Brannigan’s waist and went to the decorative cement railing surrounding the patio.

  Brannigan followed him, staying silent as she waited for him to speak.

  “Do they call the director of the CIA and tell them they’ve been hiding me for a quarter of a year, on the off chance I wasn’t rogue? Alternatively, do they say the vice president of the United States is really a Soviet mole who will become the president after the upcoming assassination?

  “No,” Chapin snapped in frustration. “They do nothing until they have absolute proof. And then, if it isn’t too late, and the Soviets haven’t as yet assassinated the president, they talk to the director of the CIA, and hope they can convince him to act.”

  “And after that?” Brannigan asked.

  “All hell breaks loose.”

  <><><>

  He reveled in her body: It was soft and pliable, flowing with him no matter how he moved, yet it was strong and powerful at the same time. Making love to Leslie was always a new experience, and always exciting.

  He felt the lushness of her breasts against his chest as he held her tighter to him. Their pace increased as their passions intensified until neither could control themselves and they gave into the demands of their bodies.

  Later, they lay wrapped within each other’s arms while the ceiling fan pushed a gentle and steady stream of air over their naked bodies. Chapin was conscious of the warmth of Brannigan’s breath on his skin, along with her slow and steady breathing.

  He sensed she was almost asleep, and held himself still for several minutes, until he was certain she was in a deep
sleep. Then he untangled himself from her, but did not leave the bed. Rather, he turned on his side, and gazed at her for a long time.

  He thought about the twists in his life since learning that Robert Mathews was dead and his Soviet raised twin brother slipped into his place.

  Before leaving for Israel, he’d called Ann Tanaka again, and warned her that the Sokova plan was in full operation. He’d told her about the switch in vice presidents. When he’d finished speaking, and rather than hear the disbelief in her voice, he’d hung up.

  He’d met with Ed Kline. He, Kline, and Leslie Brannigan had spent five hours together in a hotel room at the airport. When the five hours were up, Kline had half a dozen audio tapes tracing the events from the fateful priority one call Chapin had received from Ruby Red, to his surmise of Robert Mathews’ death and the eventual takeover of the United States of America, by Russia.

  Then he’d said goodbye to Kline and to Leslie Brannigan and left the room. He’d boarded the plane fifteen minutes before takeoff and stared out the window, looking at the glass window walls of the airport, and realizing this might be the last time he would see his country.

  While he lost himself in thought, he’d sensed someone sit next to him. Turning slightly, he looked at his seatmate, and froze.

  “Not a word,” Leslie Brannigan had said. “I’m feeling like an egg teetering on the edge of a counter. Just let me speak.”

  Chapin had nodded.

  Brannigan had favored him with a tentative half smile. “I had a thousand cutesy lines worked out, but I can’t even remember one. Kevin, I don’t know when or how it happened, but I do know I’m in love with you. I don’t know how you feel about me, and I’m not all that sure I want to know…yet. Not after what happened to you in Tashkent. But I’ve made up my mind that for a little while anyway, I’m going to stay with you.”

  “Do I have anything to say about it?” Chapin had asked, staring directly into her eyes.

  She’d shaken her head vehemently. “Not if it’s what I don’t want to hear. Kevin, when I watched you get on the plane, I knew that unless I went with you, I might never see you again. I lost one man who I loved to Sokova; I don’t want to lose another…I…I don’t know how I would handle it.”

  “With the same strength you handle everything,” Chapin had said solemnly. “You’re a survivor, Leslie Brannigan.”

  She had held his unwavering gaze for several seconds before saying, “I know what I am. But I’m tired of just surviving, Kevin. I want more. I want you.”

  He’d thought about when they’d first met in Canada, and the distrust and antagonism she’d reeked of. He’d thought about their time together since then: the Chicago trip and of how she had come to his aid, their time in Russia and her reaction to Abby Sloan. He had thought about Wyoming, and how Leslie Brannigan had again shown up to help him.

  He’d been suddenly and acutely aware of two things: her delicate emotions; and his own need for someone he could trust. He’d considered the loneliness, which had always been so much a part of his life, and had reached out for her, drawn her to him, and kissed her for the first time.

  When he’d released her, he’d smiled. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  She’d nodded quickly. “Does that mean I can go with you?”

  He’d laughed. “In case you haven’t noticed, the plane is backing from the gate.”

  Smiling, Chapin pushed the past from his mind. Although it had been Brannigan’s boldness that had put her on the plane with him, the last three months had shown him that their being together had not been a mistake. She had brought something to him that had been missing from his life for too long. She had brought a steadiness that made each day bearable. And as the time passed, the pain from Abby Sloan’s betrayal had diminished.

  A wave of tiredness rolled over him. Giving in to it, Chapin moved closer to Brannigan, kissed her forehead, and whispered, “I do love you.” It was the first time he had ever said the words to her, and knew that he would have to repeat them when she awakened.

  Then he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

  At five a.m., the phone rang, waking him from a deep sleep. He moved quickly, grabbing the receiver off the hook. “Yes?”

  “Kevin, a car is on the way to pick you up,” said Eli Ben-Moshe.

  “You’ve gotten word?” Chapin said, remembering their conversation from the day before.

  “Our agent is dead. The car will be there in a few minutes. Be ready.”

  “I will,” he said, replacing the receiver and sitting up.

  “Who was that?” Brannigan asked, her voice husky with sleep.

  He turned back to her and stroked her hair. “Eli. I have to go out.”

  She sat up, pulling the sheet over her breasts. “He’s heard from Moscow?”

  Chapin turned on the rust-and-gray ceramic lamp on the nightstand and looked at Brannigan. “Something’s happened, but he wouldn’t say what. I’ll let you know when I return.”

  She reached for him, and took his hand. She squeezed it hard, and then lifted it to her mouth. When she released him, she said, “Kevin, I love you, and I heard you.”

  <><><>

  The car, a black Volvo with government plates, dropped him off in front of an unimpressive building with an exterior in complete contrast to its interior.

  The headquarters for the Mossad, in Caesarea, was a bustling hive of people, lights, and equipment. Eli Ben-Moshe met him at the door and escorted him through the various layers of the hive and into a conference room.

  The room was flat white. The walls, he knew, contained materials to shield the people within from microwave and other eavesdroppers. Electronic jammers worked twenty-four hours as well.

  The air was cool. Above the table, in the ceiling, was an air exchanger grill. The powerful hum of the ventilation system was a steady background sound within the room.

  There were a dozen people around the conference table. Chapin recognized most of them from his various debriefings since arriving in Israel.

  Ben-Moshe led him to his seat. On the table before him was a black folder. At the head of the long oval table, Duvid Lumel, the assistant director and head of Covert Operations, said, “Mr. Chapin, please review the papers before you.”

  Leaning forward, Chapin opened the folder. There was a document in Russian with Hebrew translation. He read the Russian.

  It took him three and a half minutes. When he finished, he closed the folder and stared at the black cover. His heartbeat speed up, and his head felt as though it were going to come apart.

  The Israeli agent had done the impossible. No, more than the impossible, Chapin thought. The agent had gotten the answer to the single most important question in Chapin’s world.

  Sokova’s next move had been set into motion: The assassination was scheduled for the second of March. Chapin had two weeks to stop Sokova.

  Chapin had what he needed, but he knew it would be pointless to bring this to The Company. They would look at it in the same light that they had been looking at him all along.

  He closed his eyes for a moment to calm himself. When he opened them, he looked at Eli Ben-Moshe, and then at Duvid Lumel. “You believe me now, but we still have a problem, yes?”

  “Several,” Lumel said, nodding. “The only form of physical proof we have is in a report from a dead agent. And, while we no longer have reason to doubt you about Sokova’s overall plans,” he said, favoring Chapin with a self-effacing half smile, “there are many others that will find the entire idea very hard to accept.”

  “And,” Eli Ben-Moshe added, “Sokova has such control in your agency it would be very difficult, if not impossible, to convince the CIA of what is really happening.”

  Chapin looked at the faces at the table. They weren’t sitting here at daybreak to tell him they were sorry, but ‘Shalom, my friend, see you around’.

  “What do we do?” Chapin asked the table in general.

  “That is what we have to determine,�
�� Duvid Lumel said after a moment’s hesitation. “That is why you are here, to help us find a way to stop Sokova.”

  Chapin’s words became vitriolic. “And just how do we tell the CIA or anyone else for that matter that the vice president is dead and the man standing in his place is his identical twin brother. The brother who was kidnapped by the Soviets when he was only a few minutes old, and raised to become the president of the United States and—” Chapin paused in mid-sentence.

  When he spoke, his voice was barely audible. “My God, I don’t even believe what I just said, and I know it’s true.”

  “There is a way,” Eli Ben-Moshe said.

  “How?” Chapin asked eagerly.

  “We know the date and place where the president will be assassinated.”

  “And you think I can stop it?”

  Ben-Moshe looked at Duvid Lumel for a moment, and then back at Chapin. “Do you have any other choice?”

  Chapin smiled, thinking that he hadn’t had any choice at all since Ruby Red had sent him the priority signal that had fatefully sent him into Russia.

  But how to stop the assassination. That was the real question now.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapin stared out at a white-hulled boat lolling on the azure Mediterranean, thinking the scene had all the ethereal quality of a painting. He gave a mental shrug and said, “We have to find a way to leak information to The Company.”

  “To what purpose?” Ben-Moshe asked.

  Chapin turned from the sea and fixed Ben-Moshe with a hard gaze. “To make them see what I’ve been telling them is true.”

  “Even so, what can they do?” Ben-Moshe asked.

  Chapin’s brows furrowed. “I’m not following you.”

  “I am,” Brannigan said. “The information is like a two-edged sword. If they believe what we leak, then they have to accept the fact that they’ve failed. At the same time, they have to go to the president and tell him the vice president is a Soviet plant, and prove it. How can they prove Robert Mathews is dead when the man taking his place is an identical twin?”