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

by David Wind

  “Then, we can’t fail. Besides, didn’t you tell me Eli Ben-Moshe was the best of the best?”

  “Yes,” Chapin agreed.

  “Good. Then, let’s make love and get some sleep. Tomorrow you’ll talk to Sanders, and the day after the president’s speech, we’ll be on our way.”

  He reached for her and brought her close. He kissed her deeply. “You’re right, as usual.”

  <><><>

  The copter glided smoothly over the sprawling metropolis. Chapin, with Ben-Moshe next to him, stared down at the city.

  “Slow down now,” Chapin ordered the pilot. The pilot cut back on the air speed.

  Below them spread the area that would hold the welcoming ceremonies for Japan’s new prime minister. He spotted the building where they believed the sniper would set himself.

  There were hundreds of people working below, setting up the stage and the bleacher seats for the thousands of people coming to see the pomp and splendor as well as the president and vice president.

  The building was just as Chapin remembered it from the ground: the roof offered several good locations to hide the sniper.

  “Company coming,” said the pilot.

  “All right,” Chapin replied, as the pilot motioned to the left, at a copter heading toward them.

  A moment later, the other copter’s pilot radioed, “This is a restricted area until three PM tomorrow. Please leave this sector, now.”

  The tour guide pilot replied in the affirmative and changed course away from the speech area. “Sorry, guys,” he said.

  Chapin waved the apology away. They had gotten what they’d come for, the confirmation that the rooftop was the most probable sight for the assassin. When the copter landed and discharged its two passengers, Chapin and Ben-Moshe drove back to the hotel.

  They stopped at a pay phone, a mile from the hotel, and Chapin called Ann Tanaka in Washington. When he got through to her, she spoke succinctly, giving him a number to call, and saying he was to be careful because Sanders was not pleased he was calling.

  They arrived at the hotel at ten-thirty, and went directly to Chapin’s room. Brannigan was there, waiting impatiently. “We’re pretty sure it will be that building,” Chapin told her as he went to the phone.

  Chapin dialed the number Tanaka had given him. A woman who said only the phone number answered the phone midway through the second ring.

  “Tom Sanders, please.”

  “He is unavailable. May I take a message,” she said in cool tones.

  Chapin smiled to himself. His instinct told him that Sanders was listening, and waiting. “Tell him that Kevin called. Tell him I need to see him, tonight at eleven. Tell him to be at the entrance of the Markham building. He will get further instructions then.”

  The woman repeated the message and Chapin hung up. “Leslie, I’m going to need your help with Sanders.”

  <><><>

  The chilly California air whipped around his feet, coiling like a waiting viper. From a half block away, and using night-vision binoculars, Chapin watched Brannigan’s nervous pacing.

  While he didn’t think Sanders would hurt Brannigan, he wasn’t about to take any chances. The Mossad agents were with them, spread out in a protective net, as they had been for the last three hours.

  He adjusted the earpiece, and listened to the sound of Brannigan’s breathing. Then a car turned the corner. He tensed. The car drew to a stop. A man got out, and the car drove away. The man started toward Brannigan: Chapin focused the binoculars on him.

  It was Tom Sanders.

  When Sanders reached Brannigan, Leslie spoke, her voice tense and a tinny in his earpiece. “Thank you for coming.”

  Sanders’ voice came across louder and stronger. “I didn’t think I had a choice. What does he want?”

  “To talk with you. To explain what is happening and to save President Etheridge’s life.”

  “And I’m supposed to believe this crap? Why doesn’t he just get out of the country and hide?”

  “Because he loves it too much. Because he doesn’t want to see them win. Please, Mr. Sanders, if for no other reason than it’s your job, you must speak to him.”

  Chapin’s stomach flip-flopped as he waited. Without Sanders’ help, it would be much harder to stop the assassination.

  “Sure, why not,” Sanders said.

  It was never that easy. Chapin knew Sanders had something else in mind, and was just as certain he knew what it was: to find him and take him out.

  Yet, he was depending on the fact that Sanders had to be a bit disturbed about a possible assassination, no matter who the source of the information was. This knowledge was his ace in the hole.

  “Where is he?” Sanders asked.

  “Go to the corner, turn right, go two blocks and turn left. He’s waiting for you.” Brannigan turned and walked away from Sanders, without looking back.

  Sanders started toward Chapin. Chapin flattened himself against the alley wall. Going to the corner, turning right, and walking two blocks was a precautionary move on Chapin’s part, in case his men were covering Sanders.

  Brannigan whispered, in the earpiece. “Someone’s following me,”

  He had planned for this contingency. What he needed to know was if the men following Brannigan were Sanders’ men, or Sokova’s.

  A few seconds later, Sanders walked past him. When Chapin could no longer hear the man’s footsteps, he slipped out from the alley. Sanders was almost at the corner.

  Chapin waited until Sanders turned, and then stepped onto the sidewalk. He went to the corner, and as he reached it, he heard another voice.

  “There were two of them. They are down and out. We’re coming back.”

  Chapin nodded. Two of the three Mossad agents with them had done their job. Now he and Ben-Moshe would do the rest.

  He waited at the corner until Sanders was a half block away. Just as he was about to walk after Sanders, another man came out of a parked car and followed Sanders.

  Chapin froze. He tried but could not make out his features. When the man was a quarter block ahead, Chapin followed. He walked cautiously, his sneaker-clad feet made no sounds, his muscles were tense in preparation for him to dart into a doorway should the man stop or change direction.

  Reaching the next corner, Sanders crossed the street. Chapin flattened against a building when the man following Sanders paused to look back.

  The man started forward again, Chapin did the same and picked up his pace. He wanted to catch the man just after Sanders turned the next corner.

  Chapin was halfway down the block when Sanders turned the corner. He was twenty feet behind the other man and gaining, when the man stopped suddenly and whirled.

  Cursing silently, Chapin stopped. He recognized the man from the hotel room in Chicago. The Secret Service agent started toward Chapin, a Browning in his hand.

  “Just stay where you are,” the man directed Chapin.

  “And I suggest the same for you.” Eli Ben-Moshe pressed the barrel of his weapon against the back of the agent’s head.

  The man’s shoulders slumped; he let his pistol go loose. Chapin reached him in seconds and took the Browning. Chapin smiled at the man, and Ben-Moshe reached out and pressed his fingers to a pressure point. The agent’s eyes rolled up and back. His legs gave out.

  Chapin caught him and eased him to the ground. “Any others?”

  Ben-Moshe shook his head.

  Chapin nodded in the direction Sanders had gone, and the two men started after Sanders. They found him waiting thirty feet down the street.

  He was tense and nervous; his eyes looking past Chapin’s shoulders.

  “Your people are all right, just out of the picture for the moment. This is Eli Ben-Moshe.”

  Sanders looked at the Israeli for several seconds. “Mossad?”

  When Ben-Moshe nodded, Sanders let out a sour half laugh. “How the hell did he con you into this? You people are supposed to be smarter than that.”

  “We
people,” Ben-Moshe said, his voice tight-edged, “are smart enough to investigate wild claims rather than discard them. You people used to do so as well. It’s too bad you stopped. And because you have, your existence as a free nation is in danger.”

  Sanders held Ben-Moshe’s intense stare for several seconds before saying, “Do you have proof?”

  “Yes,” Ben-Moshe said. Before he could continue, a car turned the corner.

  “It’s ours,” Chapin said aloud as he heard Brannigan’s voice in his ear. The car pulled to the curb, and Brannigan and the two Mossad agents who had been protecting her got out.

  Brannigan came over to Chapin, and stood silently next to him.

  “Tom, who is in charge of security at the ceremony site?” Chapin asked suddenly.

  Sanders looked at him for a moment. “I am. The president’s team is in charge of route security.”

  “Good,” Ben-Moshe said, cutting into the conversation and picking up from where he had been interrupted. “Mr. Sanders, one of our most important agents within the Soviet Union was killed three weeks ago. On the day prior to her death, the agent sent us enough information to confirm Chapin’s story, but not enough to bring to your government. We also feel very strongly that Chapin is not a traitor, and we believe their plan is designed to overthrow the government of the United States.”

  Before Sanders could speak, Chapin said, “Tom, I tried to explain the situation when we talked in Chicago. You didn’t believe me then. But Robert Mathews did. He came willingly to the elevator with me. He helped us escape. I made him a promise to help him, and I intend on keeping that promise even if he’s dead now.”

  “Jesus Christ, Chapin,” Sanders said, his voice rising with a sudden fear. Not fright for himself, but the fear that Chapin was not only traitor, but was insane.

  “No,” Chapin snapped, taking a step closer to Sanders so his face was only inches from the agent. “You listen to me. There is a Soviet mole, code name Sokova. He has orchestrated the takeover of the United States by the Soviet Union. The plan is almost complete. Tomorrow, if Sokova has his way, it will be finished.”

  “Right! And we’ll all be puppets of Ivan.”

  “God damn it,” Chapin said, the words coming harshly from between clenched teeth. “Tomorrow, the president of the United States will be assassinated. The vice president will then take his place. The vice president is not Robert Mathews; it is his twin brother.”

  Sanders’ eyes turned wild. He looked at Ben-Moshe, at the other Mossad agents, and then at Brannigan. “He’s insane.”

  Brannigan stepped forward. Her features were set in tense lines. “I wish he was. I wish it were only a bad dream. But it isn’t. Mr. Sanders, in the short time that I’ve known Kevin Chapin, I have traveled to Canada, Chicago, and the Soviet Union. I was there when a KGB agent tried to kill Kevin, because he had discovered Sokova’s secret.”

  Chapin exhaled sharply. “Didn’t you see the changes in him, after the election?”

  “Come on, Chapin, people change,” Sanders said. “But that isn’t something new. People change when they get what they want. And Mathews got what he wanted.”

  “No. People don’t change that much. Tom, you were the head of Mathews’ team from the day he won the nomination. You watched how he operated and acted all during the campaign. You were with him until he went back to the ranch. Think about it, Tom. Think about the day you first noticed a change in him. Wasn’t it the same day he went fishing? Tom, don’t you remember the chess piece he gave Joel Blair?”

  “The dead reporter?”

  “Yes. The dead reporter with whom he made a bet and gave the chess piece as collateral. Think about the chess piece, Tom. How in hell did Mathews get another queen? That chess set was handmade, in Europe. It was thirty years old, and a gift from Mathews’ guardian. He couldn’t just order up another piece that would match the set so perfectly. And, Tom, didn’t the chess piece show up within a day or two of the morning he went fishing?” Sanders stared at Chapin, but remained silent. Yet Chapin saw that behind Sanders’ eyes, his mind was working furiously.

  “All right, Tom, if there’s no other way, then I’ll just lay it out for you. Tomorrow, during the president’s speech, a Soviet sniper will assassinate the president.”

  “If that’s true, then I can have the ceremony stopped, and moved,” Sanders said.

  “It won’t matter,” Eli Ben-Moshe said. “All such an action would accomplish would be a postponement of the inevitable. No, the attempt must happen, and be stopped. It is the only way to expose Sokova.”

  Sanders features turned angry. “We’re just supposed to let the attempt happen?”

  Chapin held Sander’s heated gaze. “Not quite. You can’t do anything, overt to tip off Sokova. What you can do, is to let one of us on the ceremonial platform.”

  “Which one of you?”

  “Me,” Chapin said.

  Sanders laughed. “Oh, good one, Kevin. I’m glad to see you still have your sense of humor. Christ, man, you’re the most wanted spook in history. How the hell can I let you up there with the president and vice president?”

  “I can’t explain how I can protect the president, but I will guarantee you this: our country, as we know it, will survive or fall by what you do.”

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Ann Tanaka returned the receiver to its cradle. She rubbed the corners of her eyes with the tips of her fingers. The phone call had woken her from a deep sleep. Groggy at first, she had not realized who was on the other end. But it had taken only a few seconds to come completely awake.

  Kevin had called to ask for her help, again. Tanaka glanced at the other side of the bed. The man sleeping there had not moved.

  She left the bed quietly and went into the living room. She sat on the couch, drawing her legs beneath her, and hugged herself. Confusion was rampant in her thoughts. Chapin had not called just to ask for another small favor; this time he was pushing her to the limit.

  “…if you believe in me,” he had said before hanging up. Tanaka did, but she could not do what he asked. She had already risked her career, and perhaps her life, to help him as much as she had. The general had given her a direct order to keep away from Chapin.

  She couldn’t stop herself from wondering why Chapin wanted so much from her.

  She shook the thought away. It was simply unworthy of her friendship with Chapin. She had believed in him until now; why was she hesitating?

  Because it could mean her career, and possibly even her life, if they found out that she helping him. She didn’t want to lose either.

  She began to rock slowly back and forth, her eyes closed. She thought about what Chapin had said tonight, and about what she’d already learned about Sokova’s plans.

  If Chapin was right, within a year or two, they would all be living under Soviet domination. Freedom and democracy would be but the words of a broken dream. In a generation or two, no one would know the true meaning of those words.

  In a strange twist of time, she found herself remembering her father, and a talk they’d had when she was thirteen and had first learned her father, when he was a young boy, had been in the Japanese internment camp at Manzonar.

  He’d explained the reasons for putting the Japanese-American citizens into the prison camps. He had been able to almost, but not quite, hide his anger and humiliation When he had finished telling her the story, he’d said one more thing: “Never again should what was done to our people, what Hitler did to the Jews of Europe, be allowed to happen.”

  Trapped by her friendship for Chapin and her love for her father, she knew that no matter what the results of her actions, she could not take the chance of turning her country into one huge internment camp.

  Unfolding her legs, she stood and went into the kitchen. She picked up the phone and dialed a number. The phone rang twice before emitting a triple electronic beep. The beep signaled a special transfer. There were several clicks, and then the phone rang three more times
>
  “It’s Tanaka. I’m sorry to wake you. General, I must talk to you, now.”

  <><><>

  Chapin stepped out of the room and onto the balcony. In the east lay a faint band of violet. The day had finally come. He pretty much knew that whatever happened today would forge the history of the future.

  The knowledge he bore, and the task he had set for himself, weighed heavily upon him. He thought about the location of the ceremony, and of the three possible sniper sites.

  Chapin’s sixth sense told him which site they would use, but a shred of doubt remained. All he could do was to pray he’d chosen right, and hope they wouldn’t need the two backup teams Eli had brought in last night. If he was wrong…

  He pushed the thought aside. He could not afford to let his doubt hinder his ability to work. He had planned everything out, pitting his mind against Sokova’s. He’d spent days backtracking every move Sokova had made since the kidnapping of Robert Mathews’ brother. As he’d gone over the information, the first hint of an idea as to who Sokova was, germinated. .

  Chapin blinked. The sky was getting lighter. He had to get moving. Still, he stayed on the balcony, reluctant to start the day. He had slept no more than three hours, but felt rested and ready for the day ahead.

  He smelled the scents floating in the air. Identifying most of them, he realized his senses were rising in preparation for the hours ahead. Just before Ben-Moshe and his people had left last night, his old friend had hugged him, and wished him good hunting. He had done the same. Neither knew if they would see each other at the end of the day. There was no certainty in their world, only the understanding that they had no choice but to do their best.

  He knew Ben-Moshe and his men were already in place, waiting patiently for their time to come.

  It would come, Chapin knew. But what would happen when Sokova’s moment came would be determined by Sanders’ decision.

  Would Sanders let him up on the platform? He had done everything possible to make Sanders believe him. Then he had done one other thing. He had called Ann Tanaka, waking her at four, Washington time, to ask her to call the general and help him convince Sanders to allow him onto the platform. But for the first time since starting his mission to stop Sokova, Ann Tanaka had sounded doubtful.