by A. W. Mykel
TWENTY-TWO
Great men are not made by propaganda, but grow out of their deeds and are recognized by history.
Franz von Papen
I can still hear the thundering chants of the Nuremberg rallies. A mass of humanity almost beyond comprehension—they had all come to hear their Führer speak of their destiny, to tell them about the things that they feared, and how to overcome them.
He would boom out in rage, fall soft again, his voice quivering, their emotions swaying with the currents of his oratory.
“Sieg Heil…Sieg Heil…Sieg Heil,” they would thunder out, causing the hair to rise and bumps on the flesh.
“Sieg Heil…Sieg Heil…Sieg Heil,” they shouted, proclaiming their love for the Messiah of Germany. But that is all gone now. The Reich is gone, the people gone, and their Führer no more.
Without a leader, they will not follow. Not just any leader, but a man of der Führer’s vision, love, and devotion to their destiny.
It is too much to expect a second miracle so soon. Men with the greatness of our Führer come only once or twice in a thousand years.
Entry No. 37 from the partially
recovered Wolf Journal
The blue Dodge Monaco made its way into the Holiday Inn parking lot and headed to the rear parking area again: Kuradin had just driven into Beloit, to drop Ten Braak off where he was to make contact with his transportation into the New York area. On the way there, Ten Braak told him about the man he had dispatched in the parking lot.
Kuradin had been turning that incident over in his head, for its possible effect on the plan. It shouldn’t hurt the situation at all. In fact, it could help matters.
He pulled around into the rear lot and drove past the few parked cars there. He noted the car with the flat tire and saw that the trunk lid was down but not locked shut. Ten Braak had specifically said that he closed it securely.
The Dodge moved slowly past Bridges’s room and his parked car. Kuradin saw Bridges’s door open just a crack. They had found him already!
A quick shock of nervousness coursed through him. They had just made it out of there. Incredible. They knew about it already and had found where Bridges had gone into hiding. Bridges’s assessment as to the computer’s ability to locate him had been correct. That meant that the first contingency already had to be implemented. It was a good thing that Centaur had not underestimated the capabilities of SENTINEL.
He drove up to the space in front of his room and parked the car. He was careful not to be obvious in surveying the area. He must show no awareness or interest in what was happening. It disturbed him that he didn’t see anybody else or other strange cars that hadn’t been there when they left. Where were they? he wondered as he went to his door.
He unlocked it and opened it slightly, sticking his hand in through the narrow opening to switch on his light. Suddenly, a steellike grip secured his wrist, and he was pulled into the room.
Reaction! The alternatives flashed through Kuradin’s brain. Panic or cool? An intelligence agent would react with an instinctive defensive response. A typical business man wouldn’t. He chose panic as his cover.
“Ahhh!” he screamed, as he was tossed head first onto the closest double bed. Before he could move, a knee was against the middle of his back. His eyes widened with terror.
“Don’t move,” a controlled voice said.
He couldn’t move if he wanted to. He froze.
Two hands frisked him as another held his head down. That meant at least two men.
“He’s clean,” Fanning said.
The knee came off his back. He sat up quickly, his face white with terror.
“My…my…my wallet is in my pocket. Take it, please. Take it. Just don’t hurt me,” Kuradin spat out, his eyes almost watering.
Justin surveyed the frightened eyes and face.
“We’re not here to rob you, Mr. Fromme. Just to talk to you,” Justin said calmly.
Kuradin’s eyes registered fright and confusion. He said nothing, letting his eyes jump nervously from one man to the other.
“I…I don’t understand.” Kuradin swallowed.
“I’m sorry we had to treat you so roughly, Mr. Fromme, but we were taking no chances.”
“No chances? What chances? Who are you? What are you doing here?” he asked in a nervous rush of questions.
“FBI,” Justin said, producing authentic identification and holding it out for Kuradin’s inspection. Fanning did the same. “Now, if you don’t mind, we’d like to ask you some questions.”
Kuradin looked at the IDs. He began to assume a slightly more composed air. He swallowed loudly. “Oh God,” he said, putting a hand up to a perspiring forehead. “I thought you were going to kill me,” he said, sounding relief.
“No, sir, we just had to get you into the room as quickly as possible.”
Kuradin saw right through the lie. But he wasn’t going to play the irate citizen now. The sooner they left, the better. He wondered if one of them was Pilgrim, and which one it was.
“May we see your identification, please?”
Kuradin produced it. They had, obviously, already discovered his cover identity. They had called him by the name just moments before.
After a short exchange covering who Fromme was and why he was in South Beloit, Justin got to the more pertinent questions.
“Your car was seen leaving the parking lot not more than twenty minutes ago. Could you please tell us if you observed or heard anything unusual before or as you were leaving?” he asked.
Kuradin put a reflective wrinkle to his brow. After a few moments he shook his head. “No, I can’t recall seeing or hearing anything. Why? Has a crime been committed?”
Justin ignored the question. “Did you see anything or anyone in the parking lot as you drove out?”
Kuradin thought for a few moments. “No…wait, yes, I did. I saw two guys fixing a flat tire. But that was before I left. I was coming in, actually. I left again about ten or fifteen minutes later,” he said. “They were gone.”
“Two men fixing a flat tire? Do you remember what they looked like?”
Kuradin pretended to think again. “Not really,” he said, shaking his head. He squinted his eyes in mock recollection. “One… one of them was a fat man, I think. I didn’t really look at him, but I seem to remember that one was pretty fat.”
“Was he tall or short?” Justin asked.
He thought again. “Short, dark, I think. Maybe just his clothes were dark, I can’t remember. I’m pretty sure he was short, though.” He didn’t sound too positive.
“About how tall?” Fanning asked.
Kuradin shook his head. “I really can’t remember. I really didn’t look at him too closely. He could have even been tall; I just have the impression that he was short.”
“Do you remember anything about the other one at all? Tall, short, young, or old?” Fanning asked.
“Nope, nothing,” he said shaking his head.
“And you said that was about, let’s see…about thirty minutes ago?” Justin asked, after some quick mental arithmetic.
“More like forty-five,” Kuradin answered.
Justin nodded to Fanning. “Okay, Mr. Fromme, thank you for your cooperation. I’m sorry we treated you so roughly earlier. Please accept our apologies,” he said.
“Well, I can’t say that I enjoyed it,” Kuradin began, “or that I understand why, but I accept your apology.”
“Can you be reached at this location for the next few days?” Justin asked.
Kuradin nodded. “Yes, until Wednesday. But try only during the evenings. I have business to attend to during the daytime. After Wednesday, you can reach me in Baltimore. You took the address and phone number. I’m sorry I wasn’t more help,” he said. “Sure you don’t want to change your mind and tell me what it’s all about?” he asked with a smile.
Justin just shook his head. “Thank you, Mr. Fromme,” he said.
The two men left the room.
<
br /> Justin and Fanning walked over to the helicopter that had put down after Kuradin went into his hotel room. A larger helicopter was motionless beside it. The Division Two team had arrived only moments earlier. They were busily going over the crime scene and both the car that Bridges had rented and the one that the body had been discovered in.
The questions had been answered to Justin’s satisfaction, but there was something about Fromme that was bothering him. Something about the man seemed off center or out of balance. Just a little thing, but he couldn’t pin it down.
BEEP!
“Yes, SENTINEL,” Justin said.
“Fromme’s story checks out,” the soft voice said. “Everything about his personal life and reasons for being in South Beloit match with the facts.”
“Thank you, SENTINEL,” Justin said. But there was still something about him. Not so much about what the man said, as the man himself.
The two men boarded the helicopter and were Alpha bound.
Kuradin reflected on the state of the situation. The plan had progressed well, up to a few moments ago. Bridges had gotten his information out safely; Ross was taken care of; they had obtained the information from Bridges and killed him. But that was where the smoothness ended.
Bridges’s body had been discovered too soon. With very careful measures, it would be possible to detect that his death was caused by prussic acid. One hour more, and it would have been impossible. He would not underestimate SENTINEL’s intellect. They would discover the cause of death. He was sure of it.
Kuradin looked at his watch. About an hour ago, Leonid Travkin had arranged to let out the fact that Otto Ten Braak was in the United States on a special mission. That, combined with the killings of Ross, Bridges, and the old man, would put them onto the trail. He had made certain that Ten Braak’s prints were on enough items to connect that fact, even if the leak of it failed.
The next part of the plan should go smoothly, too, so long as nothing else unexpected happened. There were enough contingencies ahead, yet, and things were still greatly in his favor. He felt very satisfied, all things considered.
He didn’t know about Dmitri Chakhovsky’s defection.
Since the breaching of security at Alpha, Elizabeth Ryerson had taken up residence at the complex, as per Honeycut’s orders. This was for her protection in the event that Bridges had divulged her identity. A comfortable apartment was maintained there for her for times when her work carried well into the night. She used it frequently, as her entire world was in that complex. It was no hardship for her to have to spend some time there now. In fact, she quite preferred it.
She had turned in early, as the events of the day had left her exhausted and depressed. Her anxiety had evoked exhaustion and a desire to sleep. Like a built-in defense mechanism, it offered a form of protection.
Her sleep had been hard and restless. An odd kaleidoscope of fears appeared repeatedly in nightmare fashion. She saw Bridges laughing as he taunted her with the schematics, standing just out of her reach as she tried to retrieve them. Then suddenly the schematics were transformed into a child, an infant. And Bridges had transformed himself into a horrible monster who tore hunks of flesh from the child with his sharp, jagged teeth as he laughed, devouring her baby as she stood helplessly by, unable to stop him.
The dream came again and again, as she tossed and cried out in her sleep. Then suddenly the dream changed. They were not alone in the room. Another figure was there. A tall, dark figure who had come to help. It was Justin.
Bridges’s expression changed to terror, as Justin produced his weapon. Despite Bridges’s monstrous power, he was defenseless against Justin. It was over quickly. Bridges faded from the dream with the discharges of Justin’s gun. He was gone forever—the terror was ended.
Her relief was overwhelming as Justin came to where she was lying naked on the bed. He was beside her, his thigh pressed tightly between her legs, the gun in his hand held to her face.
He pumped his thigh forcefully into her crotch, as he coaxed the gun closer to her face, to her lips. There was fear in her, and gratitude for what he had done. He was demanding payment.
He pulled her head back by her long chestnut hair and urged the gun to her lips. Fearfully and gratefully, she parted them. He began a slow pumping motion with the gun, probing sensually into her mouth, deeper and deeper with each gentle motion. She resisted at first, then yielded in her gratitude.
Her lips and tongue began an erotic persuasion as she was taken up in the passion. The gun probed deeper, her head moving slowly forward and backward in an increasing tempo. The cold hardness of the gun’s metal began to yield to another hardness, a warmer, more substantial bulk. It was no longer a gun, but his penis.
Her passion had become wild, and she mouthed the organ with a desperation, wanting it, needing it.
The organ grew larger and larger, until it would no longer fit in her mouth. Then Justin put himself on top of her, between her legs. She writhed, near an explosion of pleasure, when he mounted her and drove the enormous, ever-increasing organ into her over and over and over. Its size was unbelievable, it was assaulting her, hurting her, yet bringing a pleasure she could not do without.
“Oh, Justin…Justin. Fuck me…FUCK ME…FUCK ME,” she sighed.
She awakened suddenly, to the intense orgasm she experienced. It was almost unending.
She lay sweat-covered and limp on the bed. She had never experienced such intense sensations in her life. The dream would not leave her.
She got up and went to the vanity and sat in front of the mirror. She was spent. To sleep now was impossible.
After a few moments she began to brush her hair, as the details of the dream played again through her mind in a deliberate slow motion. The brushing stopped as her fingers traced her lips and tongue, then caressed her breasts. The dream was alive in her once more.
She saw him, his gun—his organ.
Her hand moved tenderly between her legs, as the details replayed. It began probing into her, deeper and deeper. First two fingers, then three, then four. Then she began the moaning, as she closed her eyes to concentrate on the feeling. Five fingers—then a fist. Over and over.
“Yes…yes. Oh, Justin…yes. Please…please, Justin.”
Justin paid the cab driver and stepped out onto the sidewalk. He was on Walton Street in Chicago. He walked east on Walton toward Lake Shore Drive. Bridges had lived on Lake Shore Drive. Justin was on his way to the apartment.
It was nearly 1:00 a.m., and the April air was nippy, but refreshing. He walked at a comfortable pace, thinking about Fromme. He had conveyed his feelings about the man to Fanning. “Maybe it was the finger,” Fanning had suggested. Ted had pointed out that Fromme was missing the small finger of his left hand. He had also felt a slight feeling of an uncomfortable loss of balance looking at it. Like the symmetry was gone. “Yeah, maybe it was the finger,” Justin had said. But it still gnawed at him.
SENTINEL had checked Fromme out very carefully, and everything that he said had jived with the facts, right down to the names and ages of his children. He even had the birthdays right. Maybe it was the finger, he said to himself.
Bridges’s apartment building towered before Justin. He looked up at it. It had class written all over it.
No one knew that Justin was there. After returning to Alpha and filing the verbal report with SENTINEL and Honeycut, they were driven to the club. They were to spend the night in Chicago, awaiting the results on the Division Two investigation. Division Two would be working through the night on it.
After eating a late, leisurely dinner and smoking some of Fanning’s fine cigars, they called it a night. Justin hadn’t told Fanning about the small scraps of paper he picked up in South Beloit. He didn’t put it in the report, either. He knew he shouldn’t have withheld the information, but there were just too many unknowns that bothered him piling up in his head.
The journal was the biggest. Why had Pegasus been so reluctant to accept the fact
that it wasn’t in the house? It was obvious that the assassin had taken it with him. There were some inconsistencies with the actual killing, too. It wasn’t likely that the assassin could have jammed Spartan’s transmissions. As Ryerson had described it, nobody could even pick them up, much less figure out a way to jam them. The last thing that bothered him was that extra page. Their intent with Bridges was obvious. Get in there, kill him, get out, and make it look like he never made contact. Then why go to the trouble of taking out that sheet? What was on it that made it so important to keep its existence a secret? One thing was certain, SENTINEL didn’t know anything about it. Justin figured that maybe the answers were hidden somewhere in Bridges’s apartment. And he wanted answers to some of his questions.
He went through the first set of glass doors. The second set was locked. There was no doorman, so Justin picked the lock easily and quickly. Once inside, he went to the rows of mailboxes and searched for Bridges’s box. Apartment 16F. He went to the elevators.
Bridges’s apartment was huge and well-furnished. Justin walked through the entire place once, to get the layout down. Then he began his search. He started in the spare bedroom that was set up as a study.
Three long hours later, he had come up empty. He had been careful not to disturb anything. It was all left the way he had found it. Only one room was left, the kitchen.
He went in and put on the light. Something struck him, immediately, as being out of place. There was a seal-a-meal bag sealer on the counter. It was still plugged in. Not exactly the sort of thing you find in a bachelor’s apartment, he figured. Justin walked to the refrigerator freezer and opened the freezer door. What he saw told him plenty. It was empty. Not a single bag was in there. He went back over to the heat-sealing device and looked at the box of large sealing bags. It was half empty. The box had just been opened, too. The tabs were still in the garbage.
Yes! Then he had it.
Justin made a beeline for the bathroom. He lifted the top to the tank of the toilet. There it was.
He lifted the single bag out. It contained a folded sheet of paper. He opened the bag with his pocket knife and took out the sheet of paper. He unfolded it and began reading.