The Windchime Legacy

by A. W. Mykel

  Sigmund crouched below window level and scampered up to the car. He tapped on the door with the barrel of his gun.

  “Come out with both hands in plain view,” he shouted.

  There was no response.

  He repeated the command.

  Still no response.

  He brought the gun to eye level and rose quickly. Fromme was lying across the front seat, his face a mass of blood.

  “He’s down,” Sigmund said. He cautiously reached for the door and tried it. It was unlocked and hadn’t jammed in the crash. He lowered himself again and pulled the door open, his gun ready to fire at the slightest twitch.

  Fromme was motionless.

  Sigmund reached out and tugged at Fromme’s leg. There was no response. He tugged again, harder. Still nothing. He rose slowly, to get a better look at Fromme. He was a mess.

  Sigmund looked up at his partner. “Look out,” he said. Then he lowered his eyes to Fromme again, in time to see the flash tear through the coat, as Fromme shot him in the face.

  Fromme jumped up quickly, trying to get out of the car, but he got only as far as a sitting position when the bullet smashed through the passenger’s window and into the back of his skull. He bounced violently forward, hitting the steering wheel, then slumped back down across the seat.

  The SENTINEL agent raced around the car to his partner. Sigmund was still alive, but nothing could be done for him. The bullet had hit him between the cheekbone and nose at an upward angle. He was in deep shock. The eyes were open and vacant. The pulse and respiration were wildly erratic, as he clung to the last shreds of clinical life.

  A police siren wailed in the distance, as Sigmund’s partner removed the CIA and NATO identification from his pockets, leaving the FBI documents.

  Sigmund didn’t survive the ambulance ride to the hospital. He was pronounced dead on arrival.

  Later that afternoon Sigmund’s body was taken to the morgue in the Beloit General Hospital. His body was wheeled to vault number eleven. The body of Dr. Kantilal Awadi was found, and more clues were supplied to SENTINEL.

  It was now entering the endgame, and SENTINEL still had the tempo. Phoenix was running.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Of the remaining steering centers, the United States was the most desirable. It was ideal in every respect, including a high number of Aryan beings. But its democratic system was too firmly entrenched and would pose an almost insurmountable obstacle.

  The steering center was left intact because of the abilities of Colorosa. He was a man of rare qualities and was highly thought of, even though some of his ideas and suggestions seemed farfetched. A lot of what he said made good sense. He was highly creative and worth the continued investment. We needed Thinkers.

  Entry No. 47 from the partially

  recovered Wolf Journal

  Moscow: Leonid Travkin sat pensively behind his desk. Five hours earlier he had been alerted that the Phoenix computer-file tape was being scanned. An electronically coded signal had been incorporated into the tape, to tip off its activation to the special team assigned to monitor unusual computer use for the duration of the SENTINEL mission.

  It bore a grim significance. It could only mean that Centaur was in serious trouble. The way the plan was set up, only two checkpoints were incorporated in the entire affair. Both came late in the plan and were designed to let Travkin know which contingency was in play. If Kuradin did not make either of the two checkpoints, that would mean he had been captured or killed. Travkin was to then discreetly leak the Phoenix data, starting the final contingency in motion. If Centaur were captured, release of that information would allow the smooth transition into the final phase. If he were dead, it wouldn’t matter. The situation would be nearly hopeless. A small chance for success could still exist, if Kuradin had had the microdots implanted and the body could be recovered.

  The scanning of the Phoenix tape meant that the plan had broken down somewhere. The phony identity had been discovered independently of the leak designed for that purpose.

  The Phoenix cover had been very carefully prepared by Travkin, according to Kuradin’s instructions. It was designed to hide Centaur’s involvement in the operation, just in case SENTINEL had acquired knowledge of him and his special talents.

  Certain facts had obviously been collected concerning Centaur from the near-fatal English mission of the year before. These facts were carefully built into the Phoenix file. Phoenix had been selected as the cover after an exhaustive search through personnel files. He was the special agent meeting the specific requirements that Kuradin had outlined for Travkin during the planning stage of the mission. Phoenix had come closest to those conditions with some startling similarities. For example: both Phoenix and Centaur fit the same general description; both worked out of the special secret pool of agents known only to a very few KGB higher-ups; both had incurred serious hand wounds on their last missions, those injuries occurring in the same year, actually, just three months apart and both in Western Europe.

  The Phoenix file had been altered to correspond to Centaur’s actual history. The last mission had become the English mission, the injured hand had become the left one, and it was the little finger that had been lost. In reality, Phoenix had been injured three months earlier in West Germany, and three fingers had been lost from the right hand.

  Enough had been changed to indicate beyond a doubt that Phoenix had been on the English mission. The rest pointed closely enough to identify Kuradin as Phoenix.

  But an unexpected danger had crept into this careful planning; that was Dmitri Chakhovsky’s defection. There was little doubt in Travkin’s mind that he had been taken by SENTINEL agents. The fact that Chakhovsky knew both Centaur and Phoenix could blow the entire final contingency right out of the window. It was imperative that the Phoenix cover hold up.

  The exact seriousness of the scanning of the Phoenix tape was difficult to determine. One thing was certain, however, and that was that, coming this early in the plan, it couldn’t help matters any. This development had to be handled carefully. The information must be allowed to get out now, or it might be distrusted when later presented.

  That meant letting the person scanning the file go until his contact was made and sufficient time allowed to ensure its getting out and into the proper hands. They would have to play wait-and-watch, until it was safe to grab the people involved without spoiling the opportunity of the leak.

  One distinct possibility did loom large in this development. The contact would be a SENTINEL agent. Provided the Phoenix cover held up, that could prove to be an ace in the hole. It could make the final contingency work as smooth as silk.

  So, Travkin would watch and wait and hope that Centaur made the checkpoints. The first one was scheduled for Wednesday. He could only hope that luck stayed with Kuradin for that long.

  Travkin’s despair would have doubled if he had known Centaur’s actual situation. The plan was rapidly crumbling beneath the mighty intellect of SENTINEL. Kuradin was running, being forced to make decisions at a faster rate than he had expected, and each decision turned the odds in SENTINEL’s favor. Travkin was helpless to change that.

  A light, steady rain fell on a chilly, cloud-shrouded St. Simon’s Island. In the secret lower levels of the Dials Cardiac Clinic a three-man team was preparing for another debriefing session with Dmitri Chakhovsky.

  The man heading the team was Richard Wyatt. He was Honeycut’s chief assistant and an expert on Soviet Intelligence. Wyatt was being groomed as Honeycut’s heir-apparent, upon his retirement. That was still about six years away, and Wyatt used the time well. He was the ideal candidate for the position. Honeycut had handpicked him as his successor to head up the program.

  Also with the team were Dr. Peter Bell, a psychiatrist, and Victor Bishoff, an interpreter. All three men possessed high security classifications within the agency.

  Dr. Bell had been called in to advise Wyatt, with regard to Chakhovsky’s mental state. It was common for defec
tors coming over for reasons of survival, rather than for those of moral conviction, to be reluctant in giving vital information. They usually had great quarrels of conscience, as their love and loyalty remained with their country. They felt it a betrayal to give vital information and required special handling. They had to be slowly and patiently worn down, to the point where this great wall of conscience could be overcome.

  Victor Bishoff served two functions. Besides interpreting in matters of semantics, he was an expert in observation. A facial expression or an eye response often added valuable insight into the meaning of what was said. He watched and made his silent observations, later adding them to the transcript when it was reviewed.

  The usual procedure with a case like Chakhovsky’s was to spend at least two weeks testing the subject to establish his authenticity. The Soviets were notorious for planting defectors, to deliver information essential to their clever disinformation tactics. Every precaution had to be taken.

  But usual procedure was ruled out in this case for several reasons. There was no doubt that Chakhovsky was who he said he was, that had been verified. His critical condition made time an unaffordable luxury, and the information they needed from him was needed fast.

  The lack of time made this a difficult job for the team. Overcoming the conscience barrier that Chakhovsky had constructed would not be a simple matter in so short a time. But they had planned their method carefully.

  Chakhovsky’s instincts for survival were obviously stronger than his conscience, otherwise he never would have defected. They would threaten that survival instinct, to get the information they needed. His survival would depend upon his telling them what they wanted to know.

  The first two sessions had been low-keyed, with the usual testing questions. The atmosphere was relaxed and cordial, to help build the sense of security in Chakhovsky that they would soon assault.

  As predicted by Dr. Bell, Chakhovsky’s responses were guarded. He gave only information he knew they already had. He outlined the structure of the Soviet Intelligence organizations and fed them bits of common knowledge, which did not sting his conscience. He had appeared highly nervous at first, but soon calmed down. He was alive and safe, and he was beginning to feel secure.

  But today’s session would be different. It would not be held in his room. Dials had consented to let Chakhovsky be brought to a special room in a wheelchair. He was reluctant at first, but after Honeycut had conceded to let him attend the session, to monitor Chakhovsky’s level of stress, and had given him the authority to stop the proceedings if a dangerous level of stress were reached, he agreed.

  The new environment and break from procedure would cause a small degree of uneasiness in Chakhovsky. Every little bit would help in creating the desired effect.

  The wheelchair was specially designed to pick up his slightest physiological variations. They could monitor the level of stress they delivered, as well as pick out obvious lies. It also afforded Dr. Dials the opportunity to monitor Chakhovsky’s condition. He hadn’t had an attack for almost forty hours, now. The program of rest was working.

  The three men waited for Dials to bring in Chakhovsky.

  A few moments later the wide door opened and Chakhovsky was wheeled in by a nurse. Dials walked in just behind them. The Russian was wheeled to a position in front of the large table at which the three-man panel sat. The nurse left the room and Dials joined the men at the table.

  The surface of the table was tilted slightly, angling away from Chakhovsky, so that he could not see its top. Various electronic monitoring devices were built into it. By checking them, Dials and Bell could quickly determine Chakhovsky’s condition.

  Everything about the room was designed to cause the slightest degree of stress. The temperature was markedly cooler than the rest of the complex; the fluorescent lighting was tinted to stress the eyes; and the color, shape, and furnishings of the room had been carefully selected to contribute to the desired effect. It was an uncomfortable room to be in, and each factor served to increase that uneasy feeling with every second spent there.

  Directly above Chakhovsky was a conical air vent. But, instead of air, it directed a narrow cone of sound waves down upon him. He couldn’t hear them, but soon he’d begin to feel them, as they worked to increase his anxiety.

  Wyatt would be the examiner. Chakhovsky’s English was good, though accented, so Bishoff would have little to do but study the unspoken facial language. Bell would ask questions only when he saw the need to direct the Russian’s mind toward a level of low apprehension. This way, the sudden snapback would be more effective when it came.

  Chakhovsky sat ready. The monitors read slight anxiety; he was fidgety and uncomfortable. The room was working.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Chakhovsky,” Wyatt said.

  “Good afternoon,” Chakhovsky returned.

  “I trust you rested well through the night, without incident?” Wyatt said.

  “Yes, thank you,” the Russian replied.

  “Should you begin to feel ill at any time, just tell us and we’ll discontinue the session,” Wyatt offered.

  Chakhovsky nodded his appreciation.

  “I’d like to go back over some of the things we talked about yesterday,” Wyatt began. This was to get Chakhovsky’s mind back on safe ground, to build his security up again quickly. “You’ve been with the KGB for how long?”

  “Twenty-three years,” Chakhovsky replied.

  “That’s a long time,” Wyatt said, nodding his head and smiling. “We’d like you to go back over the Illegals and Disinformation Divisions again, if you would.”

  Chakhovsky thought for a few moments and began his recitation. The panel listened attentively, eyes on the monitors.

  “Now, just briefly, review the responsibilities you had as an official in the Operational Division,” Wyatt said after the Russian had finished.

  Again the panel sat attentively through the Russian’s explanation of his duties.

  Wyatt nodded as Chakhovsky finished his statement. “Tell us about your family.”

  “I have no surviving family,” the Russian began. “My wife, Tamara, died twelve years ago. We had a son, Boris, who died two years ago in a skirmish along the Chinese border.” Chakhovsky’s eyes saddened, as he thought of distant memories. “He was a wonderful boy,” he said. His eyes looked off to the past. After a few moments of silence, he looked back to Wyatt. “No man…no man should ever live to see his children die,” he said.

  The monitors remained even. He was relaxed.

  “You must have loved him very much,” Bell said, wishing to keep Chakhovsky’s mind where it was. Wyatt recognized the psychiatrist’s aim.

  Chakhovsky nodded slowly. “He was the image of my wife, the only surviving part of her. I miss…miss them,” he said looking down. “Very much.”

  “How did you meet Tamara?” Bell asked. The team hadn’t yet touched upon the personal aspects of his life through the interrogations. Bell quickly recognized its value.

  The Russian thought for a few moments. “It seems that I had always known her. We were children together. We were in love for as long as I can remember,” he said. “She was such a beautiful child, always the prettiest girl in school. At least, to me she was,” he said, a slight smile breaking.

  “Is that how you remember her? As a child?” Bell asked.

  “I remember her in many ways. Mostly in our childhood. We were so close. But I remember her in many ways all throughout our lives together. I…I remember her…dead.” He paused and looked down sadly. “Perhaps…perhaps, that is why I think of her as a child. It leaves so much time for…for—”

  “Why did you defect?” Wyatt asked suddenly, in a loud voice.

  The monitors jumped. A nerve had been struck.

  The question jolted Chakhovsky. He thought frantically. “I…I…my life was in danger,” he stammered.

  “Why?” Wyatt hammered out at him. The polite tone was gone from his voice.

  The mo
nitors continued jumping.

  “I, eh…” His mind raced, scrambling back to the present, grasping for something to say. “…because I had fallen out of favor with the Central Committee,” he said. “I had openly opposed their views on several recent occasions. You…one does not oppose the views of the committee in Russia,” he made up quickly, speaking in a nervous rush of words.

  “For that they’d kill you?” Wyatt asked.

  “No…no, they wanted me dead because I chose to defect. I was warned by a friend that they had planned to take me back to the Soviet Union. That could only have meant dismissal and probable internment in a prison or an asylum. That is their way to handle such people. I love life too much to end it in such a way. I chose life and ran. It was for that choice that I was to be punished,” he said.

  Wyatt rubbed his nose and frowned. “That’s a very good story,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “Now tell us the truth.”

  The monitors jumped again.

  “I…I…have not lied,” Chakhovsky insisted, his eyes playing from man to man.

  “Yes, you have,” Wyatt hammered out.

  “It is true. I swear it. It is—”

  “It’s a pile of shit. You’re lying,” Wyatt cracked back, pounding the table with a fist.

  Chakhovsky was stunned. He couldn’t think, couldn’t concentrate. He was suddenly confused and frightened. They couldn’t know! His eyes shot around the floor, as his brain searched for words. He was so confused that his brain had trouble translating into English what he wanted to say.

  Wyatt didn’t give him the chance to talk. “We know all about Bodonov and why they wanted you back in Moscow. We know that you’re a pedophile, that you’re a criminal.”

  Dials shot a hot glance at Wyatt. The monitors were going wild. This was too much for him. It had to stop.

  Dials began to rise, but Bell’s hand came to his forearm and stopped him.

  Wyatt’s statement had cut deep into Chakhovsky. He couldn’t believe that they knew. How? How could they have found out?