A Sound of Freedom
Page 24
Max checked his bag with the lady tending the “water closet,” asked her name, inquired about her job and commended her attentiveness. He knew, by asking her name, the lady would make sure nothing happened to the bag that belonged to a KGB Colonel; she would worry until he returned. Max took the numbered identification tag the lady handed him and dropped it into his pocket. Later he would retrieve the bag, pay her for a shower, refresh himself, change clothes and meet-up with his tour group.
Outside he crossed the street without concern for traffic, at night traffic is sparse at most, few people fortunate enough to own a car use them for pleasure; gasoline isn’t expensive in the Soviet Union, but neither is it plentiful. All but a few of the vehicles on the streets at night were state owned. The two guards at the nearby Rossiya Hotel saluted smartly and held the door open as Max approached. The lift operator looked up from a copy of Tass and stiffened as Max walked toward him. Max entered the lift, the operator closed the doors and started the cage on its upward journey, awaiting, although anticipating the KGB Colonel’s instructions. Max didn’t need to ask directions, he had been a guest at the Rossiya for several months and knew the hotel well. He knew the floor he wanted and could almost guess the suite. The operator stopped the lift as directed and opened the doors. Max stepped out into the corridor and recalled his emotions of ten years past when he saw if for the first time. There was no question as to the room he wanted, two guards stood outside the door. The young privates snapped to attention, a hint of fear in their faces. To the private a KGB colonel was nothing less than equal to God, and they hoped they wouldn’t or hadn’t made any mistakes. Sensing the young men’s anxiety, Max sought to put them at ease; he would be better served by having the young soldiers as allies, rather than having them apprehensive and uncertain of the proper action to take. Max returned the salute, pulled a package of cigarettes from his pocket and asked in Russian, “Do you have a match?”
He removed a cigarette from the pack and stuck it in his mouth then invited the young soldiers to join him. The privates apologized, almost in unison, for not having a match, explaining they couldn’t afford cigarettes and had no reason to carry matches, however they looked longingly at the pack of cigarettes Max held in his hand. Max took the cigarette from his mouth, stuck it back in the package and replied, “It’s just as well, I’m trying to quit anyway. What’s your name son?” he asked of the soldier closest to him.
“Private Kulakova, Comrade Colonel, sir.” he quickly replied.
“What’s your first name?”
“Yurik, sir,” came the reply just as quickly as before, but without the previous formality and with less tension in his voice.
“Well Yurik, since neither of us have a match, how about doing me a favor and getting rid of these cigarettes for me.
“Yes sir!” Max knew the cigarettes would not be destroyed. Even if the kid didn’t smoke they would bring a good price on the black market.
“How’s our guest tonight, Yurik, resting comfortably, I hope?”
“I don’t know, sir. He ate dinner about two hours ago. I would imagine he’s sleeping, sir.”
Max wasn’t surprised that the man might be sleeping. He remembered how in his early days as a guest of the KGB, after twelve or fourteen hours of interrogation interspersed with propaganda films and lectures, sleep and nightmares were your only friends. Yes indeed, he remembered—he would never forget.
“Well, I’d better look in on him; we certainly wouldn’t want our distinguished guest to want for comforts, would we?”
“No, sir.”
“I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“Yes sir.”
Max closed the door, placed his hat on the entry table and took a slow look around the suite. It was just as he remembered, elegantly furnished in antiques, but with the air now, just as it was then, stale and musty. Tolinger lay on his back in a bed that possibly had belonged to royalty and dated back to the time of the Czars. From the looks of the bed it wasn’t a restful sleep. The covers were mostly on the floor and he had both hands around a pillow squeezing it as though he was trying to choke someone. Between the snoring and wheezing, he muttered unintelligible words and phrases.
When Tolinger opened his eyes the only thing he could see was Max Kayne’s face, only a foot away from his own. Speaking English for the first time since entering the hotel, Max asked, in a soft, calm voice.
“Good evening, Comrade Colonel, have you found your accommodations comfortable?” Tolinger clutched at his neck underneath the pillow that Max held firmly in place, his eyes were popping almost out of his head, and his face was a ghostly white. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came forth, only a soft gurgling sound could be heard.
“Your friends in the United States Air Force and the Central Intelligence Agency asked me to look in on you to see if you needed anything. Feel free to refer any requests to me personally, my name is Maxwell Alexander Kayne, or perhaps you know me by my former name, Jack Johnson, or possibly the code name Spider means something to you. But forget the name; I’m just here to personally make sure you get everything you deserve.”
Tolinger couldn’t speak or move, he could only stare into the face that smiled sinisterly at him from only inches away. He blinked to keep the face in focus.
There were many things Max wanted to say to this despicable man, but he didn’t have the time, every second he spent in the room was an unnecessary risk. Hell, he wasn’t there to try and rehabilitate the SOB, anyway.
Max walked to the door, picked up his hat, turned and walked back to bed where Tolinger lay; his eyes blinked several times as he tried to focus, otherwise he did not move.
Once again Max leaned close to the man as he asked dispassionately. “By-the-way, Comrade Colonel, do you know what woke you?”
Then, answering his own question, said, “You just had your throat cut. Have a nice day.”
The End