Return to Cyprus

Chapter 4

McCall wondered how much time they had before the courier arrived, hoping that she could sleep a little longer.

"Control sent a courier with all the information he thinks we need," he told Barbara. It was not all the information, just what Control believed they needed. "She'll be here soon."

So, thought Barbara, Control had already sent the courier before he talked to Robert. Shit, the man had nerve. She laid her head back on the pillow, weary again now that her anger had waned. The fear was still coursing through her body, intensifying her weariness. She wanted to sleep, but there was no time.

"We'd better start getting ready. Do you think Control's arranged a flight for us? Have you ever met Murphy? He replaced me as station chief, so he's been there a while. Maybe he'll actually be useful, although I doubt it. Damn, I wish we could call him. Our hand guns are probably inadequate. We'll have to get more firepower from Murphy."

In spite of everything, McCall had to laugh, as he realized it was not likely that she was going to sleep any longer; she'd already gotten her teeth into this. Maybe it was a good thing, he hoped.

"Let's see, to address your points in order. One: I would assume that Control has set up some kind of transport. Otherwise we could get there too late. Two: no, I have not met Murphy, and yes, it is too bad we don't have a secure phone. Three: our hand guns are inadequate and, yes, Murphy can supply whatever else we need. OK?"

Barbara punched him in the arm.

"Yes, OK." She felt better, not only because she enjoyed it when Robert teased her, but because her mind was filling with planning a mission, pushing other thoughts away.

They got up and started dressing. While Robert was shaving, and she was showering, she mulled over what Mickey and his team might have been doing on Cyprus. She hadn't been keeping up on world news with her normal interest recently, but since it was Cyprus, it had to be something between the Turks and the Greeks. It was always something between the Turks and the Greeks. Hum, what was it, she wondered? What was it tickling the back of her mind? Just as she was washing out the conditioner, she got it. Stepping out of the shower, she turned excitedly to Robert.

"Robert, my dear, remember that Clinton's been talking about a deal to sell ATACMs to Turkey? That must have royally pissed off the Greeks. Those missiles have the right range to reach the Greek side of Cyprus. If you were the Greek Cypriots, what would you do?"

Robert stopped shaving, considered for a second, and answered: "Ah, well, Cold War or no Cold War, if I wanted to get back at the US, I'd pay a call on my good friends in Moscow. Yes, indeed, I'd probably try to get my own missiles from the Russians."

"Like you have any friends in Moscow, Robert. But, yes, that's what I think, too. That must be what Mickey has gotten himself involved in."

She took a step closer and said, "You know, when I was in Cyprus, there was many a time when I wanted to shake the Turks and the Greeks and tell them to GET OVER IT. Totally inappropriate of me, but there you are."

She was standing wet and naked in front of him, talking international politics, and he had some totally inappropriate thoughts of his own. She noticed, and with a laugh grabbed a towel. Ah, well, such is life, McCall sighed. Now wasn't the time. But her laugh gave him almost as much pleasure.

The doorbell rang. The courier had arrived.

While Barbara finished dressing, McCall opened the door to Ginger Brach, who helped him with his cases in New York now and again. There had been some bad blood between Ginger and Mickey in the past, but he thought they had patched up their differences. Did Ginger know what was in her pouch?

"Ginger, good to see you. Come in."

"Hi, Robert. Good to see you again, too, even though I didn't expect it to be in Italy." Driving up the hill to the villa, she had thought that it wouldn't be bad to retire here. Not bad at all. Not likely, either. Glancing around, she saw that the villa was just as beautiful inside as out.

Now wasn't the time for a tour, though. She handed McCall the pouch. He didn't look at it.

"Thank you, Ginger. Come in, come in. Barbara's making coffee, if you'd like a cup."

"Sure. Thanks."

Ginger followed McCall into the kitchen, where Barbara was standing with wet hair pouring coffee. Did her hand shake as she was pouring, Ginger thought? She hadn't seen Barbara for a while, not since the incident, and she was surprised how she looked. Different. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but somehow different. Ginger wondered if Barbara knew what younger female operatives thought of her. It sounded corny, but for Ginger, Barbara was her role model, her hero even. She didn't want her to be different.

"Ginger, hi. You're looking good. Here's coffee. Cream, sugar?" Smiling, Barbara gave Ginger a hug. She had always liked Ginger, especially since she had stood up to Mickey about that trouble they had. Strong young woman, Ginger. Good at what she did.

As he took a cup from Barbara, McCall asked Ginger: "What are your instructions?"

"To drive you to the airfield. The jet will be ready to go at 8:00. That gives us about an hour. The drive to the airport takes thirty minutes."

"Good. Now, Ginger, would you please excuse us? If you're hungry, take whatever you like. There's a wonderful view of the valley from the living room, through there."

Barbara added: "And the bathroom is down the hall to your right."

While Ginger headed for the bathroom, she and McCall went into the office and shut the door. Putting on his glasses, McCall scanned the files in the pouch. Barbara sat down, rested her head on the back of the chair, and closed her eyes. For once, he didn't notice.

Still looking at the files he said: "You were right, Barbara. It's about the Cypriot National Guard negotiating with the Russians for an anti-missile system. Seems Washington is not pleased." Taking off his glasses, he looked at her and said: "You have to wonder sometimes about those people inside the Beltway. It was the most obvious thing in the world. We sell missiles to the Turks. Were the Greeks going to be happy about that? Idiots."

Barbara nodded in agreement. "Then they send people like Mickey and his team out for damage control."

Replacing his glasses, McCall read: "It says here that Mickey missed his 10:00 check in last night. At 11:00 Murphy contacted Control."

Mickey would not miss his scheduled report unless something was wrong. Something was definitely wrong, no reason to discuss it, they both thought. McCall continued reading.

"Oh, now this is interesting." He held up a picture of a man she didn't recognize.

"Who is it?"

"Remember when you said I didn't have any friends in Moscow? Well, there you were wrong, my dear. This is my old friend Radek. Was high up in the KGB. Although I would have thought he'd be in Siberia, not Moscow, if he was alive at all. He's going by the name of Melnikov. The head of the Russian delegation. The Cypriots better have a good negotiator on their side, or Mr. Radek will make them pay through the nose."

"I recognize the name. Never had the pleasure, though. How did you get to be…friends?"

"We had many a run in over the years. The last time I saw him was in New York, in, what, '88, after I'd resigned. Felix, one of my old network of operatives, found out that Radek had a sweet little operation siphoning off Soviet funds into his own Swiss bank account. Felix came to me with the information." McCall paused, taking off his glasses and rubbing his forehead. It was a painful memory.

"Radek had him killed before I could bring him in." Another pause.

His voice taking on the menacing tone Barbara knew well, he continued: "For, let's say, payback, I arranged for Radek's superiors to find out about the account. Evidently, Mr. Radek managed to slip out of my noose. Damn."

Barbara said: "Well, maybe if he managed to keep the bank account quiet before, we can use it against him now. But I don't know. With the new times in Russia, they might not care anymore. It seems that everyone is sending money to their own Swiss bank account."

There was a quiet knock at the door. Ginger was letting them know that it was time to go.

"Robert, we can read the rest of the file in the plane. We'll have three or four hours. You go on. I've got a few more things to do before we leave."

Ginger was standing outside the door. McCall motioned her down the hallway, while keeping his eyes on Barbara walking back to the bedroom.

"Barbara will be here in a minute. Let's get our things in the car."

Once in the bedroom, Barbara leaned against the closed door, breathing deeply and trying to slow her racing heart. It sometimes happened. The doctors had told her if people died after getting the drug, they died a heart attack or a stroke, not from the drug itself. All the drug did was play with your mind; then your mind took care of the rest. But the truth was that the doctors knew next to nothing about it. It wasn't exactly FDA tested. Ah, Barbara thought bitterly, but they had HER now, didn't they? She was their damned guinea pig. She should have been taking notes for the last six months.

She felt the door opening and moved away. Robert looked at her.

"Are you alright?"

"Sure, fine. Ah, there are my glasses. Let's go."

The drive to the airstrip was uneventful. When they got there the small jet was waiting. It was 8:00. Kostmayer had been missing for ten hours.