DISCLAIMER: If you recognize people or organizations from the television
series, they belong to Shoot the Moon Productions and Warner Brothers.
I've borrowed them with love and deep appreciation for the many years of
enjoyment I've received from them and am making absolutely no money from
this enterprise. If you recognize them from history, no infringement is
intended on them; they merely serve to provide the story with an authentic
setting. If you don't recognize them from either of those two sources,
they're products of my very odd imagination and I claim full responsibility
for their imaginary actions.
Chapter 7 * Warsaw, Poland * 7:35 p.m. (GMT+1)
"Herr Volkmeister, if that is who you really are, please don't insult our intelligence by claiming you were simply doing your duty in telling the Interior Ministry about this so-called threat to the leaders of our country." Leon Ivanich Scholk was thrilled to have this man in his power. He knew exactly who Volkmeister really was before the confirmation call from Tolstoy, and now it was payback time for many reasons.
"It's the truth," Lee persisted through the excruciating pain in his head. No other part of his body hurt – at least that's what he thought, but it could have been that his head hurt so much that any other pain was insignificant in comparison.
"I doubt it But we will get to the bottom of this, because what you have stumbled onto is far more important than the life of one Western idiot."
"Really?"
Scholk struck his open palm with the clenched fist of his other hand, causing a reverberating thump inside Lee's throbbing skull. "Yes, Herr Volkmeister. Much, much more important."
Police Headquarters, Warsaw, Poland * 9:00 p.m. (GMT+1)
"What do you mean, 'I lost him!'? How do you lose a human being? Especially a West German!" The police chief's usually florid face had an even angrier hue as he screamed at the doctor in front of him. "I told you to make sure Mr. Volkmeister returned to his hotel safely!"
"Yes, sir, you did, and well, sir, we were going to do that, but then a man from the Interior Ministry came in and said he had some questions. We thought he would take the German with him, so…"
"So you thought that you were off the hook. You aren't – because the Interior Ministry never heard of any Rainer Volkmeister. The man who came in really is one of them, but he appears to be working without their knowledge, which points in exactly one direction."
The doctor's eyes widened. "Moscow. That would explain the drugs in his system."
"Drugs?"
A little while later, the Warsaw Police went to high alert and the Interior Ministry began an internal investigation on Gregor Borodin. Even behind the Iron Curtain, those working for Moscow weren't always welcome with open arms.
The Agency * 4:30 p.m. EST (GMT-5)
50 hours had passed, but Billy still had a splitting headache. Now, in addition to the second shift of agents out with their children on spring break, his three best agents were out of the country. Granted, they were away – or at least one of them was – dealing with a legitimate threat. The other two, well…
He knew that Amanda had gone to Reese to plead her case. He wasn't as upset with that as he perhaps should have been, because it meant that Lee's back was covered by the one person in the world who knew him better than he knew himself. Francine had gone because Ian had gone, and Ian was still technically an adjunct member of Reese's staff. Why Reese had gone to Europe – really gone, that is – remained somewhat of a mystery. And it seemed that Reese's son Kevin, an Eastern European analyst at the National Security Administration, had requested personal leave and gone with his father.
This had all the earmarks of a colossal firestorm awaiting the fatal spark.
The status meeting didn't go well from the beginning. The Soviets had lodged an official protest about the dragnet over the weekend, despite the fact that no one was caught in it – not even the intended target, Scholk. An operative was dead in South America because an agent from another intelligence group had sold out to one of the major drug cartels. And Rainer Volkmeister had been reported as ill to the West German mission in Warsaw, which then passed that information along to the Agency field office in Munich, which casually mentioned it in their report. Lee Stetson fallen ill while under deep cover was not in the plans.
If there was another shoe to be dropped, Billy didn't want to know about it anytime soon.
But it fell before he could go home for the day.
"SCHOLK IS IN POLAND?"
The bullpen fell silent as Billy's rage erupted from his office in fragments of sentences. "Is that why you stole my ag – " "You know and you didn't tell me." "I do understand the concept of need to know… I think I needed to know this earlier." "Oh." "I see." "Yes, that does put all this in a completely new light." "Have you met up with Lee yet?" "His cover has been tagged – apparently he got sick …" The conversation faded as Billy began to get more pieces of the puzzle from General Reese.
His headache still throbbed when he left that night, but at least now there were several good reasons for it that had nothing to do with budget issues.
Johns Hopkins University Medical Center, Baltimore, Maryland * 8:10 p.m. EST (GMT+5)
Lieutenant James Johnston felt strange just sitting in the Intensive Care Unit rather than taking decisive action as 4 years at the United States Naval Academy had taught him to do. Like most people, he hated hospitals. He also felt strange in civilian clothes, but his commanding officer had told him in no uncertain terms that he was not to wear his uniform on this particular assignment. Since that man had more than just career influence in his life, James was wont to follow those orders, for unlike most men, he had the father and brother of the woman he loved completely on his side.
Sandra looked so small and ghostly against the white sheets of her hospital bed, underneath the many leads and tubes which told the doctors that she was still alive, even if unconscious. James could do nothing but hold her hand and pray for her, and for her father and brother as they chased down the family demon together.
Izabelin, Poland * March 22, 1989 * 4:35 a.m. (GMT+1)
Lee Stetson had exactly two things on his mind: escape and Amanda. Amanda was normal, and had been for almost 5 ½ years. Escape, well, that wasn't normal, but it wasn't exactly unusual, either. His captor - no surprise that Scholk would be among the 93% of smart criminals in the world - had firmly bound his arms and wrists behind him at his trim waist with what felt like strong marine rope and there were only knots, no locks. He was also bound at the feet, although there seemed to be some play in the line there when he moved his legs back and forth. The bigger, more immediate problem was his position on the floor; he lay on his side facing a blackened wooden wall, penned on the other side by a heavy object he couldn't see. Any work he did would have to be performed within that very cramped space, as he couldn't maneuver himself upright between the wall and the object.
He had no idea how much time passed as he struggled with the ropes at his feet; eventually the lines gave a bit and he found himself able to use his legs to push against the object at his back. Infinitesimally but inexorably, the thing moved; he inched himself downward as the space below his waist opened up and soon used his bound but more mobile legs to leverage himself into a sitting position.
"Lovely," Lee mumbled to himself as he surveyed the rest of his cell; what little light there was came from cracks near the ceiling between the warped boards of the walls and in the gray murk he could see no door, though he knew there had to be one. Then he looked around again as his eyes became more focused; there was no door, after all. He looked up to see the bleak sameness of the ceiling, broken only by a square frame of slightly lighter color built into the far corner of the room. "I hate efficient kidnappers. They threw me in a potato cellar!" he muttered under his breath as he continued his efforts to free himself.
The heavy object proved to be a sturdy storage cabinet, which Lee moved inch by inch across the cellar with his knees and lower legs. All the while, he worried at the knots in the ropes binding his hands and willed himself to think in German, lest he be surprised by the appearance of Gregor Borodin, or worse, Scholk. He thought of Amanda and wished for her presence as he fought the lines behind his back; she had such a knack for the Houdini acts often needed in the spy business…
Noises from the room above sent Lee scurrying back to the corner, well out of what he thought would be the line of sight from the cellar access. The cabinet hadn't moved so much that it would be obviously in a different position at first glance, so it would, he thought, be okay.
Sure enough, the glance sent down into the confined space by the guard or whomever was at best cursory, and after several minutes of silence from the outside world, Lee resumed his efforts at room redecoration. As he did so, he focused his thoughts on his wife, praying that he could once again access that mysterious connection that existed between them.
Guest Officers' Quarters, Central Army Command, Warsaw * 5:43 a.m. (GMT+1)
"Lee!" Amanda sat straight up in the unfamiliar bed, sure that her beloved husband was beside her. The narrow cot mocked that conviction; moaning, she laid back against the still-warm pillows and closed her eyes to the tears that formed in her cocoa brown orbs.
"Amanda…." Lee's voice, clear but faint in the depths of her mind. "Amanda… I need your help…"
She knew. Beyond all comprehension and explanation, she knew what was happening. Giving herself over to the mystery, she focused and replied with all the love in her heart. "I'm here. Tell me what you need."
As she processed the experience later, Amanda realized that she really got only brief glimpses of images, but at the time it seemed as though Lee spoke to her in a continuous stream of information. A building she couldn't place that he said was the Interior Ministry; a name – Jaruslav – and a church, but not one she could identify; a rifle; the Olympic rings; Castle Square in Warsaw; Jaruzelski, Walesa, and a Roman Catholic cardinal that she knew to be Josef Cardinal Glemp; a dimly lit cellar. She had the sense that Lee couldn't completely separate what he knew from what he had been exposed to in Warsaw because the soundtrack came with apologies for the political faces thrown in. The last face she saw before the vision faded left her wide-awake and shivering in the early morning light.
Leon Ivanich Scholk.
Near the Kremlin * Moscow, USSR * 7:50 a.m. (GMT+3)
G.A. Tolstoy couldn't decide whether to be alarmed or relieved as he reported the latest developments to Feodor Petrovich Kaminsky. Either way, he decided to enjoy the taste of the imported French coffee Kaminsky served with the full breakfast spread of smoked meats, fresh imported croissants, premium butter, and Smucker's Strawberry Jam. Especially the jam.
"Let's recap what's happened thus far. We get Leon Ivanich safely out of reach of the Americans, but we failed to keep the microdot out of their hands and thus they know something is going on, but hopefully not exactly what." Kaminsky made his statement as Tolstoy lathered butter on a slice of the feathery light roll.
Georg Alexeivich scowled as he put two heaping spoons of the glistening crimson fruit spread on top of the butter. "Yes and no. Don't forget that Borodin reported that the West German knew enough to be a threat. However, Scholk reported that he has captured that same West German, who is really American agent with the code name 'Scarecrow'." He grinned with ghoulish pleasure. "And my American contact confirmed earlier via a routine drop that Scarecrow is Lee Stetson and that he is, indeed, the man in Poland."
Feodor Petrovich glanced up in alarm. "Stetson?"
"So it would appear."
The older man sipped his coffee for a long moment before he continued. "Do we know the whereabouts of his partner?"
"Uh… no, not exactly."
"What do you mean, not exactly?"
"Well, there is something confusing happening in Poland – "
"That's why we're doing what we're doing."
"No, I mean something beyond that. We've been shut out of the internal military intelligence network."
"Wroebel?"
"One and the same."
"I warned them. I've been warning them for years and years. But they didn't listen. Damned GRU." He bit into a piece of bread, chewed and swallowed without attention to the taste. "So, Wroebel has shut us out, but what does that have to do with the whereabouts of the Scarecrow's partner?"
"We think she's in Poland."
"Oh."
"It gets worse."
"How can it?" Kaminsky snorted. "Wait, I'm sure I don't want to know."
Tolstoy told him anyway.
"Bozhe moi." For a Communist, he'd been saying that a lot lately.
Warsaw, Poland * 7:30 a.m. (GMT+1)
Stefan limped his way toward the café near the Hotel Europejski, keeping his eyes moving in hopes of seeing Lee Stetson as the American made his way toward their meet. The Pole was a bit worried about Stetson after his neophyte mistake on Monday. With only two days before what Stefan took to be the most likely time to try an assassination –Good Friday – time was running out on his underground cell's efforts to stop it, and he needed his old contact in best form.
Half an hour later, he needed his contact in whatever form he could get him. Stetson hadn't shown.
Seriously concerned, the Polish man limped back to his flat and made a life- or-death decision. He turned on the radio transmitter inside his own apartment and prayed that the Communist regime would have its attention elsewhere while he tried to contact the Americans across a continent and an ocean.
Central Army Command, Warsaw, Poland * 8:20 a.m. (GMT+1)
"This is our communications area, which you can't enter for obvious reasons of national security, but which as you can see is very busy this morning." General Wroebel was in his element, showing off his army and his patriotism together. "I will confirm for you that the Russians were unhappy about our recent purchase of equipment from Japan…"
"They don't like the loss of income?" Francine asked.
"That too, but they're afraid we'll become too independent." He laughed, inviting the Americans to join him.
A Senior Staff Sergeant approached the Pole and handed him a slip of paper. Wroebel sighed and took a pen from the enlisted man, scribbled a reply, and sent the man on his way.
He moved his guests into another room as innocently as he could and closed the door "Is it safe?" the Eastern Bloc general asked the American general.
Reese nodded and touched his collar, activating the noise generator. Amanda noticed that Wroebel didn't seem the least bit surprised when the gentle hum started.
"We've been monitoring a ham radio transmission for the last thirty minutes. The operator is trying to get through to America – as he did on Saturday." If Wroebel expected a reaction, he was disappointed. "We haven't given our civilian counterparts this information because… well, because I haven't released it. To my ears, it is a lovesick man trying to find his lost love."
Ian's mind whirred at full speed as he thought through what he was seeing and hearing. He kept his counsel, however, until after Wroebel's next pronouncement.
"There is a West German civilian by the name of Rainer Volkmeister missing. Apparently, he was abducted by an official from the Interior Ministry working without knowledge of the ministry. We have a full alert on-going. And he was seen with your Mr. Scholk in a car about 10 kilometers outside the city last night."
"Ludwig," Ian pronounced.
Wroebel grinned while Reese shifted uncomfortably. "In the flesh," the Polish man acknowledged with a flourish.
"Now we have to get you out," the American general groused. "You are so blown."
"Why do you think I invited you?"
"Can we get back to Volkmeister?" Amanda demanded. "I realize that learning the identity of the highest ranking mole in a Soviet Bloc military unit doesn't happen often, but there is a man's life at stake here."
"I won't ask," Wroebel commented, his tone arid. "Volkmeister has disappeared, as I said. The man who took him out of the Warsaw Police Headquarters is Gregor Borodin, whom we now believe was a deep cover KGB mole within the Interior Ministry."
Ian's wry smile took some of the sting out of his words. "The Russians are so paranoid they even spy on their closest allies." He laughed. "Oh, wait, so do we Americans."
"Volkmeister," Amanda demanded again. "How do we find him?"
"I'm afraid that we'll have to wait on the folks from the Interior Ministry to follow Borodin to him."
"General Wroebel, I'm sure that the West Germans would not be happy about that answer if they knew the circumstances," Francine warned, speaking for the first time.
Wroebel shrugged, his unhappiness with the situation clear in his motions. "My government won't tell them the whole story, of course."
Izabelin, Poland * 9:30 a.m. (GMT+1)
Lee had managed to free himself completely from his bindings and to find a length of iron pipe with which to arm himself. The potato cellar in which he now stood had lightened a bit as the sun shifted around the building, making it a little easier for him to get his bearings. He sat waiting for someone to come, positioned off to the darker side of the room but within striking distance of the stairs that extended down into the room when the ceiling panel opened.
He didn't have long to wait. Heavy footsteps crossed the floor above, steady and sure in their motion toward the opening to the basement. A second, lighter set followed, but to Lee's ears seemed to stop just about where he believed, based on the layout of the exposed floor joists over his head, a wall separated two rooms. That would be Scholk, he thought. The second man could be either the ape who checked on him earlier or Borodin, but Lee laid money on the ape.
When the panel opened, Lee waited for the stairs to descend and for the prison guard to make his way down into the cellar. As the American anticipated, the man rounded the bottom of the stairs into the darker part of the room, and when he did, Lee sprang with vicious speed, knocking the much larger man unconscious with a single, silent blow to the back of his neck.
Unfortunately for Lee at this point, the man had been relying on his overpowering size and strength to keep the prisoner at bay. Lee had thus only the pipe to take as he ascended the steps. He did so as though he were the guard forcing the reluctant prisoner up the stairs on pain of severe injury – a light tread, a heavy tread, a light tread, a heavy tread – until he got to the top. His hope was that Scholk would be expecting his prisoner to still be bound, and that the deception of the stair climbing would further leave the KGB man lulled.
"Ah, Mr. Stetson," Scholk announced as Lee rounded the corner. "So nice to see you."
Thrown for a split second by Scholk's pronouncement of his real name, Lee hesitated before he leapt at the Russian, bringing the pipe around from behind his back with blinding speed to strike at the other man. It almost worked.
Scholk staggered as the pipe clouted his left shoulder with a bone- crunching sound. With his right, the Soviet agent reached for his own weapon, which Lee had time to note was a Smith and Wesson .38 before the first shot was fired.
It went wide of the American, who drove at Scholk's stomach with his chin tucked down against his chest. The impact sent the two men sprawling into the wall behind them while the gun went flying, landing against the wall next to the dining table. A true life-and-death wrestling match began as Lee, who had age and height on his side, and Leon Ivanich, who had a recent meal and weight on his side, struggled for supremacy on the ancient linoleum of a Polish dining room. They tipped chairs over and upended the heavy oak dining table as they thrashed about. The injury to Scholk's shoulder didn't seem to faze him as he finally gained the upper hand and body position over Stetson, pinning him in a full headlock
Lee closed his eyes and let himself go limp as the other man tightened his grip, praying for a moment he could turn to his advantage before Scholk really did send him into the la-la land of unconsciousness or worse. The moment came when the Russian leaned down to say something, loosening his grip around Lee's neck and putting his injured shoulder in a vulnerable position above Lee's own left shoulder. With all the power he could muster, Lee bucked his shoulder and upper body into Scholk's damaged shoulder, slamming the other man backward into the overturned table with a resounding clash of wood and human bone. Scholk slumped, groggy and moaning, while Lee struggled to his feet and made his way warily toward the front door.
Spying the butt of the Smith and Wesson, Scholk made a valiant effort to reach for the pistol, reaching it at the extreme of his extended arm and fingers. He fired as he pulled the gun around, hitting Lee in the lower back, just below his right kidney. The endeavor expended Scholk's remaining will power; he slumped unconscious on the floor as his prisoner tried to make good his escape.
Lee made it as far as the front door before blood loss, stress, and lack of sustenance brought him to his knees – and ultimately to the floor as he slipped into dark oblivion.
The Agency * 3:55 a.m. EST (GMT-5)
Chris Kringle enjoyed the overnight shift. He was the American who got to see what the rest of the world did as it ended its business day or went to work, went to bed or woke up. Most of the time, it was pretty routine stuff, but not this morning.
The European radio team called him over to their boards when a signal came through from England over the short wave monitors. "It's the Wagon Train again. He's calling a stampede."
No, this was definitely not routine. Santa walked the team through the emergency procedures as he picked up the landline and dialed Billy Melrose's home phone number.
Billy and Jeannie Melrose's Home * 4:00 a.m. EST (GMT-5)
Billy's headache was back full force. He listened through the pain as Santa relayed Stefan's information to him, painting a bleak picture of events in Poland. With much trepidation, Billy gave Chris Kringle the contact locations, codes and verifications for Amanda and Francine to pass to the Polish dissident, in hopes that somehow his two other crack agents could find the Scarecrow before time ran out and Poland came crashing down in flames, taking the rest of the world with it.
Central Army Command, Warsaw, Poland * 10:20 a.m. (GMT+1)
"Excuse me, General Wroebel. General Reese has an urgent communication coming in from his office in Berlin," the Command Sergeant Major said as the Americans and Wroebel with his executive staff came back onto the communications floor from the conference room where they had been sharing non-compromising information about areas of mutual concern other than Eastern Europe.
Reese understood the man's Polish but waited politely for his friend and agent-in-place to translate before he followed the sergeant to the phone. He waited for Wroebel's subtle signal that the call was private before he spoke to his real secretary. Kevin, Ian, Francine, and Amanda waited with barely concealed concern, thinking that the call was news about Sandra, but the older man waved in relief before his face grew solemn again.
When he completed the short call, he announced to his host that the team needed to leave for a consultation. "You'll join us for lunch, General, perhaps in Old Town?" he asked of Wroebel as the two shook hands.
"Certainly. In Castle Square near the column at noon?"
Plans confirmed, the Americans departed. Reese ordered their driver to take them right into downtown and leave them near the Hotel Europejski, keeping his counsel about the phone call the entire time. Only when the car had sped away did the Army officer gather his team around him, positioning each to cover any angle from which he might be watched as he spoke.
"The message was from Mr. Melrose for Amanda and Francine. The wagon train called in declaring a stampede. You're to go to condition red and check your drops as soon as possible."
"Right," Francine said. "Come on, Ian. We're going shopping." She tugged at his arm, but he resisted.
"Honey, don't you think I stick out just a bit?" he asked, concerned about his Marine Corps dress greens causing unwanted attention.
"Yes, you do. And that's perfect for what I need to do."
Ian acquiesced with an exaggerated shrug and eye roll toward the general, then strolled off arm-in-arm with Francine, following where she led.
"What do we get to do, Mrs. Stetson?" Kevin Reese asked, extending his arm to the beautiful American woman.
Amanda thought for a moment. "We get to be tourists. We can pretend we're a family. Your dad's uniform will give us the same advantage Francine will have with Ian."
Kevin grinned. "Does that mean I can call you 'Mom'?"
Amanda smiled back. "Oh, why not? But for the record, you're adopted."
Alex bowed low to Amanda. "Of course. You're my trophy wife, right?"
The trio laughed for the first time since their arrival in Warsaw as they set off toward the Old City of Warsaw and Amanda's assigned drops.
KGB Headquarters, Moscow, USSR * 12:45 p.m. (GMT+3)
G.A. Tolstoy was mildly concerned that neither Scholk nor Borodin's usual contact had reported in since midnight. He was seriously concerned that the KGB and the GRU had been shut out of the Polish military intelligence network, something that had happened only twice before – in 1971 and in 1981. Both times, militant factions of protestors caused the Soviet Union to clamp down on its northernmost satellite after heads rolled at the top of the intelligence unit.
Perhaps the events occurring now would dovetail nicely with the events slated for Friday and give the world that much more reason to turn a blind eye to the events to follow as Poland became more than a satellite of the Soviet Union.
Izabelin, Poland * 11:05 a.m. (GMT+1)
Gregor Borodin approached the house with mixed feelings. He didn't like Scholk at all. The man gave him what an American would call the heebie- jeebies. On the other hand, the Russian certainly knew his job. Borodin doubted that the American agent he had helped capture even realized that he had been interrogated under the influence of the drugs in the cocktail from the car the night before. Of course, how much of what the American had said was accurate, Borodin couldn't begin to know – and would probably never find out, anyway.
When he saw the front door standing open, the Polish man froze. A blood trail led down the front steps and onto the sidewalk, but disappeared in the brown grass of the small lawn. The bleeder must have made it into the woods safely, because no body graced the immediate vicinity. With great caution, Borodin made his way up the steps and into the house.
Scholk was just barely conscious, mumbling incoherently about the "damned American" and "mole in Army." Seeing the man's condition, Borodin sprang into action and called the local police station for medical assistance. He also had the presence of mind to hide the revolver and to move the table over to cover the bullet hole in the wall before the constables arrived.
Outside the Same House * 11:10 a.m. (GMT+1)
Lee Stetson had watched Gregor Borodin enter the building a few minutes ago from the bare safety of the trees. Now, he heard the distinct wailing of European sirens approaching and wanted nothing more than to crawl out to the lawn so the medics – such as they were – would find him and take him to the hospital.
That, however, would undoubtedly be the height of folly at this point, since Borodin would recognize him and was evidently part of whatever conspiracy Scholk was leading, which might or might not have anything at all to do with the supposed assassination attempt. The question then became: how could he extricate himself from this situation in his condition?
Maybe sleep would help, Lee thought as his eyes grew heavy. But he knew that it wasn't sleep coming on; his body, weakened and abused and injured, demanded his energies, and dragged him into unconsciousness.
Castle Square, Warsaw, Poland * 12 Noon (GMT+1)
General Wroebel waited with the air of a satisfied man at the base of the column commemorating the triumphant 17th century Polish king Zygmunt III. Wroebel thought of himself as one of Zygmunt's soldiers, fighting for the ideal of Poland as a strong and independent country on the world stage. Twenty five years ago, that belief had made the offer from the then-Captain Alexander Reese to provide information to the West irresistible to the then- Lieutenant Leszek Wroebel. He had started slowly, just one or two reports a year for the first three or four. Then the Prague Spring happened, and at the time he was promoted into a larger role within the Warsaw Pact joint staff command, giving him more access and greater reason to help the Americans. His handler, Reese, was also his friend; they had been posted in three different world capitols simultaneously over their respective careers and the unmarried Wroebel had been adopted by Kevin and Sandra Reese as an uncle – particularly after their mother's death. It didn't hurt that he had been at Sandra's christening and was her godfather. The thought that soon he would be living free in America filled him with joy.
So did the sight of his other, more newly-minted friend, Lieutenant Colonel Marlowe, strolling hand-in-love-intoxicated-hand with Francis Delaney as the couple made their way toward him. Wroebel would bet money that Francis Delaney was a cover name, but that bet – if he even got to make it – wouldn't be collected for at least a year, maybe more.
The two Reeses and Amara Kane followed closely behind Marlowe and his girlfriend. Wroebel wondered idly if there might be a spark between the elder Reese and the lovely but equally pseudonymous Kane, but quickly dismissed that idea when the first words out of Kane's mouth were…
…"Any word on Rainer Volkmeister?"
Leszek Wroebel checked another box off on his mental tally sheet. Volkmeister was an undercover American. "Not directly. But it seems our friend Gregor Borodin called for an ambulance in a little town called Izabelin about 8 kilometers northwest of the city limits."
"Borodin was the one who took Volkmeister from the Warsaw Police," Ian mused. "Then Volkmeister was seen with Leon Scholk. What are the odds…"
"…That Volkmeister, Scholk, and Borodin are – or were – all in the same place?" Kevin Reese finished the thought. "I'd say that there's at least a decent chance. But what about now?"
"We could go find out," the "Kane" woman said with poorly concealed anxiety.
Oh, no, Kane wasn't her real name, and Wroebel decided that she and "Volkmeister" were very seriously involved, perhaps even married. "I'd be willing to let two of you go with one of my most trusted aides," he allowed the Americans. "But only after we eat. We do need to be keeping up appearances, you know."
The beautiful brunette whose name wasn't really Kane only toyed listlessly with her food as the rest of the group enjoyed the meal. Only when Wroebel's adjutant arrived to take the woman and Colonel Marlowe out to Izabelin did she come back to any kind of life. The Polish general decided that he didn't want to be on the receiving end of the wrath in her eyes.
On the Way to Izabelin * 1:20 p.m. (GMT+1)
Ian had to think hard to keep himself from using Amanda's real name as he talked with her. He was trying to get her focused on something other than her worry for Lee, although he knew if he were in her shoes worrying about Francine, the tactics would work just about as well.
"I know what you're trying to do, Colonel. It won't work."
"Oh, come on, Amara. You've got to know if Francis really has the hots for me," he tried, urging Amanda with his eyes to play even if just for the benefit of the driver and General Wroebel's adjutant in the front seat.
She played, but not with what Ian had become used to as Amanda's usual perky energy. "I'd say that's pretty obvious, Ian. She drools when she talks about you."
That happened to be the truth, but Ian hadn't heard about it before and the revelation sent him into spasms of choked laughter.
Amanda at least smiled at his antics, which was an improvement. The smile disappeared as the car slowed to a stop in front of a small wood-framed house at the end of a dirt road.
"This is the house," Wroebel's adjutant said as he got out of the car to open Amanda's door.
The American woman crept up the cracked cement walkway, pausing every few feet to listen to the sounds around her. Just as she reached the front steps, something caught her attention and she motioned for Ian and the other men to stop in their tracks. She listened for about five seconds before she took off at a dead run into the forested area beside the building.
Ian stayed the two Poles with a hand and followed Amanda. He found her cradling her husband's head and calling his real name as softly as she could, trying to rouse him.
"He's alive," she whispered as Ian drew near enough to hear. "We've got to get help for him."
"We'll have to trust Wroebel's men," he whispered back. "Is he hurt?"
"I can't tell beyond that he's unconscious and has a lot of bruises."
That, Ian decided, was an understatement. Lee Stetson had more black and blue marks than normal skin showing. With Amanda's help, he turned the injured man on his side, revealing the bullet wound in his back. "At least it isn't bleeding at the moment," he comforted the man's wife.
"But it could start any time. Can you carry him?"
Within minutes, the Americans and their Polish escorts were on their way back to Warsaw, knowing that every moment counted with Lee's life hanging in the balance.
The Chancery, Warsaw, Poland * 3:15 p.m. (GMT+1)
Jaruslav Milowanowicz sat in his room at the Chancery, alone behind the closed door. He leaned over his bed and reached under it to pull out the exquisite rifle case that held his custom-made weapon. In his mind, opening the case and cleaning the gun was as much a sacrament as celebrating the Eucharist or baptizing a baby, and he did so with complete concentration on every minute detail of the process. As he polished the barrel at the end, he imagined what it would be like after noon on Friday, when he would either be dead or free from all that bound him. He decided that if he lived to escape, his first action would be to find a woman to be with in the ways denied him by his vows.
The Agency * 10:20 a.m. EST (GMT-5)
Dr. Smyth stabbed the ever-present cigarette holder in Billy Melrose's face as he worked into a rage. "You let my nephew – not to mention the two remaining senior field agents in this section – go with Reese on a wild goose chase for revenge against Leon Ivanich Scholk?!"
Billy almost smiled, thinking that this was the first time he had ever seen Smyth too angry to rhyme. "No, Dr. Smyth, I distinctly remember you telling me that the only hope I had of getting Colonel Marlowe assigned here as Francine's partner was to graciously give him back to his proper command and to let Amanda and Francine go with them."
Austin Smyth sat down heavily in the chair across from the section chief's desk. "I hate your memory."
"I don't." It wasn't often that Billy – or anyone – got to sit on even terms with the leader of the Agency. "Besides, Amanda and Francine were in position to receive urgent communiqués from Stetson's network in Poland, and Amanda was able to find Lee and get him to qualified medical help before it was too late. So your plan served a purpose."
"I suppose," the Penguin look-alike admitted, mollified. "Anything else on this threat?"
"Nothing more specific, but it seems that there may be new connections being made as we speak that could shed light on some of the evidence, and perhaps provide more." Billy didn't have full details, but Francine had dropped a few hints along the way in their most recent conversation half an hour ago.
"Keep me posted. I'd like to know when I no longer have to fear for the hair on my chinny chin chin." A ghost of his usual patronizing smile appeared. "Then we'll know the wolf won't be huffing and puffing to blow our house down."
Central Army Command Hospital, Warsaw, Poland * 5:55 p.m. (GMT+1)
"You are a very lucky man, Herr Volkmeister," the Polish army doctor said to Lee Stetson through General Wroebel in German. "The bullet miraculously – if you believe in such things – passed through your back without so much as nicking the bowel or the intestines. You'll be sore and weak for a while, but we have you on antibiotics to help avoid infection. You'll be ready for transfer to a German facility on Friday morning."
Lee thanked him in German and waited for the final instructions before bidding the doctor a good night. Amanda stepped out of the washroom and over to her husband's bedside as soon as she heard the door close. "I didn't understand more than every third word. Translation?" she demanded.
Leszek explained it in his flawless English. "We'll have to work this very carefully," he added.
"I'm not leaving Poland until this whole assassination thing is cleared up." Lee's determination showed in his voice, though his pale face belied his promise.
"What assassination thing?" Wroebel asked.
Amanda stared at Lee for a moment, then stood up and walked to the door. "I think you'd better come in here," she said out into the corridor, and a moment later, the Reeses, Ian, and Francine walked in.
"Do I need this?" General Reese queried, pointing at his collar. At Amanda's nod, he pressed the button and the soft hum of the white noise generator filled the sub harmonics of the room.
Over the next forty-five minutes, the American mole known as "Ludwig" learned the real names of his visitors and became an integral part of the team that hoped to save his country from a total meltdown.
Chapter 7 * Warsaw, Poland * 7:35 p.m. (GMT+1)
"Herr Volkmeister, if that is who you really are, please don't insult our intelligence by claiming you were simply doing your duty in telling the Interior Ministry about this so-called threat to the leaders of our country." Leon Ivanich Scholk was thrilled to have this man in his power. He knew exactly who Volkmeister really was before the confirmation call from Tolstoy, and now it was payback time for many reasons.
"It's the truth," Lee persisted through the excruciating pain in his head. No other part of his body hurt – at least that's what he thought, but it could have been that his head hurt so much that any other pain was insignificant in comparison.
"I doubt it But we will get to the bottom of this, because what you have stumbled onto is far more important than the life of one Western idiot."
"Really?"
Scholk struck his open palm with the clenched fist of his other hand, causing a reverberating thump inside Lee's throbbing skull. "Yes, Herr Volkmeister. Much, much more important."
Police Headquarters, Warsaw, Poland * 9:00 p.m. (GMT+1)
"What do you mean, 'I lost him!'? How do you lose a human being? Especially a West German!" The police chief's usually florid face had an even angrier hue as he screamed at the doctor in front of him. "I told you to make sure Mr. Volkmeister returned to his hotel safely!"
"Yes, sir, you did, and well, sir, we were going to do that, but then a man from the Interior Ministry came in and said he had some questions. We thought he would take the German with him, so…"
"So you thought that you were off the hook. You aren't – because the Interior Ministry never heard of any Rainer Volkmeister. The man who came in really is one of them, but he appears to be working without their knowledge, which points in exactly one direction."
The doctor's eyes widened. "Moscow. That would explain the drugs in his system."
"Drugs?"
A little while later, the Warsaw Police went to high alert and the Interior Ministry began an internal investigation on Gregor Borodin. Even behind the Iron Curtain, those working for Moscow weren't always welcome with open arms.
The Agency * 4:30 p.m. EST (GMT-5)
50 hours had passed, but Billy still had a splitting headache. Now, in addition to the second shift of agents out with their children on spring break, his three best agents were out of the country. Granted, they were away – or at least one of them was – dealing with a legitimate threat. The other two, well…
He knew that Amanda had gone to Reese to plead her case. He wasn't as upset with that as he perhaps should have been, because it meant that Lee's back was covered by the one person in the world who knew him better than he knew himself. Francine had gone because Ian had gone, and Ian was still technically an adjunct member of Reese's staff. Why Reese had gone to Europe – really gone, that is – remained somewhat of a mystery. And it seemed that Reese's son Kevin, an Eastern European analyst at the National Security Administration, had requested personal leave and gone with his father.
This had all the earmarks of a colossal firestorm awaiting the fatal spark.
The status meeting didn't go well from the beginning. The Soviets had lodged an official protest about the dragnet over the weekend, despite the fact that no one was caught in it – not even the intended target, Scholk. An operative was dead in South America because an agent from another intelligence group had sold out to one of the major drug cartels. And Rainer Volkmeister had been reported as ill to the West German mission in Warsaw, which then passed that information along to the Agency field office in Munich, which casually mentioned it in their report. Lee Stetson fallen ill while under deep cover was not in the plans.
If there was another shoe to be dropped, Billy didn't want to know about it anytime soon.
But it fell before he could go home for the day.
"SCHOLK IS IN POLAND?"
The bullpen fell silent as Billy's rage erupted from his office in fragments of sentences. "Is that why you stole my ag – " "You know and you didn't tell me." "I do understand the concept of need to know… I think I needed to know this earlier." "Oh." "I see." "Yes, that does put all this in a completely new light." "Have you met up with Lee yet?" "His cover has been tagged – apparently he got sick …" The conversation faded as Billy began to get more pieces of the puzzle from General Reese.
His headache still throbbed when he left that night, but at least now there were several good reasons for it that had nothing to do with budget issues.
Johns Hopkins University Medical Center, Baltimore, Maryland * 8:10 p.m. EST (GMT+5)
Lieutenant James Johnston felt strange just sitting in the Intensive Care Unit rather than taking decisive action as 4 years at the United States Naval Academy had taught him to do. Like most people, he hated hospitals. He also felt strange in civilian clothes, but his commanding officer had told him in no uncertain terms that he was not to wear his uniform on this particular assignment. Since that man had more than just career influence in his life, James was wont to follow those orders, for unlike most men, he had the father and brother of the woman he loved completely on his side.
Sandra looked so small and ghostly against the white sheets of her hospital bed, underneath the many leads and tubes which told the doctors that she was still alive, even if unconscious. James could do nothing but hold her hand and pray for her, and for her father and brother as they chased down the family demon together.
Izabelin, Poland * March 22, 1989 * 4:35 a.m. (GMT+1)
Lee Stetson had exactly two things on his mind: escape and Amanda. Amanda was normal, and had been for almost 5 ½ years. Escape, well, that wasn't normal, but it wasn't exactly unusual, either. His captor - no surprise that Scholk would be among the 93% of smart criminals in the world - had firmly bound his arms and wrists behind him at his trim waist with what felt like strong marine rope and there were only knots, no locks. He was also bound at the feet, although there seemed to be some play in the line there when he moved his legs back and forth. The bigger, more immediate problem was his position on the floor; he lay on his side facing a blackened wooden wall, penned on the other side by a heavy object he couldn't see. Any work he did would have to be performed within that very cramped space, as he couldn't maneuver himself upright between the wall and the object.
He had no idea how much time passed as he struggled with the ropes at his feet; eventually the lines gave a bit and he found himself able to use his legs to push against the object at his back. Infinitesimally but inexorably, the thing moved; he inched himself downward as the space below his waist opened up and soon used his bound but more mobile legs to leverage himself into a sitting position.
"Lovely," Lee mumbled to himself as he surveyed the rest of his cell; what little light there was came from cracks near the ceiling between the warped boards of the walls and in the gray murk he could see no door, though he knew there had to be one. Then he looked around again as his eyes became more focused; there was no door, after all. He looked up to see the bleak sameness of the ceiling, broken only by a square frame of slightly lighter color built into the far corner of the room. "I hate efficient kidnappers. They threw me in a potato cellar!" he muttered under his breath as he continued his efforts to free himself.
The heavy object proved to be a sturdy storage cabinet, which Lee moved inch by inch across the cellar with his knees and lower legs. All the while, he worried at the knots in the ropes binding his hands and willed himself to think in German, lest he be surprised by the appearance of Gregor Borodin, or worse, Scholk. He thought of Amanda and wished for her presence as he fought the lines behind his back; she had such a knack for the Houdini acts often needed in the spy business…
Noises from the room above sent Lee scurrying back to the corner, well out of what he thought would be the line of sight from the cellar access. The cabinet hadn't moved so much that it would be obviously in a different position at first glance, so it would, he thought, be okay.
Sure enough, the glance sent down into the confined space by the guard or whomever was at best cursory, and after several minutes of silence from the outside world, Lee resumed his efforts at room redecoration. As he did so, he focused his thoughts on his wife, praying that he could once again access that mysterious connection that existed between them.
Guest Officers' Quarters, Central Army Command, Warsaw * 5:43 a.m. (GMT+1)
"Lee!" Amanda sat straight up in the unfamiliar bed, sure that her beloved husband was beside her. The narrow cot mocked that conviction; moaning, she laid back against the still-warm pillows and closed her eyes to the tears that formed in her cocoa brown orbs.
"Amanda…." Lee's voice, clear but faint in the depths of her mind. "Amanda… I need your help…"
She knew. Beyond all comprehension and explanation, she knew what was happening. Giving herself over to the mystery, she focused and replied with all the love in her heart. "I'm here. Tell me what you need."
As she processed the experience later, Amanda realized that she really got only brief glimpses of images, but at the time it seemed as though Lee spoke to her in a continuous stream of information. A building she couldn't place that he said was the Interior Ministry; a name – Jaruslav – and a church, but not one she could identify; a rifle; the Olympic rings; Castle Square in Warsaw; Jaruzelski, Walesa, and a Roman Catholic cardinal that she knew to be Josef Cardinal Glemp; a dimly lit cellar. She had the sense that Lee couldn't completely separate what he knew from what he had been exposed to in Warsaw because the soundtrack came with apologies for the political faces thrown in. The last face she saw before the vision faded left her wide-awake and shivering in the early morning light.
Leon Ivanich Scholk.
Near the Kremlin * Moscow, USSR * 7:50 a.m. (GMT+3)
G.A. Tolstoy couldn't decide whether to be alarmed or relieved as he reported the latest developments to Feodor Petrovich Kaminsky. Either way, he decided to enjoy the taste of the imported French coffee Kaminsky served with the full breakfast spread of smoked meats, fresh imported croissants, premium butter, and Smucker's Strawberry Jam. Especially the jam.
"Let's recap what's happened thus far. We get Leon Ivanich safely out of reach of the Americans, but we failed to keep the microdot out of their hands and thus they know something is going on, but hopefully not exactly what." Kaminsky made his statement as Tolstoy lathered butter on a slice of the feathery light roll.
Georg Alexeivich scowled as he put two heaping spoons of the glistening crimson fruit spread on top of the butter. "Yes and no. Don't forget that Borodin reported that the West German knew enough to be a threat. However, Scholk reported that he has captured that same West German, who is really American agent with the code name 'Scarecrow'." He grinned with ghoulish pleasure. "And my American contact confirmed earlier via a routine drop that Scarecrow is Lee Stetson and that he is, indeed, the man in Poland."
Feodor Petrovich glanced up in alarm. "Stetson?"
"So it would appear."
The older man sipped his coffee for a long moment before he continued. "Do we know the whereabouts of his partner?"
"Uh… no, not exactly."
"What do you mean, not exactly?"
"Well, there is something confusing happening in Poland – "
"That's why we're doing what we're doing."
"No, I mean something beyond that. We've been shut out of the internal military intelligence network."
"Wroebel?"
"One and the same."
"I warned them. I've been warning them for years and years. But they didn't listen. Damned GRU." He bit into a piece of bread, chewed and swallowed without attention to the taste. "So, Wroebel has shut us out, but what does that have to do with the whereabouts of the Scarecrow's partner?"
"We think she's in Poland."
"Oh."
"It gets worse."
"How can it?" Kaminsky snorted. "Wait, I'm sure I don't want to know."
Tolstoy told him anyway.
"Bozhe moi." For a Communist, he'd been saying that a lot lately.
Warsaw, Poland * 7:30 a.m. (GMT+1)
Stefan limped his way toward the café near the Hotel Europejski, keeping his eyes moving in hopes of seeing Lee Stetson as the American made his way toward their meet. The Pole was a bit worried about Stetson after his neophyte mistake on Monday. With only two days before what Stefan took to be the most likely time to try an assassination –Good Friday – time was running out on his underground cell's efforts to stop it, and he needed his old contact in best form.
Half an hour later, he needed his contact in whatever form he could get him. Stetson hadn't shown.
Seriously concerned, the Polish man limped back to his flat and made a life- or-death decision. He turned on the radio transmitter inside his own apartment and prayed that the Communist regime would have its attention elsewhere while he tried to contact the Americans across a continent and an ocean.
Central Army Command, Warsaw, Poland * 8:20 a.m. (GMT+1)
"This is our communications area, which you can't enter for obvious reasons of national security, but which as you can see is very busy this morning." General Wroebel was in his element, showing off his army and his patriotism together. "I will confirm for you that the Russians were unhappy about our recent purchase of equipment from Japan…"
"They don't like the loss of income?" Francine asked.
"That too, but they're afraid we'll become too independent." He laughed, inviting the Americans to join him.
A Senior Staff Sergeant approached the Pole and handed him a slip of paper. Wroebel sighed and took a pen from the enlisted man, scribbled a reply, and sent the man on his way.
He moved his guests into another room as innocently as he could and closed the door "Is it safe?" the Eastern Bloc general asked the American general.
Reese nodded and touched his collar, activating the noise generator. Amanda noticed that Wroebel didn't seem the least bit surprised when the gentle hum started.
"We've been monitoring a ham radio transmission for the last thirty minutes. The operator is trying to get through to America – as he did on Saturday." If Wroebel expected a reaction, he was disappointed. "We haven't given our civilian counterparts this information because… well, because I haven't released it. To my ears, it is a lovesick man trying to find his lost love."
Ian's mind whirred at full speed as he thought through what he was seeing and hearing. He kept his counsel, however, until after Wroebel's next pronouncement.
"There is a West German civilian by the name of Rainer Volkmeister missing. Apparently, he was abducted by an official from the Interior Ministry working without knowledge of the ministry. We have a full alert on-going. And he was seen with your Mr. Scholk in a car about 10 kilometers outside the city last night."
"Ludwig," Ian pronounced.
Wroebel grinned while Reese shifted uncomfortably. "In the flesh," the Polish man acknowledged with a flourish.
"Now we have to get you out," the American general groused. "You are so blown."
"Why do you think I invited you?"
"Can we get back to Volkmeister?" Amanda demanded. "I realize that learning the identity of the highest ranking mole in a Soviet Bloc military unit doesn't happen often, but there is a man's life at stake here."
"I won't ask," Wroebel commented, his tone arid. "Volkmeister has disappeared, as I said. The man who took him out of the Warsaw Police Headquarters is Gregor Borodin, whom we now believe was a deep cover KGB mole within the Interior Ministry."
Ian's wry smile took some of the sting out of his words. "The Russians are so paranoid they even spy on their closest allies." He laughed. "Oh, wait, so do we Americans."
"Volkmeister," Amanda demanded again. "How do we find him?"
"I'm afraid that we'll have to wait on the folks from the Interior Ministry to follow Borodin to him."
"General Wroebel, I'm sure that the West Germans would not be happy about that answer if they knew the circumstances," Francine warned, speaking for the first time.
Wroebel shrugged, his unhappiness with the situation clear in his motions. "My government won't tell them the whole story, of course."
Izabelin, Poland * 9:30 a.m. (GMT+1)
Lee had managed to free himself completely from his bindings and to find a length of iron pipe with which to arm himself. The potato cellar in which he now stood had lightened a bit as the sun shifted around the building, making it a little easier for him to get his bearings. He sat waiting for someone to come, positioned off to the darker side of the room but within striking distance of the stairs that extended down into the room when the ceiling panel opened.
He didn't have long to wait. Heavy footsteps crossed the floor above, steady and sure in their motion toward the opening to the basement. A second, lighter set followed, but to Lee's ears seemed to stop just about where he believed, based on the layout of the exposed floor joists over his head, a wall separated two rooms. That would be Scholk, he thought. The second man could be either the ape who checked on him earlier or Borodin, but Lee laid money on the ape.
When the panel opened, Lee waited for the stairs to descend and for the prison guard to make his way down into the cellar. As the American anticipated, the man rounded the bottom of the stairs into the darker part of the room, and when he did, Lee sprang with vicious speed, knocking the much larger man unconscious with a single, silent blow to the back of his neck.
Unfortunately for Lee at this point, the man had been relying on his overpowering size and strength to keep the prisoner at bay. Lee had thus only the pipe to take as he ascended the steps. He did so as though he were the guard forcing the reluctant prisoner up the stairs on pain of severe injury – a light tread, a heavy tread, a light tread, a heavy tread – until he got to the top. His hope was that Scholk would be expecting his prisoner to still be bound, and that the deception of the stair climbing would further leave the KGB man lulled.
"Ah, Mr. Stetson," Scholk announced as Lee rounded the corner. "So nice to see you."
Thrown for a split second by Scholk's pronouncement of his real name, Lee hesitated before he leapt at the Russian, bringing the pipe around from behind his back with blinding speed to strike at the other man. It almost worked.
Scholk staggered as the pipe clouted his left shoulder with a bone- crunching sound. With his right, the Soviet agent reached for his own weapon, which Lee had time to note was a Smith and Wesson .38 before the first shot was fired.
It went wide of the American, who drove at Scholk's stomach with his chin tucked down against his chest. The impact sent the two men sprawling into the wall behind them while the gun went flying, landing against the wall next to the dining table. A true life-and-death wrestling match began as Lee, who had age and height on his side, and Leon Ivanich, who had a recent meal and weight on his side, struggled for supremacy on the ancient linoleum of a Polish dining room. They tipped chairs over and upended the heavy oak dining table as they thrashed about. The injury to Scholk's shoulder didn't seem to faze him as he finally gained the upper hand and body position over Stetson, pinning him in a full headlock
Lee closed his eyes and let himself go limp as the other man tightened his grip, praying for a moment he could turn to his advantage before Scholk really did send him into the la-la land of unconsciousness or worse. The moment came when the Russian leaned down to say something, loosening his grip around Lee's neck and putting his injured shoulder in a vulnerable position above Lee's own left shoulder. With all the power he could muster, Lee bucked his shoulder and upper body into Scholk's damaged shoulder, slamming the other man backward into the overturned table with a resounding clash of wood and human bone. Scholk slumped, groggy and moaning, while Lee struggled to his feet and made his way warily toward the front door.
Spying the butt of the Smith and Wesson, Scholk made a valiant effort to reach for the pistol, reaching it at the extreme of his extended arm and fingers. He fired as he pulled the gun around, hitting Lee in the lower back, just below his right kidney. The endeavor expended Scholk's remaining will power; he slumped unconscious on the floor as his prisoner tried to make good his escape.
Lee made it as far as the front door before blood loss, stress, and lack of sustenance brought him to his knees – and ultimately to the floor as he slipped into dark oblivion.
The Agency * 3:55 a.m. EST (GMT-5)
Chris Kringle enjoyed the overnight shift. He was the American who got to see what the rest of the world did as it ended its business day or went to work, went to bed or woke up. Most of the time, it was pretty routine stuff, but not this morning.
The European radio team called him over to their boards when a signal came through from England over the short wave monitors. "It's the Wagon Train again. He's calling a stampede."
No, this was definitely not routine. Santa walked the team through the emergency procedures as he picked up the landline and dialed Billy Melrose's home phone number.
Billy and Jeannie Melrose's Home * 4:00 a.m. EST (GMT-5)
Billy's headache was back full force. He listened through the pain as Santa relayed Stefan's information to him, painting a bleak picture of events in Poland. With much trepidation, Billy gave Chris Kringle the contact locations, codes and verifications for Amanda and Francine to pass to the Polish dissident, in hopes that somehow his two other crack agents could find the Scarecrow before time ran out and Poland came crashing down in flames, taking the rest of the world with it.
Central Army Command, Warsaw, Poland * 10:20 a.m. (GMT+1)
"Excuse me, General Wroebel. General Reese has an urgent communication coming in from his office in Berlin," the Command Sergeant Major said as the Americans and Wroebel with his executive staff came back onto the communications floor from the conference room where they had been sharing non-compromising information about areas of mutual concern other than Eastern Europe.
Reese understood the man's Polish but waited politely for his friend and agent-in-place to translate before he followed the sergeant to the phone. He waited for Wroebel's subtle signal that the call was private before he spoke to his real secretary. Kevin, Ian, Francine, and Amanda waited with barely concealed concern, thinking that the call was news about Sandra, but the older man waved in relief before his face grew solemn again.
When he completed the short call, he announced to his host that the team needed to leave for a consultation. "You'll join us for lunch, General, perhaps in Old Town?" he asked of Wroebel as the two shook hands.
"Certainly. In Castle Square near the column at noon?"
Plans confirmed, the Americans departed. Reese ordered their driver to take them right into downtown and leave them near the Hotel Europejski, keeping his counsel about the phone call the entire time. Only when the car had sped away did the Army officer gather his team around him, positioning each to cover any angle from which he might be watched as he spoke.
"The message was from Mr. Melrose for Amanda and Francine. The wagon train called in declaring a stampede. You're to go to condition red and check your drops as soon as possible."
"Right," Francine said. "Come on, Ian. We're going shopping." She tugged at his arm, but he resisted.
"Honey, don't you think I stick out just a bit?" he asked, concerned about his Marine Corps dress greens causing unwanted attention.
"Yes, you do. And that's perfect for what I need to do."
Ian acquiesced with an exaggerated shrug and eye roll toward the general, then strolled off arm-in-arm with Francine, following where she led.
"What do we get to do, Mrs. Stetson?" Kevin Reese asked, extending his arm to the beautiful American woman.
Amanda thought for a moment. "We get to be tourists. We can pretend we're a family. Your dad's uniform will give us the same advantage Francine will have with Ian."
Kevin grinned. "Does that mean I can call you 'Mom'?"
Amanda smiled back. "Oh, why not? But for the record, you're adopted."
Alex bowed low to Amanda. "Of course. You're my trophy wife, right?"
The trio laughed for the first time since their arrival in Warsaw as they set off toward the Old City of Warsaw and Amanda's assigned drops.
KGB Headquarters, Moscow, USSR * 12:45 p.m. (GMT+3)
G.A. Tolstoy was mildly concerned that neither Scholk nor Borodin's usual contact had reported in since midnight. He was seriously concerned that the KGB and the GRU had been shut out of the Polish military intelligence network, something that had happened only twice before – in 1971 and in 1981. Both times, militant factions of protestors caused the Soviet Union to clamp down on its northernmost satellite after heads rolled at the top of the intelligence unit.
Perhaps the events occurring now would dovetail nicely with the events slated for Friday and give the world that much more reason to turn a blind eye to the events to follow as Poland became more than a satellite of the Soviet Union.
Izabelin, Poland * 11:05 a.m. (GMT+1)
Gregor Borodin approached the house with mixed feelings. He didn't like Scholk at all. The man gave him what an American would call the heebie- jeebies. On the other hand, the Russian certainly knew his job. Borodin doubted that the American agent he had helped capture even realized that he had been interrogated under the influence of the drugs in the cocktail from the car the night before. Of course, how much of what the American had said was accurate, Borodin couldn't begin to know – and would probably never find out, anyway.
When he saw the front door standing open, the Polish man froze. A blood trail led down the front steps and onto the sidewalk, but disappeared in the brown grass of the small lawn. The bleeder must have made it into the woods safely, because no body graced the immediate vicinity. With great caution, Borodin made his way up the steps and into the house.
Scholk was just barely conscious, mumbling incoherently about the "damned American" and "mole in Army." Seeing the man's condition, Borodin sprang into action and called the local police station for medical assistance. He also had the presence of mind to hide the revolver and to move the table over to cover the bullet hole in the wall before the constables arrived.
Outside the Same House * 11:10 a.m. (GMT+1)
Lee Stetson had watched Gregor Borodin enter the building a few minutes ago from the bare safety of the trees. Now, he heard the distinct wailing of European sirens approaching and wanted nothing more than to crawl out to the lawn so the medics – such as they were – would find him and take him to the hospital.
That, however, would undoubtedly be the height of folly at this point, since Borodin would recognize him and was evidently part of whatever conspiracy Scholk was leading, which might or might not have anything at all to do with the supposed assassination attempt. The question then became: how could he extricate himself from this situation in his condition?
Maybe sleep would help, Lee thought as his eyes grew heavy. But he knew that it wasn't sleep coming on; his body, weakened and abused and injured, demanded his energies, and dragged him into unconsciousness.
Castle Square, Warsaw, Poland * 12 Noon (GMT+1)
General Wroebel waited with the air of a satisfied man at the base of the column commemorating the triumphant 17th century Polish king Zygmunt III. Wroebel thought of himself as one of Zygmunt's soldiers, fighting for the ideal of Poland as a strong and independent country on the world stage. Twenty five years ago, that belief had made the offer from the then-Captain Alexander Reese to provide information to the West irresistible to the then- Lieutenant Leszek Wroebel. He had started slowly, just one or two reports a year for the first three or four. Then the Prague Spring happened, and at the time he was promoted into a larger role within the Warsaw Pact joint staff command, giving him more access and greater reason to help the Americans. His handler, Reese, was also his friend; they had been posted in three different world capitols simultaneously over their respective careers and the unmarried Wroebel had been adopted by Kevin and Sandra Reese as an uncle – particularly after their mother's death. It didn't hurt that he had been at Sandra's christening and was her godfather. The thought that soon he would be living free in America filled him with joy.
So did the sight of his other, more newly-minted friend, Lieutenant Colonel Marlowe, strolling hand-in-love-intoxicated-hand with Francis Delaney as the couple made their way toward him. Wroebel would bet money that Francis Delaney was a cover name, but that bet – if he even got to make it – wouldn't be collected for at least a year, maybe more.
The two Reeses and Amara Kane followed closely behind Marlowe and his girlfriend. Wroebel wondered idly if there might be a spark between the elder Reese and the lovely but equally pseudonymous Kane, but quickly dismissed that idea when the first words out of Kane's mouth were…
…"Any word on Rainer Volkmeister?"
Leszek Wroebel checked another box off on his mental tally sheet. Volkmeister was an undercover American. "Not directly. But it seems our friend Gregor Borodin called for an ambulance in a little town called Izabelin about 8 kilometers northwest of the city limits."
"Borodin was the one who took Volkmeister from the Warsaw Police," Ian mused. "Then Volkmeister was seen with Leon Scholk. What are the odds…"
"…That Volkmeister, Scholk, and Borodin are – or were – all in the same place?" Kevin Reese finished the thought. "I'd say that there's at least a decent chance. But what about now?"
"We could go find out," the "Kane" woman said with poorly concealed anxiety.
Oh, no, Kane wasn't her real name, and Wroebel decided that she and "Volkmeister" were very seriously involved, perhaps even married. "I'd be willing to let two of you go with one of my most trusted aides," he allowed the Americans. "But only after we eat. We do need to be keeping up appearances, you know."
The beautiful brunette whose name wasn't really Kane only toyed listlessly with her food as the rest of the group enjoyed the meal. Only when Wroebel's adjutant arrived to take the woman and Colonel Marlowe out to Izabelin did she come back to any kind of life. The Polish general decided that he didn't want to be on the receiving end of the wrath in her eyes.
On the Way to Izabelin * 1:20 p.m. (GMT+1)
Ian had to think hard to keep himself from using Amanda's real name as he talked with her. He was trying to get her focused on something other than her worry for Lee, although he knew if he were in her shoes worrying about Francine, the tactics would work just about as well.
"I know what you're trying to do, Colonel. It won't work."
"Oh, come on, Amara. You've got to know if Francis really has the hots for me," he tried, urging Amanda with his eyes to play even if just for the benefit of the driver and General Wroebel's adjutant in the front seat.
She played, but not with what Ian had become used to as Amanda's usual perky energy. "I'd say that's pretty obvious, Ian. She drools when she talks about you."
That happened to be the truth, but Ian hadn't heard about it before and the revelation sent him into spasms of choked laughter.
Amanda at least smiled at his antics, which was an improvement. The smile disappeared as the car slowed to a stop in front of a small wood-framed house at the end of a dirt road.
"This is the house," Wroebel's adjutant said as he got out of the car to open Amanda's door.
The American woman crept up the cracked cement walkway, pausing every few feet to listen to the sounds around her. Just as she reached the front steps, something caught her attention and she motioned for Ian and the other men to stop in their tracks. She listened for about five seconds before she took off at a dead run into the forested area beside the building.
Ian stayed the two Poles with a hand and followed Amanda. He found her cradling her husband's head and calling his real name as softly as she could, trying to rouse him.
"He's alive," she whispered as Ian drew near enough to hear. "We've got to get help for him."
"We'll have to trust Wroebel's men," he whispered back. "Is he hurt?"
"I can't tell beyond that he's unconscious and has a lot of bruises."
That, Ian decided, was an understatement. Lee Stetson had more black and blue marks than normal skin showing. With Amanda's help, he turned the injured man on his side, revealing the bullet wound in his back. "At least it isn't bleeding at the moment," he comforted the man's wife.
"But it could start any time. Can you carry him?"
Within minutes, the Americans and their Polish escorts were on their way back to Warsaw, knowing that every moment counted with Lee's life hanging in the balance.
The Chancery, Warsaw, Poland * 3:15 p.m. (GMT+1)
Jaruslav Milowanowicz sat in his room at the Chancery, alone behind the closed door. He leaned over his bed and reached under it to pull out the exquisite rifle case that held his custom-made weapon. In his mind, opening the case and cleaning the gun was as much a sacrament as celebrating the Eucharist or baptizing a baby, and he did so with complete concentration on every minute detail of the process. As he polished the barrel at the end, he imagined what it would be like after noon on Friday, when he would either be dead or free from all that bound him. He decided that if he lived to escape, his first action would be to find a woman to be with in the ways denied him by his vows.
The Agency * 10:20 a.m. EST (GMT-5)
Dr. Smyth stabbed the ever-present cigarette holder in Billy Melrose's face as he worked into a rage. "You let my nephew – not to mention the two remaining senior field agents in this section – go with Reese on a wild goose chase for revenge against Leon Ivanich Scholk?!"
Billy almost smiled, thinking that this was the first time he had ever seen Smyth too angry to rhyme. "No, Dr. Smyth, I distinctly remember you telling me that the only hope I had of getting Colonel Marlowe assigned here as Francine's partner was to graciously give him back to his proper command and to let Amanda and Francine go with them."
Austin Smyth sat down heavily in the chair across from the section chief's desk. "I hate your memory."
"I don't." It wasn't often that Billy – or anyone – got to sit on even terms with the leader of the Agency. "Besides, Amanda and Francine were in position to receive urgent communiqués from Stetson's network in Poland, and Amanda was able to find Lee and get him to qualified medical help before it was too late. So your plan served a purpose."
"I suppose," the Penguin look-alike admitted, mollified. "Anything else on this threat?"
"Nothing more specific, but it seems that there may be new connections being made as we speak that could shed light on some of the evidence, and perhaps provide more." Billy didn't have full details, but Francine had dropped a few hints along the way in their most recent conversation half an hour ago.
"Keep me posted. I'd like to know when I no longer have to fear for the hair on my chinny chin chin." A ghost of his usual patronizing smile appeared. "Then we'll know the wolf won't be huffing and puffing to blow our house down."
Central Army Command Hospital, Warsaw, Poland * 5:55 p.m. (GMT+1)
"You are a very lucky man, Herr Volkmeister," the Polish army doctor said to Lee Stetson through General Wroebel in German. "The bullet miraculously – if you believe in such things – passed through your back without so much as nicking the bowel or the intestines. You'll be sore and weak for a while, but we have you on antibiotics to help avoid infection. You'll be ready for transfer to a German facility on Friday morning."
Lee thanked him in German and waited for the final instructions before bidding the doctor a good night. Amanda stepped out of the washroom and over to her husband's bedside as soon as she heard the door close. "I didn't understand more than every third word. Translation?" she demanded.
Leszek explained it in his flawless English. "We'll have to work this very carefully," he added.
"I'm not leaving Poland until this whole assassination thing is cleared up." Lee's determination showed in his voice, though his pale face belied his promise.
"What assassination thing?" Wroebel asked.
Amanda stared at Lee for a moment, then stood up and walked to the door. "I think you'd better come in here," she said out into the corridor, and a moment later, the Reeses, Ian, and Francine walked in.
"Do I need this?" General Reese queried, pointing at his collar. At Amanda's nod, he pressed the button and the soft hum of the white noise generator filled the sub harmonics of the room.
Over the next forty-five minutes, the American mole known as "Ludwig" learned the real names of his visitors and became an integral part of the team that hoped to save his country from a total meltdown.