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 9 * Central Army Command, Warsaw, Poland * 3:50 p.m. (GMT+1)
Leszek Wroebel snarled into the phone in a tone that left no doubt as to his opinion on whatever the subject at hand was. Without disconnecting that call, he picked up another handset and bawled a series of staccato orders into it before he went back to the original call and had a slightly more normal conversation. Amanda and Lee watched all of this from Wroebel's office, observing the communications center go in full alert status but not clear on the reason.
"What gives?" Ian asked as he and Francine came into the small room bearing glasses of hot tea and a plate of cookies.
"Don't know," Amanda murmured in a low voice, conscious that Lee was trying to pick up details from the conversation outside.
After a few minutes, Lee shifted in his wheelchair to turn toward his three fellow Americans and filled them in on the situation. "Kevin and Alex are following Borodin and Scholk through a southern suburb of Warsaw."
"Let's go," Francine said, draining the tea in her glass in one long swallow.
"Francine, we're kind of stuck here until Ludwig tells us we can leave," Ian reminded her.
The man in question stuck his head through the open doorway as though on cue. "You all want to have some fun? I've got a surveillance van with your names on it."
Ian pushed Lee's wheelchair at warp speed behind the Polish general as the four upright and one sitting adults hurried down the hallway toward the back exit of the communications building. Wroebel drove the van, which barely had room for Lee's wheelchair and the passengers. Lee at least was mobile enough to get in and out of the van with some help – which led to a heated discussion as the group sped toward a rendezvous with the Reeses and two other surveillance units in the hunt.
"I'm not staying in the van if there's a chance to catch these guys on foot," Lee declared.
"What, you going to chase them down in your chariot of fire?" Francine rebutted, swatting his arm.
Lee grinned. "Maybe."
"There's a problem with that theory, dear," Amanda interjected with a frown at her husband. "You aren't really here, and you certainly aren't here with us."
"No sweat," Wroebel contradicted. "Colonel Marlowe, check the bin over your head. You should find some interesting possibilities in there."
Sure enough, Ian came up with a very good disguise for the non-existent Stetson; in ten minutes, Lee was transformed from a 30-something American into a 70-something Polish war veteran.
Leszek Wroebel smiled at the image in the rearview mirror. "If anyone approaches you, just pretend that you received an injury to your vocal cords and we'll be good to go," he approved as the CB crackled to life under his hand. His short conversation with the driver of the Reeses' car was apparently good news, because a few minutes later he pulled over in an open field. "Everybody out," he called. "Alex and Kevin are chasing Borodin and Scholk on foot, and Scholk is starting to falter."
Ian and Francine followed Wroebel into the bordering woods, while Amanda and Lee stayed near the van and tried to be a father and daughter rather than a husband and wife.
In the Woods South of Warsaw, Poland * 4:15 p.m. (GMT+1)
Gregor Borodin led the way as he helped the injured Carl Scholk through dense forest, straining to keep the voices of their pursuers in the distance. "I told you Castle Square was too open," he hissed to his companion when he stopped their progress for a moment to get his bearings. "I should have gone with my initial instincts."
Scholk sneered at him, but it might have been as much pain as derision. "That would have worked just about as well."
"At least no one would have seen us. Let's go." Borodin started off again toward the east, but Scholk pulled him back.
"This way," he insisted, pointing west-northwest.
"There's a road that way."
"No, the road is to the east."
"It's west of here."
"I think you're wrong. I'm going west and you're coming with me." Scholk pulled a .38 caliber pistol out of his coat pocket.
Gregor eyed the weapon with fear. "We're going west," he acquiesced, turning around and leading Scholk back the other way. It was a bad idea, but Borodin thought that the possibility of capture was the lesser of two bad ideas. Arguing with the business end of a gun was the height of folly.
Western Forest Roadway, Outside Warsaw, Poland * 4:20 p.m. (GMT+1)
"Amanda, do you hear voices?" Lee wheeled his chair around toward the woods, forcing his wife to follow him away from the unmarked van.
"I think so. I can't tell where they're coming from, though."
"Get the gang back here with that spectacular whistle of yours, would you? I've got a feeling…"
Before Amanda could get her lips puckered, Alex and Kevin Reese emerged from the western edge of the woods just at the shoulder of the road, dejected to find that their quarry was not already in custody. "Damn," Alex muttered to the spy couple under his breath. "We must have been following an animal instead of people."
Amanda wiped the frown from her face as she took a breath to whistle. The piercing birdcall caused a flock of birds in the nearby trees to take flight with a resounding swish of beating wings. It also brought Francine, Ian, and General Wroebel running from the northwest just as Gregor Borodin stumbled out from the southeast with Carl Scholk just behind.
Scholk reacted first, popping off a shot from his pistol toward the three people emerging opposite him across the field. Borodin threw himself to the ground, apparently afraid that Scholk would fire a bullet into him either by accident or design, which caused Scholk to stumble and fall hard against the last tree before the tall, browned grass of the open meadow.
Francine and Ian moved faster than the others toward the wanted pair, but Scholk's second shot whined between the two Americans with frightening accuracy, considering he was still off balance at the roots of the tree. The couple ducked and continued forward, slowed a bit by their posture. Kevin Reese caught up with them as Scholk fired a third time.
Ian fell with a muffled curse. When Francine dropped to her knees beside him, he waved her off. "Just get the bastard," he growled. "I'll make my way back."
She hesitated for a moment, but seeing his determination, she pushed herself up to a crouch and crept off after the advancing young NSA man.
Borodin, staying on his stomach, snaked his way unnoticed toward the road, trying to get as far across the field as he could under cover of the meadow grass. When he was safely past Kevin, he bolted upright and sprinted in the general direction of the trees on the other side. Amanda saw him; with incredible speed, she moved around in front of him and steered him back toward the road, where General Reese and Lee waited.
Scholk, seeing Francine and Kevin coming at him from the front, took stock of his options as he gathered his strength. When he saw that the two Americans were committed to their course in his direction, he sprang up and took off to the left, away from the action near the van. His action was sudden enough that neither the man nor the woman could react right away; when he heard them turn around, he counted to five and feinted right, flew 50 meters, then feinted left again.
Meanwhile, Amanda worked Borodin closer to her back up team step by step. When the Pole tried to get around her, she kicked at him with a vicious roundhouse that didn't connect solidly enough to drop him but did slow him down enough to stop his escape. Leszek Wroebel moved to cover the northern edge of the field as back at the van, Alex shuffled away from Lee to cover the front, leaving Lee to wheel his way closer to the open back end of the vehicle.
Breathing hard, Scholk was still on his feet and moving closer to the edge of the woods where his pursuers had been searching for him. He was just past the center of the field, thinking he was home free, when Ian Marlowe reached up and body slammed him to the damp, cold earth.
Ian called for help before Scholk could recover, and both Francine and Kevin came at a run. That didn't prevent the desperate Russian from trying to return the favor of the wrestling move as Kevin moved into position to control the man's feet. Ian managed to restrain Scholk's arms and with Kevin's help, sit the man up just in time for Francine to deliver a right cross that knocked the renegade unconscious.
Amanda heard the scuffle behind her but ignored it as she continued to push Gregor Borodin into the trap set by the two generals and her husband. She and the American officer stalked the Interior Ministry operative, moving him toward the front of the van and the hulking Pole waiting there.
Borodin skittered around like a trapped animal – which, in many ways, he was – as he searched for an escape. Not recognizing the man in the wheelchair as the Scarecrow, Gregor thought he saw an opportunity as the pincer closed around him. He darted to the right and slid under Alex's grasping arms, then dodged Wroebel's extended hands as he ran past the back of the van.
Amanda gave one sharp whistle. Lee thrust the wheelchair forward with as much force as he could muster, just in front of the fleeing enemy agent. Borodin fell right over the outstretched leg rest, pulling the chair – and Lee – down on top of him.
"Nice to meet you," Lee grinned with a fearsome leer. "Officially, that is."
The last of Borodin's will drained out of him as he sagged under the weight of his burdens. "Stetson."
"That's Scarecrow to you," Amanda replied, kneeling down beside her husband. "I think we should call you Wheel-Along Cassidy now."
Lee laughed, and even Ian, whose thigh had a bullet hole through it, laughed with him.
The Agency * 3:45 p.m. EST (GMT-5)
Billy Melrose had to wonder if the picture in his mind was anything close to what the actual scene would reveal if the whole capture of Borodin and Scholk were available on video. Lee, Amanda, and Francine were still laughing over the last little bit of their report as their section chief tried to clear his mind. "Okay, this will make really good reading when you get back. How's Ian?"
"The doctor says he'll be fine – just a flesh wound that went cleanly through the only fat in his entire body," Francine replied.
Billy smirked, even though the effect would be lost to his agent behind the Iron Curtain. "I won't ask how you know that. Anything new on the assassination?"
"Not yet, Billy," Lee said. "I'm expecting an update within the hour. What should we do with our guests?"
That posed an interesting question. Getting the two men out through the Embassy would be a major diplomatic crisis waiting to happen, but the only team in place to evacuate them illicitly didn't have the equipment or the resources on the ground to… "Have you talked with General Reese about this?"
Amanda sighed. "No, sir. We didn't think it would be appropriate to without your approval."
"Well, now you have it. And I'm sure that he has excellent reasons to want Scholk on American soil as quickly and quietly as possible. Let me know – check in within 2 hours so you catch the status conference."
"Yes, sir," three voices chorused from Poland. The static of the trans- Atlantic call ended with the audible click of a broken connection, and Billy settled back in his chair. A long sigh escaped his lips as the headache went away for the first time in several days – even if only for a few minutes.
Warsaw, Poland * 10:00 p.m. (GMT+1)
"Father, thank you for coming by," Stefan said as he allowed the rector of St. Maria's into his small apartment near the church.
"Well, you're welcome, but I'm not sure I've got much for you." The man followed Stefan into the dining area, where a bottle of schnapps and two glasses sat waiting. "It's very interesting to me that none of the priests who were involved in the underground university system as rectors have been allowed to participate in this service."
Stefan looked at the priest with surprise and poured out two large shots of the peppermint beverage. "They really did that?"
"Oh, yes. I got nothing. Except…"
"Yes?" the resistance leader prompted.
"Jaruslav Milowanowicz is part of the planning commission and he's the designated photographer."
Stefan threw back his drink before he answered. "So all we have to do tomorrow is look for a skinny priest with a camera in a crowd of thousands. That should be a piece of cake."
The irony wasn't lost on the pastor. "Absolutely. Especially with your vast team of what, 3 or 4 aging dissidents with no training beyond the two years of mandatory military service?"
"I'll have another," Stefan moaned, reaching for the bottle of schnapps.
Central Army Command, Warsaw, Poland * 11:20 p.m. (GMT+1)
"No help," Lee groaned, hanging up the phone after his conversation with Stefan. "No help at all." He looked around the small conference room in hopes that someone would disagree with him.
Amanda, ever the optimist, did just that. "Actually, we know more now than we did. We know to look for Milowanowicz posing as a photographer."
"Just a little bit of help," her husband amended. "Meanwhile, we still have our guests to worry about."
"Yes," General Wroebel nodded. "I can keep them until morning, but after that, we risk someone reporting to the Interior Ministry, and that's a can of worms we just don't want to open."
Amanda, who found Wroebel's colloquial American English understated and charming, laughed as she stretched her legs out under the table. She looked across at the other general with furrowed forehead. "Do you have some kind of network we could tap into in East Germany that would get us a step closer to the West?"
Alex Reese reached for the bottle of slivovitz as he shook his head. "I should be so lucky." He poured several shots and began passing them out to the assembled group. "Maybe the embassy can be of some help, even if we cannot take our guests to the embassy."
"What do you mean, General?" Ian asked, accepting a shot glass from the ranking officer.
"Well, we'll need a place to keep them on ice until after the service in Castle Square, but…"
When he was finished outlining his plan, Francine whistled in appreciation. "This is either the second most foolhardy thing I've ever heard or the second most daring."
"Second most?" Reese inquired with a skeptically raised eyebrow.
"Lee and Amanda continue to hold first place ."
"Stemwinder," the general murmured with a choked laugh.
"I would have chosen the Nightcrawler case, myself," Lee said, adding nothing of value to the conversation.
"Drink your alcohol, Stetson," Francine advised, taking her own suggestion.
Before Lee could fight back, Amanda raised her glass. "To confusion for the enemy," she toasted.
"Confusion," the group echoed.
The American Embassy, Warsaw, Poland * March 24, 1989 * 8:20 a.m. (GMT+1)
Kevin Reese was wondering just at the moment if the stress of Scholk's continued interference in his father's life hadn't sent the general around the bend and over the edge. The older man had put together a scheme that was just this side of Emerald City in terms of fanciful ideals and dragooned Kevin into playing the patsy – which at this point consisted of standing at the reception desk of the American Embassy waiting for the secretary to find the charge d'affairs to handle his peculiar question.
After a few impatient minutes, the official came out with the secretary. "Mr. Reese, how nice to meet you. Please, come this way." He led Kevin back to a small conference room off the main hallway. "Have a seat. Can I get you some coffee?"
"No, thank you. This shouldn't take too long, Mr….?"
"Oh, sorry. Mr. Fonzarelli."
"You must be joking," Kevin blurted before he could stop himself.
"Unfortunately, no, I'm not, and before you ask, no, I don't go by 'the Fonz.' Now, what can I do for you?"
Kevin smiled disingenuously. "What's the biggest thing you've ever shipped in a diplomatic pouch?"
KGB Headquarters, Moscow, USSR * 10:35 a.m. (GMT+3)
G.A. Tolstoy found himself on the receiving end of news that immediately started an ulcer brewing in his gut. "Missed how many check-ins?"
Feodor Petrovich Kaminsky wandered into the small, smoky office while Tolstoy still had the phone pressed to his ear; the active agent waved his mentor into a chair as he listened to the person on the other end of the call. Kaminsky sat down and put his feet up on the ancient desk, contentedly misreading the expression on Tolstoy's face.
He could not, however, misread what the man said when he slammed down the phone. "I'm guessing there's trouble."
"What's the line from that decadent Western musical, 'trouble with a capital T'? We've got it. Borodin and Scholk both missed their evening and morning check-ins with the agent-in-place. Borodin has been cleared by the Interior Ministry – under pressure from us, of course – but did not appear at work yesterday or this morning. We still have no way inside the Central Army Command; our plant within the staff was transferred last week in the normal course of things but he had not been able to recruit a replacement, nor was his replacement from the field a potential for our operation."
"But our shooter is still good, right?"
"Is that all you care about?" Tolstoy exploded, rising from his chair.
"Sit down," Kaminsky roared, waiting to see that the other man obeyed before he continued. "Yes, it is all I care about. If the priest can wreak havoc in Warsaw later today, then within seven days a full division of Soviet troops will occupy the country and we will be well on our way to regaining control of the Soviet empire."
"The lives of these men mean nothing?" Tolstoy spoke through clenched teeth.
"Of course their lives mean something. But they knew when they 'signed on the dotted line' that their lives were sacrifice for the cause – just as mine and yours are, potentially."
The younger man sat back in his chair, the reminder that duty might take his life an ointment on his burning anger. "You're right, of course." He placed his hands on his desk as if in supplication. "So, what do we do?"
"We wait."
Castle Square, Warsaw, Poland * 10:00 a.m. (GMT+1)
Father Jaruslav Milowanowicz was a happy man as he made his way up the stairs into his sniper's nest with another load of photographic equipment. He was happy in part because he had put his 30 pieces of silver to good use the night before doing several things that were both immoral and illegal and because in this load he had his precious rifle. The gun was hidden in a case amongst the pieces of a Japanese-made tripod – but he couldn't hide his smile.
The shoe shop proprietor took his smile to be one of contentment at the placement of the second floor apartment relative to the stage, and said so when the priest came back downstairs.
"Yes, it is a great location," Milowanowicz nodded, allowing the man to believe his own explanation. "Would you like to have a souvenir picture taken on the stage before the service?"
The shopkeeper stared happily for a few seconds before he replied with an enthusiastic, "Yes! I'll get my family ready."
Jaruslav sauntered away, content to know that the shopkeeper would never get the picture that would never actually be recorded on film, even if the shutter opened and closed. He had something else entirely on his mind.
Castle Square, Warsaw, Poland * 11:20 a.m. (GMT+1)
General Wroebel had been able to outfit the six Americans with portable transmitters from his special operations department, even though he had not been able to join their surveillance himself. He had also provided each person with a suitable disguise, not an easy task with a man on crutches and a man who was clearly still more comfortable in a wheelchair than walking.
Ian, whose Marine Corps physique had given him a decided advantage with the ladies until Francine captured his heart, wore the athletic uniform of an East German national track team member. The explanation for his injury was simple – a torn ligament in his knee.
Francine wore the woman's version of the same uniform, posing as Ian's teammate and fiancée. It wasn't a stretch in anyone's imagination, except that Lee commented that Francine wasn't bulked up enough to be a Communist athlete. Francine and Ian patrolled the section of the square farthest away from the stage.
The father and son team of Alex and Kevin Reese wore simple laborers' clothes and wandered the middle section of the crowd, meandering separately but within line of sight of each other. They both spoke Polish well enough to pass as men from Gdansk, so they had the advantage of being able to truly mingle with the people.
Leszek was particularly proud of Lee's outfit and the cover he had created for the husband and wife team. Lee sat in his wheelchair and wore an officer's tunic with the Afghanistan Service Ribbon and a Hero of the Worker's Party medal prominently displayed. For additional authenticity, Wroebel had added a scar across Lee's forehead and grayed his hair to make him more of a heroic figure. Amanda was dressed as Lee's personal attendant in the slim-fitting olive skirt and jacket of the Polish Army Nursing Corps. The uniforms gave the couple enough clout that they could move about the area directly in front of the stage without interference or suspicion; a crash course in the vernacular and Amanda's quick ear gave her just enough Polish to be politely discouraging to anyone who would ask too many questions of the hero in the chair. He was, she learned to say, suffering from the stress of saving the lives of his entire company.
The three pairs circulated within their zones, speaking to each other over the open transmitters in short, simple Polish sentences for fear of being overheard speaking English. Castle Square filled as noon approached, making it more difficult for the teams to stay in sight of each other, and even, in the Reeses' case, of the other member of the pair. But try as they may, no one saw anything out of the ordinary in the crowd or in the buildings or trees surrounding the stage.
A motorcade brought Josef Cardinal Glemp and Lech Walesa to the square at 11:55; the entourage of priests and deacons with them formed a processional opposite the stage. At the stoke of noon, Glemp's voice resounded from the crackling loudspeakers around the venue. "The betrayal of Jesus happened in this way…"
KGB Headquarters, Moscow, USSR * 2:10 p.m. (GMT+3)
"You seem to be in a better mood, comrade," Kaminsky noted to Tolstoy as the older man slid into a chair across the desk from the object of his observation.
"I am, Feodor Petrovich. Look what we just got from one of our agents within the American Embassy." He passed a shiny roll of paper to his mentor.
Kaminsky got out his reading glasses and unrolled the facsimile, shaking his head at the technology. "Well, well, well," he said dryly several seconds later. "If he isn't the spitting image of General Alexander Reese."
"You noticed. And do you find it equally interesting that his question to the embassy had to do with the size of a package for the diplomatic pouch?"
"Immensely more, as a matter of fact. How big?"
Tolstoy checked his notes. "I quote: 'three boxes the size of standard American refrigerators.'"
"Really?" Kaminsky pursed his lips. "I presume that Reese the younger is in Poland with his father, and that we got this from the embassy in Warsaw."
"Yes and no, as a matter of fact. We got it from the embassy here. Apparently, the Americans in Poland had no clue what to do with packages of that size for the pouch, so they called the embassy here. Out man inside fielded the call and was able to get a surveillance photo of the inquirer."
"Amazing how dense Americans can be. Do we know what flight these boxes are to be on?"
Again, Tolstoy referred to his notes, revealing the information to his clandestine superior.
"I think we need to inspect that plane before it leaves, don't you, Georg Alexeivich?"
Castle Square, Warsaw, Poland * 1:10 p.m. (GMT+1)
Wojciech Jaruzelski arrived in his own motorcade just as the priests began to read about the actual crucifixion of Jesus Christ. Amanda thought the timing apt; Jaruzelski was certainly doing a lot of figurative crucifying these days as the Pontius Pilate of a morally and spiritually bankrupt system. The Polish leader was now on the platform with the cardinal and the leader of the Solidarity movement – three sitting ducks for any hunter willing to take the risk.
She and Lee had thus far had no luck in their search for Milowanowicz, although Francine and Ian were pretty sure that they had seen him mingling with the throng during the opening procession. As she carefully pushed her injured husband through the milling worshippers, the two carried on a low- key conversation in Amanda's limited Polish and German. She felt the chair bump something or someone just as Lee said, "Look out!" in hissed English.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," Amanda said in Polish to the man she had broadsided as Lee offered his own profuse apologies.
"Not to wor – " the man started, then saw who he was talking to. "Lee, Amanda," he whispered, dropping his head down close to the pair.
Lee glanced up and recognized the speaker. "Stefan!"
"Shhhh," he advised. "Better that we not be seen together too much."
"I agree. Are we set to pick up the network?"
"Absolutely. I have the new codebook. I'll be in touch." He shook Lee's hand, nodded to Amanda, and left them in the crowd.
Lee turned to Amanda as best he could in the confining chair. "You know, you christened this particular part of the mission Operation Lazarus. It looks like it was a success."
She smiled in return. "Lazar zheet."
Lee just laughed. "Indeed, Lazarus lives."
The Agency * 8 10 a.m. EST (GMT-5)
Dr. Austin Smyth had his ever-present cigarette holder firmly clenched in his teeth as he listened to the latest from Billy about the doings in Poland. When the section chief finished, the head of the Agency took the cigarette holder out of his mouth and gesticulated with it as he talked. "They are cracked in the head if they think the diplomatic pouch thing is going to work," he said, though his tone was surprisingly approving. "But why three?"
"That part I don't know, sir. I have the sense that the team knows more than they're telling me, maybe for legitimate reasons, maybe not."
"With Alex Reese over there, who knows? Assuming they make the diplomatic flight, when are they due back?"
Billy did some calculating in his head. "About 9:30 tonight at Dulles."
"Make sure you have Colonel Marlowe's promotion paperwork when you meet them."
"Are you sure he'll make the cut?"
Smyth grinned. "Quite apart from the fact that he's earned the whole bird, there will be hell to pay for someone if you don't get your newest recruit and first full-fledged permanent military liaison."
Billy chuckled. "As you say, sir."
The Sniper's Nest, Castle Square, Warsaw, Poland * 2:25 p.m. (GMT+1)
Milowanowicz paced inside the tiny room, itchy to complete his mission and to know whether he would live to see another sunrise – or, for that matter, another sunset. The service, once one of his favorites because of the power and drama of the story, just seemed to drag by this time; he was waiting to hear the words, "It is finished," which would be his cue to settle on the balcony prior to the final reading.He looked at his watch and grimaced when he saw that he had another half hour to linger in limbo. Perhaps it was time to take a few more pictures to pass the time.
Castle Square, Warsaw, Poland * 2:43 p.m. (GMT+1)
"Lee, Amanda," Francine whispered into the microphone in the collar of her athletic jacket, an edge to her tone. "Ten o'clock from center stage, second floor." She still spoke in German
A moment later, Lee replied. "Looks like a photographer, Francine."
"Look closer," Ian interjected. "The man with the camera."
Lee mimed the words to help Amanda get the meaning – which her gasp over the open connection verified. "Father Milowanowicz."
Alex Reese joined the conversation. "I can see him clearly. He couldn't have found a better spot for a sniper's nest."
"Why?" Lee asked as he and Amanda began to work their way through the crowd toward the building in which Milowanowicz had made his lair.
"The angles. He could hit every person on that platform in the space of twenty seconds with a full magazine."
"Dad, that's assuming he's going after more than one or two people. I'd think Glemp and either Walesa or Jaruzelski rather than the whole lot. More confusion."
"Kevin, you scare me sometimes." He made eye contact with his son across an inlet of worshippers and the two men began to sidle their way to the would-be assassin's perch.
Ian rolled his eyes as he tried to remember not to address the older Reese by his title. "Alex, you and Kevin will have to do the stairs in the building if you can get in."
"Yeah, we figured. Any idea what building?"
Amanda answered. "We're working on it."
KGB Headquarters, Moscow, USSR * 4:46 p.m. (GMT+3)
"Damn!" Tolstoy, not usually given to expletives unless followed by the words "Capitalist pigs", continued with a streak that would have made any sailor proud.
"Bad news?" Kaminsky asked, steepling his fingers with a calmness he clearly didn't feel.
"General Alexander Reese has been in Poland all week in conference with Leszek Wroebel with the permission of the General Secretary's office in Warsaw. His aide de camp is a U.S. Marine who was involved in the release of Sandra Reese from our hospitality three years ago. Kevin Reese, who it now seems works for an American intelligence agency, has been with him – as have two other people whose identities it now seems clear are covers and who very likely also work for an American intelligence agency."
"Take a deep breath," the older man counseled. "So where are they now?"
"Wroebel is in his office. The idiots don't know where the others are."
"And?"
"I think Wroebel will be in that third box in the diplomatic package."
"Really?"
"I think he's been more than an obstructionist. I think he's been the leak to American intelligence."
Kaminsky thought for a second or two. "That explains a lot." He paused. "You have a team ready?"
"Oh, yes. Ready, waiting, and willing to do whatever it takes to stop that plane."
Castle Square, Warsaw, Poland * 2:52 p.m. (GMT+1)
"Alex, the balcony is on the second floor above a shoe repair shop that faces Piwna Street," Amanda relayed as Lee had to speak with a couple of intrigued school children.
"Piwna Street, got it. We're just coming past Zyggy now."
"Zyggy?" Francine laughed. "Oh, the statue. We're about 20 yards in front of it on our way to find you, Amanda."
"We're at the corner of the square and Piwna Street almost under the porch."
Two minutes ticked by as the others found their way to Lee and Amanda. Kevin blanched as he listened to the priest at the podium on the platform. "That's the next to the last reading. He just said, 'It is finished.'"
"We don't have much time, then. Let's go, Kev." Alex raised his hand briefly in farewell to the others and turned to make his way onto Piwna Street.
Kevin took the time to kiss Amanda's and Francine's cheeks, then hurried after his father.
"Well, I feel useless," Ian commented, leaning against the wall of the building to give his arms a rest from the crutches.
"Hey, if I can take a guy down in this thing, think of the possibilities you have with arm extenders," Lee quipped, the tension plain on his handsome face.
Ian brightened a little. "You're right."
"And if Kevin and Alex can corner Milowanowicz…" Amanda let the idea hang.
"Got it," Francine and Ian finished together. "We'll set up on this side," Ian continued.
Lee chortled as he and Amanda prepared to move to the other side of the building. "You two sound more like a married couple every day."
The Sniper's Nest, Castle Square, Warsaw, Poland * 2:57 p.m. (GMT+1)
Jaruslav saw Walesa turn to go back to his seat on the stage after his prayer. He knew there would be 90 seconds of silence before Cardinal Glemp stood up to read the final passage; he marked the time from his watch.
The priest picked up his rifle, stroked it once for luck, settled himself in the regulation standing position in the doorway to the balcony so he would not be easily visible from the street. He sighted the podium, swung the barrel toward Glemp in his seat, and then back to the podium.
He took a cleansing breath and checked his watch again. He began to count down from 30.
Piwna Street, Warsaw, Poland * 2:58 p.m. (GMT+1)
"Shop's closed," Kevin groused. "As if there were any other option."
"Well, you always did like to play Superman. Care to do it for real?"
"Dad, that was years ago. I've got a better idea." The young man pulled a paper clip out of his pocket, unfolded it, and slipped it into the lock on the door. With a couple of twists, the door popped open. Grinning, Kevin ushered his father through the door.
"Here's the stairs – there's an open door at the top. Let's go."
"Right behind you."
The Sniper's Nest, Castle Square, Warsaw, Poland * 2:59 p.m. (GMT+1)
Glemp stood, walked slowly to the podium. The rifle never wavered; Milowanowicz was pleased to see that when Glemp stopped, the rifle was sighted right in the center of his forehead. He gauged the slight breeze, dropped the muzzle two millimeters down and to the right to account for the natural interference. Then he waited.
In the stairwell, Kevin and Alex crept as silently as they could toward what they had to assume was a small flat at the top. They heard the cardinal begin to speak.
"From the Gospel of Luke…"
Milowanowicz tightened and released his shoulder muscles one last time.
"Chapter 23…"
Alex and Kevin reached the top of the stairs. Alex motioned for his son to go around the room to the left as he went right.
"Verses 44 through 49…"
The renegade priest adjusted his aim as the wind changed.
"'It was now about the sixth hour, and there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour...'"
Kevin was halfway around the room when he stepped on a floorboard that squeaked. He froze, waiting for a reaction from the man in the open patio door. None came.
"While the sun's light failed." Josef Cardinal Glemp held up a large piece of black fabric…
Jaruslav took a deep breath and held it.
"And the curtain of the temple was torn in two." The sound of ripping fabric reverberated through the square.
Chapter 9 * Central Army Command, Warsaw, Poland * 3:50 p.m. (GMT+1)
Leszek Wroebel snarled into the phone in a tone that left no doubt as to his opinion on whatever the subject at hand was. Without disconnecting that call, he picked up another handset and bawled a series of staccato orders into it before he went back to the original call and had a slightly more normal conversation. Amanda and Lee watched all of this from Wroebel's office, observing the communications center go in full alert status but not clear on the reason.
"What gives?" Ian asked as he and Francine came into the small room bearing glasses of hot tea and a plate of cookies.
"Don't know," Amanda murmured in a low voice, conscious that Lee was trying to pick up details from the conversation outside.
After a few minutes, Lee shifted in his wheelchair to turn toward his three fellow Americans and filled them in on the situation. "Kevin and Alex are following Borodin and Scholk through a southern suburb of Warsaw."
"Let's go," Francine said, draining the tea in her glass in one long swallow.
"Francine, we're kind of stuck here until Ludwig tells us we can leave," Ian reminded her.
The man in question stuck his head through the open doorway as though on cue. "You all want to have some fun? I've got a surveillance van with your names on it."
Ian pushed Lee's wheelchair at warp speed behind the Polish general as the four upright and one sitting adults hurried down the hallway toward the back exit of the communications building. Wroebel drove the van, which barely had room for Lee's wheelchair and the passengers. Lee at least was mobile enough to get in and out of the van with some help – which led to a heated discussion as the group sped toward a rendezvous with the Reeses and two other surveillance units in the hunt.
"I'm not staying in the van if there's a chance to catch these guys on foot," Lee declared.
"What, you going to chase them down in your chariot of fire?" Francine rebutted, swatting his arm.
Lee grinned. "Maybe."
"There's a problem with that theory, dear," Amanda interjected with a frown at her husband. "You aren't really here, and you certainly aren't here with us."
"No sweat," Wroebel contradicted. "Colonel Marlowe, check the bin over your head. You should find some interesting possibilities in there."
Sure enough, Ian came up with a very good disguise for the non-existent Stetson; in ten minutes, Lee was transformed from a 30-something American into a 70-something Polish war veteran.
Leszek Wroebel smiled at the image in the rearview mirror. "If anyone approaches you, just pretend that you received an injury to your vocal cords and we'll be good to go," he approved as the CB crackled to life under his hand. His short conversation with the driver of the Reeses' car was apparently good news, because a few minutes later he pulled over in an open field. "Everybody out," he called. "Alex and Kevin are chasing Borodin and Scholk on foot, and Scholk is starting to falter."
Ian and Francine followed Wroebel into the bordering woods, while Amanda and Lee stayed near the van and tried to be a father and daughter rather than a husband and wife.
In the Woods South of Warsaw, Poland * 4:15 p.m. (GMT+1)
Gregor Borodin led the way as he helped the injured Carl Scholk through dense forest, straining to keep the voices of their pursuers in the distance. "I told you Castle Square was too open," he hissed to his companion when he stopped their progress for a moment to get his bearings. "I should have gone with my initial instincts."
Scholk sneered at him, but it might have been as much pain as derision. "That would have worked just about as well."
"At least no one would have seen us. Let's go." Borodin started off again toward the east, but Scholk pulled him back.
"This way," he insisted, pointing west-northwest.
"There's a road that way."
"No, the road is to the east."
"It's west of here."
"I think you're wrong. I'm going west and you're coming with me." Scholk pulled a .38 caliber pistol out of his coat pocket.
Gregor eyed the weapon with fear. "We're going west," he acquiesced, turning around and leading Scholk back the other way. It was a bad idea, but Borodin thought that the possibility of capture was the lesser of two bad ideas. Arguing with the business end of a gun was the height of folly.
Western Forest Roadway, Outside Warsaw, Poland * 4:20 p.m. (GMT+1)
"Amanda, do you hear voices?" Lee wheeled his chair around toward the woods, forcing his wife to follow him away from the unmarked van.
"I think so. I can't tell where they're coming from, though."
"Get the gang back here with that spectacular whistle of yours, would you? I've got a feeling…"
Before Amanda could get her lips puckered, Alex and Kevin Reese emerged from the western edge of the woods just at the shoulder of the road, dejected to find that their quarry was not already in custody. "Damn," Alex muttered to the spy couple under his breath. "We must have been following an animal instead of people."
Amanda wiped the frown from her face as she took a breath to whistle. The piercing birdcall caused a flock of birds in the nearby trees to take flight with a resounding swish of beating wings. It also brought Francine, Ian, and General Wroebel running from the northwest just as Gregor Borodin stumbled out from the southeast with Carl Scholk just behind.
Scholk reacted first, popping off a shot from his pistol toward the three people emerging opposite him across the field. Borodin threw himself to the ground, apparently afraid that Scholk would fire a bullet into him either by accident or design, which caused Scholk to stumble and fall hard against the last tree before the tall, browned grass of the open meadow.
Francine and Ian moved faster than the others toward the wanted pair, but Scholk's second shot whined between the two Americans with frightening accuracy, considering he was still off balance at the roots of the tree. The couple ducked and continued forward, slowed a bit by their posture. Kevin Reese caught up with them as Scholk fired a third time.
Ian fell with a muffled curse. When Francine dropped to her knees beside him, he waved her off. "Just get the bastard," he growled. "I'll make my way back."
She hesitated for a moment, but seeing his determination, she pushed herself up to a crouch and crept off after the advancing young NSA man.
Borodin, staying on his stomach, snaked his way unnoticed toward the road, trying to get as far across the field as he could under cover of the meadow grass. When he was safely past Kevin, he bolted upright and sprinted in the general direction of the trees on the other side. Amanda saw him; with incredible speed, she moved around in front of him and steered him back toward the road, where General Reese and Lee waited.
Scholk, seeing Francine and Kevin coming at him from the front, took stock of his options as he gathered his strength. When he saw that the two Americans were committed to their course in his direction, he sprang up and took off to the left, away from the action near the van. His action was sudden enough that neither the man nor the woman could react right away; when he heard them turn around, he counted to five and feinted right, flew 50 meters, then feinted left again.
Meanwhile, Amanda worked Borodin closer to her back up team step by step. When the Pole tried to get around her, she kicked at him with a vicious roundhouse that didn't connect solidly enough to drop him but did slow him down enough to stop his escape. Leszek Wroebel moved to cover the northern edge of the field as back at the van, Alex shuffled away from Lee to cover the front, leaving Lee to wheel his way closer to the open back end of the vehicle.
Breathing hard, Scholk was still on his feet and moving closer to the edge of the woods where his pursuers had been searching for him. He was just past the center of the field, thinking he was home free, when Ian Marlowe reached up and body slammed him to the damp, cold earth.
Ian called for help before Scholk could recover, and both Francine and Kevin came at a run. That didn't prevent the desperate Russian from trying to return the favor of the wrestling move as Kevin moved into position to control the man's feet. Ian managed to restrain Scholk's arms and with Kevin's help, sit the man up just in time for Francine to deliver a right cross that knocked the renegade unconscious.
Amanda heard the scuffle behind her but ignored it as she continued to push Gregor Borodin into the trap set by the two generals and her husband. She and the American officer stalked the Interior Ministry operative, moving him toward the front of the van and the hulking Pole waiting there.
Borodin skittered around like a trapped animal – which, in many ways, he was – as he searched for an escape. Not recognizing the man in the wheelchair as the Scarecrow, Gregor thought he saw an opportunity as the pincer closed around him. He darted to the right and slid under Alex's grasping arms, then dodged Wroebel's extended hands as he ran past the back of the van.
Amanda gave one sharp whistle. Lee thrust the wheelchair forward with as much force as he could muster, just in front of the fleeing enemy agent. Borodin fell right over the outstretched leg rest, pulling the chair – and Lee – down on top of him.
"Nice to meet you," Lee grinned with a fearsome leer. "Officially, that is."
The last of Borodin's will drained out of him as he sagged under the weight of his burdens. "Stetson."
"That's Scarecrow to you," Amanda replied, kneeling down beside her husband. "I think we should call you Wheel-Along Cassidy now."
Lee laughed, and even Ian, whose thigh had a bullet hole through it, laughed with him.
The Agency * 3:45 p.m. EST (GMT-5)
Billy Melrose had to wonder if the picture in his mind was anything close to what the actual scene would reveal if the whole capture of Borodin and Scholk were available on video. Lee, Amanda, and Francine were still laughing over the last little bit of their report as their section chief tried to clear his mind. "Okay, this will make really good reading when you get back. How's Ian?"
"The doctor says he'll be fine – just a flesh wound that went cleanly through the only fat in his entire body," Francine replied.
Billy smirked, even though the effect would be lost to his agent behind the Iron Curtain. "I won't ask how you know that. Anything new on the assassination?"
"Not yet, Billy," Lee said. "I'm expecting an update within the hour. What should we do with our guests?"
That posed an interesting question. Getting the two men out through the Embassy would be a major diplomatic crisis waiting to happen, but the only team in place to evacuate them illicitly didn't have the equipment or the resources on the ground to… "Have you talked with General Reese about this?"
Amanda sighed. "No, sir. We didn't think it would be appropriate to without your approval."
"Well, now you have it. And I'm sure that he has excellent reasons to want Scholk on American soil as quickly and quietly as possible. Let me know – check in within 2 hours so you catch the status conference."
"Yes, sir," three voices chorused from Poland. The static of the trans- Atlantic call ended with the audible click of a broken connection, and Billy settled back in his chair. A long sigh escaped his lips as the headache went away for the first time in several days – even if only for a few minutes.
Warsaw, Poland * 10:00 p.m. (GMT+1)
"Father, thank you for coming by," Stefan said as he allowed the rector of St. Maria's into his small apartment near the church.
"Well, you're welcome, but I'm not sure I've got much for you." The man followed Stefan into the dining area, where a bottle of schnapps and two glasses sat waiting. "It's very interesting to me that none of the priests who were involved in the underground university system as rectors have been allowed to participate in this service."
Stefan looked at the priest with surprise and poured out two large shots of the peppermint beverage. "They really did that?"
"Oh, yes. I got nothing. Except…"
"Yes?" the resistance leader prompted.
"Jaruslav Milowanowicz is part of the planning commission and he's the designated photographer."
Stefan threw back his drink before he answered. "So all we have to do tomorrow is look for a skinny priest with a camera in a crowd of thousands. That should be a piece of cake."
The irony wasn't lost on the pastor. "Absolutely. Especially with your vast team of what, 3 or 4 aging dissidents with no training beyond the two years of mandatory military service?"
"I'll have another," Stefan moaned, reaching for the bottle of schnapps.
Central Army Command, Warsaw, Poland * 11:20 p.m. (GMT+1)
"No help," Lee groaned, hanging up the phone after his conversation with Stefan. "No help at all." He looked around the small conference room in hopes that someone would disagree with him.
Amanda, ever the optimist, did just that. "Actually, we know more now than we did. We know to look for Milowanowicz posing as a photographer."
"Just a little bit of help," her husband amended. "Meanwhile, we still have our guests to worry about."
"Yes," General Wroebel nodded. "I can keep them until morning, but after that, we risk someone reporting to the Interior Ministry, and that's a can of worms we just don't want to open."
Amanda, who found Wroebel's colloquial American English understated and charming, laughed as she stretched her legs out under the table. She looked across at the other general with furrowed forehead. "Do you have some kind of network we could tap into in East Germany that would get us a step closer to the West?"
Alex Reese reached for the bottle of slivovitz as he shook his head. "I should be so lucky." He poured several shots and began passing them out to the assembled group. "Maybe the embassy can be of some help, even if we cannot take our guests to the embassy."
"What do you mean, General?" Ian asked, accepting a shot glass from the ranking officer.
"Well, we'll need a place to keep them on ice until after the service in Castle Square, but…"
When he was finished outlining his plan, Francine whistled in appreciation. "This is either the second most foolhardy thing I've ever heard or the second most daring."
"Second most?" Reese inquired with a skeptically raised eyebrow.
"Lee and Amanda continue to hold first place ."
"Stemwinder," the general murmured with a choked laugh.
"I would have chosen the Nightcrawler case, myself," Lee said, adding nothing of value to the conversation.
"Drink your alcohol, Stetson," Francine advised, taking her own suggestion.
Before Lee could fight back, Amanda raised her glass. "To confusion for the enemy," she toasted.
"Confusion," the group echoed.
The American Embassy, Warsaw, Poland * March 24, 1989 * 8:20 a.m. (GMT+1)
Kevin Reese was wondering just at the moment if the stress of Scholk's continued interference in his father's life hadn't sent the general around the bend and over the edge. The older man had put together a scheme that was just this side of Emerald City in terms of fanciful ideals and dragooned Kevin into playing the patsy – which at this point consisted of standing at the reception desk of the American Embassy waiting for the secretary to find the charge d'affairs to handle his peculiar question.
After a few impatient minutes, the official came out with the secretary. "Mr. Reese, how nice to meet you. Please, come this way." He led Kevin back to a small conference room off the main hallway. "Have a seat. Can I get you some coffee?"
"No, thank you. This shouldn't take too long, Mr….?"
"Oh, sorry. Mr. Fonzarelli."
"You must be joking," Kevin blurted before he could stop himself.
"Unfortunately, no, I'm not, and before you ask, no, I don't go by 'the Fonz.' Now, what can I do for you?"
Kevin smiled disingenuously. "What's the biggest thing you've ever shipped in a diplomatic pouch?"
KGB Headquarters, Moscow, USSR * 10:35 a.m. (GMT+3)
G.A. Tolstoy found himself on the receiving end of news that immediately started an ulcer brewing in his gut. "Missed how many check-ins?"
Feodor Petrovich Kaminsky wandered into the small, smoky office while Tolstoy still had the phone pressed to his ear; the active agent waved his mentor into a chair as he listened to the person on the other end of the call. Kaminsky sat down and put his feet up on the ancient desk, contentedly misreading the expression on Tolstoy's face.
He could not, however, misread what the man said when he slammed down the phone. "I'm guessing there's trouble."
"What's the line from that decadent Western musical, 'trouble with a capital T'? We've got it. Borodin and Scholk both missed their evening and morning check-ins with the agent-in-place. Borodin has been cleared by the Interior Ministry – under pressure from us, of course – but did not appear at work yesterday or this morning. We still have no way inside the Central Army Command; our plant within the staff was transferred last week in the normal course of things but he had not been able to recruit a replacement, nor was his replacement from the field a potential for our operation."
"But our shooter is still good, right?"
"Is that all you care about?" Tolstoy exploded, rising from his chair.
"Sit down," Kaminsky roared, waiting to see that the other man obeyed before he continued. "Yes, it is all I care about. If the priest can wreak havoc in Warsaw later today, then within seven days a full division of Soviet troops will occupy the country and we will be well on our way to regaining control of the Soviet empire."
"The lives of these men mean nothing?" Tolstoy spoke through clenched teeth.
"Of course their lives mean something. But they knew when they 'signed on the dotted line' that their lives were sacrifice for the cause – just as mine and yours are, potentially."
The younger man sat back in his chair, the reminder that duty might take his life an ointment on his burning anger. "You're right, of course." He placed his hands on his desk as if in supplication. "So, what do we do?"
"We wait."
Castle Square, Warsaw, Poland * 10:00 a.m. (GMT+1)
Father Jaruslav Milowanowicz was a happy man as he made his way up the stairs into his sniper's nest with another load of photographic equipment. He was happy in part because he had put his 30 pieces of silver to good use the night before doing several things that were both immoral and illegal and because in this load he had his precious rifle. The gun was hidden in a case amongst the pieces of a Japanese-made tripod – but he couldn't hide his smile.
The shoe shop proprietor took his smile to be one of contentment at the placement of the second floor apartment relative to the stage, and said so when the priest came back downstairs.
"Yes, it is a great location," Milowanowicz nodded, allowing the man to believe his own explanation. "Would you like to have a souvenir picture taken on the stage before the service?"
The shopkeeper stared happily for a few seconds before he replied with an enthusiastic, "Yes! I'll get my family ready."
Jaruslav sauntered away, content to know that the shopkeeper would never get the picture that would never actually be recorded on film, even if the shutter opened and closed. He had something else entirely on his mind.
Castle Square, Warsaw, Poland * 11:20 a.m. (GMT+1)
General Wroebel had been able to outfit the six Americans with portable transmitters from his special operations department, even though he had not been able to join their surveillance himself. He had also provided each person with a suitable disguise, not an easy task with a man on crutches and a man who was clearly still more comfortable in a wheelchair than walking.
Ian, whose Marine Corps physique had given him a decided advantage with the ladies until Francine captured his heart, wore the athletic uniform of an East German national track team member. The explanation for his injury was simple – a torn ligament in his knee.
Francine wore the woman's version of the same uniform, posing as Ian's teammate and fiancée. It wasn't a stretch in anyone's imagination, except that Lee commented that Francine wasn't bulked up enough to be a Communist athlete. Francine and Ian patrolled the section of the square farthest away from the stage.
The father and son team of Alex and Kevin Reese wore simple laborers' clothes and wandered the middle section of the crowd, meandering separately but within line of sight of each other. They both spoke Polish well enough to pass as men from Gdansk, so they had the advantage of being able to truly mingle with the people.
Leszek was particularly proud of Lee's outfit and the cover he had created for the husband and wife team. Lee sat in his wheelchair and wore an officer's tunic with the Afghanistan Service Ribbon and a Hero of the Worker's Party medal prominently displayed. For additional authenticity, Wroebel had added a scar across Lee's forehead and grayed his hair to make him more of a heroic figure. Amanda was dressed as Lee's personal attendant in the slim-fitting olive skirt and jacket of the Polish Army Nursing Corps. The uniforms gave the couple enough clout that they could move about the area directly in front of the stage without interference or suspicion; a crash course in the vernacular and Amanda's quick ear gave her just enough Polish to be politely discouraging to anyone who would ask too many questions of the hero in the chair. He was, she learned to say, suffering from the stress of saving the lives of his entire company.
The three pairs circulated within their zones, speaking to each other over the open transmitters in short, simple Polish sentences for fear of being overheard speaking English. Castle Square filled as noon approached, making it more difficult for the teams to stay in sight of each other, and even, in the Reeses' case, of the other member of the pair. But try as they may, no one saw anything out of the ordinary in the crowd or in the buildings or trees surrounding the stage.
A motorcade brought Josef Cardinal Glemp and Lech Walesa to the square at 11:55; the entourage of priests and deacons with them formed a processional opposite the stage. At the stoke of noon, Glemp's voice resounded from the crackling loudspeakers around the venue. "The betrayal of Jesus happened in this way…"
KGB Headquarters, Moscow, USSR * 2:10 p.m. (GMT+3)
"You seem to be in a better mood, comrade," Kaminsky noted to Tolstoy as the older man slid into a chair across the desk from the object of his observation.
"I am, Feodor Petrovich. Look what we just got from one of our agents within the American Embassy." He passed a shiny roll of paper to his mentor.
Kaminsky got out his reading glasses and unrolled the facsimile, shaking his head at the technology. "Well, well, well," he said dryly several seconds later. "If he isn't the spitting image of General Alexander Reese."
"You noticed. And do you find it equally interesting that his question to the embassy had to do with the size of a package for the diplomatic pouch?"
"Immensely more, as a matter of fact. How big?"
Tolstoy checked his notes. "I quote: 'three boxes the size of standard American refrigerators.'"
"Really?" Kaminsky pursed his lips. "I presume that Reese the younger is in Poland with his father, and that we got this from the embassy in Warsaw."
"Yes and no, as a matter of fact. We got it from the embassy here. Apparently, the Americans in Poland had no clue what to do with packages of that size for the pouch, so they called the embassy here. Out man inside fielded the call and was able to get a surveillance photo of the inquirer."
"Amazing how dense Americans can be. Do we know what flight these boxes are to be on?"
Again, Tolstoy referred to his notes, revealing the information to his clandestine superior.
"I think we need to inspect that plane before it leaves, don't you, Georg Alexeivich?"
Castle Square, Warsaw, Poland * 1:10 p.m. (GMT+1)
Wojciech Jaruzelski arrived in his own motorcade just as the priests began to read about the actual crucifixion of Jesus Christ. Amanda thought the timing apt; Jaruzelski was certainly doing a lot of figurative crucifying these days as the Pontius Pilate of a morally and spiritually bankrupt system. The Polish leader was now on the platform with the cardinal and the leader of the Solidarity movement – three sitting ducks for any hunter willing to take the risk.
She and Lee had thus far had no luck in their search for Milowanowicz, although Francine and Ian were pretty sure that they had seen him mingling with the throng during the opening procession. As she carefully pushed her injured husband through the milling worshippers, the two carried on a low- key conversation in Amanda's limited Polish and German. She felt the chair bump something or someone just as Lee said, "Look out!" in hissed English.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," Amanda said in Polish to the man she had broadsided as Lee offered his own profuse apologies.
"Not to wor – " the man started, then saw who he was talking to. "Lee, Amanda," he whispered, dropping his head down close to the pair.
Lee glanced up and recognized the speaker. "Stefan!"
"Shhhh," he advised. "Better that we not be seen together too much."
"I agree. Are we set to pick up the network?"
"Absolutely. I have the new codebook. I'll be in touch." He shook Lee's hand, nodded to Amanda, and left them in the crowd.
Lee turned to Amanda as best he could in the confining chair. "You know, you christened this particular part of the mission Operation Lazarus. It looks like it was a success."
She smiled in return. "Lazar zheet."
Lee just laughed. "Indeed, Lazarus lives."
The Agency * 8 10 a.m. EST (GMT-5)
Dr. Austin Smyth had his ever-present cigarette holder firmly clenched in his teeth as he listened to the latest from Billy about the doings in Poland. When the section chief finished, the head of the Agency took the cigarette holder out of his mouth and gesticulated with it as he talked. "They are cracked in the head if they think the diplomatic pouch thing is going to work," he said, though his tone was surprisingly approving. "But why three?"
"That part I don't know, sir. I have the sense that the team knows more than they're telling me, maybe for legitimate reasons, maybe not."
"With Alex Reese over there, who knows? Assuming they make the diplomatic flight, when are they due back?"
Billy did some calculating in his head. "About 9:30 tonight at Dulles."
"Make sure you have Colonel Marlowe's promotion paperwork when you meet them."
"Are you sure he'll make the cut?"
Smyth grinned. "Quite apart from the fact that he's earned the whole bird, there will be hell to pay for someone if you don't get your newest recruit and first full-fledged permanent military liaison."
Billy chuckled. "As you say, sir."
The Sniper's Nest, Castle Square, Warsaw, Poland * 2:25 p.m. (GMT+1)
Milowanowicz paced inside the tiny room, itchy to complete his mission and to know whether he would live to see another sunrise – or, for that matter, another sunset. The service, once one of his favorites because of the power and drama of the story, just seemed to drag by this time; he was waiting to hear the words, "It is finished," which would be his cue to settle on the balcony prior to the final reading.He looked at his watch and grimaced when he saw that he had another half hour to linger in limbo. Perhaps it was time to take a few more pictures to pass the time.
Castle Square, Warsaw, Poland * 2:43 p.m. (GMT+1)
"Lee, Amanda," Francine whispered into the microphone in the collar of her athletic jacket, an edge to her tone. "Ten o'clock from center stage, second floor." She still spoke in German
A moment later, Lee replied. "Looks like a photographer, Francine."
"Look closer," Ian interjected. "The man with the camera."
Lee mimed the words to help Amanda get the meaning – which her gasp over the open connection verified. "Father Milowanowicz."
Alex Reese joined the conversation. "I can see him clearly. He couldn't have found a better spot for a sniper's nest."
"Why?" Lee asked as he and Amanda began to work their way through the crowd toward the building in which Milowanowicz had made his lair.
"The angles. He could hit every person on that platform in the space of twenty seconds with a full magazine."
"Dad, that's assuming he's going after more than one or two people. I'd think Glemp and either Walesa or Jaruzelski rather than the whole lot. More confusion."
"Kevin, you scare me sometimes." He made eye contact with his son across an inlet of worshippers and the two men began to sidle their way to the would-be assassin's perch.
Ian rolled his eyes as he tried to remember not to address the older Reese by his title. "Alex, you and Kevin will have to do the stairs in the building if you can get in."
"Yeah, we figured. Any idea what building?"
Amanda answered. "We're working on it."
KGB Headquarters, Moscow, USSR * 4:46 p.m. (GMT+3)
"Damn!" Tolstoy, not usually given to expletives unless followed by the words "Capitalist pigs", continued with a streak that would have made any sailor proud.
"Bad news?" Kaminsky asked, steepling his fingers with a calmness he clearly didn't feel.
"General Alexander Reese has been in Poland all week in conference with Leszek Wroebel with the permission of the General Secretary's office in Warsaw. His aide de camp is a U.S. Marine who was involved in the release of Sandra Reese from our hospitality three years ago. Kevin Reese, who it now seems works for an American intelligence agency, has been with him – as have two other people whose identities it now seems clear are covers and who very likely also work for an American intelligence agency."
"Take a deep breath," the older man counseled. "So where are they now?"
"Wroebel is in his office. The idiots don't know where the others are."
"And?"
"I think Wroebel will be in that third box in the diplomatic package."
"Really?"
"I think he's been more than an obstructionist. I think he's been the leak to American intelligence."
Kaminsky thought for a second or two. "That explains a lot." He paused. "You have a team ready?"
"Oh, yes. Ready, waiting, and willing to do whatever it takes to stop that plane."
Castle Square, Warsaw, Poland * 2:52 p.m. (GMT+1)
"Alex, the balcony is on the second floor above a shoe repair shop that faces Piwna Street," Amanda relayed as Lee had to speak with a couple of intrigued school children.
"Piwna Street, got it. We're just coming past Zyggy now."
"Zyggy?" Francine laughed. "Oh, the statue. We're about 20 yards in front of it on our way to find you, Amanda."
"We're at the corner of the square and Piwna Street almost under the porch."
Two minutes ticked by as the others found their way to Lee and Amanda. Kevin blanched as he listened to the priest at the podium on the platform. "That's the next to the last reading. He just said, 'It is finished.'"
"We don't have much time, then. Let's go, Kev." Alex raised his hand briefly in farewell to the others and turned to make his way onto Piwna Street.
Kevin took the time to kiss Amanda's and Francine's cheeks, then hurried after his father.
"Well, I feel useless," Ian commented, leaning against the wall of the building to give his arms a rest from the crutches.
"Hey, if I can take a guy down in this thing, think of the possibilities you have with arm extenders," Lee quipped, the tension plain on his handsome face.
Ian brightened a little. "You're right."
"And if Kevin and Alex can corner Milowanowicz…" Amanda let the idea hang.
"Got it," Francine and Ian finished together. "We'll set up on this side," Ian continued.
Lee chortled as he and Amanda prepared to move to the other side of the building. "You two sound more like a married couple every day."
The Sniper's Nest, Castle Square, Warsaw, Poland * 2:57 p.m. (GMT+1)
Jaruslav saw Walesa turn to go back to his seat on the stage after his prayer. He knew there would be 90 seconds of silence before Cardinal Glemp stood up to read the final passage; he marked the time from his watch.
The priest picked up his rifle, stroked it once for luck, settled himself in the regulation standing position in the doorway to the balcony so he would not be easily visible from the street. He sighted the podium, swung the barrel toward Glemp in his seat, and then back to the podium.
He took a cleansing breath and checked his watch again. He began to count down from 30.
Piwna Street, Warsaw, Poland * 2:58 p.m. (GMT+1)
"Shop's closed," Kevin groused. "As if there were any other option."
"Well, you always did like to play Superman. Care to do it for real?"
"Dad, that was years ago. I've got a better idea." The young man pulled a paper clip out of his pocket, unfolded it, and slipped it into the lock on the door. With a couple of twists, the door popped open. Grinning, Kevin ushered his father through the door.
"Here's the stairs – there's an open door at the top. Let's go."
"Right behind you."
The Sniper's Nest, Castle Square, Warsaw, Poland * 2:59 p.m. (GMT+1)
Glemp stood, walked slowly to the podium. The rifle never wavered; Milowanowicz was pleased to see that when Glemp stopped, the rifle was sighted right in the center of his forehead. He gauged the slight breeze, dropped the muzzle two millimeters down and to the right to account for the natural interference. Then he waited.
In the stairwell, Kevin and Alex crept as silently as they could toward what they had to assume was a small flat at the top. They heard the cardinal begin to speak.
"From the Gospel of Luke…"
Milowanowicz tightened and released his shoulder muscles one last time.
"Chapter 23…"
Alex and Kevin reached the top of the stairs. Alex motioned for his son to go around the room to the left as he went right.
"Verses 44 through 49…"
The renegade priest adjusted his aim as the wind changed.
"'It was now about the sixth hour, and there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour...'"
Kevin was halfway around the room when he stepped on a floorboard that squeaked. He froze, waiting for a reaction from the man in the open patio door. None came.
"While the sun's light failed." Josef Cardinal Glemp held up a large piece of black fabric…
Jaruslav took a deep breath and held it.
"And the curtain of the temple was torn in two." The sound of ripping fabric reverberated through the square.