Chapter 6

US Mission, Berlin

CIA Deputy Station Chief's Office

West Berlin

August 2nd, 1985

0730 Local/0530 ZULU

Harrison Grey had had a lot of crappy duties to perform in his three years as part of US Mission Berlin (often called USBER), but this took the cake. Things had been tense in West Berlin as the superpowers seemed to inexorably slide towards war, the East German border guards at the Wall were a lot less friendly to him, and he'd gotten roughed up a few times, even with his diplomatic cover credentials.

The other intel the other assets in the Berlin area had developed was frightening. The US Military Liaison Mission or USMLM had reported the movement of 20-30 trainloads of Soviet troops overnight through the Berlin area, as well as the movement of large numbers of East German Volkspolizei or VoPo and Battalions of the Working Class units moving closer to the Wall from all directions. The land corridors had been cut last night, and word was, the air corridors were probably going to be cut this morning.

Yesterday's news about a Navy EP-3 being shot down 100 miles north of Kola by Soviet fighters and a West German Atlantique being gunned down by a MiG-23 over the Baltic hadn't improved the overall mood either. And now, somebody, probably the East Germans, were performing low-level recon flights over West Berlin seemingly every few hours, low enough that the West Berlin police were getting some fierce complaints about more than a few broken windows. Finally, in the last six hours, the ABC news people in Berlin had confided in him that none of the news services had heard from any of their Eastern bloc based reporters for the last day and a half. Christ, they know what kind of intelligence indicators these all signify. They wouldn't do this unless…unless they were serious.

The East Germans, however, had pulled a new stunt in the last two hours that pretty much made up Langley's mind about it being time to get out of the pool. The trouble was, in Harrison's mind, who the hell was going to convince Amy Barksdale of this?

Meanwhile, Amy was simply concentrating on getting a few Z's. She had been running nonstop on coffee and nerves for the last 36 hours trying to get a coherent picture of what the hell was going on in Berlin. Her boss had simply vanished after getting word a high-ranking East German official had wanted to defect, the source was a local, who had provided good product in the past, and the fellow had been careful, and worked for money, rather than ideology, which all was good signs. Trouble was, Arthur had been gone for 12 hours now, and Amy's fitful sleep was a sign she was beginning to worry. It wasn't like Arthur not to check in, not after that long in the East.

She was just beginning to fall asleep when…there was an insistent knock at the door. Damn, just as I was getting some damn sleep. Turning 50 last month sucks. Why did I put in for Berlin? I could have taken that middle management training position back at Langley, but nooo, I had to go back to Berlin. I had to prove I still had it. Shit.

"ENTER!" Amy barked, the lack of sleep making it sound a lot meaner than she intended, as she vigorously rubbed the sleep from her eyes, while suppressing a yawn, and failing as it escaped in a muffled form.

Grey entered the office with a yellow message flimsy stamped multiple times FLASH in red. Such messages rarely failed to be important, nor were they ever good news. Amy shook her head, and wordlessly took the message flimsy from Grey. The message was short, and to the point, but said all it really needed to say:

FROM: LANGLEY CENTER

TO; CHIEF OF AGENCY MISSION, USBER

SUBJ; SECOND KNIGHT

UPON RECIEPT THIS MESSAGE, YOU ARE TO HEREBY EXECUTE SECOND KNIGHT NLT 1300 YOUR TIME TODAY. INTELLIGENCE HERE SUGGESTS WP INVASION FRG WILL COMMENCE SOMETIME IN THE NEXT 48-72 HOURS. ACK THIS MESSAGE IMMEDIATELY UPON RECIEPT.

Amy looked up in horror. "This for real? You know what this means, right?"

Grey nodded. "Yeah, I do. We ran it through the decoder twice, and asked for confirmation. It's real."

SECOND KNIGHT's orders were simple, destroy all documents and sensitive equipment both in the CIA station, and as part of USBER, and then evacuate all CIA and State Department personnel from USBER via Gatow Airfield and report to Bonn for further orders. Some, the Special Activities Division paramilitaries, had their own orders, which even Amy didn't know, but they'd disappeared three days ago in some "sterile" Trabants with very heavy suitcases for parts unknown. Probably full of money and guns, but damned if I really want to know.

"There's more boss. Arthur got grabbed last night, all went down around 11:30 or so. The defector wasn't legit. One of my sources in the West Berlin Police said they saw half a dozen guys, Stasi from the looks of them. Well it looks like they grabbed him from a café on the west side of the Fredrichstrasse, maybe, three or four hundred meters from Checkpoint Charlie. They shot their way past the checkpoint with the East German border guards providing cover for the whole damn thing."

Amy couldn't believe it. The Stasi never did that. Grabbing people on the wrong side of the Wall was a good way to start a really nasty incident. But that wouldn't matter if the Soviets had already made the decision that the Warsaw Pact was going to war. And, they'd already had Arthur for two hours. At the end of six, we've got to assume he's spilled his guts. Who'd blame him really? She exhaled in frustration. There was only one reason to grab Arthur, war was coming, and they needed to know 1) Where in the building was the CIA offices so they could grab the intel first? 2) Who were the others they wanted to roll up in the East? 3) Who were the Americans they wanted to grab? It's time to go, Barksdale. Long past time.

"Grey, get the folks in the message center started on smashing the crypto machines and pull the extra shredder from storage, we'll need a bigger burn area, so grab a couple of the wheeled trash bins..and make sure we do a solid job. I don't want a shred of paper left for those Stasi bastards."

Grey nodded in understanding "And you?"

"I am going to put the recall order out to our boys and girls in the field, as well as our local assets, before they get rolled by the Stasi, assuming they get the message in time. After that, I am then going to do some therapeutic sledge hammering downstairs to help out the State Department guys with their crypto gear. By the way, isn't it your birthday today, Grey?"

Harrison nodded, "Some birthday gift, huh?"

"We're alive, and we're going to stay that way, Mr. Grey. Now, get the hell going, sooner we get this done, sooner we are on our way. Your go bag packed?"

"You know it is."

"Good, now scram!" Amy barked

As Grey ran out of the office, slamming the door behind him and raising a ruckus as he ran down to the crypto room, making sure everyone in the six person station knew to enact their portion of the destruction bill, Amy looked wistfully around at her office, full of mementos of a life of secrets and quiet service to her country. Crap, some Stasi or KGB jerk's going to take this all as a frigging trophy, ah hell can't be helped. We've got just enough time to smash and burn the important stuff! She did spy her prized "Caraville Hotel-Welcome to the Saigon Bar" emblazoned coaster…Screw you Ivan, you don't get that! She paused, and grabbed the small cork square, stuffing it awkwardly into a back pocket.

Amy shook her head as she reached into a side closet and fished out a 12lb sledge hammer, then turned to her left and made he way down the hall, shaking her head and hoping against hope Langley's timetable was close to right. Yeah, they really got it right in Iran, didn't they?


Hotel Mercure Wien Westbahnhof

Vienna, Austria

August 2nd, 1985

0825 Local/0625 ZULU

Brittany Taylor was rather pleased with herself. She'd gotten pretty good grades for the first time in her life, while at Great Prairie State, she'd actually applied herself, and found that she had a talent for Sports Medicine of all things, and had graduated there with a 3.35 GPA, which had led her into pursing her Masters in the subject at USC. It had been a tough two years, but she'd managed to graduate with a 3.15 and a job as an assistant trainer with the Lakers Cheerleaders, of all things. Since she wasn't due to start for a few months, she'd turned to her housemates, whom had also graduated USC and had said, "Let's hike through Europe!"

The plan, of course, was modified a bit, hike through Italy, into Austria, and then take a Danube cruise into Germany and a flight home. One of the conditions of the trip? No listening to the news, something that had driven Allison, a small, perky girl of Italian extraction who had a job on the Hill waiting for her when they got back. She was the poly sci major and news junkie and the rule had driven her to absolute distraction. They were here to get away from it all, weren't they? Not obsess over something happening so far away, right?

Brittany had come downstairs to avail herself of the free continental breakfast bar in the dining room. Her roommates were still fast asleep, as they had checked into the hotel darn near close to midnight. Early bird gets something, right? Wasn't it a worm or something?..Jeez who the hell wants a worm? They're like gross! Now if they have cappuccinos like what we got in Italy? Now that's what mama needs right now.

Brittany walked on through the quiet hotel lobby towards the dining room, making as grand an entrance as an American girl, newly liberated from grad student status could afford to make, and then it hit her. There was practically nobody in the dining room, just an elderly hotel employee and a rather rotund, balding gentleman who was picking like a bird at his eggs benedict.

What in the world is going on? There's no line, no screaming kids. I should be fighting to get a plate like that place in Milan? Where are all the tourists? At that moment, a feeling like a cool breeze went up Brittany's spine, and she shuddered involuntarily. Something wasn't normal. Her friends were due to be down in 20 minutes, so she figured she'd grab an empty table and load up on breakfast rolls and a bit of coffee in the meanwhile and take in the Viennese ambiance, though she wasn't too sure what in the world was so great about that.

As she sat down, she smiled and made herself comfortable, flagging down a waiter and placing an order for scrambled eggs and coffee (to which the waiter almost rolled his eyes at how American it was) with the help of an English-German phrase book. Her accent was atrocious and it made it plainly obvious that she was an American. He told her in very good English that the kitchen was understaffed and it would take 10 minutes to fill her order, and inquired if she was checking out today?

"Why in the world we be checking out today, sir? We just got here." Brittany inquired.

The waiter turned a shade of deathly pale, and snapped his fingers to get the attention of the older hotel employee dining on some porridge two tables over. This also got the attention of the balding gentleman as well, who suddenly looked up with the rapidity of a prairie dog.

The elderly gentleman rose, and made his way far more quickly than his apparent age would have suggested. When he arrived he grabbed the waiter by the arm and a very animated discussion between the two in rapid-fire German ensued. Brittany was so captivated by what was going on, she missed the arrival of her friends in their pajamas and slippers; Did I do something that's going to get this fellow fired? Uh-Oh. The older gent also brushed himself off, and made his way into the conversation, as well, and soon all three were speaking very rapid-fire German, with the balding fellow being very insistent and pointing right at Brittany and her friends: Great, he hates Americans.

Finally, the participants of the conversation all turned to look at Brittany and her two friends, Michelle, who was a sports medicine major like Brittany, and Allison. The balding gentleman spoke first, "Excuse me," he said, with a Bostonian accent "You three girls wouldn't happen to be Americans, would you?"

"Um, yes," Allison answered, while glaring at Brittany "Um, did Brittany do something to offend you, sir? We're willing to-"

The balding gentleman laughed, shook his head and muttered "There's always someone who doesn't get the word." He then looked at the girls again. "Ladies, my name is James Lettinger, and I work for the US Embassy here in Vienna, and you are all damn lucky I like this hotel's breakfast spread. Right now, Europe is on the edge of war and you people were ordered out days ago."

The girls looked at each other in shock, and all exploded with questions at once.

"Wait a sec, war?"

"You gotta be kidding-"

"How come we didn't hear a thing about this?"

Lettinger raised his hands and whistled, loud to bring some order to the chaos. "Ladies, I understand you have a ton of questions, but we don't have much time. Right now, there's probably a quarter-million Soviet and Hungarian troops right across the border, which incidentally is about fifty kilometers from here. Say, an hour's drive in real terms. And if and when it starts, we're already in range of their artillery. This will not be a safe place to be."

Brittany looked Lettinger in the eyes; history and political science were not her strong suits. Ask her to tape a knee; sure, she could handle that. But this? "Um, Mr. Lettinger, we'd still be safe here, I mean, we're Americans, right?"

Allison and Michelle replied to the question with mutual forehead slaps and groans.

Lettinger exhaled, and looked at the elderly hotel worker with a pleading look, who spoke excellent, if accented English.

"Ms. Taylor, I am Egon, the night manager here, I would not place much faith in that fact, First, your nation and the Soviets will be at war if that occurs, and Austria is going to be invaded simply because she is in the way. The last time, during the last war, when the Red Army came to Vienna, I was an Oberleutnant in the Wehrmacht, we resisted as long as we could, but when we surrendered, it was a damn ugly sight. I won't mince words, ladies. They killed people for no other reason than they wanted something; they raped girls and women from 8 to 80 and not just in groups of one or two, but in bands of at least 8-10 at a time. Each of you, as lovely as you are, would have an entire Soviet platoon to "entertain."

Brittany's stomach soon somersaulted at the very idea of being potentially raped by the Red Army, and her friends did not particularly love the idea either. Allison spoke up next. "Ok, we get it, war is coming and it's time to go. We can be packed in twenty minutes, but where in the hell are we going?"

Lettinger smiled "That I can help you with, Vienna's grounded all flights, and the river traffic north along the Danube's being heavily screened, but the last train to Geneva's leaving the train station here in a couple of hours. And yes, I will get you three on it. I do work for the State Department. Along with a letter of introduction to our embassy in Switzerland, you guys should be alright for the duration."

That seemed to calm down the trio, but Michelle asked Egon. "What will you do, Sir."

"Once you leave, dear Fraulein, we are closing the hotel, not many employees left, most of them have been called up into the Army, and the guests have all left. So, I shall help close the hotel. Then, I am getting my old shotgun and wait here for the Russians. This time I do not intend to be a guest of the Soviet Union, 5 years in Siberia was bad enough."

Egon snapped his fingers again to break the spell, "Meanwhile, ladies, let's get you upstairs and pack, and don't worry about the condition of the room. I doubt anyone's going to be here to give it much thought for a time to come."

As they all rose to get the girls on the train, a sound, not unlike thunder built in intensity from the south..it became a rising crescendo that swayed the chandeliers and made the wine glasses rattle as it became closer. The thunder soon gave way to an animal-like scream, as the unmistakable sound of a jet engine, from an aircraft that had to be very low, roared over the hotel and broke several of the glasses and caused at least one chandelier in the dining room to actually fall.

Allison ran out through the lobby, running outside into the street entrance of the hotel, the aircraft had by then, circled around for another run. This time it came head on towards the hotel, passing three hundred or so feet over Allison's head as she stood transfixed in the entryway. Oh My God, this is really happening. She ran inside, and grabbed her friends roughly towards the stairs. "No time guys, we need to leave, now."

Brittany was nonplussed "Why, what did you see? Allison, stop spazzing and tell me what you saw?"

"The airplane, it had red stars on the damn wings…it had red stars."

Egon nodded "Reconnaissance flight most likely. This is just the preliminaries, you do not want to be here for the main event, ladies."

Four Hours Later

The trio had found little problem booking tickets to Geneva, it was the only open destination for trains leaving Vienna, and there were few foreigners left taking up seats on anything leaving anyhow. As it was, they were the last people buying tickets on the last train out. It was, suffice to say, quite dramatic.

"Brittany, next time you say 'no paying attention to the news on vacation!' I am gonna kill you." Allison complained.

"No shit, Brit, we're about to be in a war zone, if we don't get to Geneva!" Michelle added.

They entered their compartment and put their bags up, finding themselves in the typical European rail compartment, with an older couple already having made themselves comfortable. One could not help but overhear their conversation.

"Oh Georgine, why does this always happen to us when we go abroad?" the gentleman said in a distinctive Canadian accent?

"Alfie, we just have bad luck, I mean, you took that sales job in '75 in Beiruit, and we weren't in the country a year before we had to run like hell, same with Tehran in '79. Then there was our Caribbean vacation in Grenada two years ago. And now this, our retirement gift, I must say, we're just cursed with bad luck."

The girls listened in shock at the litany of this couple's close shaves. "Um, excuse me mam," Allison ventured, "You say you were in Lebanon in '75, Iran in '79 and Grenada two years ago?"

The couple looked at each other and laughed, then Alfred replied, "Oh yes young lady, those American Marines are so nice, I'd say for a war breaking out, we had a lovely vacation! Much better than the brochures said! And now, there is this for a retirement present? I tell you, Georgine and I are just feeling alive with excitement!"

All three of the girls looked at each other in shock, Oh dear god, we're fleeing a potential Soviet invasion with a pair of certifiable lunatics.


492nd Tactical Fighter Squadron Ready Room

RAF Lakenheath

Lakenheath, England

August 2nd 1985

1437 Local/1437 ZULU

Daria and Jane had been sequestered onto the base since the 30th of July, along with all the other flight crews and just about everybody else. They'd also sealed off the base to just about everyone, and a incident where an RAF Regiment member had shot an overeager peace protester who had been attempting to break through the fence had made that point all too well.

Jesus, Daria's mind reported is this really happening? Thus far, there had been little to do by fly occasional training sorties, catch up on paperwork, memorize their target folders, and wait.

It was the waiting that was the worst. It allowed the mind to keep playing scenarios that could happen. Would they get off the ground? Would it go nuclear from the start? Would they even manage to get to the target? There were too many variables…and too much time to consider them. And all of them were Daria's responsibility as aircraft commander. All Jane had to do was know the steers to the target, the radar images, and what the bombing tables were. Daria had a lot more, what routes to take, and when? What were the defenses; both on the ingress and egress? And how alert was the target going to be? Shit, this is going to make all the stories the old-timers told us about Hanoi look like a damn picnic.

The TV had been on constantly, with the sound on low, but the words "ABC SPECIAL REPORT" flashed onto the screen on a black background. Somebody lunged for the TV; nobody had to scream, "Turn it up." As the news had gotten worse, the raucous atmosphere usually found in the squadron ready room had vanished faster than squirrels in the face of winter.

"Hello, this is Peter Jennings in New York, and we've got unconfirmed word that the Soviet delegation to what are some are calling "last ditch" talks in Geneva between Soviet Foreign Minister Andrei Gromyko and US Secretary of State George Schultz has walked out. I repeat, there is unconfirmed word that the Soviet delegation has walked out of the talks…Wait, I am getting word we are going live to a press conference being held by Secretary of State Schultz."

The screen quickly shifted to a view of an empty podium, where a face well known to just about everyone who followed politics soon strode to and adjusted the microphoneslightly. Schultz's forehead was a sheen of sweat, and his eyes were downcast, like a child who had just committed an unforgivable sin. The klieg lights made his drawn features look even moreso. He took a deep breath, "Ladies and gentlemen of the press, I have a short statement to make, I will not be accepting any questions afterwards, as I must immediately depart for Washington."

"I and my staff had come, with the hopes of the United States, and the Free World, to Geneva to see if, even if at this late hour, could somehow pull the dove of peace from the bloody jaws of war. I regret to report that this effort has failed. It has failed ladies and gentlemen, due to the singular intransigence and obstinacy of the Soviet Government, as personified by the Soviet Foreign Minister."

Schultz paused, took a drink of water, and then continued. "I came to Geneva, prepared to talk frankly, behind closed doors where we could both discuss a wide range of issues in a quiet and secluded environment. I came with no accusations, and no preconceptions. The Soviets, however, did not. Instead, I was treated to a twenty-minute tirade from the Mr. Gromyko over every perceived and actual failing of US foreign policy from the last 40 years. This then culminated with a series of demands that you are all familiar with, they are the same demands that the Soviets have repeatedly made in the wake of the General Secretary's speech of a week ago. The US position on those demands is well known, and I will not reiterate it here, except to say this; we will not repeat the mistakes of Munich."

"After I informed the Foreign Minister of this, and the stance of the US and her allies, he proceeded to refer to the President with a few words I won't repeat here, as well as to insult me personally, then he turned and walked out, his delegation right behind him. I do not know if the Foreign Minister has left Geneva, but we have been informed through a third party that there is no intention on the part of the Soviets to restart the talks. Therefore, I have felt it best to return to Washington. I am sorry, ladies and gentlemen, I have failed you and I wish I could say we managed to secure peace at a late hour. I cannot say that. What I will say is this. Sometimes, peace is tantamount to surrender. The peace that was demanded of me by the Soviet Foreign Minister was just that. It is not a peace that neither the United States, nor her NATO allies will ever agree to. I implore the Soviet Union and her Warsaw Pact allies to back away from the abyss, to reconsider the actions they are committing themselves to, and to come back to the table. Even now, it is not too late and we are willing to talk, frankly, honestly and earnestly. This concludes my remarks, thank you ladies and gentlemen."

The squadron ready room was as quiet as a pin. Daria and Jane looked at each other, the looks in their eyes said it, but Jane was the first to verbalize it.

"Game time."