Erika Holzer - Freedom Bridge

“You know your man, all right. My brother Aleksei will frame me for something that can’t possibly reflect on him. Then he’ll have me shot.”

“You’re exaggerating. He’s your own brother! You’d say anything to stop me.”

And do anything .

Kiril caught Brenner off balance with a single blow.

The man with brown hair, lying on the four-poster in the bedroom of the Brenner suite, wore a shabby blue suit and dark glasses.

The man bending over him wore a dress shirt, a black bow toe, and a tuxedo. His hair was white.

The white-haired man straightened up, went into the bedroom, and examined himself in the floor-length mirror. His lips curved into a practiced smile—contemptuous, amused. With an impatient gesture, he brushed away a few rebellious strands of hair that had fallen onto his forehead before stepping back for a final appraisal.

Closing Adrienne Brenner’s suitcase, still on the bed, he put the other suitcase in the closet. A gown and a bathrobe hung there, along with a raincoat and a woman’s cape. He put on the raincoat, took the cape, and picked up Adrienne’s suitcase.

He was about to shut the bedroom door when he spotted the glass on the bureau. Not much gin and tonic left, but the twist of lime was still there. He squeezed a few drops of lime juice into the half-sprawled man’s left eye, once again adjusted the dark glasses on the comatose face, and did one last check No more brown spots on the neck. A small spatter of the rinse had washed off easily.

He picked up the telephone and dialed, bracing himself for the tense voice on the other end. “Sorry it took me so long,” he told Aleksei in Russian. “I know I said I’d call right back, but things got a little unpleasant… No, nothing like that. Brenner’s initial panic is over.”

Kiril continued in Russian. “… Get ahold of yourself, Aleksei. You sound ‘drunk as a skunk,’ as the Americans say. Yes, he’s agreed to everything. However, he has one precondition. Hold on. Brenner wants to tell you himself.”

Kiril held the phone against his chest, wondering if Aleksei could hear the rapid beating of his heart. After a few seconds, he lifted the receiver as a string of American slang expressions flashed through his mind. “You win, Colonel,” Kiril said in English, his voice more sonorous, and more than a little belligerent. “But get this straight. Any blackmail threats you people concocted against my wife are out of bounds. I’m taking Adrienne to Zurich out of harm’s way… .Of course I’ll be back! I can’t afford not to, can I? It won’t be forever, you said… . Right.”

A pregnant pause.

“One more thing, Colonel. That ‘unpleasantness’ your brother alluded to just now? Forgive my crudeness, but it seems that ever since he laid eyes on my wife, he wanted to get into her pants. He’s about to find out what I think of that offensive notion.”

Hanging up before Aleksei had a chance to reply, Kiril grabbed suitcase and cape and rushed down an empty corridor to his room. After stuffing a few items into the suitcase, he hurriedly dumped the brown hair rinse bottle into a waste basket in the bathroom, along with the diazepam and the syringe, then covered the contents with soiled towels.

For a long moment, Kiril closed his eyes. The next thing he knew, he was walking with brisk authority down the hallway toward an elevator in the characteristic stride he’d zeroed in on the moment Dr. Kurt Brenner had stepped off a plane in East Berlin.

When he realized that he’d begun to swing the suitcase as if it were a tennis racket, he felt a surge of adrenalin.

Maybe, just maybe, I can pull this off!

Aleksei had left the table he’d shared with his brother and Adrienne Brenner and was huddled with the press contingent in a lounge just outside the banquet room. When Adrienne’s husband headed for the table, Aleksei cast a suspicious glance at the suitcase in his hand.

“My wife’s things. She’s no part of this. Adrienne is not going anywhere near the Soviet Union. Given her political sentiments, I could barely get her to East Berlin,” he said waspishly.

Aleksei made his way back toward the table out of earshot of the press, teetering slightly, as if he were crossing the deck of a sailboat.

“Where’s my brother?” he asked.

“In the master bedroom—out cold on the bed. I trust you won’t take it personally.”

“I always take family matters personally but not in the way you mean. I picked up on my brother’s attraction to your wife. Nor do I rule out the possibility that it was mutual,” Aleksei added, unable to resist chipping away at Brenner’s pride after all the trouble the bastard had put him through. “Romance aside, Dr. Brenner,” he said, his words slightly slurred, “what will you tell your wife about your forced separation?”

“I’ll think of something.”

“Indeed. Is my brother badly hurt?”

“He’ll wake up with an aching jaw and a good-sized lump on his cranium where his head hit the bedpost. Does that disturb you?”

“Actually, it pleases me.” Aleksei downed a slug of vodka like it was water. “Kiril’s independent nature has always needed a few hard knocks.”

“I presume you have a limousine waiting?”

“A limousine to take you and your lovely wife to the airport, where you’ll board an executive jet for Zurich. The same plane will return you and me to Moscow in the morning.”

“Then let’s get to it.” He headed for the table where Adrienne Brenner sat leaning back in her chair.

Aleksei’s hand shot out, stopping him in his tracks.

“I have my own precondition, Dr. Brenner. A group of extremely curious newsmen are waiting impatiently in the lounge. They’re expecting to hear something out of the ordinary. Naturally, I cannot disappoint them. As soon as I invite them in, you will announce your intention to defect to the Soviet Union. Then you may escort your wife to Zurich.”

“So that after I leave, it will be difficult for me to change my mind.”

“Can you blame me? But you also benefit. Your parents are already in Zurich. Think of how your decision to take a—shall we call it a sabbatical?—in Moscow will soften the blow for them. By the time you reach Zurich, they’ll have had time to absorb what happened. I will arrange everything. We have friends in all the key Western cities who will make sure the press is alerted.”

“ The ultimate argument, Colonel. The hostage game. And I’m not even on Soviet soil yet.” Arching a contemptuous eyebrow, he said, “Very well. Let’s get this over with.”

“One last piece of advice. Your announcement can be as brief as you like. Just make sure it lacks the flavor of coercion. Keep in mind that a decision to defect is not made on the spur of the moment between cocktails and dinner.”

“I’ll do my best. Now if you’ll give me a moment alone with my obviously inebriated wife…” Without waiting for an answer, he moved to the table and took Adrienne’s hands in his.

She looked up at him. “Where’ve you been? Honestly, Kurt, making an entrance is one thing but… uh oh, I think I’m tipsy.”

Gently, he pulled her to her feet. “I know you are, dear, and I’m sorry. We’ll leave in about five minutes. Will you do something for me in the meantime?” he asked as he draped the cape around her shoulders.

She nodded, embarrassed by the state she was in. Disarmed by his uncharacteristic solicitude.

Noticing her suitcase in his hand, she said, “Where’s yours?”

“Later. I have an announcement to make to some newsmen— something you won’t begin to understand. But as soon as we board the plane, I’ll explain. Until then I don’t want these people to see your reaction. Mind waiting for me in the lounge outside? The press is about to come bursting in. The minute I finish dealing with them, we’ll take the elevator down and a limo will take us to the airport. Okay?”