Erika Holzer - Freedom Bridge

“Dear God, the man is serious,” Brenner muttered, groping for Adrienne’s hand.

“Have you no sense of humor?” Aleksei mocked. “Has your soft American life bred it out of you? The joke is on our dear mother. Three sons, and the only one who merits her undying devotion—her precious Kiril—is the very one who tricked her and delivered you back into my hands. And now, madam,”—his glance shifted to the radio—“Mother Russia has all three of your sons. How you must be suffering!”

The static yielded to the animated voice of the Master of Ceremonies.

“But the biggest surprise, ladies and gentlemen, is how the woman whose revelations set off the tumult you hear is bearing up. The mother of Dr. Kurt Brenner is waiting, microphone in hand, for people to quiet down, ready to answer all those painful probing questions many of you are eager to ask. Yet Anna Brenner is the very picture of that old cliché—calm, cool, and collected. In point of fact, she looks relieved—”

Aleksei shot to his feet and snapped off the radio.

It was dusk when the phone rang. Aleksei picked it up. “Well?” he asked, and waited for an answer. “Good.” He hung up. “Time to go,” he announced unceremoniously.

Kurt Brenner was terrified to the point of immobility. He was silent as Luka Rogov twisted one arm behind his back and pushed him out the door. Adrienne and Kiril followed, heading for the waiting staff car.

Unwilling to risk losing his prize possessions, Aleksei ordered Luka to put Brenner in the front passenger seat, and then get under the steering wheel next to him. Aleksei himself sat behind Brenner. Telling Adrienne to sit in the middle of the back seat, he left the seat in back of Luka for Kiril.

As soon as Luka cranked the ignition, turned on his lights, and headed for the executive jet that would take them to Moscow, Aleksei was visibly relieved—though guardedly so.

Adrienne reached for Kiril’s hand, puzzled when he brushed off her overture.

Minutes into the ride—in a motion too swift for anyone to integrate—Kiril slipped one hand under his tuxedo jacket and removed a letter opener from his belt. He’d spotted it while he was clearing off the chairs in the clerk’s office.

Leaning forward, he placed the metal blade on the left side of Luka Rogov’s thick neck.

Aleksei blanched.

“This blade is resting on Rogov’s carotid artery, Aleksei,” he said. “If I were to push it just an inch or so, there will be a gusher of blood that even Dr. Kurt Brenner would be unable to stop. Your alter ego will be exsanguinated. Tell him what that means, Kurt.”

Brenner turned and had the pleasure of seeing Aleksei Andreyev’s terrified expression. “It’s true, Colonel,” Brenner said with authority. “If Kiril cuts or punctures this man’s carotid artery, he’s finished.”

Kiril had always sensed that Rogov was an irreplaceable part of the psychological netherworld that Aleksei inhabited. That in some primal undefinable way, Aleksei would do almost anything to keep Rogov safe. He was relieved to find that, so far at least, he had been correct.

“Do whatever Kiril tells you, Luka,” Aleksei said. He couldn’t resist adding, “We will have our time soon.”

“Drive to the furthest and darkest part of the tarmac and stop when I tell you,” Kiril told Rogov. “Aleksei, I want you to unholster your revolver—slowly—and hand it to Mrs. Brenner butt first.”

To underscore his orders, Kiril lightly scratched Luka’s neck with the letter opener. A tiny droplet of blood dribbled out.

“Kurt, please tell our brother Aleksei whether Rogov is bleeding and whether the cut is serious.”

“Yes about the blood, no about the serious,” Brenner said—and on his own added, “Not yet.”

Adrienne held Aleksei’s revolver by the butt, resting it in her lap.

“Mrs. Brenner,” Kiril said, “do you know what the hammer on a revolver is—the piece just above your thumb?”

Adrienne almost smiled. “I’ve seen enough movies. You want me to pull the hammer back?”

“Yes. Then put the end of the gun’s barrel into Aleksei’s side. If he so much as burps, I want you to pull the trigger. Can you do that?”

Her answer came slowly. “The hammer, yes. I’ve just done it. The rest? Maybe. I’m not sure.”

Half a loaf. Well, Aleksei can’t be sure either.

“Sit on your hands, Aleksei,” Kiril said.

Aleksei did as he was told.

By now Rogov had driven at least two miles deep into the airport. The tarmac was enveloped in darkness, the car’s headlights providing the only light. Before them were dense stands of trees. To the left there appeared to be a dirt trail, maybe an old logging road.

“Aleksei, tell Rogov to stop slowly, turn off his bright lights, and turn on the parking lights.”

Both men complied.

Kiril slowly moved his free right hand to Adrienne’s, took Aleksei’s revolver from her, and put it at the back of Luka’s head while replacing the letter opener in his belt.

“Kurt,” Kiril said, “Rogov’s revolver is holstered on his right side, next to you. See it? I want you to open the holster, remove the weapon, pull back the hammer, and step out of the car. Then go around to the door behind you, open it, and press the barrel against our KGB brother’s head. Can you do that?”

“With pleasure,” Brenner responded with undisguised enthusiasm.

“Kurt, step back so Aleksei has room to get out of the car. He will walk about ten feet—backwards. As you walk backwards behind him, aim at the lumbar spine. If he makes any sudden moves, put two bullets in his spine.”

“My pleasure,” Brenner said—and had to admit that the mere thought of crippling the sonofabitch was delicious.

“Mrs. Brenner,” Kiril said, “get out of the car through the r ight door and step about ten feet away.”

She did.

Kiril spoke to Luka Rogov in Russian. “I am about to get out of the car. The gun in my hand will be aimed at your head. If you make any move I don’t like, I will blow your head off and then do the same to Colonel Andreyev. Nod if you understand.”

Rogov, his bushy eyebrows creased in a frown, nodded.

“I’m not finished, Luka. Once you’re out of the car, you will walk backwards until I tell you to stop.”

Rogov nodded again, left the car, and started walking backwards.

“Now stop and turn around,” Kiril told him.

“No, don’t. Don’t kill him! He can’t harm you now!” Aleksei cried out.

“Listen to me, Rogov,” Kiril said, ignoring Aleksei’s anguished plea. “I want you to remove your tie, your belt, the straps that hold your equipment, the shoelaces from your boots—all of it. You too, Aleksei.”

As soon as they were done, Kiril asked Adrienne to collect whatever items would effectively bind their hands and feet.

Walking Luka to roughly ten feet from where Brenner guarded Aleksei, Kiril told both men to drop their trousers.

Luka just stared at him, not comprehending.

Not so Aleksei. Realizing they weren’t about to die after all, he made a crude joke.

“Explain what I want—what Rogov must do next—and why, Aleksei.”

He did, and they did.

Kurt Brenner was amazed that such a simple expedient virtually froze the two Russians in place. Unable to walk, let alone run, all they could do was hop like kangaroos!

Kiril signaled Adrienne to bring him what she’d sorted. There were more than enough sturdy items to secure both Aleksei and Luka Rogov.

Kiril tied up Rogov, Brenner doing the same with Aleksei.

“What now?” Brenner asked cheerfully.

“My original plan, of course,” Kiril replied, making no effort to lower his voice. “We’ll hijack the executive jet and fly to Tempelhof Airport in West Berlin.”