Brian Freemantle - The Watchmen

The new contact number was in a mall again, out on the Cohoes Road. As he drove Patrick Hollis wondered how the General obtained them. It wasn’t important. Not a system he’d copy when his intended changes occurred. Not necessary, if you knew how to use a computer like he did. That’s what his were going to be, a computer army. Enough of them available. Hundreds. Thousands. All out there on the war game sites, combat ready, awaiting recruitment.

Hollis managed to park conveniently close to the buildings, to avoid his having to walk too far. Didn’t want to be breathless: might give the impression of nervousness. It had begun to rain, and he hunched deeper into his coat as he walked the last few yards, hands in his pockets, the pad and pens ready. Although he expected it, Hollis still jumped when the phone rang.

“Quartermaster?”

“Sir!” Hollis felt again the vague embarrassment when the accepted hacking terms were spoken aloud.

“You obeyed orders?” the rasping voice demanded at once.

“I’m here,” said Hollis.

“That isn’t the answer. What about account numbers?”

Hollis took a breath, preparing himself. “You’ve done it wrong. I told you not to take too much. The FBI has got teams in tracing you. It’s not safe anymore.”

Hollis felt warmed, close to being aroused, by the silence from the other end. At last the voice said, “What are they doing? How?”

“I don’t know. All I know is that it’s happening. I’m breaking contact.”

“No! Wait! You’ve got a new assignment. Intelligence. You’ve got to find out.”

This was orgasmic! He hadn’t expect the concern-the panic-like this. “It’s too dangerous.”

“You can do it! You have to do it! It’s an order!”

“Just stop. Abort.” He couldn’t appear to capitulate too quickly.

“No! Everything goes ahead.”

“Not like this,” demanded Hollis. “I’ve got to have a way of contacting you immediately. Warning you.”

Silence again. Hollis could hear the man breathing heavily from the other end. “You got something to write with?”

“Yes.”

The website address was dictated slowly. “Read it back.”

Hollis did so. Wonderful! A telephone number would have been much more difficult. “Name?”

“You know my rank. Eleven o’clock every morning. I want to talk about money now. The amount I want-”

Hollis didn’t need to hear any more so he replaced the receiver. Even better than wonderful! The stealing would go on, making it all perfect.

He was the commanding officer now. It was a good feeling.

James Schnecker tapped the photographs back into their neat order, offering them across the desk to Cowley. With him, from the United Nations entry team, he’d brought Neil Hamish, Richard Pointdexter, and Hank Burgess.

Schnecker said, “And you think you might have to let them run to lead you back to America?”

“Yes,” said Cowley. “Can you make everything safe?”

Schnecker shook his head. “Take three or four days to defuse that much.”

“What then?” demanded Danilov.

“The word you used,” said the expert. “Sabotage.”

“So that they couldn’t be used for another attack,” pressed Cowley.

“Guaranteed,” promised Hamish. “We’re the best in the business to ensure that things don’t go off.”

“Not the way they’re expected,” added Pointdexter.

“If you lose them you’ll want to find them again, won’t you?” asked Schnecker.

“The whole point, if we let it all run, is to find who they’re going to,” said Cowley.

“We’ll see that you do,” promised Schnecker.

“Leanov’s on the move,” reported the man on the Nikitskij alley surveillance. “Naina’s with him.”

“Our cue?” suggested Schnecker.

“From the direction we’re going, it looks like Pereulok Vorotnikovskij and the Golden Hussar,” said the observer in the pursuit car.

“If it’s for a telephone call from Brooklyn, it could be a busy night,” said Barry Martlew.

It was.

It was Billie Holiday again but a different tape- The Unforgettable Lady Day -without either Leanov’s accompaniment or a lot of conversation inside the car.

Leanov said, “How do you think they’ll feel in America about the changes?”

“Important they know who’s in control.”

“We do need to meet the Americans instead of fucking around on telephones like this. It’s ridiculous!”

“You got any problems with the idea?”

“You know I haven’t.”

“Gavri’s the problem. He’ll cheat again, if he gets the chance. Like he did the side deal with the intelligence agents’ names.”

“You want another example made?”

“Let’s see how this goes. Decide afterward. Might prove something to the Americans as well as everyone else.”

“We’re here,” announced the following surveillance car.

Only the two forensic experts who’d broken into the garage and knew the booby traps went with Schnecker’s team and Cowley and Danilov. Barry Martlew remained at the embassy, as the pivotal liaison between the Manhattan eavesdropping, the observers outside the Golden Hussar, and Cowley.

They followed the same routine as before, only the two break-in specialists initially going into the alley. Pavin, included now, drove the lead car carrying the empty warhead and protective equipment-another trusted Petrovka detective at the wheel of the second-but was only halfway down Pereulok Merzijakovskij when the garage watcher radioed that the door was open. Danilov led Schnecker and his team in first.

By the time Cowley joined them, the forensic burglars had picked the locks of the linking door and were groping through the small opening to disconnect the final trip. Cowley immediately saw a rocket mounted with a double warhead that had not been there before. It was lying slightly apart from everything else, like a prize, which Cowley supposed it was. He said, “Now we know what Leanov drove out to Timiryazev to pick up!”

“And what we can do with it,” agreed Schnecker. He did not, however, go immediately to the warhead but instead examined the wiring of the up-and-over door. He said, “Very simple, but very effective.” “I’d say professionally rigged.” He looked at Lambert. “Your guys did well to pick it up.”

Hamish had already followed the door-activated detonating wires into the piled-up explosives. Without looking around he said, “Good job you didn’t play around in here, though. There’s a secondary trigger. It’s all still live, ready to pop.”

A visible stiffening went through everyone except Schnecker’s group.

Lambert said disbelievingly, “I did play around with it: took paint samples and tried for fingerprints.”

Hamish turned briefly to the forensic leader. “Then you’ll never be as lucky again. Don’t take any more chances because you haven’t got any left.”

“You want us out of the way?” asked one of Lambert’s technicians.

“Won’t save you being next door, if I get it wrong,” said Hamish, his hands deeply inside the stacked mines, working by feel. “And if they’ve got a vibration detonator somewhere in here, you might even set it off by moving.”

Total silence enveloped the room. Again Danilov became aware of breathing shallowly and knew others were, too. Everyone except the Fort Detrick team was frozen, where and how they stood. Schnecker wasn’t. He crouched over the double warhead, probing between the missile and its launcher. Hamish himself breathed out, heavily, gently withdrawing his arm to flex his fingers before sliding them back in through a different opening. Without looking away from what he was doing, the man said, “I want a breath of tension on two.”