"Your second visit let him know you think something is fishy with his cover. And that puts him in an awkward bind.
"His first impulse will be to assume the worst and evacuate. But then he'll realize that such a plan doesn't make sense. If you Americans wanted to pick him up, you would not have been sent to tease him. He knows that if you are watching him and he runs, then he confirms your suspicions.
"But can he stay and do nothing? No, certainly not. You are too large a danger. Clearly you are still suspicious: Ensuring that he wouldn't dare hold you on the farm because of your 'appointment' showed that you don't trust him. You may have nothing yet, and, as you implied, you may not have informed your superiors of your suspicions, but he must assume you will continue your investigation.
"To make matters worse, your second visit is in a way very unprofessional, very foolish. Your comments about the investigation being closed but you still being curious are ludicrous. No agent would do that, no true investigation would be closed with one of its chief investigators still curious. In other words, what you did was absurd, amateurish, insane. He won't be able to fit you into a logical pattern.
‘’On top of all this is Krumin’s mission. From everything we have seen and from what I know of his work, he and his superiors view whatever this is as very important. He can't abandon it on such a hazy though real threat. He'll need something more to answer his questions and help him reach a decision."
"And I'm that something more," Malcolm replied dully.
'Correct." Chou smiled. "He needs to know all he can about you. He may already have some information, but what you did today will make him move. He must come out of hiding and go after you. And when and how he does that will tell us what we need to know about the others."
Chou's plan was simple. They parked Malcolm's vehicle on the other side of town to complement the story he had told the motel clerk: He was out, location and plans unknown, and would not be back until late. Sheila phoned in the same information. From their vantage point on the courthouse roof Malcolm and Chou watched the glass encased motel office.
"There are several things they can do," Chou explained. "Kidnap you as we did, burgle your room while you're away or try to kill you outright, assuming you are too immediate a menace to play with."
Malcolm had not replied.
"Malcolm!" -Chou's whisper sharply commanded Malcolm to his side. "Look," he said, "down there."
A pickup truck drove slowly by the motel. It moved up the hill from their left to their right, then vanished. They heard the engine growing fainter in the darkness.
"That's the second time the pickup has passed." Chou spoke softly into the small radio he carried, alerting Sheila. She called back in less than two minutes. "It's coming around to your side again."
The pickup passed by even more slowly this time. Malcolm thought he saw the two occupants carefully examine the motel office. The night clerk went off duty at midnight. The office was deserted.
Chou didn't offer to let Malcolm share the binoculars. Malcolm refused to ask. They listened to the pickup after it topped the hill and vanished from their sight. The engine labored strangely for a much longer period of time than before, then was suddenly silent.
Minutes later Malcolm recognized the two men even without the binoculars' assistance. Matt Kincaid and Peter Robinson, the nephew, strode over the hill and entered the motel's office. Peter went behind the counter briefly, then rejoined his neighbor. They mounted the steps and headed toward Malcolm's room.
"Come!" commanded Chou. "We don't have much time."
Malcolm stumbled twice as they dashed down the stairs of the courthouse, but each time he avoided falling. Chou ran effortlessly ahead. They paused briefly at the door to radio Sheila and make sure the coast was clear before they quietly left the building.
When they found the pickup, Malcolm, as ordered, drew his gun and hung back to cover Chou. The truck was empty. Chou approached it cautiously, verified that no one waited in ambush, then stuck the small radio transmitter under the seat with the send button taped down. He silently shut the pickup door, then hid just inside a shrubbery covered archway twenty yards in front of the pickup. Malcolm hid behind some garbage cans twenty yards to the pickup's rear.
Fifteen minutes later Malcolm heard footsteps. Within seconds the pickup doors softly opened and closed. He knew Chou was listening on a small radio to whatever the two men said. The gun butt was slippery in Malcolm's sweating hand.
The two sharp cracks came less than two seconds apart. Malcolm rolled from behind the garbage cans, his gun pointed to the pickup. The last time he had heard those cracks had been when Chou killed the gopher. Chou stood beside the driver's seat, motioning for him to join him.
"It was really unavoidable," Chou explained in a whisper. "I had intended to take them prisoner, but as I approached the pickup, the passenger leaned forward and quite clearly said, 'ne girl is Chinese tool' I had no choice. Luckily the' driver had his window down and I got them without breaking any glass." Malcolm forced himself not to look into the truck.
"It's as I expected. You'll note the citizen's-band unit. Not uncommon out here and very useful to them, I imagine. With our crude but effective tap I heard them call their base. They said they found neither of you and nothing in your rooms. The voice on the other end ordered them to take up a position where they could watch the motel, then try again when you arrived., They were also instructed not to call in again until they had something definite.
"Actually," Chou said, "it couldn't have worked out better for us. Now go get our jeep and meet us here. I've radioed for Sheila."
By the time Malcolm returned Chou and Sheila had hidden the bodies under a tarp stretched across the pickup's box. Sheila said nothing to Malcolm. Chou had Malcolm take them to the Chinese's car, which Sheila drove, following Malcolm and Chou in the jeep as they headed toward Whitlash.
18
"Kitty, can you play chess? Now, don't smile, my dear, I'm asking it seriously. Because, when we were playing just now, you watched just as if you understood it: and when I said 'Check! you purred! Well, it was a nice check, Kitty, and really I might have won, if it hadn't been for that nasty Knight, that came wriggling down among my pieces."
"Everything falls into place now" Chou began as they left Shelby's city limits. "I had to wait and see who came to get you before I knew what Krumin-Livingston's relationship was to the two families in Whitlash. If Krumin had come alone, then I still . wouldn't have known without questioning him. Since he sent representatives from both families, I'm fairly sure my theory has been right all along.
"We first heard of Krumin shortly after World War Two. Krumin was a legend in select military circles then, which was how his name came to our attention. One of our more intelligent diplomats shared stories of the war with a Russian colleague while they passed the long hours of h Moscow winter's night. The Russian told our diplomat about Krumin, and our diplomat had the foresight to make notes the next morning.
"Krumin was a very young partisan who spent a great deal of time harassing the Nazis with behind-the-lines guerrilla operations. While still in his teens, he rose quite high in Soviet military circles. His age and his genius helped him avoid the postwar purges, and he eventually transferred to civilian intelligence, where he spent most of his time training agents in guerrilla warfare, commando tactics and frontier penetrations.
"Krumin did quite well for himself, made the correct friends and stayed out of dangerous inner-party politics. We next heard of him from some of the young men we sent to Russia for training in the early 1950's. You must remember that at that time our relations were much more amicable. Our people brought back tales of how Krumin wanted to 'seed' the West with bands of what you would call fifth column soldiers. In those days both East and West assumed open conventional warfare between Russia and the West was a very real possibility.
"Nuclear developments, strategic changes and internal problems preempted those conventional warfare pla
ns. The clash never occurred; the American and Western working classes have yet to rise and join their Russian and Chinese comrades.
"When the trouble between Russia and China became a little more than philosophical squabbling, one of the issues which slowly came to the fore was land. Both countries claim much of the land along their mutual border. China holds some Russia claims, Russia holds some China claims. Both sides have military personnel scattered along their border in a manner quite strange for comrades.
"Then in 1974 came the flurry of activity in the espionage world I mentioned earlier.
"Krumin did more than train some of our soldiers. He picked the most malleable of the lot and sent them back to us as traitors. But he wasn't after information. Not then, not primarily. He picked on peasants from the northern provinces, people who historically have never felt a great kinship for governments in Peking. And he sent them back as seeds, just in case open war between our two countries did break out. They were to serve as partisans behind our lines.
"We have identified almost all of those-Krumin recruited. At the proper moment they will cease to be a nuisance. But we want to be sure we have them all. For that we need Krumin.
"Of course you've guessed about the Robinsons and the Kincaids. This affair has nothing per se to do with missiles; it concerns borders. Remember, at one time the Soviets actually considered invasion through Canada as a viable war strategy. Couple that with Krumin's fifth-column concept, and everything falls into place.
"But, as is so often the case, your people couldn’t see the forest for the trees. When they looked at the mysterious death of your agent, they saw missiles, not frontiers.
"I doubt the seed theory is conceptually pure in this instance, but it is safe to assume the Kincaids and Robinsons are Russian agents smuggled into this country years ago to sit and await the day when they would be needed.
"This isn't the first instance of Krumin's activity in this area. In 1965 a pathetic Canadian named George Spencer turned himself in as a Russian spy to the Canadian mounties. He was dying of cancer and felt he had nowhere else to go. Spencer was a very small spy, and although he eventually helped touch off Canada's Munsinger scandal, he really did little. One of the things he was asked to do by the Soviets was to find about ten farms for sale in British Columbia near the American border. He never completed this mission for his Russian masters."
"But the Robinsons and Kincaids have been around since the mid-1950's," interrupted Malcolm.
"Yes," replied Chou, "I imagine they were the first group established. Imagine, a whole town of agents. When the cold war outlooks and strategies changed, I'm sure Krumin hung onto his little village or perhaps villages and kept promoting the idea. They couldn't have produced much intelligence, but they would serve as excellent safe areas and transportation terminals. When your country chose to., scatter its nuclear missiles in this part of the country, I'm sure Krumin was beside himself with joy."
"So what do we do?" Malcolm asked glumly as he turned 'off the main highway and headed down a country road.
"Do? Why we neutralize our friend Krumin. Stop his operation. That will be a boon to your country for which you need not thank me. It is simply the only way I can think of to get to Krumin."
"What do you mean, 'neutralize'?" Malcolm asked quietly. He waited for a reply he hoped he would like and could believe.
"Just that. I know what worries you. Believe me, I had to kill those two men. We may have to kill one or two others of Krumin's group. It depends on how they resist. We have the element of surprise now. I think we can sustain it and come off with no casualties on our side and minimal on theirs."
"With no 'excesses."'
"Of course not, none at all. And you will soon be free to go back to your sage old man and tell him what little you can about Sheila and me. We will be safe by the time you get to him."
Malcolm said nothing. He kept glancing in the rearview mirrors, watching Sheila's headlights bobbing behind him on the rough country road.
They parked three miles away from Whitlash, just behind a small hill which hid the vehicles from the town's view. Sheila joined them as they stood in front of the jeep. She glanced briefly at Malcolm without saying anything. He tried to smile at her, but he couldn't master any levity. Chou took the heavy bag she brought from the car and opened it. He spoke as he examined his tools.
"I doubt they'll have a lookout. The major worry I have is the Robinson's dog. More than likely they have him outside. The wind is slight and steady from the West. We will approach that way. I shall lead. I have one of those men's jackets with me. The smells should confuse the dog enough so he doesn't bark immediately. He should come across the field to investigate.
"I am betting they will all be in one house, probably the Robinsons'. We will go through whichever house seems the quietest first, then proceed. I doubt the deaf old man will hear us, but just in case, we will cut his phone wires too.
"Malcolm, you and I will enter the houses, Sheila will stay outside until we call her. She will provide backup and covering fire. We must gain control of them quickly and decisively. I know you don't want to hurt them, but do not' hesitate to kill any of them except Krumin. Leave him for me. We learn nothing if he dies."
Chou handed Sheila a short, squat weapon from the bag. Malcolm recognized it as the Israeli Uzi submachine pistol, one of the smallest, deadliest automatic weapons made. She also slipped on a bulging knapsack. Chou extended his hand with another revolver for Malcolm. Malcolm looked at him questioningly.
"Take it. You won't have time to reload if things get rough."
Malcolm took the gun and the belt holster Chou gave him.
They needed twenty-five minutes to cross the fields. Chou motioned for Sheila and Malcolm to stop, then he proceeded alone. Malcolm saw him, screw a silencer on his pistol.
Malcolm started to speak to Sheila, but she put a restraining hand over his mouth. He nodded, but took her hand and held it tightly. She didn't try to draw away.
Chou rejoined them in ten minutes. He flashed them the affirmative thumbs-up sign, and they entered the town.
Their first stop was Old Man Gorton's house. Malcolm lifted Sheila up, and she cut the telephone wires.
Old Man Gorton's house was at the west-end of the street. The-Kincaid house was on the north side. All the Kincaids' windows were dark. Lights shone from the Robinsons' house on the south side of the street. They crawled behind storage buildings and sheds until they reached the Kincaids' back door. Chou smiled at Malcolm and they slipped inside.
The house was empty. Chou left and returned with Sheila. The three of them knelt, carefully looking out the Kincaids' front window to the Robinsons' house across the street. Occasionally they saw a figure moving in one of the lighted downstairs rooms. The upstairs was dark.
"We will circle back the way we came," Chou whispered to Malcolm, "and come through their side door and into the kitchen. That looks like where they are anyway. The porch is concrete and should not creak. Surprise should shock them long enough to let us inside. Sheila covers the front. Start shooting: if it looks as though we have failed."
"What if the kitchen door is locked?" asked Malcolm.
Chou smiled. "I doubt it. If it is, we'll know before we expend effort because we'll try the knob. We can always change our plan."
"This is crazy," Malcolm said, "crazy."
"No, it's not," replied Chou, "it's challenging. And it's necessary."
Malcolm looked to Sheila for support. For the first time that night she smiled at him. "If you do as Chou says, it can work. He can make it work."
Malcolm slowly shook his head, then left with Chou.
They covered the distance in less than ten minutes. Malcolm's heart raced as they slowly slid along the wall of Ihe Robinson house.
A low window leading to a dark room stood open. Malcolm risked looking over the side. The door connecting the room to the rest of the house was partially open. The light filtering, in from the other roo
ms was strong enough to let Malcolm see that the room was an empty bedroom. He glanced at Chou, motioning with his hand that he would enter through the window. Chou nodded to Malcolm, pointed to his watch and held up one finger. In one minute he would come through the kitchen door. Chou didn't leave until Malcolm was safely in the room.
Malcolm pressed against the doorjamb, doing his best to stay in-the shadow. Directly across from him was a closed door. No light shone under the crack, and Malcolm was sure it was a closet. He knew that if he went out the door, he would be in the living room. A hall leading to a staircase was to his right. Voices came from the living room and the kitchen.
Krumin-Livingston: and at least they found nothing in his room."
Fran Robinson: "Couldn't you quit blaming Neil? He's done everything he could! All these years have been hard on us!"
"Now, Comrade (continued Krumin], perhaps you've been living the charade so long you've grown into it. Neil is your loving and loved husband second. Primarily he is your comrade. His alcoholism cannot be an excuse for his failures. Look at him, turn around and look at him, sitting there with his beer in his quivering hands, while two other.
It was then that Malcolm moved to jump into the living room and hopefully catch them off guard. As he braced himself for added momentum, he bumped the bureau behind him and sent a bottle of after-shave lotion crashing to the floor.
Malcolm moved as quickly as he could after he heard the glass bottle shatter. He turned the corner, gun extended, and froze.
If Malcolm had been alone, he would have died shortly after his clumsy entry. Krumin stood across the living room from him,, his form filling the door between the kitchen and the living room. He had turned rapidly toward the sound in the bedroom, and his hand already held the gun he pulled from his rear pocket. Malcolm might have been able to kill Krumin had his mind not been so set on keeping that particular man alive. Even if he hadn't hesitated but had shot at Krumin the moment he saw the gun, Malcolm still would have died, for Shirley Kincaid was moving out of the kitchen almost directly behind Krumin. She already carried a pistol. She had cradled it all night in lieu of the children they wouldn't let her have while she waited for her husband who would never come home.