The guard snapped, “You stink of whisky. Stay here.” He disappeared from the window.
Pembroke pulled back the operating rod of his M-16 and let it spring forward with a loud metallic ring. Ann and the two men did the same; each time, Roth flinched in his seat. Pembroke rose slowly and looked out the front windshield. He could see the heads of four uniformed men passing by.
The first guard returned. “Their telephone isn’t working. What is your business here?”
Roth drew a deep breath. “More food. For Androv.”
The guard said nothing.
Roth found his voice again. “I have something for you.” He turned and fumbled with a shopping bag on the seat beside him. “Vodka and Scotch. Six bottles.” He raised the bag to the window.
The guard looked around, then snatched the bag through the opening. “Get moving, Roth.”
Roth nodded quickly and threw the van into gear. His foot trembled so badly on the accelerator that the van moved in short lurches. He turned left again along the south edge of the forecourt, then right into a small drive that bent around to the south side of the mansion.
Pembroke came up behind Roth. “All right, one more checkpoint. Get us through there and you’ve bought yourself a pardon. Easy now. You’re doing just fine.”
The van pulled up to the iron gates of the walled service court, and a guard shielded his eyes against the glare of the headlights. He nodded in recognition, then unlatched the gates and swung one open. Roth pulled halfway through and stopped. Pembroke sank down behind the driver’s seat. The guard put his hands on the window frame. “Do you have anything extra, Roth?”
Roth nodded and took a small bag from the floor on the passenger side, and handed it to the man. The Russian peered inside the bag. “What is this shit?”
“Cordials. Sweet. For the ladies. Very expensive.”
The guard snorted.
Roth said, “I’ll be some time unloading and setting up a buffet. An hour.”
The guard looked at him, then said, “Back up to the service doors. Don’t block anyone.”
Roth nodded and pulled through the gate.
Pembroke whispered to the other three, “Half the bloody Russkies must be eating and drinking on poor George.”
Sutter said, “But there’s no such thing as a free lunch, is there? Tonight we collect for Mr. Van Dorn.”
Ann glanced at the three men. She had never seen such coolness and optimism in the face of such overwhelming odds. She supposed their past successes engendered a sense of omnipotence. They simply couldn’t imagine losing.
Roth maneuvered the van through the crowded parking yard, then put it in reverse and edged it back to the service doors. He shut off the engine and headlights, then stood unsteadily and moved to the back of the van. He pushed open the van doors.
Pembroke said, “Open the service doors. Quickly.”
Roth jumped down from the van and opened the large double doors, swinging them out to meet the van doors, creating a shielded passage from the van to the house.
Pembroke stared through the open doors into a large storage room. At the far end was a single closed door. No one was visible.
Pembroke jumped out of the van and prodded Roth through the doors into the storage room. Sutter, Ann, and Llewelyn grabbed a few boxes of food and carried them into the room, stacking them along the wall. Sutter went back and closed the van doors, then began pulling the service doors closed.
“Stop!” Footsteps approached.
Pembroke shoved Roth forward toward the doors. The others braced themselves along the wall near the double doors.
The guard stepped up to the doors. “Roth, I forgot to tell you. Don’t leave these doors open. If they’re open after eleven thirty, Androv will have you shot.”
Roth nodded quickly. “I’m closing them now.”
“Don’t open them again.”
“No, no.”
The guard looked at him. “What’s wrong with you, Roth?”
“I had too much to drink.”
The guard stared at him, then said, “Why are you shaking? Roth? What—”
Pembroke stepped away from the wall, pushed Roth aside, and faced the Russian. The man blinked at the black-hooded apparition and his mouth dropped open. Pembroke seized the leather crossstrap of the man’s gun belt and with a powerful movement pulled him in through the doors, spun him around, and sent him slamming into the wall. Sutter hit the Russian in the groin and as he doubled over, Llewelyn delivered a savage karate chop to the base of his neck. The Russian fell forward and lay motionless. Sutter rolled him over and knelt beside him, checking for vital signs. “Still alive, Lew. You’re getting old.”
Pembroke said, “Take him along, then.”
Sutter and Llewelyn grabbed an arm each and dragged the unconscious man through the storage room, preceded by Pembroke and Roth. Ann shut and locked the double doors, then followed quickly. Pembroke slowly opened the large single door at the far end of the room and peered into an area filled with pipes and ducts. The freight elevator stood to his left. Below, he knew, was the boiler room. He passed through the cluttered area and exited through another door into a long corridor, the others behind him. He turned and moved along the narrow corridor off which were the doors to the former servants’ quarters. Pembroke listened at the first door he came to, then turned the old latch handle. The door opened and he stepped inside the dark room. He motioned to the others and they followed quickly, dragging the Russian with them. Ann closed the door and knelt at the keyhole as Pembroke turned on a lamp.
The room was furnished with a single bed, a dresser, and a few chairs and a vanity. A woman’s room. Pembroke opened a closet door and saw a few dresses, skirts, and tops hanging. He turned to Roth and whispered, “Get in there.”
Roth moved quickly into the small closet and stood hunched between the clothes.
Pembroke said, “You’ve been a traitor for over forty years, Roth, but you’ve redeemed yourself by this single act. So you may live. Turn around.”
Roth turned and faced the wall. Llewelyn bound his hands with flex cable and began to place a tape gag over his mouth.
Pembroke said, “Wait. Roth, is there anything else you wish to tell us? Anything we should know that will assist us in completing this mission? Think carefully.”
Roth stayed silent for some time, then said, “No . . . no, nothing.”
Pembroke nodded to Llewelyn, who stuck the tape over Roth’s mouth.
Sutter stepped forward quickly, looped a piece of piano wire around Roth’s neck, and twisted it with a gloved hand. Roth gave a convulsive jerk, then slumped to the floor.
Ann stared, wide-eyed, but said nothing as she knelt by the keyhole.
Pembroke said to Ann, “The punishment for treason in my country is death by hanging. That’s the best we could do under the circumstances.” He looked down at the Russian on the floor. “Take his uniform and put him to sleep.”
Sutter and Llewelyn stripped the uniform, boots, and pistol belt off the Russian. Sutter produced a small Syrette and pushed it into the Russian’s arm, then he and Sutter stuffed the man into the closet atop Roth’s body and shut the door.
Pembroke said, “Llewelyn, you look more the chap’s size. And you have sinister Slavic features.” He smiled.
Llewelyn took off his gear, black camouflage fatigues and shoes, and dressed in the Russian’s uniform, throwing his own clothes and equipment under the bed. He glanced in the vanity mirror as he adjusted the peaked cap on his head.
Sutter commented, “You look like a bloody concierge.”
Llewelyn replied, “Fuck off.” He strapped on the Russian’s gun belt and holster.
Pembroke looked at his watch and said softly, “Well, people, we’re in.”
Sutter, too, checked his watch. “On time, more or less.”
Ann snapped her fingers and everyone turned toward her. She peered out the keyhole. The sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway. Ann held up thre
e fingers, then pantomimed a pistol with her other hand: three armed guards. The footsteps halted and a man spoke in Russian. Another man replied, then there was laughter. The footsteps retreated down the hallway.
Ann turned and whispered, “Something to do with the Rumanian girl—Claudia. And a man named Kalin. They’re in one of these rooms. The detention room. Can we help her?”
Pembroke replied, “No, she’s on her own.” He added, “She volunteered to do a turn for us, and she’s more useful in that capacity.” He thought a moment, then concluded, “Also, I don’t completely trust her.”
Pembroke went to the door and opened it slowly when he was certain the Russians were gone. He motioned to Llewelyn, who walked out first. Llewelyn looked up and down the hall, then turned back to Pembroke and nodded. Ann and Sutter went out next, followed by Pembroke, who closed the door behind them. They made their way quickly back to the freight elevator and entered the large wooden car. Sutter closed the doors manually, and Llewelyn pulled the lever, sending the car creaking slowly upward. Pembroke said, “Next stop, second floor, from whence we will take a flight of stairs to the attic. ‘Nearer my God to Thee.’”
The elevator stopped. Sutter listened at the door. Pembroke and Ann leveled their automatic rifles. Llewelyn grabbed the door handle and slid the door back, exposing a small foyer.
The four people waited a full minute, then quickly exited into the foyer. Llewelyn stepped out into a long hallway stretching about a hundred feet along the north-south axis of the house. Oak doors stood at irregular intervals on both sides of the hallway. Llewelyn walked quickly to the third door on the right. He put his back to the door and assumed a parade-rest position. He listened, watched, and waited; then, still standing with his back to the door, he turned the knob. Locked. He took a spring pick out of his pocket, picked the old mortise lock, and opened the door. Pembroke, Ann, and Sutter rushed past him and slipped into the small foyer at the foot of the attic stairs.
Llewelyn began to follow, then froze. Two Russians in civilian clothing came out of a doorway across the hall.
Llewelyn closed the door and stood again in a rigid parade-rest position in front of it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the two men approach. One was a thin, bald-headed man, the other a powerful-looking man in his twenties.
Pembroke, Ann, and Sutter waited behind the door, listening.
The older man spoke.
Llewelyn knew two words of Russian, da and nyet. Keeping his head and eyes straight ahead, he replied, “Da!”
The Russians looked at each other quizzically.
Ann whispered to Pembroke and Sutter, “The Russian’s asking who posted him at the attic door and why. I’m afraid the answer isn’t satisfactory.”
Pembroke nodded and whispered, “Llewelyn’s Russian is rather limited.”
The two Russians stopped a few feet from Llewelyn and again the bald-headed man spoke insistently.
Llewelyn replied irritably, “Oh, bloody da, nyet, and bugger off!” He swung his big fist full in the man’s face, lifting him back off his feet and sending him sprawling across the hall. The young Russian, who had not said a word so far, made an exclamation and stared at the crumpled body, then turned back to Llewelyn and found himself looking into a revolver.
The door behind Llewelyn opened and Ann stepped out. She said in Russian, “Hello, Nikolai Vasilevich.” She pulled off her hood and shook her hair out. “Come in, please. I’d like a word with you.”
The young man’s mouth dropped open. Llewelyn gave him a shove and sent him through the attic doorway. Llewelyn carried the unconscious man in and threw him on the floor, faceup. Sutter closed and bolted the door.
Pembroke stared down at the man, his face barely recognizable with his nose broken and his jaw dislocated. Pembroke said, “I think this is Karpenko, the chief KGB communications officer here.” He looked at the young Russian and said, “Karpenko?”
The man nodded hesitantly and his eyes darted to Ann.
Ann said to him, “Don’t be frightened. We won’t harm you.” She glanced at Pembroke, then back at the young man. She said, “You will repeat, word for word, the message you delivered to Viktor Androv from Moscow.”
Nikolai Vasilevich drew himself up straight and shook his head firmly. “I will not. You may as well shoot me.”
Ann translated the remark.
Pembroke drew his silenced automatic pistol, cocked it, and aimed it at Karpenko’s face. He said, in passable Russian, “Smert Komitet Gossudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti—Death to the KGB,” then fired three bullets into the unconscious man’s face, turning his features into an unrecognizable mass of gore.
Nikolai Vasilevich stared down at the splattered face and skull and went pale, his legs beginning to tremble.
Pembroke turned the gun on the young man and said in English, “Death to all KGB swine.”
Nikolai Vasilevich shook his head quickly and spoke in English. “No. No. I am not KGB. I am a soldier. GRU—military intelligence.”
Ann put her hand on his shoulder and said in Russian, “You’re too young to die, Nikolai. I swear to you, you will not be harmed if you cooperate.” She stared into his hazel eyes and he stared back, then nodded.
Ann said, “Word for word. I can tell when you’re reciting your message and when you’re deviating. Speak.”
Nikolai Vasilevich stood, head and eyes fixed straight ahead, and recited in a monotone, as he’d done for Viktor Androv. When he finished, Ann summarized in English, then said to Pembroke, “So it is Molniya, and it is tonight. But we knew that. What we didn’t know is that Talbot Three will be here—or is already here.”
Pembroke nodded thoughtfully, then stared at the Russian, who was sweating now. He said, “It’s no longer customary to kill the bearer of bad news, but—”
Ann put her hand on his rising pistol. “No, Marc.”
He looked at her sharply.
“I promised.” She added, “Besides, he’s sexy.”
Pembroke smiled slowly, then said to Sutter, “Stow him under this staircase.”
Sutter produced a Syrette and approached the Russian. The man took a step back. Sutter said, “Sleepy time, Ivan. Let’s see some skin.”
Ann spoke to him soothingly in Russian and the man hesitated, then held out his arm.
Sutter rammed the Syrette in with more force than necessary, then led the Russian to the small closet beneath the staircase and stuffed him inside as he began to pass into unconsciousness.
Pembroke looked up the narrow, dimly lit staircase, which ended at a top landing. Beyond the landing was a steel door that he knew led to the south end of the main attic. There were three other attic staircases, all ending in steel doors that were cross-barred on the other side. He said softly to Ann, “The Holy Grail is beyond that door.”
She smiled at him. “Keep it. I’m interested in the radios. I must speak to Washington and Moscow sometime before midnight.”
Pembroke looked at his watch and replied, “We shall do our best.”
Llewelyn was at the top of the stairs, fixing charges of plastic explosives around the steel casement frame.
Ann said, “You must keep the shooting to a minimum up there. Those electronics are crucial.”
“I understand.”
She looked at him closely. “If we succeed here, I don’t want a massacre, Marc. I just want to get out.”
“And if we don’t succeed?”
She stared into his eyes as she spoke. “Then, as George said, we’ll take as many with us as we can. There will be no reason to leave here.”
Pembroke nodded. “How do you want your father? Dead or alive?”
She spoke without hesitation. “I want him put back in his grave where he belongs.”
“Thorpe?”
“Alive. I want him alive.”
“Any other instructions?”
“Yes. If Talbot Three is actually here, find him.”
Pembroke nodded, then said, “Before I’m through here
, this house will give up all its secrets.”
64
The big Sikorsky helicopter headed south toward the coastline of Long Island. The jumpmaster, Farber, called out, “Target, three miles due south!” He added, “Winds gusting from the north to nine miles an hour at sea level. Ten to fifteen miles up here. Partial cloud cover, obscuring a three-quarter moon. Rain clouds tracking this way. Target is well lit and easily identifiable. Don’t land on George’s property by mistake or he’ll shoot you.” Farber laughed, then called out, “Line up!”
Grenville stood and approached the sliding door. Behind him were Pembroke’s men, Stewart and Collins. Behind them the old boys, Johnson and Hallis. Grenville knew enough about tactical parachute jumps to know that the buddy system was very important. Stewart and Collins were buddies. He guessed that Johnson and Hallis were buddies too. Only Tom Grenville seemed to be missing a buddy.
The cabin lights suddenly went out and the lights from the cockpit dimmed to near darkness. The pilots drew blackout shades around their side windows and shut off the outside navigation lights, a move that Grenville thought was highly dangerous. Farber seemed to read his thoughts and said, “Don’t worry, boys, no one else is crazy enough to be flying at this altitude tonight.”
The blackened helicopter stopped its forward motion and hovered nose up into the wind. The buffeting became worse and the cabin pitched steeply to port and starboard. The men held on to overhead straps. Farber called out, “Target one mile, due south.”
Grenville checked his equipment and adjusted the sling of his M-16. He peered out the door window. The sky was still flashing jagged lightning, and dark clouds passed by the windows.
Farber shouted, “Altitude five thousand, five hundred feet. Target one hundred feet above sea level, give or take a chimney or two.”
Grenville decided he did not like Farber’s humor. He also decided in a clear flash of reason that he wasn’t going to jump. He turned and found himself staring into Stewart’s black eyes, which reflected the thin moonlight coming through the window.
Suddenly, Farber rolled the sliding door open and a blast of frigid air flew into the darkened cabin. The noise of the rotor blades was deafening, and Grenville couldn’t hear himself speaking to Stewart, telling him to get the hell out of his way.