INSIDE THE MOSCOW RING ROAD
12:07 A.M.
Faith had almost dozed off in the backseat when Zara directed Summer into an alley a couple of blocks away from the foreigners’ compound housing the Moscow CNN bureau. Zara pulled on her blouse, slowly easing the fabric over the bandaged wound. She buttoned it and handed Summer the pistol with the silencer. “I’m not bad with my left hand, but I’m going to give this to you anyway. If the sentry gets suspicious, you know what to do. Since you won’t understand the conversation, I’ll lean back to signal you to take care of him.”
“I’ll understand the body language. Hey, where’d we pick up the new toy with the silencer?”
“Kosyk. But keep in mind it’s a Czech-made CZ-52, so Makarov magazines won’t fit it. We also picked up his shoulder holster.” Zara handed Faith the Makarov Summer had used at the dacha. “And we now have enough to go around.”
“No, thanks. I’ve done enough damage for one night,” Faith said.
“Take it, Faith. You never know.” Summer took the shoulder holster from Zara’s lap. “You don’t mind, do you? I can put it under my jacket, and I don’t think it’d feel real good on you right now.”
Summer stepped out of the car and circled it while Zara slid across the seat. Faith helped her into her uniform jacket. Zara drove to the compound and pulled up to the guardhouse.
“Good evening. Papers.” The guard spit out the words, his breath reeking of alcohol.
“Komitet.” She held up her identification.
The guard closed his eyes and motioned with a nod for them to proceed.
The door of the building was open. They found no building directory, so they searched the halls until they came upon a white door on the third floor with the familiar red CNN logo. Summer reached for the latch, but it was locked. He knocked and they waited. Faith wiped a smear of shoe polish off Summer’s face. He tried again and eyed the security lock, probably imported from the West.
“Can’t we take it off?” Faith pointed to the hinges on the outside of the door.
“True Soviet workmanship,” Zara said. “They’re probably not allowed to change anything outside the unit.”
Summer pulled the Leatherman from his pocket and selected the appropriate tool. In less than a minute, he removed the door and Faith helped him lower it to the floor. He unlocked it and hung it back.
Zara led the way into the empty CNN bureau, holding a flashlight. The office looked like it had been imported as a package from West Germany. The walls, chairs, desks, sofa and tables were clinical-white and spotless. Modern halogen lights sat on each desk. Everything was carefully arranged either parallel or perpendicular to the walls.
They searched the offices for the studio.
“No wonder they’re not working late. Looks like they have too much time on their hands,” Faith said, looking at a bookshelf with each section of books fastidiously arranged by size.
“We do put excessive restrictions on them so they don’t go snooping around too much,” Zara said.
“Found it. Here’s the studio,” Summer said.
They hurried to join him.
They all stepped inside and Faith closed the door behind them. She held up her arm, shielding her eyes from the sudden glare. An assortment of cameras and other electronic equipment was crammed into the limited space and cables crisscrossed the floor. A blue screen covered one wall, where Faith guessed that they projected shots of the Kremlin or other Russian scenes when they filed reports.
“Anyone have a clue how to do this?” Faith said as she studied the control console and flipped a switch, but nothing noticeable happened.
“I think we’re over our heads. Comrade?”
“I’m sorry,” Zara said as the three stared at one another.
“Well, fuck. Pardon my Russian,” Summer said. “I saw a fax machine in one of those offices, and I can’t imagine how they’d do business having to order a line for a fax hours in advance.”
“They have special arrangements for overseas lines. I totally forgot since I don’t work domestically. I’m not that up on things here.”
“Well, hell, let’s go make some phone calls,” Summer said.
Faith commandeered the first office she came to, snatched up the phone and punched in the country code for Germany, then the West Berlin prefix.
“Anyone know the country code for the US?” Summer yelled down the hall.
“Dial eight, wait for the dial tone, then one-zero-one,” Faith shouted as she hit the number for Hakan, not knowing whom else to call. The phone beeped and then a recorded message came on in German informing her that the circuits were down. She tried again, but got the same recording.
The takeover had begun.
Zara dialed her uncle’s home phone, but no one answered after a dozen rings. A corporal finally answered his work phone.
“This is Lieutenant Colonel Zara Bogdanov. Let me speak with my uncle, General Ivanovski.”
“The general’s unavailable.”
“Perhaps you didn’t understand. I am Colonel Bogdanov with the Komitet, and it’s imperative I speak with my uncle the general now. I don’t care if he’s asleep, drunk or screwing my aunt.”
“He’s having dinner with General Titov and ordered me not to disturb him. He’ll have my hide if I interrupt him.”
“He may, but the KGB can get your entire family—including the cousins you have never met.”
The line clicked. She was on hold.
“Ivanovski.”
“Uncle Yuri, it is I. I have an urgent message from Stukoi. Honecker has ordered the NVA to take over West Berlin tonight. They had planned on doing it tomorrow, but Kosyk double-crossed them and set them up. He’s in custody. Stukoi is interrogating him right now. He wants you to stop the NVA and keep them from getting us into a war with the Americans before the deed in the morning.”
“Idiot Honecker. Doesn’t he understand that would mean—”
“I have no time. If you can keep the Germans in line, everything should go fine with our friend tomorrow. Can you do that?”
“We’re not ready for war with the Americans,” the general shouted into the phone with a drunken slur. “Not yet.”
“This is Lieutenant Commander Summer. Get me Captain Moberly on the double.” Summer opened a desk drawer and poked around inside.
“Can I tell him what it’s regarding, commander?” a yeoman said.
“An imminent threat to national security. Get Moberly in the next five seconds or I’ll personally see you’re busted down to an E-1 and spend the rest of your tour painting the same goddamn bulkhead over and over again. Get to it!” The phone clicked and Summer found himself on hold, the closest thing to purgatory in this world. Within a minute, a voice came on the line.
“Moberly here. You’d better have a good one, Summer. My officers don’t go AWOL on me.”
“Sir, we’ll deal with that later.” The line crackled.
“Where the fuck are you?”
“This is going to sound crazy, but I was kidnapped and brought to Moscow, but that’s not the problem right now. You’ve got to get word to the Joint Chiefs and the President that East German forces are mobilizing to take West Berlin tonight. They’re going to cut off the corridor and probably invade through the subway.”
“Moscow, my ass. That’s a good one, Summer. Next you’re going to tell me the Chinese are in Higgins boats, crossing the strait for Taiwan as we speak.”
Faith walked into the room. “Lines are down to West Berlin.”
“I just got word civilian communications with West Berlin have been severed. Listen to me. It’s critical you tell them the Russians aren’t behind it. They don’t even know it’s going on. We’re trying to use back channels to notify them right now. The East Germans are acting on their own accord without Soviet knowledge or backing.”
“How the hell can that happen? And how do you know about it?”
“Sir, I don’t pretend to understand the politics, but I know it’s going down right now. There’s no time for details. Get them on alert. Cut through whatever red tape you have to—”
Faith interrupted. “Tell him to check on the last Pan Am or BA flight of the day and see if they’ve closed the air corridors. Make sure they understand it’s not just a blockade.”
“Sir, check on—”
“I heard it. Do you know what will happen if you’re bullshitting me?”
“Do you know what will happen when the commies take Berlin? And that’s not all, sir. Tomorrow morning they’re going to assassinate—”
The line went dead.