Chapter XI

PRITCHETT WASN’T FOND of working with other government entities. Navigating the territorial battles in his own country was challenging enough, but trying to maneuver among foreign law enforcement entities was next to impossible.

When Pritchett led the CIA’s initial inquiry into working with the Spanish government on detaining a KGB assassin, he found officials to be open, offering to provide support rather than direct the operation. But once they reached the planning stages, not everyone was as cooperative.

Diego Diaz, the Spanish intelligence operative working with the CIA on the apprehension of Gunnar Andersson, initially proposed taking their prisoner to a station downtown. Spanish authorities reveled in any opportunity to gloat over trophy arrests, bringing the officers fame and serving as a warning to others conducting criminal activities. But Pritchett pushed back against the idea, explaining that they didn’t want this to be publicized in case other opportunities arose out of the interrogation. Pritchett explained that Andersson might be amenable to a deal where he could serve as a double agent and help capture the other super assassins. Pritchett also reiterated his case by stating Andersson’s arrest would mean little to the Spanish public. Eventually, Diaz came to a common understanding that the reasons for taking a prisoner to an environment where Spanish objectives could be met were worthless in this instance.

Pritchett also had another reason, which he didn’t want to reveal—and that had to do with the CIA’s interrogation tactics. All KGB agents endured enormous amounts of torture during their training to prepare them in the event that they were ever captured. The KGB’s top brass warned that if any agent was ever captured, the option for a quick exit was always available with a poison pill. For that reason, apprehending Andersson was a delicate matter, requiring a swift takedown to ensure he didn’t make a knee-jerk decision to end his own life. Though Pritchett realized that death might be preferable to the hell the CIA was about to put Andersson through.

The small adobe-style home nearly 100 kilometers outside of Barcelona on a remote ranch provided Pritchett with all the privacy necessary to get Andersson to talk. And they had plenty of topics to discuss.

Andersson’s profile fit the mold for the type of civilian recruit the KGB preferred. That information was the launching point for Pritchett’s interrogation.

When Pritchett entered the windowless room in the center of the house, he found Andersson handcuffed and chained to the chair. Sweat had already beaded up on his brow, the first trickle streaking down his nose and dripping onto the table in front of him.

“Could I please have a drink of water?” Andersson asked.

Pritchett poured a small glass and then held it up to the prisoner’s mouth so he could drink.

“You know you’ve arrested the wrong man,” Andersson said. “I don’t know who you think I am, but I can assure you that I am not him. This is all a big misunderstanding.”

Pritchett tossed the file on the table and smiled as he shook his head. “You really expect me to believe what you’re saying?”

“It is the truth.”

“Let’s start with some facts about your life. You were born in Sweden and eventually moved to Germany to study engineering at the University of Stuttgart. Meanwhile, you dabbled in racing there during you free time and became a competent driver. Once you graduated, you decided to turn your hobby into your career and quickly rose through the ranks of several low-level racing circuits. But here’s where things get interesting. Heidelberg Racing offered to sponsor you and then suddenly you move to the Soviet Union, where you supposedly lived for three years when you weren’t circling a track.”

“That is all true—and yet not a single criminal offense was committed,” Andersson said. “Yet here I am, bound in chains.”

Pritchett wagged his finger. “As always, there is more to the story, for Heidelberg Racing is operated by several men with Soviet sympathies. When you start to put all that together, along with the fact that we have intelligence reports of you training at a facility used by the KGB to prepare agents, it adds up to the startling truth about one of open-wheel racing’s up and coming stars: Gunnar Andersson is a spy for the KGB.”

“That’s a lie, and you know it,” Andersson said with a growl.

“What I do know is that a message was delivered to you with my exact whereabouts, a message that adhered to the KGB’s delivery methods for agents receiving a new target. And you showed up carrying a KGB-issued Makarov. Now, pardon me if I jump to any conclusions too quickly, but it’s not a stretch of anyone’s imagination that you were there on what you believed to be your new orders. And you were going to kill me.”

“That can’t be any further from the truth,” Andersson said. “I was there to warn you that your life was in danger.”

“Cute story, kid,” Pritchett said. “But I’m not buying it. Your explanation falls apart when held up to the light of the facts.”

Andersson looked down. “If you must know the full truth, it’s that I am a double agent for West Germany, planted within the KGB to steal secrets and sabotage various operations.”

Pritchett narrowed his eyes. “That’s an even more convenient story, no doubt concocted to help you escape a situation like this.”

“The CIA has double agents, no?”

“I will not allow you to use this interrogation to glean information out of me for you to report back to your superiors in Moscow.”

Andersson shrugged. “I already know the truth as I have met a double agent already working for the CIA and the KGB. Where his true loyalties lie is a mystery to me, but what I am doing is not unique within the espionage community.”

“I will not sit here and listen to any of these lies any longer,” Pritchett said as he stood. He slammed his fist down on the table. “If you won’t tell me the truth willingly, I’ll have to get it out of you by other means.” Pritchett slid a picture of Andersson’s brother across the table. “Recognize this guy?”

Andersson narrowed his eyes and looked up at Pritchett. “You leave him out of this. I already told you the truth. He’s just a kid.”

“A kid we have in custody right now. He got picked up in Stockholm for theft and is facing a heavy sentence for his crime.”

“Leave him alone,” Andersson said as he twisted and turned. “I swear I’m telling you the truth. Call one of your friends in West Germany intelligence; they will confirm what I am saying.”

Pritchett put his hook at the base of Andersson’s chin. “I’m not playing around. Your brother will go to prison if you don’t start talking.”

“What else do you want me to say?” Andersson asked, pleading with his eyes. “I’ve told who I really work for. There’s nothing more for me to say.”

Pritchett backed away and paced around the room. He considered all his options, including the one where he could begin shocking Andersson. But he seemed up for the challenge physically. Even more discouraging to Pritchett was the fact that the racecar driver appeared convinced that the story he was telling was truth. As Pritchett mulled his next move, Diaz entered the room.

“We need to release him,” Diaz said.

“Release him? What on earth for?” Pritchett asked.

“We checked out his story with some of our contacts in West German intelligence. Turns out he’s telling the truth. He’s a double agent.”

Pritchett sighed. “Before we do that, I’d like to verify that myself.”

“You can do that on your own time,” Diaz said. “We need to release him now and clear this unit. Another criminal connected to a high-profile bank robbery case has been captured, and we need to convince him to help us set a trap for the ringleader.”

“This is unacceptable. I need more time.”

“Sorry, but your time is up. The Spanish government was gracious enough to allow you to conduct this operation on our soil, but you must play by our rules. And we say this man must be released and allowed to return to his normal activities before he gets exposed. He has one hour before he’s supposed to make a scheduled check-in. And if he doesn’t show up, there could be some costly implications for him.”

“Thank you,” Andersson said. “Finally someone around here who’s the voice of reason.”

Pritchett continued his protest. “The implications for CIA agents all across Europe could be far more costly if he’s allowed to go free. I’m not convinced that his story is true, not to mention I don’t fully trust you, Lieutenant Diaz.”

“I’m not here to win your trust,” Diaz countered. “I’m here to carry out orders. Now, I suggest you leave before I have you forcibly removed.”

“Fine,” Pritchett said as he scooped his file folder off the chair. “I’ll remember this and know who to thank the next time one of our agents returns home in a coffin.”

Pritchett stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. He hopped into a car and asked the driver to take him to his hotel.

* * *

MADDUX CHECKED HIS WATCH and drained everything in his coffee mug but the dregs. He hadn’t heard from Pritchett since he left with Andersson for the interrogation. In an effort to protect the CIA agents in unfamiliar territory, Maddux and Pritchett and the other two agents who had joined them all stayed in different hotels. The idea was that if they were being tracked by the KGB, the level of difficulty for killing all of them was raised exponentially.

Maddux phoned the hotel where Pritchett was staying and asked to ring his room. The phone rang a dozen times without an answer before the receptionist returned to the line.

“Would you like to leave a message?” she asked.

“I think I’m just going to head over there,” Maddux said. “Have you happened to see Mr. Pritchett this morning.”

“What does he look like?”

“Elderly guy, always wears a hat and a suit. He has a hook for an arm and a patch over one eye. He’s hard to miss.”

“I don’t believe I’ve seen anyone matching that description since I started my shift two hours ago. But sometimes I don’t notice people when I’m helping other customers at my desk or talking on the phone. He very well could’ve walked right past me and I didn’t really see him.”

“Maybe he just unplugged his phone for some reason. I’ll try to reach him by knocking on his door,” Maddux said before he hung up and headed straight for Pritchett’s hotel.

The lobby of the hotel was relatively quiet. A man in the corner sat smoking a pipe and reading the morning edition of La Vanguardia. Two bellhops conversed quietly, while an elderly woman wearing sunglasses stood at the counter checking out.

Maddux knew where Pritchett’s room was. Second floor, 205. Instead of wasting time checking in with the attendant at the front desk, Maddux went straight upstairs. He hustled down the hallway near the west end of the building toward Prichett’s place.

But when Maddux arrived, he noticed the door was cracked. He pushed it open slowly and called out for his boss.

“You in here, Pritchett?” Maddux said.

No response.

“Pritchett, it’s Maddux. Are you in the bathroom?”

He could hear the water running and didn’t want to intrude on the old man’s privacy.

“I’ll be waiting in the lobby,” Maddux said. “Just thought you’d want to know that your door was cracked. I’m going to—“

Maddux stopped in the middle of his sentence, his attention arrested by splattering of water against the tiled floor. He rushed over to the door and rapped against it.

Still no response.

“Pritchett, are you there?” Maddux asked again.

This time, Maddux turned the knob and pushed open the door. A growing puddle of water lapped at his feet and stretched across the floor. He looked up to see an empty tub. Rushing over to turn the water off, Maddux searched the area for any other clues as to what might have happened.

He rifled through the room and found Pritchett’s personal effects, all neatly arranged in his suitcase, except for a stray jacket hanging haphazardly over the back of a chair and a pair of socks at the foot of the bed.

“Damn it,” Maddux muttered.

Charles Pritchett was nowhere to be found.