Authors: Brian Garfield

Deep Cover (49 page)

The Second Secretary said, “Tell no one.”

“But you will be charged with murder.”

“Yes,” the Second Secretary said. “He was betrayed by his subordinate, you see. Murdered by his most trusted aide.”

“You wish that?” Sakhalov's jaw dropped open.

Andrei Bizenkev's eyes were wide, white circles showing around them. “I wish that, yes. You will oblige me, Sakhalov?”

“As always, Comrade Secretary, I will oblige you.”

Forrester discovered he had been holding his breath: it escaped his lungs in a gust and he looked at his watch again. His eyes burned, his knees felt rickety.

Belsky was getting out of his car and putting his hands on top of his head. No expression on his bland salesman's face. “I don't suppose you will permit me to signal an acknowledgment to my superiors.”

Spode said, “Nuts. Let them sweat.”

Forrester covered his eyes with his palms to shut out the light. Sobs of breath racked through him. When he dropped his hands he said to Belsky in an unsteady voice, “Get in your car. Drive to your airplane. Get your people on board and get them out of this country.”

There was a momentary break in Belsky's expression. “You're releasing me?”

“I want all of you out of this country.”

Spode said, “We'll be watching you board the plane. We'll be keeping count.”

Forrester and Spode had no way of knowing how many of them there were; but Belsky didn't have to know that.

Belsky said, “Then you don't plan to disclose what's happened?”

“We probably can't stop it from getting out,” Forrester said. “There'll be people in the missile complex who know a signal came.”

“All dead,” Belsky said.

Spode's teeth clicked.

Belsky spoke woodenly. “By now they're dead. My people had instructions to seal off the exits, get themselves out and gas the rest.”

Spode's revolver lifted into sight. “Youâ”

“If it matters,” Belsky said, “they didn't know the gas they were releasing was lethal. I told them it would render the Air Force people unconscious long enough for us to escape. Of course it was better to leave no one alive to reveal what happened here; you see that.”

Spode parked in the long shadow of a heavy mesquite clump and they watched the Oldsmobile thread the narrow service gate in the back fence; someone had broken the padlock chain and left the gate open for Belsky and now Belsky rolled across the head of this little-used runway toward the plane. The tower and terminal were two miles away; out at this end there was nothing but sun-buckled pavement and weeds. The Starlifter squatted near the fence and Forrester saw a stream of passengers descending from two Air Force buses drawn up beside the wing. They were going up the ramp in a fast disorderly flow. A figure detached itself and walked out to meet Belsky's carâDouglass leaned on the car window to talk, then shook his head and walked back to the boarding stairs and
followed the last passengers into the plane. Belsky opened the trunk lid of the Oldsmobile and lifted out two cylinders that looked like aqualung tanks. He carried them up into the plane with him.

Forrester heard the ragged intake of Ronnie's breath behind him. The Starlifter retracted its stairs and the engines wound up to a shrill whine; she made a ponderous turn and rumbled down the pavement. Forrester got out of the car and stood by the fence to watch the big jet gather speed and lift off. She banked sharply to the southeast and climbed into dusk, wingtip lights blinking with lonely distance.

Spode knew what was in the canisters Belsky had carried aboard. Belsky's orders were obvious: Moscow didn't want the Illegals alive.

Spode glanced at Forrester's wide back before he turned in the seat and spoke softly to Ronnie. “He can't help you but you can help him.”

Her eyes shifted toward him. “What?”

“You can get him off the hook, Ronnie.” Spode backed out of the car and left the driver's door open.

Forrester was still watching the darkening sky that had swallowed the jet. Spode opened the rear door and reached in to take Ronnie's arm. She came out of the car obediently and stood trembling, hugging herself. Spode murmured, “Go on, Ronnie.”

“I don'tâ”

“On the run.” He said it gently but his face was hard.

Forrester was beginning to turn back to the car when he heard the starter mesh. A door slammed and he wheeled and then the Lincoln was curling past with its back wheels spinning for purchase. He had a glimpse of Ronnie's face, white, wide-eyed, and then the car was out on the road gathering speed, the headlamps snapping on.

He took an involuntary step, and felt Spode's grip on his arm. The tail lights disappeared at the bend and Spode's grip locked tight, arguing with him. “You've got to let her go.”

The fever hit him then: a chill and a hot flush that prickled his skin, a dizziness, bright red flickers before his eyes, a trembling weakness against which he had to lock the muscles of stomach and arms. When the spasm passed he felt faint and very cold. His head was very heavy when he turned to lay his baffled stare on Top Spode.

A jetliner was taking off from a far runway with a ripping racket of power. Spode said, “They'll find those dead men in the silos. Better get to a phone.” His face was a graven mask that gave away nothing of his feelings. “You've got to call the President.”

Ronnie's anguished face was burned into his consciousness. When Spode's hand dropped away he locked his fists together.
I could get her back.

Back to what?

They walked toward the cars abandoned by the end of the runway. He didn't speak until they had reached the Oldsmobile. Belsky had left the walkie-talkie on the seat and the key in the ignition. Forrester pulled the door shut and Spode started the car and aimed it toward the lights of the terminal where the telephones were. A small plane came in low overhead, landing, sliding through the airport lights.

Finally he said in a sighing gust of breath, “All right, Top.”

Washington, April 9
(
UPI
). Pentagon spokesmen said the Air Force still has found no explanation for the crash of the cargo plane seen to plummet into the Gulf of Mexico Sunday night. It was disclosed today that the C-141 Starlifter jet was on a training flight from an Arizona base, but the Air Force has declined to make public a list of crew or passengers, pending notification of next-of-kin.

The crash was witnessed by the crew of U.S. Coast Guard cutter
Perseus
about 2 A.M. Monday in waters 100 miles west of Key West. Crewmen reported that the plane appeared to be in a spin for no clear reason; there were no flames evident before it crashed into the sea.

The plane had taken off on a flight from Davis Monthan Air Force Base near Tucson, Ariz. Personnel of the
were not available for comment, since the base has been closed and temporarily sealed for a routine Operational Readiness Inspection.

Washington, April 10
(AP). The President announced today that the Defense Department has ordered a sweeping reappraisal of the proposed Phaeton Three multiple-war-head ICBM system

The President declined to comment on whether agitation by Sen. Alan Forrester (R.-Ariz.) was a deciding factor in his decision. But a high white House source conceded the step is a solid victory for Forrester.

Senator Forrester, in seclusion in Washington because of a minor virus, was unavailable for comment. But a press release from his office said he was very pleased with the President's decision.

“But we're going to keep fighting until we've brought all our intercontinental defense systems under control,” Senator Forrester's statement added. “None of them is immune to the dangers of accidental discharge or organized sabotage. Under existing controls, a small group of dedicated fanatics could easily set the world on fire.”

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

cover design by Mumtaz Mustafa

This edition published in 2011 by
MysteriousPress.com
/Open Road Integrated Media
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New York, NY 10014
www.openroadmedia.com