After seeing the doorman, Oleg felt he might be underdressed. Once the door opened and he saw the crowd, he relaxed. The staff was all dressed to the nines and there were people wearing formal evening attire, but most people looked pretty much as he did. There were some nice looking ladies at the tables, and he wished he had brought more cash. Oleg put the thought out of his head and went to the bar.
The music was good and the place was packed despite the hour. The choice of the meeting place was good. It would be impossible for another agent to get in without showing a badge and, if he did that, there would be a stampede. A blond woman sat down, crossed her legs, looked him in the eye, and asked for a light. Oleg smiled and held out the lighter. She leaned in, lit it, and said, “Last booth in the back on the left.” She smiled one more time and slinked away.
The back room was dark and smoky. There were couples in most the booths, whispering or groping, and it wasn’t as noisy as the main room. Oleg slid into the booth. “A piece of pie?”
“It wasn’t my idea; they change it every couple of days. The place runs ads in The New York Times “Help Wanted” section. If you don’t know which ads to piece together, you won’t get the code. We could learn a thing or two from the Italians.”
“It’s a good place to meet.”
A couple, drunk and giggling, got up and left the booth behind theirs. Both men stopped talking for a moment until they were gone. Oleg then asked, “You have a status report for me.”
“Yes. The CIA has been monitoring the Americans and our man at Kupton. About a week ago, the Americans started to get paranoid and stopped talking on the phones or in their offices even though most of them had no idea what was going on.”
“What made them so cautious?”
“I couldn’t say, but as soon as they stopped talking, the top guys really started to sweat. I can say with confidence they don’t have any idea what is going on. They both suspect we are up to something but haven’t found a single clue.”
“So everything is water tight?”
“Well, there is one wild card.”
“Oh?”
“When I had to eliminate Kupton, I made it look like a suicide and everyone bought it except for his secretary. She hired a private detective who figured out it had been staged. Beyond that, he doesn’t have anything. In fact, he is helping us somewhat.”
“How so?”
“Dewey and Gilbert are sweating bullets. Their careers are on the line and this Henry Wood character was talking to the FBI earlier. They are playing way out on the margins with this one. If the FBI finds out, it will be a mess. So, they are worried about getting caught by their government; they don’t know what the plan is; and you put the fear of God into your old nemesis Gilbert today. He thinks you're here to kill him. They assume that Pytor is alive, too, but, as of yet, nobody has found him. They just don’t have the resources to track him down. You will be home to your lovely wife Oxana before you know it and likely with a promotion.”
“That is perfect.” Oleg said but wondered to himself who this guy was and how he knew about his history with Gilbert.
Did he outrank him?
The way he talked made him wonder. If that were the case, then he must report straight to Khrushchev or Shelepin. The man sitting across the table looked young, but it was hard to tell in the dimly lit booth. It didn’t matter; the wheels were in motion. He assumed Pytor was handling his end, so he finished his drink and went back to the main room. Oleg looked around for the blonde woman. When he didn’t see her, he left.
CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE
Richard had returned from the meeting Friday night and retired to his library. He had finished off a bottle of 20-year-old Scotch, slept on the couch, and taken breakfast at his desk. He was glad his family was in London, but he knew that they were not safe if things went cockeyed. He had served in the RAF and faced death, but this was different somehow. It was his inability to put a finger on how, which kept him up most of the night.
During the war, he flew a Supermarine Spitfire and was the squad leader. He had lives in his hand every day, and most days, there were fresh-faced kids strapping on their chutes and replacing the men who flew before. He had some who came down from Glasgow and Edinburgh, Newcastle, and Blackpool; he had twins from Bridlington, and he had a crazy ace from Scunthrope who all fought the good fight. Richard did his level best to keep them safe through training, tactics, and a keen understanding of the human spirit. He believed that if you knew a person, then their fear could be turned into a weapon and create a greater chance for victory. Richard got his knighthood because of such victories.
When he awoke the answer came to him. He wasn’t the squad leader of his family; he was a husband and father. It was his duty to protect them even if his skill as a pilot was vastly superior to that of being a parent. He must find a way out of this mess. He spent all of Saturday sequestered in the library. He considered every option as best he could, and, when he finally emerged and went to bed that night, he knew who the enemies were and that he must gather his troops.
His butler greeted him Sunday morning, “You look refreshed, sir. I trust you had a good night’s sleep.”
“Thank you, Jeremy, I did.”
“Shall I tell the kitchen you're ready for breakfast?”
He snapped open the paper, “That will be fine.” His eyes traveled over the articles, not really taking any of it in. It would be unusual for him not to read the paper first thing, so he continued his routine. Routine was important for a clear head. A clear head would be paramount to his plan. He would make the first call at 9:00 a.m.
***
Charles had spent his Saturday pacing. He couldn’t get the image of John’s last moments out of his head. He didn’t talk or eat; he just walked. Charles had tried to sleep both Friday and Saturday but failed miserably. By Sunday, he was a wreck. When the phone rang, he didn’t answer it at first; he just let it ring. It rang at least a dozen times, then stopped. Twenty seconds later, it started again. He pulled himself together and said, “Hello, Charles Hudson here.”
“Charles, old boy, how are you feeling on this glorious Sunday?”
“I feel like crap. Why are you so, how do you like to say, chipper?”
“I wasn’t yesterday, but today I feel better. Had a bit of the drink when I got home Friday and paid for it yesterday, but now I'm right as rain and am seeing things clearly.”
Charles wasn’t really listening, but what he did hear didn’t make any sense at all. “What do you want?”
“Do you remember that place we went after we met that blonde stewardess…”
“The one from Scotland with the huge…”
“Yes.”
“Sure, it was over on 54th street. A place called O’Mally’s.”
Richard sat silently on the phone for a moment, hoping Charles would understand his blunder. He didn’t.
Charles, not really wanting to be on the phone and clueless about what Richard's point was, said, “What of it?”
“I was thinking we should get together and have a little talk, someplace private, where nobody is listening.” He let the word listening hang out there for a bit. “We wouldn’t want anyone to hear our business, would we?”
Charles liked Richard and had never known him to beat around the bush. He realized there must be a point he was trying to make. Since he didn’t know what it was, he said, rather annoyed, “Spit it out, what do you want to talk about?”
Richard was losing his patience, too. “Are you daft, man?! All I'm asking is if we can get together without announcing it to the bleeding world.”
Now he got it. “Oh, sorry, yes we probably should. How about we meet someplace else?”
“I think that is a great idea. Now that I think about it, O’Mally’s is too crowded. Do you remember that place we went after the first meeting with Daniel?”
“I do.”
“Can you be there in an hour?”
“Yes.”
“I'll call you at the bar if I'm running late.”
***
Richard hung up the phone and made a similar call to William. He didn’t get an answer after three tries, so he gave up. It hadn’t been as subtle as he had hoped, but the job was done. Charles would arrive on time as he was always punctual. He could call him at the bar from another public phone and give Charles instructions on where he really wanted to meet without fear of anyone listening. It wasn’t a plan, but it was a start.
***
Charles felt a sliver of hope as he hopped in the shower and got ready. He trusted Richard and his ‘chipperness’ spoke volumes.
CHAPTER FIFTY SIX
Richard enjoyed a steak and salad while he sat at the table by the window. The lunch crowd hadn’t started to arrive yet, and the kitchen wasn’t exactly open, but he was well liked there as he was known for being a big tipper. The view across the street to the restaurant was unimpeded. He saw Charles arrive.
The wait staff had set up another table in the back room. When he asked, the waiter brought a phone to the table. He waited a few minutes. Nobody seemed to be watching Charles or following him, so he placed the call.
Charles walked across the street, looking both ways, not for traffic but for the eyes he was sure were watching. Richard got up and greeted him. “Charles, you look, well…not marvelous.”
“All things considered, I’m fair. What did you want to talk about?”
Richard nodded towards the back and Charles followed him. The table had bread and a bottle of wine. After the waiter took Charles’ order, they were alone. Richard asked, “What do you think are the odds of us getting out of this bloody mess?”
“I keep playing it in my mind. I was looking right at Pytor’s face as he killed John. He didn’t blink or jump. I saw men die in the war, but I never saw such soulless killing.” Charles reached for a piece of bread, then pulled his hand back and added, “So, to put it bluntly, I think our odds are slim.”
“These are serious men. We must match them.”
“Match them how?”
“I imagine we all looked pretty shaken Friday when we left with our bags of blood money.”
Charles didn’t say anything.
“They have been thinking about us. The Russian is worrying that any one or perhaps all of us will crack and ruin the whole deal.”
Charles was getting his appetite back and started to butter a roll.
“What do we really know about Kerwin? Before Daniel’s death, all I ever knew was that he was the second in charge. I peg him as being a Russian plant. That leaves Martin. He didn’t leave when we did. Did you see his face?”
“I don’t think I did. Maybe, I don’t remember.”
“He looked, how should I put it…business-like. He is a snake. I would wager he has been privy to who the client is all along.”
“You think Martin is a Russian?”
“No, I think he is without a soul.”
Charles never liked Martin Van Sythe. “So, he is the enemy, too.”
Richard thought, Now he is thinking clearly; we may get out of this yet. “Yes, he is definitely on their side. What about William? Which side do you think he is on?”
“Damn, I don’t know. He looked more scared than all of us. I thought he was going to be sick.”
“I don’t know, either. I tried to call him. Actually, I tried a few times, but no answer. For now, we will just have to think of him as neutral.”
Charles felt like he was back in the army, and Richard was his commanding officer. “So what is the plan?”
“We need to put them at ease. That is the first step.”
“They are Russian spies. How ‘at ease’, do you think they get?”
“That is an excellent point, but I'm merely saying we need to do our level best to show them we have bought in. At the very least, it will give them pause about killing us.”
Charles looked a little deflated, “Give them pause? That is the best you’ve got?”
“Look where we stand. you're a wreck; William has disappeared; and we are about to commit treason. Well, actually you are, as I'm not American, but still I don’t want to help the Russians. The point is, we need to figure out a way to stop them.”
“Just the two of us?”
“I think we are going to need someone outside of the group who they won’t be watching.”
“Who?”
“I think we need to go see Henry Wood.”
“Who?”
“Martin said a detective was looking into Daniel’s death. He told me to be on the lookout for a man named Henry Wood. I looked him up; he is a private dick.”
“Oh, yes, Martin said something about him, but I ignored him. I really don’t like that guy.”
“If this Henry fellow is already investigating Daniel’s death, which I think we may now assume wasn’t a suicide, then he just might be able to help us out.”
Charles leaned back in his chair and thought for a moment. “It may not be much of a plan, but it beats the hell out of anything I could’ve come up with.”
The men talked for another hour, mostly just rehashing Friday night and how they had gotten in such a mess. They decided to meet at Henry’s office first thing the next morning.