I’d told the Kremlin that a team of scientists from America would be having their next meeting with the two geniuses in Honolulu, Hawaii, on August 30 at 8:00 p.m. It would be held in Fountain Lecture Hall at the University of Hawaii. I was guessing some Soviet spies would be dispatched to Hawaii in order to try to place recording devices throughout the lecture hall. I was sending the Soviets on a wild goose chase, all the while knowing I’d need to be long gone before this August 30 date. And I had to keep telling myself that this entire escape plan wasn’t some ill-conceived fantasy.
Regardless, now that I’d arrived in Riga, I needed to deal strictly in reality. The apartment I found myself in was bare, old, and drab—several mattresses and blankets having been placed in the bedrooms and living room. The unit was on the first floor of a brown five-story Gothic-style complex. There were four apartments on each floor. I had met Dallas’s men as planned at the Riga Hotel and the introduction had gone smoothly.
Both men, Luc and Xavier, were in their thirties, from Paris, and spoke fluent English. They were clean-shaven, fit, and tall, and one could easily imagine either playing the role of a businessman or soldier. How they’d ended up working for Dallas was of no concern to me. I needed them. They had driven me to 105 Stabu Street in a green Ford Deluxe Tudor, and though my body was tired, my mind was fresh.
“Listen to me very carefully, you two,” I said, the three of us sitting on the wooded floor in the living room with our backs against the wall, all of us dressed in suits. “Change of plans. I know what I told you in the car, but I want to move on this tonight.”
Xavier and Luc nodded, suggesting that was absolutely fine with them. Images of my son lying in a hospital bed ran through my head. All I’d received in Zorin’s last briefcase, besides a letter telling me how pleased the Kremlin was with my work so far, had been a brief note informing me that James was doing much better. I knew it wasn’t true.
“Before I forget, Xavier,” I said, reaching for my leather bag and taking out one of two envelopes full of cash, the other being for my own upcoming expenses. “This is for you to give to Dallas when you see him next, which may be a while. I’m assuming he’ll give you your share at that point.”
“We will be here until you tell us to leave,” said Xavier, placing the envelope in his small suitcase.
“We brought what you asked for,” said Luc, taking a pistol from his briefcase and handing it to me.
“Do you have the camera?” I said.
Xavier nodded. “And the flashlights, and the paper, and the pen.”
“Did you have a telephone installed?”
“Yes,” said Xavier.
“We’ll wait until 3:00 a.m. to head out,” I said. “One of you can go grab food for us.” I pulled down my black fedora a bit and fiddled with the pistol. “I see you’re both wearing brown suits.”
“We know,” said Xavier. “We are all to wear black suits tonight. Clear, Mr. Sweet.”
“Do you have their names written down, a list of who’s who?”
Xavier took a paper from his pocket and handed it to me.
“What is the address?” I said, reading the names.
“3 Maza Pils Street,” said Luc. “It’s a three-story apartment building. There are five units on each floor. Our targets are in a second-story unit at the end of the hall, number six. The place is approximately one and half miles from here. The door has a typical brass set; typical keyhole below the knob, easy to manipulate the inner cylinder, easy to pick.”
“There can be no screaming,” I said. “We have to execute with precision.”
The narrow, cobblestone streets were completely bare when the three of us pulled up some twelve hours later, the dark morning leaving us practically invisible. We exited the car and entered the main door of the building. Inside was a small, well-lit lobby with mailboxes to the right, a stone stairwell to the left.
Luc led the way and the three of us climbed to the second floor, quietly making our way to the end of the dimly lit hallway. Stopping at the apartment door, Luc sat a large leather bag down. I nodded at him and he calmly jiggled the handle. It was locked, so Luc took a tiny tool from the backpack Xavier was wearing. Then he began doing what Dallas had claimed he could do in his sleep, pick the lock.
A few minutes passed and then a click. Luc returned the tool to Xavier’s backpack and proceeded to remove three flashlights, Xavier and I each taking one. All three of us removed our holstered pistols. Then Luc slowly pushed the door open, darkness awaiting us inside.
As the two moved forward, I picked up the leather bag, set it just inside, and closed the door behind us. With our flashlights dotting the living room floor and walls, Luc led the way deeper inside. We knew that the apartment had three bedrooms. I was to head to the one at the rear of the hallway on the left. Xavier and Luc were to split the other two.
Each of us positioned ourselves near the respective bedroom doors and I held the flashlight up to my face. All of the bedroom doors were open. We were to enter the rooms slowly as soon as I dropped the light from my face. So with my heart pounding and our targets presumably sound asleep, I did just that.
Pointing my light straight ahead into the room now, I could see a man and a woman lying in a large bed. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. When I flipped on the light, both of them wrestled about, affected by the sudden brightness. It was as if they hadn’t been sound asleep. They both sat up and squinted.
“Audra!” the woman said.
As soon as she realized I wasn’t Audra, that I was a stranger who had a pistol pointed at them, she let out a single scream, but the man stayed quiet, holding his arm up in front of her, signaling for her to shut up. I could tell this wasn’t the first time he’d stared at a pointed gun. According to Xavier, both were in their late fifties.
“Do not scream again or I will shoot you!” I said in Russian. “Ne krichi! YA budu strelyat’ v vas!”
The woman pressed her back against the headboard and tried to hold back another scream, all the while moaning and beginning to weep. I stayed calm and kept my eyes on him. He knew I was serious.
“Good,” I said. “Just stay quiet like that and no one will get hurt. I am not here to kill you. I am not even here to lay a finger on you. All you have to do to stay alive is stay calm and do exactly what I tell you to do. Do you understand?”
They both nodded.
“Now, I want you to both get out of bed and get dressed. Then I want you to walk down the hallway and sit on the couch in the living room. That is all. I will stand right here and wait.”
Minutes later, the man, woman, and their two twin daughters sat on the living room couch, Luc and Xavier sitting in chairs while I stood. Both girls were crying. I focused my attention on the father.
“Do you love your son?” I said.
“Da,” said the salt-and-pepper-haired man, Zigfrid.
“Very much!” said his wife, Karina, her dingy red hair pulled back in a ponytail, her Russian barely audible.
“And Xavier has reason to believe that your son loves you all, too,” I said. “Is this true?”
They all nodded.
“I read in Xavier’s report that you young women are sixteen,” I said, looking at the plain-looking blond daughters. “And do you love your older brother?”
“Da,” said Audra.
“Da,” said Jana.
“I have a wife, a daughter, and a son,” I said. “And ironically, they are twins just like you. I love them dearly. But they are in Joseph Stalin’s prison camps. I’m sure you can understand how painful this must be for me.”