“If your question, Colonel, is why was he eliminated, I think you know. He was asking the wrong questions of the wrong people—the Marburg Group—about their past activities in the international oil trade and the medical-supply business. If you meant to ask why did I execute the operation, General Sirinov delegated that action to me.”
“I’ll want the names of your men.”
“I understood that. But they won’t be of much use to you. Once I turn up missing, they will be transferred. The unlucky ones will be shot for failing to learn what I was planning.”
“And the Kuhls?”
“I can’t help you with the Kuhls, except to say that that action was most probably carried out by the rezident in Vienna on orders from Sirinov. He probably used Hungarians—ex-Államvédelmi Hatóság—because I read in the paper that a metal garrote was used.”
“You knew nothing about that action?”
Berezovsky shook his head. “Nyet.”
“But you think it may have been a warning to you?”
Now Berezovsky nodded, and exchanged a long glance with his sister. “Svetlana thinks that may be. And it may have been. On the other hand, it may have been decided it was finally time to reward the Kuhls for their long service to the CIA.”
You really are a cold-blooded bastard, aren’t you?
Castillo looked at Svetlana.
And what about you?
A cold-blooded bitch, a chippie off the same block?
“So, what else have you got to offer me?” Castillo asked.
“I will answer—Svetlana and I will answer—any questions put to us to the best of our ability.”
“And, of course, volunteer nothing,” Castillo said. “I have heard nothing that sounds like it’s worth two million dollars and putting my South America operation at risk.”
“What I have to tell you is worth the two million dollars,” Berezovsky said. “And more.”
“Unfortunately, Tom, ol’ buddy, you’re operating in a buyer’s market,” Castillo said unpleasantly, “and this buyer doesn’t think so.”
“Tell him,” Svetlana said.
Berezovsky didn’t respond.
“Tell me what, Svetlana?” Castillo asked.
“There is a chemical factory in the former Belgian Congo,” she said.
“There’re also several in Hoboken, New Jersey. So what?”
“Weapons-of-mass-destruction chemical factory,” she said.
Castillo felt the muscles at the nape of his neck contract involuntarily.
“That sounds like more blue sky,” he said.
“If you’ve made up your minds not to help us,” Svetlana said, “please be kind enough to tell us.”
“Tell me more about the Congo.”
“We know which German companies sold chemicals to it before Iraq fell,” Berezovsky offered reluctantly, clearly unhappy, if not uncomfortable, that that chess piece had been put into play. “We know which German companies are selling chemicals to it now. And running it, of course.”
“Running it for whom?”
“Who would you think, Colonel?” Berezovsky asked sarcastically.
“Answer that question, Colonel, and any others I might pose, or get the hell out of here.”
Berezovsky glared at him for five full seconds.
“Iran, of course,” he said.
“Why isn’t whatever is being made for the Iranians in this factory in the Congolese jungle—”
“I didn’t say it was in the jungle,” Berezovsky interrupted.
“—not being made in Iran?” Castillo finished.
“How modest of you,” Berezovsky said. “Because if it were, that information would have been in Langley years ago. The CIA is not nearly as inept as they would have us believe.”
Castillo had a quick moment to look at Davidson. It was enough to see in his eyes that he, too, believed what they were being told.
“You know where this factory is?” Castillo said.
Berezovsky nodded. “Somewhere between Kisangani and Lake Albert.”
“That’s a large, empty area.”
“That’s why it was chosen in the first place.”
“Chosen by whom?”
“Some chemical manufacturers in what was then known as East Germany. They said they wanted the land to grow various products for medicinal use.”
Castillo looked at Davidson and mimed flipping a coin in the air and then looking to see how it came up.
“You just won, Colonel,” he said. “That’s the good news. The bad news is that if I find out you’ve been less than truthful with me, I guarantee that I personally will hand you over to the Federal’naya Sluzhba Bezopasnosti.”
Berezovsky nodded calmly.
“Like yourself, Colonel,” he said, “I am an officer. You have my word.”
Jesus Christ, does he believe that? Does he think I will?
“You ever hear that Roman Catholic priests assigned to the Congo—at least in the old days—were excused from their vows of celibacy?” Castillo asked.
Berezovsky looked at his sister and chuckled.
“Is true, Svetlana.”
“Well, much the same thing happens to West Pointers such as myself. When they give us jobs like mine, we are perfectly free to lie, cheat, steal, and get to be pals with other people who do.”
Berezovsky thought that was amusing. Castillo saw in Svetlana’s eyes that she did not.
“Okay, what happens now is that when the train pulls into the Westbahnhof, there will be Wiener Tages Zeitung trucks on each platform.”
“ ‘Each platform’?” Svetlana parroted.
“You’re familiar with the station?” Castillo asked.
Both nodded. Vienna’s Westbahnhof—Western Station—was a major Austrian railway terminal.
“There’re two tracks between the platforms. There will be a truck on each one. Nothing suspicious about them; they’re there every day to load newspapers on the trains for the boonies—the countryside.
“When the train pulls in, you will already be at the end of the car with your luggage. If everything looks kosher—looks all right—two men will come to the car from the truck on the platform you’d normally use. They will load you into the truck.
“However, if it appears that people are looking for you on the platform, the men in the truck will create a diversion, and you will leave the train by the other door, which means you’ll have to jump onto the tracks, get onto the other platform, and then get into the truck on the other side.”
“And what if there is a train on the other track?” Svetlana asked.
“Then a man will help you pass through it,” Castillo said.
“Where will they take us?” Berezovsky asked.
“I honestly don’t know,” Castillo said. “Somewhere safe. A man named Sándor Tor will be with you. I don’t think we should risk being seen together.”
“Is this man good at what he does?” Berezovsky asked.
“He was a Budapest police inspector and, before that, he did a hitch in the French Foreign Legion.”
“I wish you were coming with us,” Svetlana said.
So do I, sweetheart!
But are you saying that just to save your ass?
Or did those sky-blue eyes just tell me you meant it, that you’re back to putting the make on me?
Careful, Don Juan!
“I think you should leave one at a time,” Castillo said. “You first, Svetlana.”
[FIVE]
The corridor side—as opposed to the compartment side—of the sleeping car was next to the platform as the “Bartok Bela” backed into the Westbahnhof.
Castillo waited until he saw that both trucks with Tages Zeitung logotypes on their sides were on the platforms and then stepped into the corridor. The trucks were much smaller than he expected; it was going to be a tight fit with four people and their luggage.