The idea was a to commit a visible crime for which the authorities were willing to take a bribe, in order to hide their real action. So far it had worked beautifully.
Now, however, if they were caught by the KGB, or by a Japanese Coast Guard patrol, they would have a more difficult time explaining themselves. Internal smuggling was one thing, but trying to take sables out of the Soviet Union was another crime, serious enough to expect, if they were stopped, that the cages would be searched.
A pinpoint of light out to sea flashed once, then twice, and once again, and Eichendorf hurried back up to the truck.
Hoffman climbed out. “I saw it,” he shouted over the wind.
“I’ll be glad to get off this rock,” the taller, thinner man said. “Now let’s get the cages down to the beach.”
They went around to the back of the truck and opened the door. The animals went wild, hissing and snapping and banging against the wire mesh, their teeth bared.
Hoffman pulled the first cage out by the handle, careful to keep his fingers as far away from the mesh as possible. One of the sables was madly biting and chewing at the wire.
Eichendorf took the other side and between them they carried the sixty-pound cage over the rocks the rest of the way down to the beach, setting it down a few feet from the water’s edge.
They could see nothing out to sea, no lights, not even the dark form of the boat.
But they’d seen the light signal in reply to theirs. So it was there. Nevertheless Hoffman was starting to get very jumpy. It was the tone of Spranger’s voice. The general had sounded… worried, upset. Hurt. It had been disconcerting listening to him.
It took them several minutes to haul the other three cages from the truck, and by the time they were finished they were both winded, and sweating lightly despite the breeze and the chill.
Hoffman held up a hand for Eichendorf to keep silent for a second as he cocked an ear. He had heard something over the wind, an engine noise perhaps.
He stepped closer to the water and held his breath to listen. The sounds were definitely there, but not out to sea, he realized with horror.
He spun around, and looked up toward the dirt track.
Eichendorf was hearing it now too. “Christ, is it a KGB patrol?”
“I don’t know, maybe not,” Hoffmann said. “Get the rifles.”
“Right.” Eichendorf raced back up to the truck, as Hoffman snatched the flashlight and turned back to face the sea. Under these circumstances he was supposed to send five short flashes, which meant there was trouble on the beach, and that the pickup was off.
But they were so close. To be caught here on the beach like this would mean certain arrest, and almost certainly death by firing squad after a very brief trial for espionage.
Never mind they were ex-STASI, and had once worked for the KGB. That old alliance would not protect them now.
Eichendorf came back with the Kalashnikov rifles. “Did you send the signal?”
Hoffman threw down the flashlight and grabbed his rifle, levering a round into the firing chamber and switching the safety off. “No,” he said. “We’re getting off this beach tonight, or we’re going to die here.”
The sound of the engine faded, came back and then faded again and was gone. Hoffman took a few steps toward the road, but he could hear nothing now, other than the wind.
“Franz,” Eichendorf called urgently.
Hoffman turned as a big rubber raft, carrying two men dressed in rough dungarees and thick sweaters, surged onto the beach. One of them immediately hopped out.
“Macht schnell,” he shouted. “We have a KGB patrol boat on our ass.”
Hoffman and Eichendorf exchanged glances, and Hoffmann shook his head slightly. Whatever had been heading toward them on the road had apparently turned around and left.
Between the three of them it only took a couple of minutes to load the cages aboard the boat. Eichendorf and the sailor clambered aboard, leaving Hoffman to push them off.
“What’s going on down there?” someone shouted in Russian from behind them on the road.
Hoffman snatched his Kalashnikov and in one smooth motion turned around. He had only a moment to catch sight of two uniformed soldiers above, on the rocks, and he opened fire, cutting both of them down before they could utter another word.
For a long second or two, the night seemed suddenly still. Even the wind seemed to lessen for that time, but then Eichendorf grabbed Hoffman by the back of his jacket and dragged him into the boat.
“I hope they were alone,” one of the sailors said. “Because if someone is still alive up there, and can use a radio, we’re dead men.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“No,” the sailor said. “And now neither do we.”
Thoma Orff presented his passport and customs declaration form to the uniformed officer when it was his turn. Tokyo’s Narita Airport was jammed to capacity, but the noise level was surprisingly low.
“What is the purpose of your visit to Japan, Mr. Orff,” the customs official asked.
He had difficulty pronouncing the name.
“Tourism. I’ve had no holiday in years.”
“How long will you be here?”
“A week, maybe a little longer.”
“Have you nothing else to declare?”
“Only the brandy,” Orff said, holding up the cardboard liquor box by its handle.
“Three bottles. Good stuff. French.” The nuclear weapons initiators were hidden in two of the bottles, which were in turn wrapped in lead foil that had been sandwiched between thin layers of ordinary-looking aluminum foil.
“Welcome to Japan, Mr. Orff,” the official said, stamping the passport. “Have a pleasant holiday.”
Chapter 67
The morning on the mountain overlooking the port city of Nagasaki on the south island of Kyushu was pleasantly cool, the air sweetly fresh. McGarvey indulged himself in the luxury of coming slowly awake, careful to steer his thoughts away from the reasons he had returned to Japan.
Kelley was up already. She sat outside in the garden sipping green tea, and watching the sun over the mountains just beginning to illuminate the city below.
From where he lay on his tatami mat, he could see her in profile. Her dark hair was down, spilling around her tiny shoulders, and she was dressed only in one of the snow white yukatas or kimonos that the ryokan (a Japanese inn) supplied its guests. She was beautiful, he decided, yet she was a contradiction. On the one hand she was a frightened little deer, with large dark eyes and the sudden tiny movements of the animal that is always ready to bolt at the first hint of trouble. While on the other she had a surprising depth of character, of fortitude, that made her stay.
As she’d explained yesterday afternoon on the train, she had nowhere to go. “I can’t hide for the rest of my life, so I am with you to finish the assignment.”
There was an Oriental simplicity about her. Everything she did, or said, seemed to be clear-cut and obvious. Her life had been sad, and she was doing everything within her power to lay the groundwork for a big change. Like everyone else, she only wanted to be at peace, and happy.
But he was beginning to believe that that was all
she wanted. She seemed to have no other ambitions, and in that she was completely opposite of his ex-wife Kathleen.
A tiny table had been set up next to his tatami mat, steam rising from a pot of tea, a cup beside it. McGarvey rose stiffly on one elbow and poured a cup of tea.
Kelley turned and looked at him, a slight smile coming to her lips. “How do you feel this morning, McGarvey-san.”