The least of what I owed you, Kiril darling, was loyalty.
Another image began to form.
This time she squeezed her eyes shut to stop it.
But the body of Ernst Roeder sprawled on the carpet loomed… only it wasn’t Roeder’s body, it was Kiril’s.
She shuddered violently, knowing she had been a breath away from delivering Kiril to Ernst Roeder’s fate.
She approached the old woman who was still muttering over her disabled bicycle and pressed something into her hand.“I hope it brings you better luck,” she said in faltering German.
The old woman would repeat the story endlessly to family and friends. How a Russian lady, with tears streaming down her face, made her a gift of a beautiful wrist watch made of gold.
Chapter 38
The express elevator opened onto the 38th floor. Adrienne Brenner hurried through a deserted cocktail lounge, following the unmistakable sounds of a party. She stopped, caught by a view of the city. Her glance was drawn to a streamer of red lights blinking from the upper stem of a television tower—East Berlin’s proud landmark. She could almost feel the pulse of the lights… like exposed heartbeats, captured and strung together. It reminded her of the amplified sound of a beating heart. Regular, rhythmic, followed by the terrifying sound of silence in an operating room and the pounding of her own heart. Poor Kurt…
She glanced at her watch as she hurried through the lounge and into the hotel banquet room. Every small table was full, every booth. A long table centered on a raised platform had only a couple of empty seats, the most conspicuous being the place of honor. She couldn’t help wondering whether Kurt was really late because of his penchant for making an entrance. Even the television cameras looked impatient. As for the press—
She frowned at a small cluster of newsmen… and realized she’d been hoping to see Ernst Roeder in the press section.
A waiter wearing white tie and tails unceremoniously stuck a drink in her hand and walked off. Her throat was parched.
Annoyed with herself for smoking again after breaking the habit two years ago—not to mention the non-stop smoking she’d indulged in since she’d set foot in East Germany—Adrienne drank deeply. Her glass was empty for about a minute, two at the most, before a waiter refilled it.
She was wondering idly how one was supposed to distinguish the waiters from the guests since everyone was wearing a tux when she happened to look up. Not everyone. Dr. Andreyev, wearing his tired-looking blue suit, broke away from a conversation, made eye contact, and crossed the room toward her.
There it was again, she thought. He had a way of moving that invariably made her think of a coiled spring…
“Good evening,” Kiril said with a faint smile.
His tone made her suddenly conscious of her evening gown—pale green, with a faint suggestion of silver. Of how weightlessly cool she felt in a fabric that enveloped her like a wave.
Returning his smile, she signaled a waiter for a refill.
“For me as well, please,” Kiril told the waiter. “Where is our guest of honor?”
“Fashionably late, I’m afraid,” Adrienne replied without thinking. She sighed. “I shouldn’t have said that. My husband has always taken it hard on the rare occasion when a patient dies.”
“Everyone in our operating theater reacts the same way, from Dr.Yanin on down,” he said soberly.
She studied him for a moment. “Since Kurt shut himself in, he’s had no opportunity to thank you for jumping into the breach. I’m very grateful for what you did.”
He sat down. “Albeit unsuccessfully,” he said, an edge in his voice as he pictured the lethargic second-rate technician… the outmoded bubble oxygenator… Once Dr. Brenner had accepted the invitation, there’d been plenty of time to order a disc version.
Their champagne arrived. They finished it off in companionable silence. “On a more pleasant note,” Kiril told her, “the only thing that’s left on my itinerary before you and your husband leave for West Berlin is a private goodbye. May I come to your suite later this evening?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Good. Please tell him to expect me. Cigarette?”
“Why not.”
He offered her one, took one himself, and tried in vain to keep the cheap East German match from sputtering and going out. He was about to try again when Aleksei entered the banquet room and scanned the center table, obviously looking for Kurt Brenner. Kiril waved Aleksei over. “Why don’t you join us? I’m sure Dr. Brenner will be down soon.”
“I hope you’re right.” Aleksei glanced around. “Quite a mob scene. Every waiter seems like he’s on roller skates. Get refills for you and Mrs. Brenner, will you? I’ll have vodka. Tell the waiter not to bother with a glass.”
Kiril grinned. “Message received. I’ll be right back with a bottle.”
“No need to hurry, Little Brother,” Aleksei said with a sly smile. “I’ve got a head start on both of you.”
Adrienne giggled. “I beg to differ, Colonel.” She started to weave in her chair.
Kiril caught her just in time. “Coffee for you,” he said.
“I’m no spoil sport,” she pouted. “Besides, it’s Kurt’s fault. He should be here by now.”
“True enough,” Aleksei said as Kiril took off after a waiter.
Aleksei sat back, preoccupied. Absently turning a cigarette lighter over and over in one hand, he noticed Adrienne Brenner’s unlit cigarette and leaned forward to light it.
She almost fell off her chair.
An ordinary American lighter—Zippos, you call them… black wings of some kind. But Ernst, what on earth are they doing on Colonel Andreyev’s lighter?
When Kiril returned with the coffee, Adrienne ignored it and reached for her champagne. As Colonel Andreyev held up his bottle and the three of them shared a toast of some kind, her thoughts were so jumbled she could only marvel at his capacity to imbibe liquor without his head falling on the table! Actually, on closer examination, he did look bleary-eyed. But then she probably did too. As for Kiril Andreyev, she thought, he was sipping the bubbly like it was ginger ale!
Aleksei glanced at this watch, stood up on surprisingly steady feet, and announced that it was time for him to leave.
“Where to?” Kiril asked.
“The Brenner hotel suite, as it happens.”
“Please tell Kurt everyone’s waiting,” Adrienne said.
Aleksei looked faintly amused. “I’ll be sure to give him the message.”
The elevator’s swift descent to the 21st floor was a good omen, Aleksei thought. Act swiftly and you checkmate von Eyssen. Pull this off and no matter what happened on Glienicker Bridge, you return to Moscow in triumph instead of disgrace.
The elevator slowed. When Aleksei stepped off, Major Dmitri Malik was waiting in the foyer.
Kurt Brenner, looking refreshed and elegant in an impeccably tailored tuxedo, opened the door to his suite much as a genial host welcomes dinner guests. Although he showed them an untroubled face, both Malik and Aleksei were trained to see below the surface, and what they saw was extreme anxiety. Both men sat down.
“Have your people gotten rid of the bugs?” Malik asked.
“Of course,” Aleksei assured him as he motioned Brenner to a chair facing theirs and pushed a heavy glass ashtray to the center of the table. On his own side of the table, Aleksei placed a bottle of vodka. A connoisseur of wine, Malik limited himself to smoking. Aleksei reached across the table for the vodka, though in deference to his superior he used a glass.
“What’s this all about?” Brenner asked with a combination of impatience and hauteur, determined not to let them see even a hint of fear. “The phony invitation. The use of your names. The allusion to 1945 and the Ukrainian kids. Frankly, I’m beginning to wonder if the malfunction of the heart-lung machine was no accident. I wouldn’t put it past the two of you. And what’s this ‘Chancellor’ business, Dmitri?”