"Did your source give you any idea what might be going on at that cabin up in the barranca?" Roddy asked.
"Only that it involved some kind of secret scheme with international ramifications. With Stern in it, I'd expect something treacherous."
"Then we'd better be a little more cautious if we fly up that way again."
"Right," said Janney, pushing back his empty beer. "I guess we've seen enough of this place."
29
Major Nikolai Romashchuk glanced around as the two men moved toward the entrance to the restaurant. Adam Stern followed his gaze.
"Did you notice the fat one looking us over?" the Major asked.
"Yes. I'm sure I saw him around the hotel this morning."
"Do you think he followed us here?"
"Possibly. But I saw nothing of him as I came through the lobby, or out front."
Romaschchuk didn't believe in coincidence. He frowned across at his companion. "What about the other one?"
"I didn't get a good look, but nothing about him set off any alarm bells."
"What are you going to do?"
Stern rubbed a finger across the bristly curve of his chin, where a heavy growth of beard required an extra shave in the evening to maintain a trim appearance. "I'll check into the gentleman when I get back. He shouldn't be hard to find."
"Then I suggest you find him. We don't need any complications at this stage."
"Agreed," said Stern in a testy voice. "So you plan to train these Peruvian guerrillas in the mountains where we're going tomorrow," he said. "What does this deception operation involve?"
Romashchuk grinned. He enjoyed deception. This trip he was traveling as a German businessman. "General Zakharov likes to call it the 'Red Ruse,'" he said. "Our Shining Path delegation will create a bit of panic that—"
"Panic?" Stern turned a critical eye."Doing what?"
"Spreading around a compound developed in one of the old Soviet C/B warfare laboratories. We acquired a quantity of it, called a neurotoxin. It's a powdery substance that is easily absorbed by body tissues. It affects the brain in a way that brings on an irrational fear, leaves a person confused and subject to erratic ups and downs in mood. It wears off after a few days, but by then it will have served our purposes." He saw no need to go into the other "compound" they had "acquired." Let Adam Stern find out at the same time the rest of the world did.
"Where do you plan to use it?"
Romashchuk smiled. "The place that should cause America the most panic."
The telephone rang in the posh Manhattan apartment around eleven p.m. Actually, it was more of a chime than a ring. The musical tones had a melodic quality that helped soothe the sensibilities of the overburdened lord of the manor. Seated in a reclining chair, a hefty report dealing with the latest Japanese incursion into the U.S. market spread open across his ample belly, he lifted the phone off the solid cherry table and adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses.
"Yes?"
"We have a problem," said the voice from Mexico, where it was one hour earlier. Neither man used names. Each was quite familiar with and instantly recognized the other's voice.
"What's the problem?"
"Remember telling me about the journalist who was nosing around in our business?"
"The former reporter from here?"
"He isn't there at the moment. He's down here."
"You saw him?" The voice had taken on a hard, metallic quality.
"Apparently he followed me to a restaurant where I met with our foreign friend."
"He saw the two of you together?" The sound of disbelief had crept in.
"Right. I think he knows too much."
"I would have to agree with that."
"How much do you know about him?"
"According to his former publisher, he's a hell of a writer but personally an egotistical bastard. Didn't get along well with his colleagues. He was estranged from his family in California. Hasn't been back out there in years."
"Who's involved in his current project?"
"From what I've heard lately, he appears to be working strictly on his own. He wrote a book on some of the stories he handled for the newspaper. It's currently in the editing phase at a publishing house. As best we can tell, he hasn't talked with them about the current project."
"So what do you recommend?"
"I suggest you treat him the same as the Air Force lieutenant colonel. Do you have what you need?"
"I always travel prepared for any eventuality. I'll have to talk to him first, though."
"Why?"
"He was with another man. Somebody I couldn't identify."
"Damnit!" The tone became more urgent. "Do you know where he is now?"
"In a room two floors beneath mine."
"Then you'd better get on it right away. And I'd suggest you put a little distance between the two of you. We can't afford even a hint of your involvement."
"Don't worry. I already have a plan."
Nearly an hour later, Bryan Janney chanced to look around and noted the red message light blinking on his room telephone. He was seated at a table that held the briefcase-size laptop computer. A lightweight printer sat on a padded chair beside the table, perforated fanfold paper feeding in from one side and snaking down to the floor on the other. He was printing out portions of the book manuscript for Roddy Rodman.
The phone hadn't rung since he had returned to his room following a quiet meal at the hotel restaurant. Why had they turned on his message light now?
He walked over to the phone and called the front desk. "This is Mr. Janney in 212. What's my message light doing turned on?"
"Your friend said he had attempted to call but found your telephone busy. He left a message for you."
My friend? Must be Colonel Rodman, he thought. But he hadn't been on the phone. Rodman must have gotten the wrong room. Has he turned up something new on Adam Stern, he wondered? Or the cabin in the mountains?
"What did he say?"
"One moment, señor."
Janney glanced around at the printer. It was still rattling away, though the padding of the chair helped cut down the noise level. He doubted it would bother anyone in an adjacent room. He didn't give a particular damn if it did.
"The message merely says, 'Bryan, I'm here.' And then his signature, Baker Thomas."
The hair suddenly tingled at the back of Bryan Janney's neck and a shudder ran through his body. Baker Thomas… Adam Stern.
"Do you have his room number?" the clerk inquired.
"Uh, I don't need it. Thanks," Janney mumbled in a choking voice. He almost dropped the phone his hand trembled so.
He began to breathe hard and stared about the room frantically, as though expecting the sinister face to pop up from under the bed or out of the shower. He had miscalculated. Stern must have spotted him at the restaurant, which meant the FAR emissary did know what he looked like. And if this cute little ploy was intended to intimidate him, Stern had succeeded admirably.
Janney tried to calm himself. He was almost hyperventilating. Think.
The only thing he could think of was that he had no desire to confront "the enforcer." One of his sources claimed to know of a man Stern had eliminated. Spell that "k-i-l-l-e-d!"
One imperative quickly lodged itself in his mind. He had to get out of here at once.
He shut off the printer and computer, stowed them in their cases, stuffed his clothes into his bag and grabbed his shaving kit from the bathroom. Then, hesitantly, he stuck his head out into the hallway. Seeing no one, he gathered up everything and started off toward the elevator with both hands full. Halfway there, he decided the elevator was too dangerous and turned toward the stairway.