"There's no time for rest. We have a long trip ahead of us." And as for you, my Mexican friend, Romashchuk said to himself, it will be the final journey. To wherever it is your Catholic holy fathers say you will go when you depart this damnably hot, dusty land. The bear of a man had been quite helpful, but he knew too much. General Zakharov had given strict instructions to leave no witnesses. That was one reason for the elimination of Elena Castillo Quintero.
"While they're loading the trailer, I'm going back into town and make a phone call," Romashchuk said. "You stay here with our Peruvian comrades and keep an eye on that trailer. I want to make sure nobody tampers with our package."
In San Miguel de Allende, he located a shop with a telephone symbol out front and went inside to place his call. When a female voice answered, he asked for "Uncle Sasha." A few moments later, General Valeri Zakharov was on the line.
"We're on our way north," Romashchuk said.
"What's this about the Colonel being wanted for murder?" Zakharov asked.
"That was a fortunate turn of events. He paid us another flying visit yesterday, this time with the former chief investigator from Minsk."
"I had planned to tell you he was there."
"How did you know?"
"He called one of his friends here whose phone was being monitored."
"Well, we nearly had him. And the Colonel, too. Unfortunately, they got away."
Romashchuk explained what had happened and why it was necessary to eliminate the lady who had been monitoring the Colonel's activities.
"Then Shumakov is this Ivan Netto they're looking for?" the General asked.
"Right. I hope they stay hidden until you can send somebody in after them."
"I'll contact our New York friend. Will you be able to stay with your schedule?"
"No problem."
"Good. The Committee is counting on you."
By the time Romashchuk got back to the farm, the loading was finished. It was after four o'clock when the eighteen-wheeler hit the road. The driver would head over to Highway 57, where he had arranged to meet a couple of compatriots with loads from other farms. The small caravan would roll north to San Luis Potosí, where they would spend the night before resuming the journey toward the border.
At this point, Romashchuk and his guerrilla band became Professor Klaus Gruber and a group of mineral specialists en route to an American Mining Congress meeting in San Antonio, Texas.
"Have a good trip," he called to Julio as they pulled away from the farm. The big Mexican waved and turned south. The van headed north.
51
Nathaniel Highsmith occupied a large, stylish office high above Sixteenth Street a few blocks from the White House. The location was no accident. He enjoyed its proximity to the seat of power. A surreptitious visitor to the Oval Office on several occasions when the Amber Group was involved in crisis situations, he occasionally had the ear of the President. But it was his position as head of Worldwide Communications Consultants that made him particularly attractive to the leadership of the Foreign Affairs Roundtable. He had the ability to influence people's perceptions of the world around them through management of information resources dealing with international organizations, multinational companies and various agencies of governments both here and abroad. And he was a hands-on executive who did not hesitate to give policy guidance in the dissemination process.
Heavy drapes designed to muffle sound blocked the piercing afternoon sun as Highsmith sat in his high-backed, plushly upholstered chair and stared grim-faced at his number one deputy on the clandestine side. Nate believed in maintaining close control over his operations, both overt and covert, and what he had just heard suggested a highly undesirable glitch in the control system.
"A phone tap?" Deep anxiety clouded the normally clear blue eyes.
"Both lines," Burke Hill replied. "But not just the phone. Anderson said the bug would have picked up any conversation in the room."
"Any idea who could be responsible?"
"Not yet. I'm working on it. Lori's assistant said one of the caterer's people used that phone the other night during her Tenth Anniversary party. She's checking it out to see who the guy was."
Nate shook his head slowly. "I'm sure you've given thought to what might have been said in there that could compromise us?"
"Yeah, but I didn't come up with anything. Lori mentioned the Amber Group when we were talking about my trip to Mexico City, but that was out on the lawn. I've been gone most of the time since then."
He had recalled one comment of significance made in the family room, but it would not have compromised Worldwide Communications. It was when he had started to tell Lori about Colonel Rodman's startling story that morning. He didn't think he had said anything important until they were in the kitchen.
"Let me know what you come up with," Nate said. "I'll have to notify Kingsley Marshall. I'd like to know more about it before I do."
"Don't worry. I'm as anxious to get to the bottom of this as you are."
Nate leaned back in his chair and locked his fingers behind his head, a stretching exercise he did occasionally when he needed relief from the tension of his constant juggling act, a feat that involved keeping a dozen balls in the air to achieve a satisfactory public image, accomplishment of the secret mission and above all, financial soundness. The latter had become a source of concern lately. "How did the audit of Roberto's shop go?" he asked.
"I made a few suggestions to improve some expense areas. But, basically, he seems to be running a pretty tight ship."
"I wish we could say that for every office."
They had run into stiff competition lately in several areas, which was having its affect on the bottom line. A few countries were causing problems, either by throwing up roadblocks or by openly favoring other firms. This was particularly true in Eastern Europe and the Commonwealth of Independent States, areas in which they had been attempting to make inroads over the past couple of years.
"Look at what's happening to us in Berlin," Nate said. "For awhile, we were picking up clients right and left. Now we couldn't buy one with a Reader's Digest sweepstakes prize. I'm really disappointed in the lack of cooperation we've had from the leadership in the CIS." Nate leaned forward on his elbows. "Wouldn't it be great if we could export some of that Mexican success?"
"We need a few more Robertos."
Nate finally grinned. "Ex-FBI men aren't all bad. By the way, I ran into Laurence Coyne at lunch. The Roundtable has a special meeting scheduled over the Fourth of July at a resort in Colorado. Families invited. I asked about bringing you, but he said it was members only. After next month, of course, that will include you."
Burke nodded, trying not the show the turmoil that stirred inside him at mention of the FAR. He still had difficulty believing Nate Highsmith would approve of any involvement with Major Nikolai Romashchuk's operation, whatever it might be. But equally disturbing was the description of the Roundtable's hidden agenda that Roddy Rodman had relayed from Bryan Janney and Murray Bender.
"I trust you'll be staying in the mountains out there," Burke said, steering the conversation into safe waters. "I'm sure it'll beat the weather we're having here."
Nate shrugged. "I've seen it hotter in Washington."
"Hot enough for me. This is the time of year I wish I was back in the Smokies." After a bitter parting with the FBI, Burke had spent several years in self-imposed exile, first in the Alaskan oil fields, then working as a nature photographer in the Great Smoky Mountains of East Tennessee. It was there that his old CIA buddy, Cameron Quinn, had come looking for him and talked him into assisting with a troublesome investigation. It involved Operation Jabberwock, the plot to assassinate the American and Soviet presidents in Toronto. Cam Quinn was Lori's father. His death threw Burke and Lori together in a chase that eventually uncovered the plotters and led finally to their marriage.