“As I explained,” Kosyk said, “I was not the one who lost them.” The irritation in Kosyk’s voice was stronger than the smell of alcohol in the room, but his perfectly enunciated Russian gave no hint of intoxication.
Stukoi handed Bogdanov a used shot glass and poured vodka into it and onto the floor. “Tomorrow we find the Americans, but before that, we enjoy the May Day. The parade will be glorious and without the explosives we have no risk of damage to Lenin’s tomb or any questions of why we weren’t there with Gorbachev when the explosion occurred. A bullet’s cleaner. It’s better this way.”
Zara took the glass. “So who has the honor in the morning of giving the sniper the final go-ahead?”
“Finished already,” Stukoi said. “Everything is in motion. Zolotov can signal to abort if we need to, but that’s not going to be necessary.”
“A toast.” General Zolotov raised his glass. “To Comrade Bogdanov, who helped bring the spark of revolution from Germany. Tomorrow, we Bolsheviks will once again rid the Motherland of the imperialists.”
The toast dragged on in true Russian style, but Zara ignored it. Her disciplined mind forced herself to concentrate on the strategic situation. They were too late to save Gorbachev by only eliminating the conspirators. They would deal with the sniper in due course. She reviewed various contingencies and planned her responses. She kept coming back to Faith; the woman was a brilliant smuggler, but had no paramilitary training. If the guards discovered her, Stukoi and Kosyk would instantly understand that Bogdanov had helped the Americans, and her only option then would be to take out as many as she could with her eight rounds. Kosyk she would shoot first. He was sober, probably armed and he deserved it.
“To Comrade Bogdanov,” everyone in the room repeated and downed the vodka.
Faith didn’t see any point in writhing through the mud any longer than she had to, so she darted to a tree on the other side of the burnt-out dacha. From there she could see lights and the outlines of cars. She pulled out the night scope, but saw less than with her naked eyes. She dashed from tree to tree down the driveway of the abandoned cottage. When she had gone far enough, she lowered herself to the ground and crawled on all fours toward the target. She winced at the crackle of each leaf, sure it would give her away. The sound of the drivers unnerved her. When she was close enough to distinguish voices, she lowered herself to the ground. The coveralls were a wick for moisture and dampness touched her belly.
She heard a rustle in the leaves. She plastered herself as flat against the ground as she could. Footsteps came closer. If they found her now, it was over. They’d get Summer. Her fingers fanned out, searching for a rock. Her hands pressed into the soft mud, squeezing it under her fingernails. She struck a rock, but it was barely bigger than a crabapple. She clutched it, ready to do whatever it took. Leaves crunched beside her.
A deer emerged from the forest. She exhaled, startling the creature. It bounded into the night.
Her nerves tested, she inched onward until she came to a narrow clearing-the empty drive. She had overshot. She retreated a few yards back into the woods and paralleled the path until she spotted the last car. She crawled behind it and slipped off the backpack. The car blocked the moonlight, forcing her to work in the darkness. She ran her fingers along the top of the mine, making sure the rubber top faced upward, and then she lodged it behind the right tire, taking care not to place pressure on the rubber. She held her breath and yanked out the metal pin.
Moonlight seeped through the cracks between the decaying boards along the foundation of the house. The light was barely enough to help Summer navigate the lifetime accumulation of junk under the house. He plowed through broken sawhorses, scrap lumber and boxsprings as he cleared a path to the center of the structure. He set down the backpack with the explosives and crawled back to the opening, grabbing a dented metal bucket along the way. Like a wolf guarding its den, he emerged from the entrance on all fours.
Bricks were piled beside the house, awaiting some unfinished project. Tonight their wait was over. Summer placed them into the bucket, careful not to make any sound. He estimated he had a good twenty-five pounds’ worth, giving him plenty of leeway.
On his way back under the house, he spotted a small propane tank. It was the perfect height to make a platform for the mine and it would add some punch to the blast. As he ferried the bricks to ground zero, he reminded himself he already had enough C-4 to turn the house into splinters.
As an EOD guy, he’d spent most of his career disarming explosives; the opportunity to blow up such a good target had come up far too seldom. He glanced at his watch and calculated he had ample time for temptation-if he worked fast.
He returned for the propane tank, pleased with how the job was shaping up and not admitting to himself the real reason he wanted it: If something went wrong, he’d shoot into the tank to detonate the charge instantly-even though he’d be too close.
He set the tank on the ground under the center of the building and rocked it to make sure it was on solid footing. On top of it he placed a wide board on which he positioned the mine. He unscrewed the detonator plug, just in case he had carved away too much from the lead delay strip and the mine armed instantly. Molding the C-4 around the mine, he left openings so he could pull the safety pin and screw back the detonator. He checked the time-twenty-two fifteen-and sat down and waited, gun in hand in case he had to do the unthinkable.
Zara excused herself to the kitchen in search of zakuski to munch on. She sensed Kosyk getting up as she walked by him.
He stalked her. “They told me the meeting didn’t start until ten, but they were drunk off their asses when I got here.”
“They told me nine.”
“This is no way to prepare for a putsch. We should be reviewing contingencies, making certain we haven’t overlooked anything.”
“They don’t make hard-liners like they used to,” Zara said with a smile. “So, have we overlooked anything?”
“That’s not the point. Typical Russian Schlamperei.” Kosyk took out a cigarette and rolled it between his fingers. Tobacco fell from the ends. “And now we have to go with a sniper because you lost the C-4 I sent you.”
“I lost nothing. It was never received, but it doesn’t matter now. I’ve been visiting my father all afternoon and evening and I’m not up on the latest. Who won out on the sniper’s position? Stukoi or Zolotov?” Zara fished for plan details as she pulled the top off a caviar tin. She spooned it into a dish.
“I’m not following their petty politics. The sniper’s going to be on the top floor of GUM. It’s a clean shot from the department store to the mausoleum. But that’s tomorrow. Berlin worries me right now. I warned them, but the fools are too drunk to give a damn. Honecker’s starting a war with the Americans as we speak.”
“Have you been drinking, too?” Zara set down the spoon and pushed away the caviar. “What are you talking about?”
“I informed Mielke tonight everything’s in place. The putsch is going down in the morning while Gorbachev reviews the May Day parade. It seems Honecker doesn’t trust that the new Soviet leaders will give them what he really wants-West Berlin. He’s sealing off the city tonight and annexing it. Before anyone realizes what’s happening, the Nationale Volksarmee will liquidate the police, sever communications and seize government buildings. By morning the National People’s Army will be sitting on the Americans’ doorstep, daring them to start the next world war.”
“That’s insane. They know the Americans will defend the city.”