“The nurse, Nanya? Ilse is her daughter. When the time comes, Ilse will join my sister in the West.”
“I take it, then,” Carter said, “that because of your health, our little operation is about over?”
“You are quite right. That is why I sent for you. I wish, for a favor, to put into your hands, Carter, one very large bulk of information. I am sure that your people know that for years the Bulgarians have been putting assassination teams into the West?”
Carter nodded. “It’s part of the KGB’s system to take international heat off them. The Bulgarians are more than happy to become Moscow’s First Directorate trigger people.”
“Yes, quite so,” Vinnick said, nodding. “There is a large segment of the Bulgarian Dajnavna Sigurnost who revel in creative killing. I have the assumed names, occupations, and addresses of each and every team.”
It was all Carter could do to maintain his even expression and his relaxed position in the chair. Already the Bulgarian secret police had pulled off too many political assassinations in the West. It was known that when Moscow wanted someone out of the way, the Bulgarians did the work.
Information of this magnitude would be invaluable. He knew that Washington would go for it at any price.
The Killmaster kept his voice calm. “And the favor?”
The penetrating eyes gazed steadily at Carter. “The night we fled, when Nanya rescued those papers the Soviet sergeant tried to burn?”
“I remember,” Carter said.
“I kept those documents all these years. Eventually, by digging through old Nazi records, Russian files, and current computer records, I was able to piece everything together...”
Carter listened to it all, his admiration for the older man’s tenacity growing with each word.
Two of the documents belonged to an SS officer and his secretary. They were found in an ambushed car with their driver. Another document was the military identification of the sergeant who had led that Russian patrol, Boris Glaskov. And there was one more passport. It was Portuguese, identifying one Greta Bolivar.
“Over the years, I dug and dug. I think that Graf von Wassner was on the way to steal my family’s jewels that night. I think he was intending to run, but was ambushed by a Russian patrol under the command of Sergeant Boris Glaskov.”
“And Glaskov went after the jewels himself,” Carter offered.
“Exactly. And when he got them, he destroyed his own papers.”
“That left the Bolivar passport.”
Vinnick nodded. “It took me years to backtrack the name. Greta Kraussen was an Abwehr agent in Lisbon during the war. She married Heinrich Bolivar in 1942. Because Bolivar’s mother was German, Greta enlisted him in the cause. In 1943, they both disappeared. Their disappearance was reported by their contact officer at that time, one Graf von Wassner.”
“He killed them himself and kept the passports.”
Vinnick nodded. “I believe so. I also think Glaskov escaped to Lisbon with Heinrich Bolivar’s passport. But for years I could not trace a Heinrich Bolivar. Then I got a break. About two years ago, I came across this.” The frail fingers passed across a dog-eared magazine to Carter.
Carter thumbed through the pages. It was turned to an article about mountain rebels in Uruguay. It seem the rebels had come across the border into Argentina and kidnapped three wealthy ranchers and businessmens. The three men had been rescued, and the leaders of the rebel group were hanged.
There was a photograph of the three men.
Vinnick pointed a shaky finger at the man in the center of the picture. “His name is Enrique Bolivar.”
Carter glanced up. “Enrique is Spanish or Portuguese for Henry.”
“Or, in German, Heinrich.” Vinnick smiled. “It took a great deal more sleuthing, but I found the application for name change and a new passport in the records of a small village in the Algarve. Enrique Bolivar is Boris Glaskov.”
Carter took his time replying. “He seems to have done rather well.”
“Quite well, with my family fortune. He has been selling the jewels off one by one over the years to support the building of a sizable empire in Portugal and Argentina.”
Carter glanced from the magazine to Vinnick. “And now you want revenge.”
Vinnick sat back in his chair with a deep sigh and produced a short, slender cigar. Ilse Beddick was on her feet at once.
“Vadim, the doctors...”
He waved her away with a smile, and let Carter light the cigar for him. “Revenge? Perhaps. But more. I have learned a great deal about Glaskov/Bolivar. He was a despicable man the night he had my parents murdered and, in turn, murdered his own comrades. In the years since, he has become an even more despicable man. He deserves to die.”
Carter stood and began to leisurely pace the room. “I have killed many times, Vinnick. But I’m not a paid assassin, even for the prize you offer.”
“I am dying, Carter,” came the measured reply. “When I go, my sister will be alone. As you already know, she is not wealthy. The fees we have charged you for information have not been great.”
“You want the jewels,” Carter said.
Vinnick nodded. “Many of them have been sold, but even more are left. One gem alone is worth a fortune. It is an enormous ruby, called the Heartstone. Because of its great worth, the Heartstone is the symbol of our heritage. It is the crown jewel of the houses of Cimpeni and Romanovsky. If only that one stone could be returned...” He stopped with a shrug.
Carter continued to pace. For what Vinnick was offering, he wasn’t asking a great deal. He was sure Washington would go along with the deal.
“Obviously, you have a plan,” Carter said at last.
“I do,” Vinnick replied at once. “Bolivar is preparing to sell off the rest of the jewels. Through the years, he has been dealing with three men. This is always done through intermediaries. Recently, Bolivar contacted all three of these men. They will be going to Argentina soon to bid on the jewels.”
“Why is he selling?” Carter asked.
“Simple. His wealth and his power are solid now. He no longer has need of them as security, and the cash they will bring will secure him even greater power.”
“It’s logical,” Carter agreed. “I assume I will take the place of one of the jewel merchants?”
“Exactly. His name is Fabian Huzel. He lives quietly in Amsterdam. He looks and dresses like a man of meager means, but he is one of a handful of men in the world who could arrange the financing for a buy of this size. Probably a third of the stolen jewels in the world pass through Huzel’s hands.”
Carter listened as the old man explained how the plan would unfold.
“I assume you have contacts in Amsterdam who could help you make all this happen?”
Carter nodded. “There would be a cost factor, but yes, there are such people.”
“Good. One more thing. Lorena will go with you.”
There it was. Carter looked from Vadim Vinnick to the woman and back again. No, he wouldn’t be required to kill Enrique Bolivar. As soon as they had the jewels, Lorena herself would kill him.
They knew his thoughts, but said nothing.
“All right,” Carter said, “I’ll do it.”
The tension disappeared from the room. Ilse Beddick produced a file on Fabian Huzel, and photographs. She also gave Carter the vast research file that had been amassed on Enrique Bolivar. Together, the three of them went over this material for the next two hours. At that time Vinnick called a halt.
“Needless to say, with my enemies in the Hungarian secret police knowing about you, it will be impossible for you to return to the lodge. You will stay here tonight, and we will continue in the morning.”
Ilse nodded. “Tomorrow I will make arrangements to get you safely out of the country,” she said.