Voronoteev started to speak, then realized that any effort to defend his actions would be in vain. His fate had been sealed when he had forced the issue by checking the contents of General Borol'kov's safe.
The bloodied general held his head high, nodding to his shocked driver, as he was escorted to the KGB automobile.
Fritz Kranz sat staring at the beige telephone on the small desk. His right hand, trembling uncontrollably, still rested on the receiver.
"Oh, god…," Kranz said to himself, then slowly removed his hand from the phone. "It's over."
Kranz sat quietly for a moment, contemplating his predicament, then bolted from his chair and walked to the window. He stared vacantly at the roof of the opera house while he tried to calm his nerves. I've been caught in the middle, he told himself. RAINDANCE had been apprehended. He had heard the commotion and the accusations. Would the KGB-no-how soon would the KGB trace him to Vienna?
He knew that his life was in jeopardy. He had to think clearly, and remember the procedures he had been taught by the CIA instructors at Langley. He paced back and forth between the door and the window, trying to sort out the enormity of what had happened in the past three minutes.
It had not been his fault, he told himself. He had been happily ensconced in his pleasant world, enjoying retirement, before this calamity. He knew now that he was swimming in a sea full of voracious sharks.
Now, Kranz kept telling himself, I must think rationally and clearly. The CIA gave me a telephone number to call in the event of such a disaster. "Use it," he heard himself say as he fumbled in his coat pocket for the matchbook. The cover displayed an advertisement for a seafood restaurant in New Haven, Connecticut.
Kranz walked over to the desk, sat down, and gingerly picked up the receiver. His hands were shaking and his temples throbbed. The emergency code words ran through his mind over and over again.
The frightened surgeon dialed the operator and thought about his wife. Christ, Katy had no idea of his involvement in this miserable business.
"Hotel operator," the innocent voice answered.
"I must… I need the international operator," Kranz replied, trying to sound calm and businesslike.
"One moment. I will connect you."
"Thank you," Kranz responded, taking deep, even breaths.
Kranz gave the overseas operator the phone number and waited for the call to go through. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the number began ringing. One ring. Two rings, then a pause before Kranz heard the recording.
"Thank you for calling. Please leave your name and telephone number at the sound of the tone."
"Good Christ," he blurted out, then heard the beep. "The ship is aground, the ship is aground," Kranz said impulsively, then continued in a hesitant voice, not sure if he should say anything else. "The tie has been—" Kranz stopped in midsentence when he heard an urgent voice speak to him.
"This is seafarer control," the vibrant male voice exploded. "Your number?"
"Ah…," Kranz hesitated, unsure of his response. He had been told expressly to use code letters. "F. K K… D D… 0… M," he said in a shaky voice.
No one said a word for fifteen seconds. Kranz was beginning to have doubts, when the man replied.
"Go ahead, Doctor Kranz," the CIA agent said. "We had to bring you up on the computer."
Kranz inhaled sharply, then gushed forth with the story. "Our connection with RAINDANCE has been severed. He was apprehended in midsentence, after telling me the location of the missing B-2 bomber."
"Say again," the surprised voice said.
The agent was not familiar with RAINDANCE. He only monitored a battery of secret global telephone connections. Most of them never rang, and RAINDANCE was one of four that required top secret handling, Eyes Only, by the director or the deputy director of the Central Intelligence Agency.
"The Stealth bomber — the B-2 bomber that disappeared," Kranz said hurriedly. "It's in Cuba, and the exact location is unknown."
"Got it," the astonished agent replied as he jotted down the message. "Are you okay?"
"No, I'm not," Kranz answered nervously. "I'm sure the KGB is tracing the call from our contact. I need to get out of Austria, quickly."
"You're in a hotel under an assumed name, aren't you?" the Connecticut-based agent asked. He was looking at Kranz's method of operation on the computer screen.
"Yes," Kranz responded uneasily, "but one of the hotel's assistant managers would be able to identify me. His father was a former patient of mine."
"That's not good," the agent replied gravely as he wrote a message for his assistant.
"I didn't know he worked here," Kranz continued, defending himself, "until after I had contacted RAINDANCE. I thought it would complicate matters too much for me to go to another location after the contact. Besides, I had no idea this would happen."
"We understand," the pleasant voice said with genuine feeling. "You're in a high threat situation. Go directly to the American Embassy."
Kranz's mind was reeling. His peaceful, tranquil life was coming unwound. "Damn."
"What?" the American asked.
"Nothing," Kranz said, then added. "Can you get us — my family — any protection?"
"My assistant is contacting our field office in Vienna right now. Our immediate concern is your safety," the agent paused, "and that of your family. Go directly to the embassy — it's located at Sixteen Boltzmanngasse — and our people will be there as quickly as possible."
"Thank you," Kranz replied, standing to look out of the window. "I must hurry."
"Be careful," Krantz heard the agent caution as he placed the receiver down and picked up his jacket. He scurried to gather his toilet articles, then stopped in midstride. To hell with it, he told himself, I've got to get to the embassy. He raced out of his room and down the hallway, then took the stairs two at a time. He walked briskly through the lobby and out into the parking area.
Kranz hurried to his BMW, got in, started the engine, and shifted into reverse. As he turned his head to back out of the parking space, he paused. I have to get Katy, he told himself. I must explain, God help me, what a mess I've gotten myself into. She must go with me to the embassy. She will not be safe at the cottage.
Kranz recalled vividly the CIA briefing about the ruthless means that the KGB utilized to extract information from subjects. His wife, Kranz remembered in agony, would be the primary target of the KGB if he was in the sanctuary of the American Embassy. Kranz backed out, reversed gears, and headed for his home in Neunkirchen.
That decision would prove fatal for Fritz and Katy Kranz. Their charred bodies were found in the remains of their retirement cottage late that evening. A mysterious fire had consumed the entire structure.
Chapter Thirteen
Steve Wickham sat in the passenger cabin of the C-20 VIP aircraft, listening to Hampton Milligan, director of CIA Clandestine Operations. The former Green Beret officer was pointing out various topographical features on a large relief map of Cuba.
The glistening transport's auxiliary power unit, providing a steady flow of air-conditioning, was barely audible in the quiet cabin. Wickham sat back, eating his breakfast slowly. The air station enlisted mess had been kind enough to send the meal over to the flight line in the duty pickup truck.
"Okay," Wickham said, swallowing the last bite. He placed the dented tray on a fold-out table. "What gives, Hamp? You usually start an ops brief from the beginning."
"Steve," Milligan began slowly, "this comes from the White House — right from the top. The president has ordered us to recon two specific areas in Cuba, and the general has commissioned you to do it… alone."