Van Dorn’s voice was low and angry, “That son of a bitch. Wait until I get my hands on that—”
Ann interrupted, “Oh, don’t take it personally, George. Peter has nothing personal against any of us. He’s just bonkers.” She looked at her sister. “Sorry, Kate. I should have warned you.”
“You did. I wasn’t listening.”
Ann turned back to Abrams. “What else did your police friend say?” She held Abrams’ eyes for a few seconds and Abrams understood that she understood. Ann turned away.
Abrams said, “The police and CIA are looking for Thorpe, of course. I told them to try next door.”
Van Dorn snorted, “If Thorpe is there, he’s home free. All the more reason to blow the place up.” Van Dorn lit a cigar stub.
Katherine stood and drew a long breath. She said, “No, George. I agree with Tony that we can’t do that.” She turned to Abrams. “But we absolutely must get into that house. There may be something we can do there to stop this…” She hesitated, then said, “My father is in there… Peter may be in there… I think a personal confrontation — not an artillery barrage — is more in keeping with the spirit of our group.”
Van Dorn said nothing.
Ann added, “As a practical and professional matter, I’d like to get my hands on that communications equipment. That may be the key to shut down their operation.” She turned to Van Dorn. “No artillery, George. We go in there mano a mano.”
Van Dorn nodded. “All right… ”
Katherine put her hand on Abrams’ arm. “All right?”
Abrams didn’t think a choice between a mortar barrage and a commando raid was much of a choice, but he could see the point in the latter. He said, “Look, you don’t need my approval. Go ahead. Put a bullet in Androv’s fat belly if you can. But for God’s sake, leave Mr. Van Dorn here on the telephone to try to head off this EMP blast.”
Van Dorn drew heavily on his cigar, then spoke. “I won’t waste time by making a show of telling you I won’t send my people where I wouldn’t go myself. During the war I sent hundreds of men and women out to meet their fate without me. Everyone has a job. Mine tonight is to stay here by the phone and the telex. And to hell with anyone who thinks badly of me.”
Ann put her arms around Van Dorn’s huge shoulders. “Oh, George, no one will think badly of you. If we fail next door, they’ll come here and shoot you anyway.”
Van Dorn smiled grimly as he stepped away from Ann and patted the holster under his pocket. “In 1945 I had a shoot-out with two KGB goons in the Soviet sector of Vienna. We all missed. I won’t miss this time.”
Ann smiled. “Well, George, it’s never too late in life to redeem yourself.” She added, “I’m going next door, of course, because I can work their communications equipment.” She turned to Katherine. “You’re going because you must.” Ann looked at Abrams.
Abrams shrugged. “I’m going because I’ve got a screw loose.”
Katherine smiled at him. “And your Russian is good, and you know the layout.”
Ann said to Van Dorn, “You ought to break up this boring party, George.”
Van Dorn shook his head. “Can’t. That would look suspicious. The invites said until one A.M., and my neighbors somehow have access to that sort of information.” He thought a moment, then added, “I’d like to keep them all here anyway.”
Van Dorn looked at Katherine. “What do you carry?”
She nodded toward her bag. “Browning automatic, forty-five caliber.”
Van Dorn reached into his pocket and produced the silver-plated .45-caliber bullet. “This is melodramatic, I know… but we were young then and given to theatrics. Nevertheless, the bullet is real.”
She took it without a word and held it in her clenched hand.
Ann said, “Well, George, if we’re not back by the time the lights go out, I trust you won’t hesitate to fire your artillery.”
“If I don’t see you back here, or hear from you, EMP attack or not, by midnight, I’ll let loose with the mortar.” He looked at the three people. “All right?”
Everyone nodded.
There was a knock on the door and it opened. Marc Pembroke walked in.
Ann smiled at him. “You’re looking fit, Marc. Fit enough to do a job?”
“Oh… hello, Ann. Long time.” He turned to Van Dorn. “Tonight, is it?”
“Right.” Van Dorn glanced at Abrams, then said to Pembroke, “There are children in the basement. They’re innocent, of course. There are also women and diplomatic staff down there. Exercise some judgment.”
Pembroke nodded. “A complication but not a problem. When do we shove off?”
Van Dorn looked at his watch. “Can you get ready in thirty minutes?”
“No, but I will.”
“Then gather your people and my people, and bring them here.”
“I’ll fetch them now.” Pembroke turned.
Van Dorn called out, “One more thing. It’s time to settle some old scores, right here in this house. As we discussed.”
Pembroke nodded and left quickly.
Van Dorn went behind his desk and picked up the telephone. He looked at the three people in the room as he dialed, and said, “In the last war, radar gave you as much as an hour’s warning. Today, they’re happy with fifteen minutes. I’ve given them a few hours. I hope to God they’ve been using the time constructively.” He spoke into the receiver. “Hello, Van Dorn here. We’ve gone through fire and through water.” He began speaking to the person on the other end.
Abrams walked over to the wall where the pictures hung in neat rows, and stared at them. Katherine came up beside him. She said, “We’ve actually had about forty years’ warning, haven’t we?”
Abrams didn’t reply.
She said softly, “We haven’t even gotten to know each other yet.”
He glanced at her. “We have a rendezvous for breakfast tomorrow. The Brasserie.”
She smiled. “Don’t be late.” She turned and walked back to her sister.
Abrams continued looking at the pictures, but his eyes were not focused on them. He thought that in many ways events had come full circle. He remembered his parents and their friends meeting in mean rooms, plotting and planning for the day when the workers would throw off their chains. He thought of George Van Dorn exchanging gunfire with the future enemy in the streets of Vienna. He contemplated the personality of James Allerton, a half century or more in the service of a foreign power, making him perhaps the country’s longest-enduring traitor. He reflected on the Kimberly diary, and Arnold Brin’s message, and other dead messages, and dead files, and dead matter from the living and the dead; and he thought that somehow the dead past had returned to bury the living and the unborn.
BOOK VII
THE ASSAULT
56
Claudia Lepescu moved quickly down the narrow path that cut diagonally across the face of the cliff. Above, on Van Dorn’s wide lawn, she heard a man shout to her in a British accent. One of Marc Pembroke’s men.
She kicked off her high-heeled shoes and continued down the dark path, faster now, yet fearful she would fall off the ledge. Behind her, she heard two sets of footsteps enter the path.
Claudia reached the bottom of the incline and ran down the laurel-covered slope, picking up speed until she stumbled and fell. The pursuing men heard her cry out and headed toward her. She sprang to her feet and continued until she came to the stockade fence.
Claudia put her palms against the fence and breathed deeply as she stared up at the jagged points of the pickets, silhouetted against the sky like dragon’s teeth. She turned and rested her back against the fence.
The gusting north wind rustled the branches around her, and dark feathery clouds raced across the white face of the moon. To the northeast a bolt of lightning lit up the sky and she saw the shapes of the two men standing motionless in the distance. One of them called out, “Claudia! We won’t hurt you! Claudia—” A roll of thunder shook the ground beneath her feet and drowned out his words.