Something resembling a smile spread across Lampson's face. "Sounds like a plot made for television, doesn't it?"
"Of course," Grant said, "if there were a military coup, no one could guarantee what the outcome would be for any of this."
Lampson continued with his own train of thought. "Steiner said that he had a significant plan for helping the people of East Berlin."
Grant's sarcasm was more than evident. "Yeah, right. And the Pope's Greek Orthodox. Listen, Steiner's only in it to make a name for himself, to augment his own psyche. He fits the profile perfectly. He's willing to murder countless numbers of his own countrymen, to commit genocide, and that makes him more dangerous and totally unpredictable."
Silverware and china clattered when Lampson's fist struck the table. It was as if a shot had been fired in the quiet restaurant. Heads snapped around in his direction. Adler was half out of his chair, automatically reaching inside his uniform jacket.
"Shit!" Lampson whispered disgustedly through clenched teeth.
Grant stared intensely into Lampson's sweating face, then shifted his eyes to Adler, giving him an "okay" look. He waited for Lampson to settle down, then asked with concern, "Do they have the complete formula, Rick?"
Lampson just stared, as if reality had set in. "I can give you a fair estimate that they could be done within two weeks, in time for the conference. They probably would've been done sooner if Von Wenzel and Heisen were able to work on the project more often. They had to do a lot of sneaking around as it was. But one good thing, if you want to call it that, is that none of the components will cause harm as separate entities. The original components of LSD were broken down completely, like starting from scratch. The way it was being formulated meant that only when all the components are brought together will it become lethal."
"Then we've got to get our asses in gear, don't we?" Grant grinned, trying to ease Lampson's anxiety. "Now, who can help us? Who can you trust?"
Without hesitation, Lampson responded, "Has to be Schmitt and Von Wenzel."
"Very well." Grant tapped the photograph with his finger, pointing to the distinguishing feature of the man's hand. "You don't happen to recognize that, do you?" Lampson shook his head, frustrated he wasn't able to give Grant any valuable information. "You know who that insignia belongs to?"
"Yeah. The East German Infantry."
"Right, only… "
"Only what?" Lampson asked, dabbing the white napkin on his forehead, leaning closer to Grant.
"Look, who would you say has more at stake in this?"
"In my opinion? I'd say it's a toss up. And you?"
"Keep in mind the Russian's have got something to say about how these'll be used. But I'll put my money on the FSG."
Lampson responded as if asking a question. "But the uniform in the picture… "
"Anybody could be wearing that, Rick. And don't forget there are discontented East Germans everywhere who are siding with the FSG. They don't much like being under Mother Russia's big thumb."
"What happens now?"
Grant turned sideways in the chair and rested his arms on his knees, his hands balled up into fists. It was the first time Lampson noticed old scars on the back of what he knew to be very strong hands. "You've got to proceed with the debriefing this morning. Matt Wharton's a good man and he can be trusted, but I suggest you insist that he be the only one in the room. Better still, maybe suggest that you meet outside someplace. Make up some excuse… but not the truth."
There was a slight nod from Lampson, then he asked incredulously, "You think an Embassy employee's involved?"
"For now it's just speculation, but we've gotta take precautions and not take any chances. As soon as we're through here, I'll contact my boss. It'll be his call if he wants you out of the country or kept here in a safe place."
Lampson's face showed obvious surprise. "But, I have to go back to East… "
"Listen to me," Grant said firmly. "What's in your head is too important. We can't take that chance. You're trained. You've heard of the truth serum, right?" Lampson's head bobbed up and down. Grant glanced at his watch. "It's nearly 0745. Time to move and get outta here. Look, when you're finished with Wharton, come back to your room. Tell him you're feeling sick from swallowing half the Spree and you need some rest." Grant pointed his index finger at Lampson. "A word of caution… don't call me when you return."
"But how…?"
"Don't worry about that," Grant smiled. "We have our ways." He stood up, noticing that Adler was already walking out. "Let's put the wheels in motion, Rick." He extended his hand.
"Thanks, Captain… again!"
Chapter Five
Morning traffic was heavy, with cars and double-decker buses constantly on the move. Trams heading in opposite directions clanged their bells as they glided along smoothly on worn, steel rails. Rods, extending from the trams yellow steel roofs, cracked and hissed as they made contact with electric wires that provided their main source of power.
Two American Navy officers, in dress blues uniforms, stood on the curb at the busy intersection, waiting for the light to change. Grant Stevens stared straight ahead, his square jaw tightening as he clamped down on his teeth. He focused on the building one block away. A twenty-five foot American flag, hoisted to the top of a fifty-foot pole, snapped in a fifteen knot wind, its red and white stripes twisting then unfurling rhythmically. With long strides, Grant and Adler hurried across the street.
Adler looked at Grant. "You think the Admiral will still be at NIS?"
Grant nodded. "You know him. He said he'd hang around till I confirmed we were leaving."
"Do you think he'll go along with your plan and let us go pay a visit on our Commie friends, sir?" The excitement in Joe Adler’s voice was unmistakable. His clear, blue eyes twinkled. He screwed his cap down tighter against the gusts of wind.
"Don't know, Joe. Getting Lampson back was the immediate objective. But nobody considered everything else that's going on. I don't just mean the kids, but we've gotta worry about what the FSG has in its hands, and…."
"And who the hell's sneaking around hotel rooms leaving threatening messages," Adler finished.
"Roger that, Joe."
"Jesus, Skipper! Another possible goddamn mole! Is this shit ever gonna end?"
"Hope not! We'll be out of work," Grant laughed, giving Adler a slap on the back.
A ten-foot high, black wrought iron fence encircled the Embassy grounds. At the top of each iron bar was a spear-like finial. A Marine guard, in full dress uniform, stood rigidly at attention just inside the gate. He stepped forward and scrutinized the ID cards being held by the two Navy officers. Satisfied, he saluted sharply, but quickly scanned the area behind both officers before opening the gate.
Grant and Adler returned the salute then proceeded up the plant-lined walk leading to the front steps of the Embassy, entering through eight-foot high, brass-edged double doors. Their footsteps echoed in the long hallway as they walked along the white marble floor. A crystal and brass chandelier hung from a twenty foot high ceiling embossed with the Seal of the United States. These surroundings were all too familiar for the two men.
Located at the center of the building was one elevator with highly polished brass doors. The doors parted with a slight 'hiss' almost as soon as Grant pressed the black button. He reached into his pocket and removed a small silver key as he and Adler stepped in. Once the doors closed, he inserted the key and opened a small panel located just below the floor selection buttons. Then he fit the same key into a half-round slot. By turning the key to the left, the direction of the elevator was reversed. Instead of going up, it went down two levels. When it came to rest, a panel on the rear elevator wall automatically slid to the left. Using the same key, Grant then unlocked a steel door leading to the cryptology room. Once they were inside the room, he pressed another button next to the door, sending the elevator back up to the main floor.