The Red Horseman (35 page)

“How could they be sure of that?”

“The reactor explosion would cause a
political crisis.

They would escalate the event to a crisis if it
didn’t happen naturally.

And they had done their homework with Saddam’s
money. A lot of money.

Real money, hard currency.

The people at the top in Russia are just like the people at
the top everywhere else–they want good food, nice
clothes, adequate housing, an education for their
kids, decent medical care. The Communist party
used to deliver all that, but those days are gone.
Whoever can deliver that LIFE’-STYLE to the people in
power will rule.”

“Money.”

“Hard curTency-U.s. dollars. For
bribes. To dole out to the faithful.

To buy votes in the legislature. There’s a
flourishing dollar economy in Moscow-just how on
earth does an honest Russian come by dollars?”

“Oh, my God,” Rita whispered. “To murder
all those people! I can’t believe it.”

“This is Russia, was Jake told her, his
voice low. “Even the stones are guilty. See that
old man over there, the one with the campaign ribbons
on his lapel? He’s a veteran of World War
II. He probably has a hundred stories
about how he and his fellow soldiers fought to the last
ditch and saved Russia from Hitler. What he
won’t tell you about are the penal battafions-every
division had one. These were unarmed battalions of
political prisoners-Russians who had said
something unwise about Stalin or the NKVD, people who
appeared to be less than happy living in the new
Communist paradise. The men in the penal
battalions were herded ahead of the tanks before every
attack to step on the land mines and clear the way.
And German machine gunners slaughtered them and
revealed their positions to the Red Army troops.
Then the tanks and gallant soldiers like that old
man killed Nazis and won glorious
victories.

They saved Mother Russia. Ah yes, that old
man is proud of his ribbons.

“Yet this is the amazing part-the Commies never
ranout of recruits for the penal battalions. That
maniac Hitler gassed and shot and starved
his domestic enemies-all at his cost. Stalin
killed his enemies just as dead but he turned, a
nice profit doing it. And Stalin didn’t bother
cremating the corpses: he let the body parts rot
right where they lay IF to fertilize the soil.

“Yes, Rita, a group of ambitious people
intentionally blew up the Serdobsk reactor. If
a half million humans had to die to get them to the
top, so be it. Like that old man over there with the
ribbons, these people have paid their dues. They have created a
hell on earth and they are going to rule it.”

“Stalin’s children,” Rita murmured Twenty
minutes later the train entered the outskirts of
Moscow. “Where’s Dalworth?” Jake asked
Rita.

“I don’t know, He wandered off when that man
died.”

“Find him, We’re going to have to hop off this train
fast and try for a taxi. if our luck is in, no
one will be looking for us at the railroad station.”

She was very tired. “You sent that helicopter
pilot off to be shot down.” It was just a statement of
fact, without inflection.

Jake Grafton merely glanced at her. “Go
find Dalworth,” he told her
patiently.

If there were any security men scrutinizing the
crowd, Jake didn’t see them. The three
Americans went through the station unaccosted, found the
exit with Dalworth’s help, and walked out onto the
sidewalk. There were taxis. Jake and Rita
climbed into the backseat of one while Dalworth
negotiated the fare. T

The streets looked normal to Jake’s eye with the
usual traffic and strolling pedestrians, here and there
a policeman.

At ten o’clock in the evening the sunlight, diffused
by a thin layer of cirrus, came in at a very low
angle and gave the city a soft, almost inviting
look.

Dalworth sat in the front seat chatting with the
taxi driver, and in a few moments he turned around
and said to Jake, “This fellow says that troops have
road blocks around the embassy. They’re checking
everyone’s papers.”

The taxi proceeded for several blocks before
Jake spoke.

“We need to find something else to ride in.”

“Like a tank,” Rita said gloomily.

About a quarter mile from the embassy they
passed a line of armored personnel carriers parked
by the curb. “One of these might do,” Jake said.
“Could you drive one, Rita?”

“It doesn’t have wings,” she pointed out.

“Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

“Spiro, tell the driver to pull over.”

He dropped them at the head of the line. One
soldier with a rifle stood on the curb. There were at
least a dozen APC’S in the line and another
soldier lounged at the far end, almost two hundred
feet away. Apparently the concept of vehicle
theft hadn’t caught on here yet., “Walk by this
guy,” Jake told his companions, and the three
moved. Jake kept talking.

“Rita will drive. Dalworth will take the
soldier’s rifle and I’ll assist him into the
vehicle. The Russian soldier remained
relaxed as they approached, his rifle held in the
crook of his left arm. He watched them
disinterestedly. As the trio passed him Jake drew
his revolver and stuck it into the Russian’s ribs as
Dalworth neatly seized the rifle. The door to the
APC stood open, so Rita merely climbed in.

Jake nodded toward the vehicle and the
soldier, wearing a look of uncertainty and fear,
went willingly enough. Jake glanced toward the other
sentry. He was facing in the other direction.
Really, these kids shouldn’t be guarding anything more
valuable than a garbage dump!

When everyone was inside, Dalworth closed the
door and dogged it down.

“Any time, Rita.”

“Give me a minute, sir.” She was looking
at the controls.

The seconds dragged by. Finally she adjusted a
lever and pushed a button. The engine turned over but
didn’t catch.

More fiddling.

“Maybe our guy here knows how to drive,”
Dalworth suggested.

“Ask him. Dalworth did so. The soldier’s
eyes got big, but he held his tongue. He was
young, about twenty. Not a trace of beard showed on his
face.

Rita ground some more with the starter. Then the diesel
caught. She wrestled with the shift lever, ground the
gears, then engaged the clutch. The thing lurched, then
got under way.

“Empty his rifle,” Jake told
Dalworth, “and throw it in the back.”

Dalworth popped out the magazine and handed it
to Jake, a 313 a Twenty minutes later the
train entered the outskirts of Moscow. “Where’s
Dalworth?” Jake asked Rita.

“I don’t know. He wandered off when that man
died.”

“Find him. We’re going to have to hop off this train
fast and try for a taxi. If our luck is in, no
one will be looking for us at the railroad station.”

She was very tired. “You sent that helicopter
pilot off to be shot down.” It was just a statement of
fact, without inflection.

Jake Grafton merely glanced at her. “Go
find Dalworth,” he told her patiently.

If there were any security men scrutinizing the
crowd, Jake didn’t see them. The three
Americans went through the station unaccosted, found the
exit with Dalworth’s help, and walked out onto the
sidewalk. There were taxis. Jake and Rita
climbed into the backseat of one while Dalworth
negotiated the fare.

The streets looked normal to Jake’s eye with the
usual traffic and strolling pedestrians, here and there
a policeman.

At ten o’clock in the evening the sunlight, diffused
by a thin layer of cirrus, came in at a very low
angle and gave the city a soft, almost inviting
look.

Dalworth sat in the front seat chatting with the
taxi driver, and in a few moments he turned around
and said to Jake, “This fellow says that troops have
road blocks around the embassy. They’re checking
everyone’s papers.”

The taxi proceeded for several blocks before
Jake spoke.

“We need to find something else to ride in.”

“Like a tank,” Rita said gloomily.

About a quarter mile from the embassy they passed
a line of armored personnel carriers parked by the
curb. “One of these might do,” Jake said. “Could
you drive one, Rita?”

“It doesn’t have wings,” she pointed out.

“Yes or no?”

con”Yes.”

“Spiro, tell the driver to pull over.”

He dropped them at the head of the line. One
soldier with a rifle stood on the curb. There wem
at least a dozen APC’S in the line and another
soldier lounged at the far end, almost two
hundred feet away. Apparently the concept of
vehicle theft hadn’t caught on here yet.,
“Walk by this guy,” Jake told his companions,
and the three moved. Jake kept talking.

“Rita will drive. Dalworth will take the
soldier’s rifle and I’ll assist him into the
vehicle. The Russian soldier remained
relaxed as they approached, his rifle held in the
crook of his left arm. He watched them
disinterestedly. As the trio passed him Jake drew
his revolver and stuck it into the Russian’s ribs as
Dalworth neatly seized the rifle. The door to the
APC stood open, so Rita merely climbed in.

Jake nodded toward the vehicle and the soldier,
wearing a look of uncertainty and fear, went
willingly enough. Jake glanced toward the other
sentry. He was facing in the other direction.
Really, these kids shouldn’t be guarding anything more
valuable than a garbage dump!

When everyone was inside, Dalworth closed the
door and dogged it down.

“Any time, Rita.”

“Give me a minute, sir.” She was looking
at the controls.

The seconds dragged by. Finally she
adjusted a lever and pushed a button. The engine
turned over but didn’t catch.

More fiddling.

“Maybe our guy here knows how to drive,”
Dalworth suggested., “Ask him.”

Dalworth did so. The soldier’s eyes got
big, but he held his tongue. He was young, about
twenty. Not a trace of beard showed on his face.

Rita ground some more with the starter. Then the diesel
caught. She wrestled with the shift lever, ground the
gears, then engaged the clutch. The thing lurched, then
got under way “Empty his rifle,” Jake told
Dalworth, “and throw it in the back. Dalworth
popped out the magazine and handed it to Jake, who
tossed it into the back of the vehicle. The rifle
followed.

The APC lumbered along at a stately pace.
Rita steered it toward the center of the street. Two
blocks later they saw a line of cars waiting in
front of a roadblock with several dozen soldiers
milling about.

“Drive right through,” Jake told his pilot.
“And don’t run over anybody.”

“Admiral!”

“They’ll get out of your way.”

She floored it and the soldiers ahead scattered.
Amazingly, no shots were fired.

“Maybe they would have let us through,” Dalworth
remarked.

“Maybe,” Rita agreed.

Jake kept his maybes to himself.

The APC rumbled the two blocks to the embassy
along an empty street. She turned the corner from
the boulevard and dropped down the street to the main
entrance of the embassy, where she braked to a stop.

At least the stars and stripes were still flying.

The Russian soldier sat glued to his seat
staring dumbfounded as the trio walked past four armed
U.s. marines in battle dress and entered the little
brick reception building.

The marine on duty behind the desk punched the
button to let them in and spoke through the window. “The
ambassador wants to see you, sir, and so does
Captain Collins.

And welcome back!”

He was rewarded with a grin from Rita.

The security door hadn’t even closed behind the
trio as the sergeant at the desk dialed Toad’s
telephone number.

Lieutenant Commander Tarkington had
been down here three times this evening-the sergeant was
delighted that he had some good news to deliver for a
change.

Toad came thundering down the stairs as Rita
started up.

“Hey, Babe!”

“Hello, Toad-man,” she said as she was
lifted from her feet in a fierce bear hug.

GENERAL SHMAROV IS DEAD,- Tom
COLLINS TOLD

Jake.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Nope. Apparently had a heart attack last
night. Died in bed. At least that’s what I hear
from the Defense Ministry and Yeltsin’s office.

Of course, someone might have taken him for a ride
last night and pumped a lead slug into his chest.
Lead poisoning is a leading cause of heart
attacks among the upper echelons in this neck of the
woods.”

“Humph,” Jake Grafton replied, trying
to visualize how Shmarov’s demise fitted in.
“So what is CIA up to today?”

“Nothing, as near as I can tell. Toad
escorted Herb Tenney upstairs right after
breakfast this morning. Harley
McCann”-McCann was the ranking resident
CIA officer”…went to his office and did the
usual. I think he’s still there.”

“At nine-thirty at night? He’s got to know
we have Tenney under lock and key.”

“Well, even if he’s the worst spy we have,
you’d think he’d find an event like that hard to miss.
We’ve had armed marines guarding your apartment all
day.”

“Shmarov had a heart attack.” Jake
Grafton shook his head. “What’s the
ambassador want?”

“He’s been on the phone to Washington all day.
Probably has some instructions, wants to know what
happened at Petrovsk . . .”

“I’ll have a little visit with Herb first, Then you and
I will go see the ambassador.”

“Yes, sir.”

“In the meantime get the marine, Captain
McElroy, and have him stand by outside my apartment.
Have him wear his sidearm.

Herb Tenney’s color wasn’t good when Jake
entered the apartment. His shirt was wet with sweat and his
forehead was shiny. He looked as if he
hadn’t shaved in days.

“Where’s Toad?” Jake asked Jack
Yocke.