The Killing Ground

Seven

It seemed like years since Carter had slept last, and he was dead tired, but he was a driven man now that he fully understood whom he was up against and what the stakes were. He had no illusions about Kobelev. The man was crazy for revenge, but he was brilliant. If he was successful with this operation, there would be no stopping him. Sooner or later one of his outrageous schemes, one of his terrible operations, would result in a confrontation between the two superpowers.

Carter left his car at Hawk’s cabin and hitched a ride with his boss to the helicopter pad on the East River just a few blocks south of the United Nations.

Hawk was to arrange cover identities and passports for Carter and the Russian woman. The plan was to take her down to Washington, and from there fly to London, where they would take the ferry across to France. Kobelev’s people would be watching for Carter to fly into Charles de Gaulle or Orly outside Paris. And they would redouble their efforts as soon as it was learned that Carter had the woman. Coming down to Paris by car would throw them off.

Beyond that, Carter had his own plans that he had not discussed even with Hawk. Kobelev wanted revenge, but so did Carter.

“It won’t be easy, Nick,” Hawk said when they’d landed. “The man is brilliant. He’ll have more tricks up his sleeve.”

“I know, sir,” Carter said.

They shook hands. “Good luck, then.”

“Thanks.”

Carter took a cab over to Penn Station, left his suitcase in a coin-operated locker, then bought two one-way tickets to Washington, D.C., on the evening train that left at eight. Their identities, passports, and travel arrangements would be ready for them when they arrived.

In a stall in the men’s room he checked his weapons, then took another cab, this time to within a couple of blocks of Lydia Borasova’s apartment, where he made a quick pass on foot.

There were no police cars out front, which he found mildly surprising. But Lashkin and Borasova were both Soviet diplomats, and therefore enjoyed diplomatic immunity. The Soviet delegation must have raised enough hell to make the New York police back down. And as far as Kobelev was concerned, the risk with the woman was all but over. She would be guarded by her own people.

It was just after four when he approached the apartment, this time from the north down Fifth Avenue. It was Wednesday, and the streets were crowded.

Within half a block of the apartment, he spotted the first of the Russian legmen coming around the corner from Madison Avenue.

Carter merged smoothly with a knot of people on the sidewalk, and he kept moving. The Russian stopped a moment, then, apparently realizing something, turned on his heel and walked back the way he had come. Before he disappeared around the corner, though, he scanned the street in both directions. He was definitely a pro. Carter hesitated, and feigned interest in a window display.

A couple of minutes later, still at that corner, Carter spotted the big, barrel-chested man turning the far corner.

It was a pattern. Evidently the man went back and forth in front of the apartment building, turning the corner at both ends of the block, making sure of the approaches.

Next he’d come back that way, then turn and repeat the process.

Carter quickly crossed the street and went up the steps to the Morgan Library, where he lit a cigarette and waited fully five minutes until the Russian appeared once again at the corner, looked both ways up the street, and turned back.

Immediately after the man disappeared, Carter hurried down the steps and up to the corner. The Russian was a third of the way down the block, heading slowly away, not looking back. There were several other pedestrians in the block, some traffic, and a lot of parked cars.

As far as Carter could tell, there were no other watchers. Someone would be out back. And no doubt someone was in or near the apartment with Lydia Borasova. But the approach from the street side was guarded by only the one man.

The guard stopped, then disappeared around the corner.

In the next few seconds Carter hurried to the neighboring brownstone, where at the door he buzzed all five apartments.

“Delivery for Alberts,” he mumbled into the speaker grille.

A second later the door lock buzzed, and he was inside, rushing to the back stairwell where he silently raced up to the top floor.

He found the rooftop access door with no trouble, and ninety seconds after entering the building, he was on the roof keeping low and well away from the edges so that he would not be spotted from below.

The buildings on this block were all connected, and there was only a two- or three-foot difference in the heights of the rooftops. Carter jumped down to the roof of Lydia’s apartment building and went to the access door, which was locked. He easily slipped the latch using Hugo’s blade and silently made his way down the stairs to the top floor, hesitating just within the doorway.

No sounds came from the corridor. Carter eased the door open a crack and looked out.

A very large man with a short haircut and wearing a dark, baggy suit leaned against the corridor wall near the elevator. He was turned sideways, but was looking away.

Carter pulled out Wilhelmina, made sure the safety was off, then burst out of the door, dropping into the classic shooter’s stance, the Luger up in both hands.

The Russian spun around, reaching for his weapon.

“Nyet!” Carter snapped urgently but keeping his voice low.

The Russian hesitated.

Carter shook his head. “Do not do it, comrade, or you will die here in this corridor,” Carter said in Russian.

For several long, tense moments they stood in a tableau, frozen at opposite ends of the short corridor, the Russian obviously weighing his chances. But then the big man visibly relaxed, letting his hands fall loosely to his sides. He nodded.

Carefully Carter straightened up and moved down the corridor, motioning with his Luger for the Russian to move back up the corridor to Lydia’s door.

“Is there anyone inside besides the woman?” Carter asked.

The Russian said nothing, though he moved up the corridor. He was still gauging his chances.

“I must know, comrade. If it is a lie, you will surely die.”

“There is no one other than the woman,” the man said.

“You have the key.” Carter said it as a statement of fact. “Open the door. I will be directly behind you.”

Again the Russian hesitated, and again he made the correct decision. Carefully he reached into his coat pocket and slowly withdrew the apartment key. He turned and unlocked the door.

“Inside,” Carter said, coming up behind the man.

The Russian pushed open the door, and as he moved inside he leaped forward, twisting to the right as he reached for his gun.

But Carter was right there. He lashed out with the butt of Wilhelmina, catching the big man at the base of his skull just behind his right ear.

The Russian went down like a felled steer, crashing into a small table. Lydia Borasova, wearing a bathrobe, came out of the bathroom as Carter was shoving the downed man aside and closing the door.

“Oh, my God!” she cried.

Carter looked up, and grinned. “Not exactly a sentiment Comrade Kobelev would enjoy hearing.”

The woman stepped back, her hand to her mouth.

Carter stooped down to make sure the Russian was out and would stay that way for a while. Quickly he took the man’s big pistol, emptied it, and shoved it under the couch. Next he pulled off the man’s belt and tie and trussed him up, Lydia watching him with wide eyes.

When he was finished he straightened up. “I haven’t got a lot of time to explain myself, Miss Borasova, so I’ll only tell you this once,” he said.

She was shivering. Carter expected that she was more frightened of what Kobelev would do to her when this was over than she was of the current situation.

“You are not returning to Moscow, at least not tonight. You’re coming with me.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Paris.”

“Oh... no,” she cried. “No... please, I beg you! He will kill me!”

“Perhaps I will if you do not cooperate. And I’m here right now. Comrade Kobelev is far away.”

“I cannot.”

“You will,” Carter snapped. “And when it’s over, I promise that you will be given a choice. You’ll be allowed to return to Moscow, or you will be given asylum here in the States.”

She was shaking her head, but she seemed less certain than before.

“If you choose to return to Moscow, we’ll make sure you’ll go back blameless. You were kidnapped at gunpoint. It is your choice.”

She was searching for the right decision. He could see it in her eyes. “What am I supposed to do in Paris?”

“Provide me with information I may need. Nothing more. You won’t be in the line of fire if I can help it. I promise you.”

She looked down at the unconscious Russian on the floor. “There are two others outside. One in front and another in the back.”

“I know. We’ll get away, if you cooperate.”

She looked up. Her eyes softened. “Is it true that your... lover was killed?”

“She was burned to death,” Carter said grimly. “It was Ganin.”

She shook her head. “It was Kobelev. The man is insane!”

“We must leave now.”

“I have your promise?”

Carter nodded.

“And if I decide that I want to return to the United States? It will be arranged?”

Again Carter nodded.

She finally came to a decision. “Yes,” she said. “I will do it, if only to stop the monster.”

“Get dressed and pack a single bag.”

“I’m packed,” she said. She turned to go to the bedroom but then stopped. “What about a passport? I cannot travel on my diplomatic documents. I would be spotted.”

“Leave it here.”

She looked at Carter, then nodded and went into the bedroom. He followed her.

For a moment she hesitated about undressing in front of him but then she shrugged, understanding that he could not trust her — yet. She took off her robe. She was nude beneath, her large breasts soft and womanly, her stomach smooth and flat, and her legs somewhat short but very nice.

Quickly she pulled on panties, a bra, pantyhose, and then stepped into a skirt and pulled on a blouse. At the mirror she put on some lipstick, brushed her hair, then threw her makeup things into her purse, grabbed her coat, and picked up her suitcase where it stood next to the bed.

“I am ready,” she said. Her nostrils were flared and her eyes were wide. She was frightened.

“Do you have a weapon, Lydia?”

She shook her head. “No,” she said. “It was not my mission.”

“Which was?”

“To keep an eye on our delegation. There were certain of them... who were weak.”

“What is your connection with Comrade Kobelev?”

For a long moment Carter didn’t feel she would answer him. Her eyes became moist, and she hung her head.

“For two years... I was his mistress.”

“Did you love him?”

“No,” she snapped defiantly. “It was for my parents! He threatened to kill them if I did not cooperate!”

She was the key to Kobelev. Carter felt bad about using her that way, but he had been honest when he promised her sanctuary after it was over. Once Kobelev found out Carter had her, it would shake him up. Maybe he would begin making his own mistakes.

At the door, Carter checked to make sure the corridor was still empty, and then they hurried to the stairs and went down to the ground floor. The guard out front was halfway up the block when Carter checked outside. He waited until the man was around the corner, and then he and Lydia hurried outside, down the stairs, and rushed to the opposite corner, where they got a cab half a block away.

“Do you think he saw us?” Lydia asked when they were safely inside.

“No,” Carter said. He glanced out the rear window. No one was coming. As far as he could tell, no one was following them.

“Where to, buddy?” the cabby asked over his shoulder.

“Penn Station,” Carter said.

“By train?” Lydia asked.

Carter looked at her. Was it a slip? Had they expected him to return for her? Or was he being overcautious and paranoid?

“By train,” he said. “What did you expect?”

She was puzzled for a moment, but then she figured it out, and she shook her head. “If you do not trust me, I do not blame you. But I never expected to see you again. I assumed, if we are going to Paris, it would be by air, and not by rail.”

Carter had to laugh. “You’re right on both counts: I don’t trust you, and yes, we’re going to Paris, but not by train.”

With a couple of hours to kill before their train left, Carter checked Lydia’s bag into a storage locker next to his in the station, and then they walked across the street and down the block to an Italian restaurant on Eighth Avenue for something to eat.

She told him about her youth in Leningrad and how she had come to be accepted as a medical student at Moscow State University. In her second year she had gone to a party with friends, who were officers in the student Communist Party organization, where she met Kobelev. The man pursued her, sending her gifts, which she returned, but later sending her parents gifts and granting special favors such as permitting them to shop in the foreign exchange stores.

“After his wife died he made me move out to his dacha with him,” she said. “I hated it, but by then my parents could not exist without his help. There was no going back for them.”

“Did he tell you how his wife died?”

She shrugged. “Cancer, I think.”

“He shot her to death. I was there. I witnessed it.”

“But why? He said he loved her. He missed her.”

“She was in his way. There was an important assignment. He used his daughter the same way.”

“I didn’t know he had a daughter.”

“She’s dead.”

“He killed her?”

“I did,” Carter said.

Lydia sucked in her breath. “It is... a vendetta, then, between you two. You killed his daughter, he killed your lover, and now...” She hesitated a moment. “You two are alike?”

“No. I killed Tatiana in self-defense. She had become as desperate and as crazy as her father. I dislike killing women.”

Lydia managed a wry smile. “You do not trust me, and yet you tell me of this weakness. What is to prevent me from simply getting up and walking out of here?”

“The thought that when this is over, you can be free.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I would like more coffee, please.”

They made a couple of quick passes around Penn Station before Carter was satisfied that they had not been followed. A few minutes before eight, they went inside, got their bags, and climbed aboard the train just as it was about to pull out.

After the train had emerged from the station, and the conductor had collected their tickets, they went forward to the crowded, noisy club car, where they managed to find a couple of seats near the forward door.

Carter ordered scotch for himself and vodka, neat, for Lydia. When they were settled, he lit himself a cigarette. He was very tired, but he figured he would get some sleep on the transatlantic flight.

The vision of Sigourney’s body in the burned remains of the house came back to him. He knew that he would have that same picture in his mind for a very long time to come. It would haunt his dreams long after this business with Kobelev was finally resolved.

“She must have been wonderful, your lover,” Lydia said softly.

Carter looked up. “It shows?”

She nodded. “It is Kobelev’s specialty... finding one’s weaknesses and brutally exploiting them. He is very good at it.”

“What was your weakness?” Carter asked.

“My parents...” Lydia started, but then she hesitated. “That was just my excuse. I was my own weakness. I was tired of the university. I was sick to death of the other students. I wanted to be... loved. To be needed.”

“By someone important?” Carter prompted.

“By someone important. By someone exciting. By a man.”

“Kobelev was that man.”

“At first. But he’s a monster. There were times...” Again she hesitated. “There was a doctor on his staff at the dacha.”

Carter remembered the man. He had been kind.

“Kobelev decided he no longer liked or trusted the doctor, so he challenged him to a duel... with swords. The doctor pleaded with him — ‘I know nothing about fighting, I am a medical man,’ I remember him saying. But it was no use. It took the doctor a very long time to die. I had to watch it all.”

“So you jumped at the chance to come to the States. To be his eyes and ears in New York.”

“Anything to get away from him. Anything!”

Carter finished his drink and ordered another. When he sat back down, Lydia was watching him.

“What do you expect to do in Paris? You say you want information from me?”

“I was lured to Lashkin and you in New York. Now I am being lured to Paris. Kobelev wants me in Europe. He means to keep leading me along until I get to a place of his choosing where he intends to kill me.”

“Paris?”

“I don’t think so. But one of his people killed one of ours there.”

“And you are going to Paris to kill a Russian.”

“Not just any Russian. One who works for Kobelev.”

“Which one?”

“It doesn’t matter, as long as he is Kobelev’s man.”

“I am Kobelev’s woman, so I will be your information bank.”

Carter nodded.

“If I refuse?”

“I don’t think you will.”

She sighed. “No, I will not. Kobelev’s people are not noted for being kind, gentle men. If they survive with him, they must be bastards too. Yes, I know of a man in Paris for you. But he is very good, and it will be very dangerous for you. Very dangerous.”

“Who is he?”

“Let us get to Paris first. By then I will feel better about trusting you.”

Carter had to laugh. “Fair enough.”

“What then?” Lydia asked.

“By then Comrade Kobelev will know that I have you, and he will know that I have killed his man there. The next move will be his. His and Ganin’s. They will send me a signal, and it will be a very clear one.”

Lydia shuddered. “Ganin. He is a dangerous one.”

“Do you know him?”

“I only know of him. I know he is the one man on this earth whom Kobelev respects, and in some ways fears.”