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Authors: David Hagberg

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LIVING THE LIE FOR JUST ONE DAY MEANT HE COULD NEVER GO BACK.
SPRINGFIELD, VIRGINIA
D
ick Yemm had felt terrible all month. The weekend's events, and his meeting with McGarvey this morning had done nothing to dispel his gloomy mood. Sitting in his personal car, a pearl white Mercedes SUV, in the Springfield Mall, watching the shoppers and traffic on this busy Monday afternoon, his mood deepened. Most people only had to worry about keeping the kids out of trouble, paying the mortgage and kissing enough booty during the workweek to remain employed.
They didn't have to deal with murder, treason or insanity. And all of that against a backdrop of an increasingly hostile world. India-Pakistan, Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, North Africa, Greece, Mexico, Brazil; on and on, seemingly ad infinitum. Piss on one fire, and a dozen others sprang up around you. Finger one terrorist cell, and two dozen others came into existence as if from thin air. Unravel one alliance, and three dozen others emerged to threaten another 9–11.
Yemm was just the DCI's driver/bodyguard, and number two in the Office of Security. But he saw things, he heard things that he sometimes had trouble dealing with. Troubles that his wife used to be able to help him with. But she was dead. On some days he was reconciled to her absence. The accident had happened ten years ago. But on other days, like now, he felt a deep ache that he could not salve. She was gone, and he missed her because she would listen and then she would give her advice. “The way I see it, Dick …” she would invariably begin. And invariably she was right.
He made a cell phone call to Annandale, just off the Beltway five miles north.
“Hello,” a recorded woman's voice answered. “Thank you for calling Aldebaran Projects. If you know the extension for the person you wish to reach, you may enter it now …”
He entered 562. The call was transferred to the direct line of Janos Kur
ek the founder and president of the computer systems design company.
“This is Kur
ek.” Janos was a former Polish intelligence officer under the old regime. It had been fifteen years since he'd gotten out, but his accent was still strong.
“Janos, I want to talk to you,” Yemm said. “Bring a laptop, I have a secure phone.”
In the aftermath and confusion of the Soviet Union's breakup, a lot of men in Kur
ek's position did not survive the witch-hunts. Even though he'd worked as a double, selling information to the U.S., he was a marked man by the new democrats, who mistrusted men like him because they had no loyalties to Poland, and by the old hard-line communists, who hated him for his betrayals.
It was in the spring, April, if Yemm remembered correctly, though some of his recollections of the operation were a little fuzzy. He was assigned to the U.S. consulate in West Berlin, where he made forays into the east zone at least once a month to organize escapes over the wall. Otto Rencke, who was the whiz kid reorganizing the CIA's computer system, came over to Berlin in person and took Yemm out to dinner and drinks at a sleazy night-blub on the Ku'damm. He had a friend stuck in Gdánsk who needed help getting out. Name was Janos Kur
ek, and there was an arrest warrant out for him already, so there was no time to mount a proper operation. Besides, Otto had worked with Kur
ek for the past couple of years on some back channel exchanges of information. It was technical means that got Otto access to the old regime's computer systems. He and Kur
ek had developed a secret
pipeline all the way back to KGB headquarters in Moscow. But the only way the arrangement would continue to work was for it to be kept an absolute secret. The more people who knew about the pipeline, the less likely that became.
“I'm putting our lives in your hands,” Otto said earnestly. “If the KGB finds out, Janos will be a dead man, and they'll come after me.” He shook his head. “But, oh, wow, I read your file. Green Beret. ‘Nam. Man, you been there, done that. Cool. And you know Mac. He thinks you're good people.”
“He's a good man,” Yemm said. He had worked briefly with McGarvey in Saigon, and he'd been impressed. McGarvey was steady.
“The very best, ya know,” Otto said solemnly. “You gonna help?”
“I'm taking all the risks. What do I get out of it?” Yemm asked. “If I get caught I'm going to jail, at the very least.”
“Favors,” Otto said. “Beaucoup favors, kimo sabe. You want something, Otto and Janos will come running.” Otto looked a little sheepish. “Anyway, if you want to stay in this business, favors are a good thing to have in the bank, ya know.”
The operation was set up for three days at midweek, starting on a Tuesday. Yemm was to make his regular run across the border, but instead of making his rendezvous in East Berlin he was to change identities with papers that Otto provided and take the train directly to the Polish shipbuilding capital. Later Yemm could claim that he had got the rendezvous place mixed up, and could make the run to East Berlin again the following week. Things like that happened from time to time.
In Gdánsk he was to meet with Kur
ek at a fish restaurant called Kashubska. There were three times: noon for lunch, four-fifteen for cocktails, and eight for dinner, with a fallback at a park one block away. Kur
ek would be wearing a lime green sports coat and would have a bandage on his left cheek where he'd cut himself shaving.
From there, Yemm who would be traveling as an American tourist driving a rental car from the train station, would take Kur
ek to the Baltic coast town of Swinourjscie right on the German border where Kur
ek would take the ferry to Copenhagen using the papers that Yemm was bringing him.
BOOK: The Kill Zone
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