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“What are you thinking?” asked Herman.
“Do you have any idea what kind of cigarettes Lenin smoked?”
“No, why?”
“Because the Soviets used to infuse a lot of their clandestine operations with symbolism. How aboutSobranies?”
“The black Russian cigarettes?” responded Herman, confused. “How should I know?”
“Let’s give them a try,” said Harvath who pulled the handle and waited for something to happen.
“Maybe you should try putting some money in first.”
“I don’t think so,” replied Harvath, as he chose another handle. “How aboutSputnik brand?”
Once again nothing happened.
“If you’d tell me what you’re trying to do, maybe I could help you,” offered Herman as he leaned his shoulder against the wall and tried to understand what Harvath was doing.
“Of course!” said Harvath, careful to remember to keep his voice down. “Leningradskiebrand would have been his favorite. How stupid of me.”
Harvath pulled on the handle forLeningradskie cigarettes and to his surprise, it came out significantly further than the others. Nothing else happened.
“Maybe you should try an East German brand,” joked Herman.
“I can’t tell the difference,” replied Harvath. “Which one is East German?”
“Pull the knob for theF6 smokes. It used to be quite popular in the East.”
Harvath did and just like the knob forLeningradskie cigarettes, this one also came out significantly farther than the others. He stood back from the machine and thought for a moment.
“I still say you need to put some money in,” quipped Herman.
“And I think its much easier than that once you figure it out,” said Harvath as he reproached the machine with a new idea and pulled the knobs for theLeningradskie andF6 cigarette brands at the same time.
All of a sudden, there was a series of noises from inside the cigarette machine that sounded like heavy metal bars bumping over the teeth of thick metal tumblers. There was a groan of metal on metal as the entire tiled alcove, cigarette machine and all, shuddered and then began to swing inwards.
“Open sesame,” said Harvath as he raised his H amp;K and pointed it straight ahead.
“Fick mich,” joined Herman, drawing his second weapon.
With a Beretta.40-caliber 96 Stock pistol in each hand, he looked like some sort of modern day cowboy and Harvath told him as much.
“You’ll be glad I brought the twins,” answered Toffle, kissing both of the Berettas in turn. “Anyone who goes to this much trouble to conceal what they’re doing is not going to be very happy to see us coming.”
“Then let’s make sure they don’t, got it?”
“DoI have it? What am I, new? Maybe we should double check with Helga and Kristina here,” said Herman waving his pistols. “Doyou have it, girls?”
“Very fu
Herman shook his head and the pair moved inside.
Following the dimly lit tu
“How many are in there?” Harvath asked.
“At least three, maybe more,” whispered Herman after listening for several moments.
“Can you tell if Gary is in there?”
“I don’t know. One of the men seems to be giving all of the orders, but his German is not very good. He says he’s come a long way and is very pissed off that the men have not done their job. He’s chewing one of them out for being late. I think the late man is Überhof. He says he was late because he was being followed, but he took care of the problem and no one followed him here.”
“Good,” replied Harvath, who then got up and signaled that he was going to take a look at the rest of the hallway.
Pipes of varying sizes were suspended from the ceiling and appeared to run the length of the tu
He came upon several more rooms, all more or less in varying states of neglect and disarray. It was hard to tell what sort of function they may have once served. All that mattered was that they were presently devoid of other human beings.
At the end of the hallway, Harvath was stopped dead in his tracks by another blast door with a red sign markedBetriebsraum, which was framed by two lightening bolts. Though Harvath had no idea what the word meant in German, he figured it was probably a mechanical room of some sort. Looking up, he saw that all of the utility pipes fed through the solid rock above the door and into whatever room lay on the other side. He tried spi
Harvath decided to forget the door and quickly made his way back up the tu
“Anything new?” he asked, taking up a position next to Toffle.
“I think there’s somebody else in the room with them.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because, they’re speaking English now.”
“Is it Gary?”
“I can only hear what sounds like questions. I thought I heard somebody responding, but now, there’s nothing. What do you want to do?” asked Herman, as he backed away from the door.
“You know what I want to do,” said Harvath, pulling two flashbang grenades from his coat pocket. “Are you ready?”
Herman Toffle patted his injured leg, the same leg that had forced him into early retirement from his beloved GSG9 position and responded, “I’ve been ready for this for a long time.”
Chapter 26
The powerful man circled Gary Lawlor’s chair like a bull zeroing in on an injured matador. He hadn’t introduced himself when he entered the bunker, and he didn’t need to. Though very much the worse for wear, Lawlor was still with it enough to know who the man was. Someone from the Russian Military High Command, especially someone like General Sergei Stavropol, was a person whose reputation preceded him.
“You don’t seem surprised to see me,” said Stavropol.
“It was only a matter of time before someone from Mother Russia showed up,” mumbled Lawlor, his cracked and swollen lips revealing a mouth full of broken and damaged teeth. “I’m just surprised at the poor level of help you are hiring to do your dirty work these days.”
“Helmut took a personal interest in your case. He can be very persuasive, but he doesn’t seem to be having that effect on you. Not to worry, though, I’m here now and I’m sure the two of us are going to get along just fine.”
Lawlor laughed. It was a dry, hacking cackle, the best he was capable of, but he choked it out nonetheless.
“You’re laughing. You don’t think I’m serious?” asked Stavropol.
“You may be serious, but you won’t be successful,” spat Lawlor between his laughs, which turned into a fit of coughing.
“You don’t sound so good. You may have aspirated some of your own blood. Or maybe you have a punctured lung? Have they been a bit rough on you?”
The understatement caused Lawlor to begin laughing again, which in his condition invariably led to another coughing fit.
“You need to relax. You’ll cough yourself to death, and that wouldn’t be good. Not at least until we’ve had a chance to talk.”
“I’ve got a manicure in a half hour, so let’s get on with it,” rasped Lawlor.