Checkpoint Charlie

We shook hands at the bank and I departed for the airport, whence I flew to Phoenix and rented a car. By midnight I was on the desert airfield that belonged to me. I dismissed the night watchman and took over the premises. As soon as I was alone I began setting the demolition charges.

There was nobody to prevent my destroying my own property. I had canceled all the insurance policies the day before, so that I was perpetrating no fraud. It was my own property: I was free to do whatever I pleased with it.

The explosions would have thrilled any twelve-year-old war movie fan. When the debris settled I drove to the hospital to say goodbye to Eddie and Margaret.

Eddie’s eyes twinkled. “Mainly I regret he’ll never know I had anything to do with it.”

“Keep it that way. If he ever found out he’d finish you.”

“I know. I’m not that much of a twit — not any more.”

Margaret said, “What will happen to Foran?”

“Nothing pleasant,” I said. “It can’t have been his own money, not all of it. He’s not that rich. He must have laid off a good part of the loan on his Mob associates. At least a million dollars, I’d guess. When he doesn’t pay them back they’ll go after him the way he went after Eddie.”

Then I smiled. “And that, you know, is what they call justice.”

*   *   *

Challenge

for Charlie

THIS TOOK PLACE several years ago; I must make that clear.

Normally Helsinki is one of my favorite towns but this time I was reluctant to return there because the job was the toughest one Myerson had yet put into my ample lap and the adversary was Mikhail Yaskov, who was — bar one — the best in the business.

Yaskov and I had crossed paths obliquely several times down through the Cold War desades but I had never been sent head-to-head against him before and the truth is I was not eager to face this assignment, although — vanity being what it is — I believed I probably could best him. “Probably” is not a word that gets much of a workout in my lexicon; usually I know I can win before I start playing the game; but with Yaskov I’d be dead if I became overconfident.

The job was simple on the face of it: straightforward. As usual the assignment had come to our section because of the odd politics of international espionage which sometimes can cause simple jobs to become sensitive ones. If it’s a job that would embarrass anybody then it usually gets shoveled into our department.

In this case I was America’s friendly right hand, extended to a country that needed assistance not because of any lack of skill or courage (the Fi

Finland is virtually the only country to have fought a war with Russia in modern times and not lost it. Finland is the only country in Europe that fought against the Red Army in World War II and did not get occupied by the Russians as a result. Finland is the only country in Europe that has repaid, to the pe

They share a border with the Soviet Union. The world being what it is, they make a few concessions to the Russians by way of trade agreements and the like. Soviet-made cars are sold in Finland, for example, although few Fi

Mikhail Yaskov was an old fashioned master spy. He had run strings of agents everywhere in the West — usually with brilliant success. The only American agents I knew of who’d come level against him were Miles Kendig, who was said to be dead now, and my colleague Joe Cutter, who by then was ru

The KGB had sent Yaskov into Helsinki because of chronic failures in the Soviet espionage network there. The Fi

Yaskov was too sharp to put his foot in anything and there was no likelihood of his giving the Fi

Therefore as a gesture of good will I was flown to Helsinki to find a way to get Yaskov out of the country and keep him out — without involving the Fi

It was a bloody impossible job against a bloody brilliant opponent. But I wasn’t really worried. I’m the best, bar none.

*   *   *

IN MY TIME I have pulled off a number of cute and sometimes complicated capers and I suppose, given my physique and age, I could aptly be called a confidence man rather than a man of action. But Yaskov was not susceptible to confidence games. He wasn’t a man to be fooled by elaborate tricks — he knew them all; in fact he’d invented most of them.

There really was only one way to attack him: head-on and straight up. And I had only two weapons to employ against him — his own vanity and his awareness of mortality.

*   *   *

I MADE the call from a public coin phone in the cavernous Stockma

Comrade Yaskov could not come to the telephone immediately. Could the caller please leave a number to be called back?

No, I could not. I would call again in an hour. Please tell Comrade Mikhail Aleksandrovitch to expect my call. Thank you.

When I called again Yaskov came to the phone and chuckled at me in his suave avuncular fashion. He had a rich deep voice and spoke excellent English with an Oxford inflection. “How good to hear your voice, Charlie. I do hope we can get together and exchange notes about the Lapland scenery. Two foreigners in a strange land and all that. Perhaps we can meet informally.”

“By all means.”

It was elementary code, designed to set up a meeting without witnesses or seconds.

I said, “Do you happen to know a fellow named Tower?”

“The Senator from Texas?”

“No. Here in Finland.”

“I see. Yes, I know of him.”

“Perhaps we could meet him tomorrow.”

“Where?”

“I don’t mind, Mikhail. You pick a spot.”

“Would Tavern Number Four suit you?”

“Fine, I’ll see you there.” I smiled and cradled the phone.

There was a place called the Tavern #4 but we wouldn’t be there. The conversation had been designed to mislead anyone who might be eavesdropping on the call — one could depend on the Soviet Embassy’s lines being tapped, possibly by several different organizations. The fellow named Tower was in fact a place — the town of Lahti, within fair commuting distance of Helsinki; the town was known for its landmark, a great high water tower that loomed on stilts above the piney landscape. The number four established the time for the meeting.