Smart Bombs Page 4

  Butler leaned forward in his chair. “I thought the girl brought the plans out with her.”

  Sheffield chuckled. “If only she had. Unfortunately she only brought out the most general information, but that’s better than nothing. At least, now we know that the Doom Machine exists, and can do something about it. As I said earlier, we are sending you into the Soviet Union toward the end of this week, if you agree to go, of course.”

  “But I don’t speak Russian. I’ll be a sitting duck. They’ll pick me up in two minutes.”

  “Cover is everything, Butler. With the right cover you could go into the jaws of hell and come out clean. This is what your cover will be: you will be a deaf-mute, a poor pathetic creature who’s cared for by your sister, who will speak for you, take care of you, and will be your constant companion. No doubt you’re wondering at this point who this sister will be. Well, it will be none other than Natalia Kahlovka, the girl you brought out of the Soviet Union.”

  “You trust her?” Butler asked.

  “Yes. Don’t you? She passed all our tests.”

  “I don’t know. I suppose she’s all right if she passed all the electronic tests. You can’t fool the machines, can you?”

  “We don’t think so.”

  “Then I’ll start trusting her.”

  “Good. We’d like you to begin your preparations immediately. Although you will be a mentally retarded deaf-mute, we would like you to learn to read Russian and understand it. You can’t pick up very much in three days, but you’ll get the rudiments. We also want you to learn sign language, and you’ll be indoctrinated in Russian life and be taught from maps and photographs about what to expect in the city of Moscow, which is where you’re going, by the way. The Doom Machine is being developed in the Vasilkov Munitions Plant there. We have a mole in Moscow, a person we’ve never used. Her name is Sonia Barsovina, and she is a doctor. We recruited her five years ago at a medical conference in London. She’s been sitting on ice, just waiting to go operational. And she speaks English. As far as we know, she lives alone. She is a lesbian, we believe.”

  “Good grief,” Butler said.

  “You don’t like lesbians?”

  “They usually don’t like me.”

  “I suspect that’s because you make advances toward them. If you don’t make advances to Sonia I’m sure you’ll be all right. We’re not sending you into the Soviet Union to get laid, if you’ll pardon the expression.”

  “It’s pardoned,”

  “Good. Any questions so far?”

  Butler scratched his head. He didn’t like the idea of going into the Soviet Union, because it seemed extremely risky. If he could point that out, maybe he wouldn’t have to go. • “I don’t have a specific question at this point, but just a matter that we ought to consider. We must assume that the KGB is searching for Natalia right now. They’re liable to pick her up as soon as she sets foot in the Soviet Union.”

  “We’ve thought of that. Natalia’s blonde hair will be dyed black, and she won’t be going to Leningrad, where presumably they’re looking for her. She has never been to Moscow, and on top of that you won’t be going to Moscow south from Leningrad, but north from Volgograd, formerly Stalingrad. They won’t be expecting her to come from that direction, and once you’re in Moscow, of course, you will merely melt into the population.”

  “What about identification papers?”

  “You’ll have the best that master forgers can produce. You will be Boris Noginsk, and Natalia will be your sister. You both are orphans. She has just graduated from secondary school, and has taken you, her poor sick brother, out of the lunatic asylum in Volgograd to go to Moscow to visit your dear cousin, Sonia Barsovina. When you arrive in Moscow you will telephone her and say, or I should say that Natalia will say, ‘Do you remember your cousins from Stavropol?’ That is the code sentence that Sonia has been waiting to hear for five years. She will reply, ‘I don’t remember any cousins from Stavropol, but I believe I do have some in Grozny.’ Then you can talk more or less freely and make arrangements to meet. Any other questions?”

  Butler shook his head. “This is going to be a very dangerous operation, Mr. Sheffield.”

  “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I’m sure we can get somebody else.”

  “Perhaps it would be better if you sent somebody who could speak Russian.”

  “We have people who speak Russian, but none of them are as skilled as you are in covert operations. You happen to be just about the best person we have on that score, Butler. But I’m sure we could find somebody else.”

  Butler waved his hand. “I’ll go.”

  “I’d appreciate it. It’s a very important operation.”

  “I can see that.”

  “The fate of the world might possibly hang in the balance here.”

  “That’s usually the case, isn’t it?”

  “I’m afraid it is.” Sheffield paused for a few moments. “Do you think you’ll be able to get along all right with Natalia?”

  “I don’t see any reason why not.”

  Sheffield coughed. “I understand you’ve had sexual relations with the girl, is that so?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s very young, you know.”

  “She’s not that young.”

  “Perhaps she’s not young in relation to the women you normally associate with, but nineteen isn’t very old.”

  “She’s only nineteen?” Butler asked, surprised.

  “Yes, and they can be very romantic and emotional at that age.”

  “Some are very cold and brutal at that age,” Butler pointed out.

  “But this one isn’t American. She’s Russian. Their society isn’t as loose as ours.”

  “I think I can handle her.”

  “Try to bear in mind that you’re on an operation of great importance, and not a little sexual lark, all right? I know she’s pretty and all that, but keep the mission uppermost in your mind. Do you think you can?”

  “Of course, I can.”

  “Good. That will be all, Butler. Report to Mr. Ishevsk on the second floor. He’ll be your Russian teacher, and Mr. Donaldson, formerly of the Old Vic Company in London, will give you a little class in makeup and disguise, just so you can brush up on those things. Professor Henry will teach you sign language. Any questions?”

  “Not that I can think of offhand.”

  “Good luck, Butler.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “And I’d like to express my gratitude to you for agreeing to undertake this most important and dangerous mission.”

  “That’s okay, sir. Anytime.” With a wink, Butler rose and walked out of the office.

  “Butler?” asked Sheffield.

  Butler stopped and turned around. “Yes?”

  “Urn, we haven’t told the girl much about us, for security reasons. Don’t tell her anything she doesn’t have to know, all right?”

  “I thought you trusted her. You said she passed the electronic tests.”

  “It’s always good to be cautious. We don’t want her to know anything she doesn’t have to know. Compartmentalization. You understand.”

  “Does she know who we are?”

  “Only in the most superficial way.”

  “Then let me ask you something: how do you know that the papers she delivered were written by Doctor Kahlovka?”

  “We know they were in his handwriting, but of course they could have been written under coercion.”

  Butler nodded. “So in other words, she might not be what she appears to be.”

  “The same might be said of any of us. But we can’t let that stop us from taking appropriate action.”

  “Are you going to tell the Americans about the Doom Machine?”

  “No, because it might panic them into starting an immediate war in the hope that the Soviets don’t have the Doom Machine completely finished and operational yet. We’d better not notify them until we can give them the plans on a silver platte
r.”

  “Tricky situation, isn’t it.”

  “The trickiest. Any more questions?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “If any crop up, come see me. Until then, you’d better get moving to Mr. Ishevk’s Russian class. We don’t have much time, you know.”

  “I know,” Butler replied, heading toward the door once more.

  Chapter Five

  Butler studied the Russian language with Ishevsk and brushed up on makeup and costume with Donaldson. Professor Henry taught him sign language, and in the evening he and Natalia attended a briefing by a Mr. Slobodskoy, a defector from the Soviet Union, who told them about life in the Soviet Union—what to expect, how to proceed, and so forth.

  It was ten o’clock at night when the briefing was over, and Butler walked with Natalia back to the dormitory compound where they both were staying. He’d noticed that she’d been casting certain glances at him during the briefing, and he thought he knew what the glances meant, particularly when she put her arm around his waist in the parking lot.

  “I am so happy to see you again,” she said, smiling at him.

  He looked into her innocent, nineteen-year-old face and it beamed with love or lust, or both, for him. “I’m happy to see you too, dear.”

  “I was afraid that you had gone away someplace. I am in love with you, you know.”

  He looked at her as they neared the building. “I didn’t know.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “After all that happened between us, you didn’t know?”

  “No.”

  “You think I am that way with every man I meet?”

  “How should I know?”

  She removed her arm from his waist. “You have just insulted me,” she said sadly, and began to sulk.

  “Sorry.”

  He opened the door to the dormitory and once again cursed himself for screwing around on the job. He was going into the Soviet Union with her on a mission of great importance, and already they were having emotional problems. They walked down the corridor to the elevator and he pressed the button. She looked at him sadly out the corners of her sloe eyes.

  “I don’t mean anything to you at all” she said tragically. “I can see that.”

  “You do. Of course you do.”

  “I am just helping you with your spy business, and you have used my body once. That’s all.”

  The elevator came and they stepped inside. Two scientists in white coats already were aboard, riding up from the basement laboratory evidently. Butler didn’t want to continue the conversation in front of them, so he got off with her at her floor.

  “I think we’d better have a talk.” he said.

  “Good.”

  They walked down the corridor to her room, and a young woman and man in jeans passed by. Natalia opened the door and Butler followed her into her room, which basically was like his room, resembling a modern, moderately priced hotel room. She turned on a lamp and took off her coat; he handed his trench coat to her and sat on a chair near the window. Hanging the coats in the closet, she returned and sat on the bed.

  “Now listen,” he said, “we’re going out on a very dangerous operation together and we’d better have an understanding right now so that we don’t have any trouble later. In my line of work, I’ve seen many people die, and I’ve come close to getting knocked off myself on numerous occasions. In order to survive emotionally, we can’t let ourselves get too attached to people, and that’s why I appear uninvolved to you. Please don’t take it personally. You’re a very nice person. Okay?”

  “But I am in love with you,” she said.

  “That’s nonsense.”

  “Perhaps to you, but not to me.”

  “Love is a fantasy. You’re having a fantasy about me. It’s not real.”

  “Not real?”

  “No.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “Quite sure.”

  “Oh.”

  She arose from the bed, a half-smile playing on her lips. Kicking off her shoes, she unbuttoned her blouse and slowly, tantalizingly, peeled it off. Her firm young breasts flopped into view, and he stared at her pointed brown nipples and his mouth began to water. She unzipped her skirt and pushed it down. Now she stood before him, clad only in plain white cotton bikini underpants. But on her they looked like the most expensive and exotic garment ever made. She pushed them down too and walked toward him, kneeling between his legs, reaching for his swelling erection.

  “Is this real?” she asked playfully.

  “That is very real.”

  “It’s not a fantasy?”

  “Not at all.”

  “But I thought you said everything between us is a fantasy.”

  “There is a difference between love and lust,” he said.

  “Love is a fantasy, but lust is real?”

  “Very real.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  She unzipped his fly and took out his big pink rod.

  “And what is this?” she asked, wagging it in the air.

  “If you don’t know by now, I could never explain it.”

  “Sometimes it’s difficult to know the difference between love and lust,” she said.

  “That’s true.”

  She squeezed it. “Maybe love and lust are both the same thing?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because love is more intellectual than lust.”

  “All I know is that I’m mad about you.”

  She lowered her head and brought his penis into her mouth. He felt chills run up and down his spine. Through slitted eyes he saw her head moving rhythmically up and down. Her tongue flicked at him, and with her free hand she moved her hair out of the way.

  I’m going to pay for this someday, he thought, resting his hand on her bobbing head.

  Chapter Six

  On Friday, Butler and Natalia were flown in an Institute jet plane from Stockholm to Istanbul. They were driven from the airport to the docks of the city, passing slums, beggars, and business men in fez hats. The downtown area was an odd mixture of old Byzantine structures and modern buildings. Some of the women wore western dress, but most wore long, black, native dresses.

  The docks were like the docks of any major city—piled high with cargo against a background of tethered ships. There was a bazaar where merchants sold copper utensils and fresh vegetables. At the end of the docks was a small marina area where the yachts of the wealthy were tied up and being worked on by swarms of servants.

  The limousine stopped in front of this marina area. Butler and Natalia got out, followed by Abdul Kefir, the associate director of the Institute’s office in Istanbul. Abdul wore a double-breasted suit and a maroon fez, and had a big handlebar mustache. He was a chemical engineer and an expert in desalination technology.

  Carrying a suitcase, Kefir led them down the pier to a white yacht used by the Institute of oceanographic research. They boarded the boat and were greeted by Captain Josh Wilkerson, thin as a rail and very tanned. Pleasantries were exchanged and Kefir wished Butler and Natalia good luck, then left the boat.

  Captain Wilkerson introduced Butler and Natalia to the members of the boat’s crew, then lines were cast off and the boat sailed through the Bosporus into the Black Sea. It was a bright sunny day and the air was heavy with oil and salt. The boat, named the Windsong, was sixty feet long and loaded with electronic gear for oceanographic work and the monitoring of the Soviet fleet in the Black Sea area.

  Butler and Natalia stood on deck, the wind ruffling their hair. They watched Istanbul recede into the distance, then turned toward the Soviet Union, which they couldn’t see yet.

  She looked at him and smiled. “You look so handsome there, with the sun on your face and the wind in your hair. No wonder I’m in love with you.”

  “Young girls fall in love so easily,” Butler replied with a chuckle.

  “You always make fun of me.”

  “I ca
nnot take young girls seriously, I’m afraid. They’re too romantic and sentimental. That makes them silly.”

  “You think I’m silly?”

  “In a way.”

  “I’m not that much younger than you.”

  “You’re only nineteen. That’s very young. But you’re very charming and nice. I do love you, in my own special way.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “What way is that?”

  “I can’t explain.”

  “Why can’t you explain?”

  “Because words are too crude to describe the subtlety of my feeling.”

  She harrumphed. “It’s so subtle that it’s probably nonexistent.”

  “Oh, come on. We have more important things to talk about.”

  “To me there is nothing more important than love.”

  “That’s because you’re a silly young girl. I think you should start getting used to thinking of me as your deaf-mute retarded brother.”

  “The retarded part will be easy,” she said with a smile.

  Chapter Seven

  It was midnight in the middle of the Black Sea. Butler was in his cabin, standing before the mirror. He wore baggy black pants, a worn black-and-white-checkered overcoat, and a gray wool cap with a visor. He hadn’t shaved for three days, and a stubble covered his features. Russian identification papers were in the pocket of his shirt, along with an old fountain pen that concealed a tiny laser gun. If you pressed the clip it would emit a beam that could melt metal or burn a hole through a human body in seconds. It was the only weapon he carried. Some rubles were in his pocket, and taped to his thigh was a set of picks that he could use to open most ordinary locks.

  There was a knock on his door.

  “Yes?” said Butler.

  “Time to come up on deck,” said the voice on the other side of the door.

  “I’ll be right up.”

  There was a valise on the cot, and Butler picked it up. He opened the door and stepped into the corridor, seeing Natalia leave her cabin. She was wearing the same outfit she’d had on when he’d picked her up near Tallinn a week ago.