The White Vixen (46 page)

***

“Well, Larisa, we meet again,” Willy Baumann said.

The Siegfried Bund executive was sitting behind a plain desk in a small, sparsely-furnished office. Jo Ann stood before him, her wrists handcuffed behind her. Nagel stood off to the side, between her and the desk, and his two men were behind her, doubtless still with guns drawn. “I see you have changed into something a little more casual,” Baumann said.

“I trust your flunky here was entertained,” Jo said, glancing at Nagel. The Bund security officer had watched her closely, his gun at the ready, while she changed clothes in her hotel bedroom. With as much dignity as possible, Jo took off the gown, regretting her decision to wear one that had not required a bra, and put on a pair of loose slacks and a simple blouse. Nagel maintained his distance, never giving her an opening. The handcuffs were applied before they left the suite. There were still some things Jo could do despite this handicap, but not against three armed, well-trained men. She knew she had to let this play out a little further.

“You are a beautiful woman, but also a very dangerous one, as our late friend Herr Schröder discovered,” Willy said. “Heinz took proper precautions. Now, we must put that aside and discuss your particular situation. I don’t suppose you will cooperate by giving me your real name?”

“You’re right about that.”

Willy nodded, smiling grimly. “I thought not. Well, you are obviously not Larisa Schröder. That much we knew already, thanks to your ‘husband’. We have had you under surveillance since your arrival in Buenos Aires. I must say, you have proven yourself to be a clever adversary. It wasn’t until your meeting with the CIA agent at the Café de la Paix two days ago that we were able to make some progress. Oh, don’t look so surprised. We are a nation at war. Don’t you think we would have our enemy’s people, and those of their biggest ally, under surveillance?”

Jo felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. She had worked so hard that day, all week in fact, at sticking to her legend as Larisa Schröder. The one meeting she’d had with someone from the embassy, and somehow she’d fouled it up. What had they told her back at the Monk? Even the best agents make mistakes. They’re only human, after all. Recover as best you can and stick to your mission. In any event, they’d been following the CIA agent, not her. She saw Baumann open a thin file on his desk. She could see a pair of photographs, and even upside-down she recognized herself.

“This file arrived here just a short time before you did,” Willy said. He nodded at Nagel. “Heinz and his staff are very efficient. Still, it took two days after you were photographed at the café before they could finally identify you. Jo Ann Geary, newly promoted to major, United States Air Force. Obviously chosen for this assignment because of your resemblance to the unfortunate, newly-widowed Frau Schröder. Now, the only question is, Major Geary, why are you here in Buenos Aires?”

“I am an American citizen,” Jo said defiantly, in English. “I demand to be allowed to call my embassy. You have no right to hold me. I’ve committed no crime here.”

The Argentine switched to English as well. “The police might have a different opinion of that, once they find the body of your supposed husband,” Willy said. “You are also in our country under false pretenses, traveling with a fake passport. I am sure that is in violation of one or two statutes.” He looked at Nagel. “Did she have anything else incriminating?”

The security officer shook his head. “Only a handgun, plus the recording device in her handbag. The tape was missing. We searched her suite thoroughly. She must have passed it between the consulate and the hotel.”

“I would venture to say that I know whose voices are on that tape,” Willy said, eyes narrowed. “I blame myself, Heinz. When the good major here passed my little math quiz, I let her go on her way. I’m sure she had the tape on her person at that point.” He sighed, sitting back in his chair. “A weakness of mine, Major, to be swayed by a beautiful woman. A weakness, you will find, that is not in the makeup of the next man who will interview you, should our discussion prove fruitless. Now, one last time: what was your mission in Argentina?”

Jo mustered up her inner strength. “
Gehen Sie zur Holle
.” Go to hell.

Willy shook his head. “Very well.” He stood. “Heinz, we shall be taking Major Geary on a trip. I spoke with my father before your arrival. He instructed me to bring our guest to Bariloche if she were to prove uncooperative here.”

Did the slightest trace of unease pass over Nagel? “I’ll have the jet prepared,” the security officer said stiffly.

“We will depart at 0800 hours. Make sure our guest is comfortably secure for the rest of the evening.” Baumann looked back at Jo. “Tomorrow we will see how our American friend here fares with Taurus.”

***

Pilcaniyeu, Argentina

Saturday, April 24th, 1982

Colonel Reinke checked his wristwatch for the fifth time in the past half-hour. Nearly midnight, and they were still on schedule. In another ten minutes, thank God, the infernal thing would be on its way.

The security chief stood on the platform in the assembly room of the research facility, watching the activity below. A white-suited man was cautiously directing a forklift as it approached a large, rectangular crate, resting on a wooden pallet. A company of hand-picked troops stood several meters away, surrounding the activity in the center of the large room. Their assault rifles were held at port arms. Reinke expected no trouble here, but the men had to maintain vigilance at all times. When they got outside, things might be different. Reinke would not put it past the English to attempt some sort of commando assault on the convoy, which was why the man standing next to him was here.

“My compliments on the efficiency of your men, Herr Oberst,” Lieutenant Colonel Gerhard Schmidt said. The Werewolves commander was in full battle dress, camouflage fatigues and soft cap, which he would exchange for a helmet when he boarded his vehicle outside. One hundred of his troops were waiting for him.

“Thank you, Herr Oberstleutnant,” Reinke replied. “I must confess that I am not at all reluctant to pass this responsibility over to you.”

That drew a glance from Schmidt. “I understand completely, sir.” Schmidt didn’t reveal his true thoughts. He had been briefed on the defection of Reinke’s subordinate, Gasparini. The Bund had not lost complete confidence in Reinke, but they had lost enough to assign Schmidt to take charge of the convoy that would carry the weapon to its destination.

The forklift operator, beads of sweat on his forehead, deftly maneuvered his machine and slid the tines into the pallet. At a signal from the white-suited scientist, the forklift engine revved up and the pallet carrying the crate which housed X-1 began to rise. When it was a meter above the floor, the operator stopped the lift and turned his steering wheel, swinging the load toward the back of the large truck that was parked several meters away. The rear gate of the truck was lowered, and soldiers stood on either side, watching the inbound cargo as the forklift inched its way toward the truck. Everyone in the room was tense. The scientists had assured him that nothing would happen should the crate be bumped or even dropped to the floor, but Reinke had his doubts about that. The sooner it was gone, the better.

Ten minutes later, Reinke sighed in relief as the loadmaster signaled that the cargo was successfully secured inside the vehicle. The soldiers locked the rear gate in place and fastened the burlap flaps to conceal the interior. Reinke nodded to the major standing next to him. “You may proceed, Haus,” he said. He offered his hand. “Godspeed.” Major Haus would be second to Schmidt on this mission. Reinke was pleased that he and his men had not been cut out of the operation entirely, but he was also glad that Schmidt’s Werewolves, and their impressive array of armored vehicles, would be taking part. If X-1 ultimately was effectively used, it would be to the credit of the men and women who had constructed the device here, under Reinke’s command.

The major gave his commanding officer’s hand a quick, firm shake. “Thank you, Herr Oberst,” he said, snapping to attention and saluting. “You can count on us.”

“I know I can, Friedrich,” Reinke said. He liked the young man, recently promoted after the unfortunate departure of the treacherous Italian, Gasparini. Haus was German, though. He would get the job done. “I want reports every hour on the hour until you reach your destination.”

“I don’t wish to disturb your sleep, Herr Oberst,” Haus said.

“Don’t worry about that. What’s another sleepless night, eh?”

Five minutes later, the truck’s diesel engine rumbled to life and the vehicle made its way slowly out of the room, through the large door and out into a light drizzling rain. Standing at the doorway, the sergeant who had hours before given the truck one more last inspection watched it roll away. He knew the vehicle would do its job, even though he had no idea how far it would have to travel with its special burden. Now, he would have to complete his own job. That might prove difficult to do, with the base still locked down, but he would have to find a way.

***

HMS
Cambridge,
southwest Atlantic

Saturday, April 24th, 1982

Ian took a moment to drink in the brilliant vista of stars overhead. Here in the southern hemisphere many constellations were different, but somehow the stars themselves seemed brighter, the panorama more awe-inspiring. He thought again of Jo Ann, somewhere in that dark and invisible land a few hundred miles to the west, and breathed yet another prayer.
Watch over her, please. I don’t care what happens to me down here, but keep her safe.

The ship was blacked out, all running lights extinguished, everything subdued on the bridge.
Cambridge
’s CIC was manned around the clock as the ship stayed at general quarters. There had been no sign of enemy air or surface activity, but there was always the possibility—the likelihood, even—that a stray patrol aircraft would spot them and call in air or naval forces to investigate. Captain Stone had confessed to Ian that he was more concerned about Argentine submarines. Admiralty had been unable to pinpoint their location. They were probably not this far north, he was told. Probably.

Hodge joined his commander at the rail. “Latest word is that Ivan is still on our tail, about four miles back,” he said, keeping his voice low, as if the Argentines might be able to hear him even at this distance.

“I’m wondering what that will mean when
Reliant
shows up,” Ian said.

“Could be trouble, you think?”

“We’ll have two capital ships virtually linked together during the transfer, with a possibly hostile warship within torpedo range,” Ian said. “I rather think the captain will be somewhat reluctant to trust Ivan in that case.”

“Might get dicey indeed, us challenging the Russian,” Hodge said with a worried glance aft.

“Things tend to get dicey all around in wartime.”

The men were silent for a minute, and then Hodge spoke again. “Well, anyway, I came to report that we’re on station, right on schedule. Now we have to wait for
Reliant
. I have to say I’m not very happy about having to muck about out here for twenty-four hours.”

“Nor am I, Stephen,” Ian said. “We’ll just have to treat the day as another day at sea. Keep the men busy, make sure they get fed and rested.
Reliant
will be here by this time tomorrow night and then things will get a bit more interesting.”

“Let’s hope so,” Hodge said. He looked aft again, although they had no idea exactly where the Soviet submarine was lurking tonight. “Damn, I hope that Russian doesn’t get too nosy.”

“I agree. One problem at a time.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Rio Negro Province, Argentina

Sunday, April 25th, 1982

Jo Ann got her first glimpse of their destination from the air. The sleek, German-engineered jet came out of the clouds and banked to port over the city of Bariloche. The Andes rose majestically to the west, nearly blotting out the patch of morning sky visible from Jo’s window. She felt the aircraft descend and then the landing gear came down, barely audible in the quiet of the main cabin.

She sat alone in a section of four seats, her left wrist handcuffed to a chain that was bolted to the floor, doubtless an aftermarket feature added by the jet’s buyer. The chain allowed her enough maneuvering room to be able to sit comfortably and eat the breakfast that had been served, but not much else. When she asked to use the restroom, she was told she could do so only with the door open and under observation by an armed guard, so she decided to wait till they were on the ground, not that she thought it likely to bring more privacy.

The flight from Buenos Aires had lasted about two hours. Baumann told her their destination was about a thousand kilometers distant. Ever observant, Jo calculated that the cruising speed of the jet had to be around three hundred miles per hour, very impressive for a private aircraft. She filed that fact away. She’d have to get out of here somehow, and a jet would be the fastest way to get back to Buenos Aires, or better yet, over the border to Chile.