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  He thought that possible, but how did that relate to Atcho? Certainly, the CIA knew he hated Atcho and why, and that Klaus had escaped with a suitcase bomb in his possession. If they knew about his shoulder injury, they could surmise he had to stay in the vicinity of Berlin for medical treatment. In any event, crossing borders with a nuclear bomb carried unique difficulties. But they don’t know that I got out of East Berlin with five million dollars.

  He suddenly sat upright. Are they using Atcho to catch me? Could that whole story about his investments in Berlin be made up to get me to go after him? If they get me, they get the bomb.

  He let the idea settle into the back of his mind and took a break from thinking. He changed into gym clothes and left the apartment.

  An hour later, sweaty and physically spent, he walked back. He was pleased with the healing in his shoulder. He could now force his full range of motion, although with some pain, and he managed a degree of weights. The agony in doing so was still considerable but improving rapidly. I’ll get back to full strength.

  As he walked, his thoughts returned to Atcho and the irrationality of coincidences. His mind went to the morning he abducted Atcho from the Mövenpick Hotel. He remembered Atcho’s wife’s calm face as she watched her husband forced into the hall to disappear.

  Klaus stopped in mid-stride. Atcho’s wife. She was CIA. Yermolov had said so. In the Siberian operation, she had helped Atcho. That had frustrated Yermolov immensely.

  He hurried back to his apartment and placed a call to Kadir. They met an hour later. Klaus brought with him the article announcing Atcho’s visit to Berlin.

  The hawaladar read it carefully. “I saw the reports on television. What do you want from me?”

  “Do you have resources to find out if that’s a real company? I want photographs of Atcho. He was born in Cuba but he’s an American citizen. I need photos of his wife too.”

  Kadir turned to his telephone. He punched in numbers, spoke a few moments, read aloud from the article in Arabic, repeated himself a few times, and finally hung up. “It’s done,” he said, turning to Klaus. “We’ll have answers within twenty-four hours.”

  Before going to bed that evening, Sofia called Atcho at the embassy. “Sofia?” he said on answering. He had to keep his emotions in check. For all the professional distance they maintained when working, he loved her more than life and missed her. He was confident she felt the same way. “Where are you?”

  “Don’t ask. I’ve located your guy, or at least his general vicinity. If you put some surveillance out there with his picture, you should be able to pick him up. He looks the same, except that he keeps a cleaner look, keeps his hair and beard trimmed, and he wears a business suit.” She gave him the information.

  “Are you sure it’s him?”

  “One hundred percent. By the way, his doctor’s name is Burakgazi. He replaced Klaus’ shoulder.” She gave him the surgeon’s address.

  “Great work. Why don’t you come in now?”

  Sofia remained silent a moment. “I love you, darling,” she said with a note of melancholy, “but I think I’ll stay loose.”

  When Atcho hung up, he relayed Sofia’s information to Horton. “I’ll be damned,” the major exclaimed, “that is one wildcat you got. No wonder you keep taking vacations in Berlin.” He laughed at his own joke. “All right, we’re on it. We’ll get field guys into that section of town. That’s Little Istanbul. We’ll put someone observing the doctor’s office too. Maybe we’ll close this Klaus clown before he gets up a full head of steam.”

  Across town, Sofia stood alone in a phone booth, fighting down deep emotion. Her mind went back to when she had first met Atcho. He had been gaunt and dirty, newly released from Castro’s dungeons in Cuba, yet he carried such nobility of spirit that Sofia was immediately drawn to him.

  She shook off the feeling. If I go in, they’ll detain me. She composed herself and headed back to her gasthaus.

  12

  Early the next day, while Atcho toured more facilities shadowed by Horton and his teams, Sofia once again moved through Little Istanbul in frequently changed disguises. To be even less noticeable, she moved with disorganized groups of people going in the same direction. She started near the point where she had last seen Klaus. However, by the end of the day, she had gained no new information.

  At lunchtime, Atcho called Burly in DC. He passed along what Sofia had related about spotting Klaus. “She really is amazing,” Burly remarked. “I wish she wouldn’t go off on her own like that, but I have no basis to stop her now that she’s a private citizen.” He changed subjects. “I heard back from Detective Berger on the Berlin police force.”

  “Anything good?”

  “I sent him the photos of Klaus and the other guy that Collins saw coming through Checkpoint Charlie. Berger says that they had a positive ID on the unknown man. He was murdered in his hotel room the same night the Wall opened up. They traced him through Stasi records. He was some type of contract special operator—off the books.”

  “Any sign of the duffle bags?”

  “No. I developed a working hypothesis. Klaus saw those bags in the Stasi director’s office. He knew what was in them. Both he and the murder victim went through Checkpoint Charlie at nearly the same time. Klaus must have seen the duffle bags and followed the guy. If true, Klaus got them and the five million dollars.”

  Atcho exhaled slowly. “Then we know how he’s living, getting medical treatment, and paying for supplies. He basically has unlimited mobility.”

  “Yep. We’ll go forward on that assumption.”

  “OK. Horton has people staking out the doctor’s office. Berger might want to do the same thing. We don’t want to crowd up the place, but he might have his own informants he could use in there.”

  “It’s worth a shot.” They hung up.

  In the early afternoon, Klaus visited Kadir. “What have you learned?”

  The hawaladar reached below his desk and brought out a folder. “This man Atcho is real, and so is his company. He does business with the US government—the Pentagon.” He handed over the folder. “Here are details about the corporation.”

  “And his wife?”

  “She retired last year from the US State Department. A photo of her is in the file. They moved to Austin, Texas after her retirement.”

  “Do we know where she is?”

  Kadir shook his head. “We didn’t send anyone to her house. We could do that if you want, but surveillance is expensive and might take several days.”

  Klaus opened the folder. A photo of Sofia was on top. He recognized her from their brief encounter the morning he abducted Atcho. He shook his head. “No need. I have another idea.”

  He left and went to the mosque. “Peace be upon you,” he greeted the imam. “I want to make another contribution to the mosque.”

  The imam smiled deferentially. “And upon you, peace. Thank you. Is there anything we can do for you?” When Klaus feigned reluctance, the imam urged him. “Please, speak. Tell me what is on your mind.”

  “Islam is always under attack by the infidel. Everywhere that Muslims go to live and raise our families, these evildoers want to drive us away. They are resentful that we walk in righteousness, and they resist our attempts to encourage them to revere Allah.”

  “That’s true. We must protect the only true way of life. What is your concern?”

  “Times are troubling. The infidel pits brother against brother. In Kuwait, Muslims fight Muslims. The Great Satan America supported Saddam Hussein in the war against Iran. A million were killed on both sides. Now, it supports Kuwait against Iraq. I fear they will keep inciting wars that kill our people, with no cost in life to themselves. Worse, I think they will provoke war in places where we are not fighting now.”

  The imam listened carefully. “Do you mean here? We have a long history in Germany.”

  “I know, and I don’t want to raise alarm unnecessarily. As you know, I came from the East.” The imam nodded. “
I was an intelligence officer with the KGB,” Klaus continued, “trained by the Spetsnaz.” The imam looked impressed. “I keep contact with former comrades. They tell me that a known spy and provocateur was spotted in our community.”

  The imam arched his eyebrows. “To what purpose?”

  “I don’t know. But I thought that in the interest of keeping our people safe, I should let you know.” He pulled out Sofia’s photo. “I think letting people know about her would be good. They can watch for her. Do you have any idea how to accomplish that?”

  The imam thought a moment. “I could have copies of her photo printed and circulated. Maybe someone will recognize her.”

  “Great idea. If you like, I’ll print up a thousand copies and bring them back to you. Then you can distribute them.”

  “If we see her, what should we do?”

  Klaus appeared to think the matter over, but he already knew his answer. “Detain her and notify me. I’ll work with German intelligence on the matter.”

  Disconcerted, the imam nevertheless assented. After delivering the copies, Klaus returned to the apartment to study the rest of Atcho’s file.

  His dilemma was whether to take action against Atcho now or wait. If he’s bait, he’ll be surrounded by security, most of it hidden. He raised his injured arm and rotated it in a full circle. Nearly three months had passed since his surgery. The arm gained strength daily. Dexterity had returned to his fingers. He could fire a pistol.

  The other part of his dilemma was that he had the means to make a huge difference to cure injustice in the Middle East, to strike for Islam. The moment of his greatest opportunity approached. He could not afford to be distracted.

  He read Atcho’s file. In the process, he gained grudging respect for the man. Atcho had done some fighting, suffered injustice, and rose above circumstances to become a highly successful businessman—yet he still went into the field as an operator.

  That last part was not in the file, but Klaus knew it from personal experience. Hatred boiled again. He’s an infidel, opposes Islam, and he killed my brother.

  He read deeper into the file. It included articles from when Atcho and Sofia had moved into a Mt. Bonnell home overlooking Lake Austin, a part of the Colorado River running through the Texas’ capital. It even mentioned that Sofia had joined the Yellow Rose Garden Club of Mt. Bonnell. The members had been so pleased to have her that they honored her with a reception.

  As Klaus read, the germ of an idea formed. He smiled. You can wait, Atcho. And so can Austin. He went to the phone and called Kadir. “Start the surveillance.”

  The next morning, Sofia trekked again to Little Istanbul. She had left the gasthaus later than usual. Her nausea had taken longer to subside, but she felt fine now. She entered the enclave using her usual tactics to be invisible in a crowd.

  She had been there only a little while when she noticed people moving away from her. They joined in clusters where they stared and pointed her out to each other.

  Unease descended. Without changing stride or appearing to notice, she retraced her steps. Women moved to the sides of the street. Men filled the center. Sofia pushed through them, but when she was within twenty feet of the main street bordering Little Istanbul, five burly men blocked her.

  She looked to her rear. Behind her, a crowd had formed. She faced the front. In a swift motion, she tore off her outer garments, remaining in denims and a sweatshirt. She wore running shoes. The cold January wind bit through to the bone. Setting her jaw, she headed toward the center of the line of men. She walked deliberately, her eyes meeting those of the biggest one.

  She came within arm’s length. Her eyes showed intent to break past him. The man reached for her. She crouched low and came up hard, the full force of her legs transmitted through her arm. The cup of her hand thrust into the man’s chin, slamming his lower jaw against his upper teeth. Simultaneously, she jammed her ankle behind his. When he started falling backwards, she shoved her shoulder into his midsection. He hit the street surface hard. She drove her foot into his head, pounding it on the pavement. He lay still.

  The man’s companions barely had time to react. The two on either side looked down at their unconscious comrade. They moved to block her.

  Sofia breathed deep. She backed up, seeking another exit. The men glared. Once again, she chose the biggest one. This time she ran toward him. When she was within a few feet, she leaped into the air and brought her trailing foot forward to kick squarely in the middle of his face. He went down and did not move.

  Behind her, the crowd muttered and jeered intermittently. Her mind worked furiously. I can’t lose this fight. My life is not the only one at stake.

  She sized up her remaining opposition. From behind, she heard footsteps approaching. Something slammed down on her shoulder, the pain piercing. She whirled and kicked upward into a man’s groin. He howled and backed away.

  She whirled again. Three men remained blocking her path. She ducked her head and ran toward the center of the line. At the last moment, she diverted to her left, rotated in a complete circle, kicked her leg high, and brought it crashing into the jaw of the man at the left end. He fell into his companions. All three tumbled like dominoes.

  Sofia did not stop. She ran past her would-be assailants and kept running. Turning at the intersection, she increased her speed, taking to the center of the street and dodging cars until she was well inside the general population. Then she slowed to a walk. As soon as her breathing returned to normal, she hailed a cab and returned to her gasthaus. She changed her appearance, paid her bill, and ducked out the back exit.

  Forty-five minutes later, Sofia checked into a major hotel. As soon as she was alone in her room, she placed a call to Atcho at the embassy. The operator put her call through to the ambassador’s secretary.

  “Atcho is out touring with some developers,” the secretary told her.

  “This is his wife. It’s an emergency.”

  Minutes passed amid electronic noises. “I’m trying to reach him,” the secretary said. “Please don’t hang up.”

  Then the big, friendly voice of Joe Horton came on the line. “Hello, Little Lady. It’s sure good to talk to you…”

  “I don’t have time for BS, Joe. Put Atcho on.”

  All playfulness dropped from Horton’s voice. “Got it, but I can’t get to Atcho immediately. Give me a couple of minutes.”

  “Fine. Have him call asap. Here’s the number.”

  Sofia paced the room. She tried relaxing on the bed. No relief.

  Atcho called within five minutes. “What’s wrong?”

  “Call Burly,” Sofia said without niceties. “Tell him I’ve been ID’d. I still intend to be part of this, and I’ll work with him, but on my terms. No restrictions. I’ll stay on the reservation. It’s a take it or leave it deal. I need a fast decision. I’ll wait ten minutes.” Feeling a wave of nausea, she hung up, rushed to the toilet, and wretched.

  Atcho called back within ten minutes. “It’s done. Burly agreed.”

  “You’ll have to come get me. I might have a tail.” She told him where she was. She heard muffled voices over the phone, and then Atcho came back on the line.

  “I’m twenty minutes away. Joe has people closer to you. They’ll be there in ten minutes. They’ll bring you to the embassy. I’ll meet you there.”

  When Atcho hung up, he felt an unusual amount of worry. Sofia did not panic. Ever. Yet panic sounded in her voice. Her insistence on what amounted to an extraction mission puzzled him.

  He and Joe rode together back to the embassy. Joe knew better than to disrupt the somber atmosphere. When they reached the compound, Sofia had already been let into his room at the guesthouse. He entered and found her lying across the bed, weeping. He rushed to her, took her by the shoulders, and held her.

  Sofia rose to a sitting position. She clung to him, sobbing quietly into his chest. Atcho wrapped his arms around her. “Darling, what’s wrong? What happened? This isn’t like you.”


  When Sofia’s sobs subsided, she wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’m so angry with myself.” She brought herself under control. “All right.” She took a deep breath. “I’m OK. I was attacked. In Little Istanbul.” Suddenly, the tears brimmed again, and she sobbed once more into his chest. “I could have lost the baby.”

  Atcho sat back and stared, hardly believing his ears. “You what? What baby?”

  Sofia pulled his face close to hers. “Our baby. I’m pregnant.” She stared into his eyes, seeing that he still did not comprehend. Then the tears started again. “I found out that day that Burly came to Austin. I was going to tell you that night… But… but…” She gasped for air as more tears rolled. “I was irresponsible to come over and go into the field. That was so, so stupid. If anything’s happened to the baby, I’ll never forgive myself.” More tears rolled.

  Atcho listened, but hardly heard. He gazed at her stomach and then back into her eyes. “A baby? A baby? We’re going to have a baby?” He felt overwhelmed with mixed emotion. “We have to get you to a doctor. Make sure everything’s all right.” He threw his arms around her and held her close.

  Horton hurried into the infirmary. Atcho sat in the waiting room.

  “How is she?”

  “She’s fine. She took a hard blow to her shoulder, but she came out all right. From what I could pick up, a mob attacked her. She took down six of them and got away. She feels terrible about endangering the baby.

  “I knew something was different when she called. She’s always been so ‘I can handle myself,’ and suddenly she wants to be extracted from a safe place?” He looked over to find Horton gaping at him.

  “Did you say baby? Did I hear you say something about a baby?” Horton’s eyes were genuinely wide open. “And she took down six guys?”

  Atcho nodded. “The doctor’s checking now to see how the baby is doing.”