Weep, Moscow, Weep Read online

  Manning had been recruited into the intelligence section ; of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. He had then been sent to West Germany to train with the elite GSG-9 antiterrorist squad. The GSG-9 was one of the finest antiterrorist commando units in the world, and as a member, Manning had received firsthand experience in urban warfare against the Baader-Meinhof gang, Black September and the Second June Movement.

  The RCMP had retired from the espionage business after scandals concerning illegal wiretaps and other abuses of power. The newly formed Canadian Security Intelligence Service had offered Manning a desk job, but he had decided that, if he was going to be deskbound, it would be in the business sector.

  He had risen quickly in the executive world. Manning was being groomed to become president of North America International when Phoenix Force had given him an opportunity to return to the field. The Canadian could not refuse the offer and had eagerly become part of the team.

  David McCarter was a veteran of the British SAS. The tall fox-faced Briton had participated in military operations in Oman and Northern Ireland and had served as a "special observer" in Nam. He had also been part of a covert "police action" in Hong Kong and had been among the SAS commandos involved in Operation Nimrod, the spectacular raid on the Iranian embassy in London in 1980.

  McCarter was an excellent pilot, an Olympic-level pistol champion and an expert in virtually every form of combat. He lived for action and thrived on excitement. The Briton was an ideal choice for Phoenix Force. McCarter tended to be sharp-tongued and a bit short-tempered before he went into action, but when the shooting started he was magnificent.

  Calvin James had not been one of the original five members of Phoenix Force. The tall, lanky black dude had been recruited for a mission against a terrorist outfit known as the Black Alchemists. James had been a SEAL team member when he was in the navy and had been a corpsman in Vietnam. After Nam he had pursued his study of medicine and chemistry at UCLA on the GI bill, then fate had thrown him a curve.

  James's mother in Chicago had been murdered by muggers, and his younger sister had died from a drug overdose. Aching for justice, he had not returned to college. He had decided the best cure for his own pain was to combat crime, and the best way to get this medicine was within the system. He had joined the San Francisco Police Department. He knew he could not join the Chicago PD; he would see every hoodlum as a suspect in the murder of his mother or sister.

  Calvin James had been with the SFPD's SWAT, Special Weapons and Tactics, squad when Phoenix Force had enlisted him for the Black Alchemist mission, supposedly a one-time shot. However, when Keio Ohara, the Japanese martial artist and electronics expert who had been one of the original members of the five-man Phoenix Force team, had been killed in action during the assignment, James had stepped in to fill the ranks.

  Phoenix Force had a one-hundred-percent success rate in the field. Their missions had included assignments within the United States and more than twenty foreign countries. They had been on every continent except Antarctica... and not one of them would be surprised to find that their next assignment was at the South Pole.

  The nature of their work had changed over the years. Originally Phoenix Force had dealt exclusively with terrorists, and they had specialized in hitting one particular band of fanatics at a time.

  However, terrorism has international connections. The KGB, the governments of Iran, Libya, Cuba and Syria had all been linked to terrorism. While some groups were totally independent, others were connected to one or more governments or shadow organizations.

  The most recent mission had been an example of the grand scale that modern terrorism was reaching. A group of terrorists had held an entire nation — the Vatican — hostage. The episode had also been an example of how different terrorist groups could join forces for a common goal. Iranian and Syrian fanatics had enlisted Basque separatists and a group of ninja for their mission.

  Phoenix Force had recruited John Trent for the mission. Trent had been born and raised in Japan. He was half Japanese. His father was an American, and his mother was Reko Nakezuri, a descendent of a long line of ninja who had served the Kaiju Clan for more than five centuries. John's uncle, Inoshiro, a ninja, was virtually a second father to the boy and had trained John Trent in the traditional skills and knowledge of the Nakezuri family.

  However, Inoshiro had given John Trent something even more important than skill in the practices of the ninja. He had instilled in his nephew a code of honor and principles. While fiction has been more than kind to the shogun and the samurai, painting them as romantic figures, most popular depictions of the ninja have sketched them as sneaky killers in black. In fact, the shogun were military dictators and the samurai were soldiers serving daimyo warlords, many of whom were vicious and cruel. Most ninja were not assassins, but freedom fighters pitted against the oppressive tyrants of their day. To John Trent, the history of the ninja was a proud family tradition.

  Trent had worked with Phoenix Force once before in San Francisco, where the ninja ran a dojo, a school of martial arts. When the commandos had learned that the terrorists at the Vatican had ninja among their members, Phoenix Force had decided to enlist Trent to join them once again. The American ninja had accepted the assignment.

  The Vatican mission had been one of the toughest that Phoenix Force had taken on. James and Encizo would carry the physical and mental scars of their ordeal in the torture chamber for the rest of their lives, and Trent's survival was owed to a freak accident.

  "Well," Katz began as he stood at the foot of Trent's hospital bed. "I think we've all earned a brief vacation. Do you think you can afford to spend a week in Italy before you return to your business in San Francisco?"

  "You fellows told me I'd be well paid for this," Trent said with a smile. "So I guess I can afford to goof off for a few days."

  "Great," James commented. "We can all act like tourists. Be nice to spend some time in an exotic setting without getting shot at for a change. I'd also like to see the sights up close instead of bolting past them on the way to the next firefight."

  "We got to see plenty of the Vatican," Trent remarked.

  "Yeah," James muttered, glancing down at the bandaged tip of his abbreviated little finger. "I don't think I'll ever forget it, either."

  "We'll see the sights in Rome and perhaps take a train to Venice," Katz suggested. "The trains are rarely on time, of course, but then again that's a small price to be rid of Mussolini. We deserve a holiday, and Italy is a wonderful country for it."

  "Damned if you didn't talk me into it, Yakov," James replied with a grin. "Let's soak up culture by day and the famed Italian nightlife when the sun goes down."

  The door opened, and Rafael Encizo entered. Gauze covered the palm and the back of his right hand, leaving the fingers unbound. The Cuban smiled when he saw Trent was sitting up in bed.

  "I heard you were lying around," Encizo remarked. "You know you don't have any excuse to stay here unless you've got a pretty nurse taking care of you."

  "I plan to leave soon," Trent replied. "How's your hand?"

  "No damage to muscles or nerves," the Cuban answered. "I've got a new conversation piece branded into my palm, but otherwise I'm fine. Sorry to say, I didn't come here for a friendly visit."

  "What's wrong?" Katz inquired.

  "Coded message came for us through the embassy," Encizo explained. "Our boss is here."

  Phoenix Force had only one "boss" — Hal Brognola, the head of operations for Stony Man. The Fed got his orders from the President, but Brognola still called the shots.

  "You mean here?" James asked. "In Rome?"

  "He's at the American embassy," Encizo confirmed. "And he wants to meet with you, Yakov. Apparently the rest of us are supposed to wait for you to tell us what he says."

  "There goes the weekend," James groaned.

  "Yeah," Katz sighed. He turned to Trent. "I'll remind our boss that you'll need proper authorization to get your weapons through customs and a
flight back to the U.S. I'm sure it won't be any problem."

  "Don't suppose I can meet this mystery man or learn any details about who you guys are exactly." Trent was not expecting an answer. He had worked with Phoenix Force twice, but he still knew virtually nothing about the organization, including its name.

  "Sorry," Katz replied. "Security. You understand?"

  "I'm a ninja, remember?" Trent smiled. "Of course I understand. If I don't see you again, good luck."

  3

  Hal Brognola was seated at a conference table in a soundproofed room in the basement of the U.S. embassy at 119 Via Vittorio Veneto, Rome. Two other men were seated across from the Fed. Yakov Katzenelenbogen did not recognize either man, but he guessed their nationality the moment he saw them. The pair wore black suits with white shirts and thin black neckties. Their faces were grim, and they smelled of rose-scented cologne.

  "Hello, Mr. Gray," Brognola greeted, calling Katz by one of his most common cover names. "Have a seat."

  "Thank you." The Israeli colonel moved to a chair next to Brognola.

  "Guess I'd better introduce you guys," the Fed began, chewing an unlit cigar as he spoke. "Mr. Gray, meet Mr. Fektistov and Mr. Batyuk. Fektistov is from the Soviet embassy here in Rome, and Batyuk is the city's friendly neighborhood KGB case officer. This is going to be hard to believe, Mr. Gray," Brognola continued, "but the Soviet Union has come to us for help."

  "The Soviets want us to help them?" Katz shook his head. "It's finally happened. The world has truly gone mad."

  "Will you listen before passing judgment?" the Russian with the long face asked. "It is true the Soviet Union needs help, but the United States will also benefit."

  "Last month somebody raided a supposedly secret installation in Mongolia," Brognola began. "It was a remote laboratory where Soviet scientists, under the watchful eye of the KGB, were experimenting with germ-warfare chemicals. What's it called? VL-800?"

  "That is correct," Batyuk said with a nod. "A self-destruct device was used to burn the installation to the ground. The chemicals were destroyed, although we believe the invaders stole at least one liter of the VL-800 formula."

  "One liter?" Katz said, frowning. "How powerful is this chemical?"

  "One liter is enough to kill everyone in a small city," the KGB official answered. "It needs only to be released into air. It is colorless, tasteless, odorless and fatal if it is absorbed by the body through the nose, mouth or pores of the skin."

  "Is there an antidote?" Katz asked.

  "Antidote?" Batyuk was unfamiliar with the word. "A cure, yes?"

  "Means about the same," Katz answered.

  "No," the Russian said, shaking his head. "There is no cure yet. Both Soviet and American chemists are working on one now."

  "Our chemists?" Katz turned to Brognola.

  "That's right," the Fed confirmed. "The Soviet Union has given the United States government the VL-800 formula as a gesture of goodwill and to prove that they don't want to threaten us with it."

  "Now that it's fallen into the hands of someone else," Katz remarked. "So you fellows don't think the capitalist imperialist warmongers of the CIA were behind the theft?"

  "No," Batyuk admitted. "We think the Chinese stole VL-800. Whoever did it killed everyone at the installation in the Mongolian People's Republic. We have tried to find out who has VL-800 and where they took it. The KGB is the largest intelligence network in the world, but we haven't a clue where the chemical might be."

  "They want us to help them locate it," Brognola stated.

  "Us?" Katz said, frowning. "I think I see a hole in our security, and I don't like it."

  "We know you are part of a team that is very good at finding enemies of your country and stopping them from doing things your government sees as threats," Batyuk said awkwardly. "You have ruined some KGB operations in the past, yes?"

  "That's right," Katz confirmed. "We've done so well at it that last year the KGB sent a small army of Morkrie Dela assassins, Soviet paratroopers, GRU military intelligence personnel and assorted KGB specialists to hunt us down and kill us."

  "I know nothing of this," Batyuk declared.

  "It happened whether you know about it or not," Katz told him. "And for all I know, this is a scheme to lure my team into a trap so the KGB can murder us."

  "That possibility has occurred to me," Brognola sighed.

  "Then why are we talking to these two?" Katz demanded. He had rarely had cause to doubt Hal Brognola's judgment, but this situation smelled too much like a setup.

  "Moscow is offering a deal," Brognola began. "The President wants to go for it."

  "Maybe the President trusts the Kremlin," Katz declared. "I don't."

  "Damn it, Gray," Brognola snapped. "I'm not crazy about this shit either, but the President thinks the deal's for real and he doesn't trust Moscow a hell of a lot either."

  "What's the deal, or don't you know?"

  "Moscow gave us the VL-800 formula, okay?" Brognola began. "It's a genuine CBW weapon. We didn't know about it before, and they could have given us something we'd already found out about, claiming they didn't know we were wise to them. And — this stuff's wicked. The President figures they wouldn't just hand something like that to us unless they had a good reason. Hell, we could make this VL-800 formula an international incident and drag Moscow through the mud."

  "The Kremlin doesn't worry about bad publicity," Katz groaned. 'They didn't worry about it when they drove tanks into Hungary or Czechoslovakia. Or when they had Andrei Sakharov or Lech Walesa thrown into prison. And they don't worry about it when they slaughter freedom fighters in Afghanistan..."

  "That is distorted CIA propaganda," Fektistov declared.

  "Look, Gray," Brognola said, getting frustrated, "everything you've said is true, but have you ever heard of the Soviet Union simply handing us a secret formula to a CBW weapon? For that matter, have you ever heard of any world power simply giving something like that to a hostile government?"

  "I can recall a few incidents that came close," Katz answered. "But none that were so direct."

  "That's why the President thinks Moscow might play this pretty straight," the Fed explained. "The Kremlin might even keep its word about the missile silos."

  "Missiles?" Katz raised his eyebrows.

  "The Soviet government is worried about the VL-800 formula," Brognola explained. "Whoever stole it might use it against the Soviet Union. This VL-800 stuff is fairly easy to make. I'm not a chemist, but I understand that it would be extremely easy for somebody to get competent chemists to produce gallons of this VL-800 junk. Because nobody is sure who has this killer chemical, they might use it anywhere. Maybe the bad guys will use it on the Soviet Union. Maybe they'll use it someplace else. Either way, Moscow loses."

  "Because even if the formula is used in a country other than the Soviet Union," Batyuk explained, "the Kremlin will suffer when people learn that my government made the VL-800 in the first place."

  "How do missiles come into this?" Katz wanted to know.

  "You're familiar with our attempts to come to mutual arms agreements with the Soviet Union?" the Fed asked.

  "I haven't noticed that anyone tells the truth," Katz said with a shrug.

  "Moscow claims that, if we'll help with the VL-800 crisis, they'll give us the locations of one hundred missile silos in the Soviet Union and Bulgaria," Brognola explained. "A hundred silos that aren't visible to our surveillance satellites."

  "According to the Kremlin," Katz said suspiciously.

  "I know, I know," Brognola sighed. "They might be blowing smoke up our asses, but the President thinks it's worth a try. Hell, you've been involved in covert and clandestine operations longer than I have. You know that governments are more apt to keep their word in a secret agreement than when everything is public."

  "Will Americans be allowed to check these silos?" Katz asked.

  "That's part of the agreement," Brognola confirmed.

  "It is also to be understo
od that the United States must respond to this by granting permission to the Soviet Union to inspect American missile silos as well," Batyuk added. "If this is not done within a year, we will relocate our missiles."

  "I don't see any reason to object to that," Katz said, smiling. "It would be one less hurdle in the arms race and both sides would have reduced their number of nuclear weapons."

  "Then you agree to the mission?" Batyuk inquired.

  "I'll have to talk that over with my teammates," the Phoenix Force unit commander replied. "They'll have to decide if they're all willing to work with the KGB. I know none of them is going to be thrilled about the idea."

  "You will be working with a very good field-grade officer," Batyuk stated. "Major Alekseyev, Special Operations Section."

  "That's great," Katz muttered. "We'll have to come to some agreement about operational procedures. It might be awkward, but the KGB has to agree to certain conditions if we're to maintain security."

  "Of course, Mr. Gray," the KGB case officer assured him.

  "You might feel different after you've heard the conditions," the Israeli colonel warned. "Now I'd like to talk to my boss privately."

  "You want us to leave?" Batyuk inquired.

  "No," Katz replied. "I want you both to stay in this room. My boss and I will step outside. We'll tell you when we've finished."

  "Keeping secrets, eh?" Fektistov sneered.

  "You'd better believe it," Katz answered.

  Katz and Brognola left the conference room and walked upstairs from the basement. Neither man spoke until they had stepped outside of the embassy.

  "Are you certain neither of them got a chance to slip a wireless microphone into one of your pockets or clip one to your clothing?" Katz inquired.