“He knows! He’ll kill her!”
“What?”
“It’s him! I’d swear to it! That man is Cain!”
“The man is Cain,” said Colonel Jack Manning bluntly, as if he expected to be contradicted by at least three of the four civilians at the Pentagon conference table. Each was older than he, and each considered himself more experienced. None was prepared to acknowledge that the army had obtained information where his own organization had failed. There was a fourth civilian but his opinion did not count. He was a member of the Congressional Oversight Committee, and as such to be treated with deference, but not seriously. “If we don’t move now,” continued Manning, “even at the risk of exposing everything we’ve learned, he could slip through the nets again. As of eleven days ago, he was in Zurich. We’re convinced he’s still there. And, gentlemen, it is Cain.”
“That’s quite a statement,” said the balding, birdlike academic from the National Security Council as he read the summary page concerning Zurich given to each delegate at the table. His name was Alfred Gillette, an expert in personnel screening and evaluation, and was considered by the Pentagon to be bright, vindictive, and with friends in high places.
“I find it extraordinary,” added Peter Knowlton, an associate director of the Central Intelligence Agency, a man in his middle fifties who perpetuated the dressy the appearance, and the attitude of an Ivy Leaguer of thirty years ago. “Our sources have Cain in Brussels, not Zurich, at the same time-eleven days ago. Our sources are rarely in error.”
“That’s quite a statement,” said the third civilian, the only one at that table Manning really respected. He was the oldest there, a man named David Abbott, a former Olympic swimmer whose intellect had matched his physical prowess. He was in his late sixties now, but his bearing was still erect, his mind as sharp as it had ever been, his age, however, betrayed by a face lined from the tensions of a lifetime he would never reveal. He knew what he was talking about, thought the colonel. Although he was currently a member of the omnipotent Forty Committee, he had been with the CIA since its origins in the OSS. The Silent Monk of Covert Operations had been the sobriquet given him by his colleagues in the intelligence community. “In my days at the Agency,” continued Abbott, chuckling, “the sources were often as not in conflict as in agreement.”
“We have different methods of verification,” pressed the associate director. “No disrespect, Mr. Abbott, but our transmissions equipment is literally instantaneous.”
“That’s equipment, not verification. But I won’t argue; it seems we have a disagreement. Brussels or Zurich.”
“The case for Brussels is airtight,” insisted Knowlton firmly.
“Let’s hear it,” said the balding Gillette, adjusting his glasses. “We can return to the Zurich summary; it’s right in front of us. Also, our sources have some input to offer, although it’s not in conflict with Brussels or Zurich. It happened some six months ago.” The silver-haired Abbott glanced over at Gillette. “Six months ago? I don’t recall NSC having delivered anything about Cain six months ago.”
“It wasn’t totally confirmed,” replied Gillette. “We try not to burden the committee with unsubstantiated data.”
“That’s also quite a statement,” said Abbott, not needing to clarify.
“Congressman Walters,” interrupted the colonel, looking at the man from Oversight, “do you have any questions before we go on?”
“Hell, yes,” drawled the congressional watchdog from the state of Tennessee, his intelligent eyes roaming the faces, “but since I’m new at this, you go ahead so I’ll know where to begin.”
“Very well, sir,” said Manning, nodding at the CIA’s Knowlton. “What’s this about Brussels eleven days ago?”
“A man was killed in the Place Fontainas--a covert dealer in diamonds between Moscow and the West. He operated through a branch of Russolmaz, the Soviet firm in Geneva that brokers all such purchases. We know it’s one way Cain converts his funds.”
“What ties the killing to Cain?” asked the dubious Gillette.
“Method, first. The weapon was a long needle, implanted in a crowded square at noontime with surgical precision. Cain’s used it before.”
“That’s quite true,” agreed Abbott. “There was a Rumanian in London somewhat over a year ago; another only weeks before him. Both were narrowed to Cain.”
“Narrowed but not confirmed,” objected Colonel Manning. “They were high-level political defectors; they could have been taken by the KGB.”
“Or by Cain with far less risk to the Soviets,” argued the CIA man.
“Or by Carlos,” added Gillette, his voice rising. “Neither Carlos nor Cain is concerned about ideology; they’re both for hire. Why is it every time there’s a killing of consequence, we ascribe it to Cain?”
“Whenever we do,” replied Knowlton, his condescension obvious, “it’s because informed sources unknown to each other have reported the same information. Since the informants have no knowledge of each other, there could hardly be collusion.”
“It’s all too pat,” said Gillette disagreeably.
“Back to Brussels,” interrupted the colonel. “If it was Cain, why would he kill a broker from Russolmaz? He used him.”
“A covert broker,” corrected the CIA director. “And for any number of reasons, according to our informants. The man was a thief, and why not? Most of his clients were too; they couldn’t very well file charges. He might have cheated Cain, and if he did, it’d be his last transaction. Or he could have been foolish enough to speculate on Cain’s identity; even a hint of that would call for the needle. Or perhaps Cain simply wanted to bury his current traces. Regardless, the circumstances plus the sources leave little doubt that it was Cain.”
“There’ll be a lot more when I clarify Zurich,” said Manning. “May we proceed to the summary?”
“A moment, please.” David Abbott spoke casually while lighting his pipe. “I believe our colleague from the Security Council mentioned the occurrence related to Cain that took place six months ago. Perhaps we should hear about it.”
“Why?” asked Gillette, his eyes owl-like beyond the lenses of his rimless glasses. “The time factor removes it from having any bearing on Brussels or Zurich. I mentioned that, too.”
“Yes, you did,” agreed the once-formidable Monk of Covert Services. “I thought, however, any background might be helpful. As you also said, we can return to the summary; it’s right in front of us. But if it’s not relevant, let’s get on with Zurich.”
“Thank you, Mr. Abbott,” said the colonel. “You’ll note that eleven days ago, four men were killed in Zurich. One of them was a watchman in a parking area by the Limmat River, it can be presumed that he was not involved in Cain’s activities, but caught in them. Two others were found in an alley on the west bank of the city, on the surface unrelated murders, except for the fourth victim. He’s tied in with the dead men in the alley--all three part of the Zurich--Munich underworld--and is, without question, connected to Cain.”
“That’s Chernak,” said Gillette, reading the summary. “At least I assume its Chernak. I recognize the name and associate it with the Cain file somewhere.”
“You should,” replied Manning. “It first appeared in a G-Two report eighteen months ago and cropped up again a year later.”
“Which would make it six months ago,” interjected Abbott, softly, looking at Gillette.
“Yes, sir,” continued the colonel. “If there was ever an example of what’s called the scum-of-the-earth, it was Chernak. During the war he was a Czechoslovakian recruit at Dachau, a trilingual interrogator as brutal as any guard in the camp. He sent Poles, Slovaks and Jews to the showers after torture sessions in which he extracted--and manufactured--‘incriminating’ information Dachau’s commandants wanted to hear. He went to any length to curry favor with his superiors, and the most sadistic cliques were hard pressed to match his exploits. What they didn’t realize was that he was cataloguing theirs. After the war he escaped, got his legs blown off by an undetected land mine, and still managed to survive very nicely on his Dachau extortions. Cain found him and used him as a go-between for payments on his kills.”
“Now just wait a minute!” objected Knowlton strenuously. “We’ve been over this Chernak business before. If you recall, it was the Agency that first uncovered him; we would have exposed him long ago if State hadn’t interceded on behalf of several powerful anti-Soviet officials in the Bonn government. You assume Cain’s used Chernak; you don’t know it for certain any more than we do.”
“We do now,” said Manning. “Seven and a half months ago we received a tip about a man who ran a restaurant called the Drei Alpenhäuser; it was reported that he was an intermediary between Cain and Chernak. We kept him under surveillance for weeks, but nothing came of it; he was a minor figure in the Zurich underworld, that was all. We didn’t stay with him long enough.” The colonel paused, satisfied that all eyes were on him. “When we heard about Chernak’s murder, we gambled. Five nights ago two of our men hid in the Drei Alpenhäuser after the restaurant closed.
They cornered the owner and accused him of dealing with Chernak, working for Cain; they put on a hell of a show. You can imagine their shock when the man broke, literally fell to his knees begging to be protected. He admitted that Cain was in Zurich the night Chernak was killed; that, in fact, he had seen Cain that night and Chernak had come up in the conversation. Very negatively.” The military man paused again, the silence filled by a slow soft whistle from David Abbott, his pipe held in front of his crag-lined face. “Now, that is a statement,” said the Monk quietly.
“Why wasn’t the Agency informed of this tip you received seven months ago?” asked the CIA’s Knowlton abrasively.
“It didn’t prove out.”
“In your hands; it might have been different in ours.”
“That’s possible. I admitted we didn’t stay with him long enough. Manpower’s limited; which of us can keep up a nonproductive surveillance indefinitely?”
“We might have shared it if we’d known.”
“And we could have saved you the time it took to build the Brussels file, if we’d been told about that.”
“Where did the tip come from?” asked Gillette, interrupting impatiently, his eyes on Manning.
“It was anonymous.”
“You settled for that?” The birdlike expression on Gillette’s face conveyed his astonishment.
“It’s one reason the initial surveillance was limited.”