Day of Wrath

Reichardt nodded. “One or two questions, Highness.” He looked intently at Farrell. “Your evidence seems compelling, General, but I would like to know the source of this information.

Naturally, we need to verify its accuracy.”

Farrell answered him flatly. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, Herr Wolf.

You’ll have to take my word that I consider my source unimpeachable.”

“I see.” Reichardt looked down at his fingertips. “I only wondered whether or not your source might be a man named Colonel Peter Thorn.

I’ve studied the Russian police reports on the original Pechenga incident, and I know that the colonel served under your command just before you retired. The logic seemed inescapable. But then two and two do not always add to four in the human equation.” He looked up.

“Have you spoken with Colonel Thorn recently?”

“No.” Farrell’s tone was steady and he looked Reichardt straight in the eye.

The German shrugged. “No matter.” He glanced at Ibrahim. “I assure you, Highness, if there is such a smuggling ring operating within our bounds, my men and I will ferret them out for you.”

“See that you do,” the Saudi said coolly.

Farrell cleared his throat. “Not that I want to interfere, Herr Wolf, but I’d like to know how exactly you intend to proceed.

Now that you’ve been instrumental in pulling the FBI off the case, I mean.”

“A fair question,” Ibrahim commented. He smiled broadly in Reichardt’s direction. “What precisely are your plans for this investigation, Heinrich? This unimpeachable source of General Farrell’s already seems to have done half your work for you.”

Reichardt ignored the dig. “I’ve ordered Arrus Export’s Moscow office to cease all operations while we audit their accounts and question every employee. If one of our workers provided this Peterhof with his false Arrus credentials, I’ll have his skin.”

Ibrahim nodded his approval. “Good. I will not countenance corruption — anywhere.”

“Of course, Highness.”

“You should also contact the master of the Caraco Savannah. Tell him to hold his crew aboard ship once they dock in Wilhelmshaven. I want them all interrogated,” Ibrahim ordered.

“Sir.”

“And dispatch investigators to Bergen to try to pin down the connection between the cargoes carried by the Star of the White Sea and Baltic Venturer.”

“Of course, Highness,” Reichardt said.

Ibrahim glanced at Farrell. “I hope our plan of action meets with your approval, General.”

The American nodded. “It seems thorough enough, Your Highness, but …”

His voice trailed away.

“But you must still wonder why we asked your FBI to stop carrying out the same work?” Ibrahim finished for him.

Reichardt froze in his chair. The prince was playing dangerously close to the edge — too close for his own tastes.

“I prefer to clean up my own messes, General Farrell,” the Saudi continued. “You say that some of my people have abused my trust and engaged in a criminal conspiracy. If that is so, then I am ultimately at fault — and I must be the one to take action. It is a matter of personal honor. Can you understand that?”

Farrell nodded again, firmly this time.

Reichardt felt himself starting to relax. Trust Ibrahim to find the avenue of approach best guaranteed to appeal to the American military man. He listened while the Saudi steered the conversation away from contraband cargoes and toward his worldwide enterprises. By the time the prince was through with Farrell, the American would probably be ready to buy Caraco stock.

After all, Ibrahim’s persuasive abilities had worked on Reichardt himself.

As head of the Stasi’s Revolutionary Movements Liaison Section, Reichardt had worked with dozens of different terrorist groups — providing them with false identity papers, safe houses, weapons training, and special equipment. Although there were no formal links between most of the different terrorist organizations, there were places where their paths crossed. Communist East Germany had been one of those places.

The desperate need for money was another common ground.

Every group needed it for recruitment, training, intelligence, supplies, operations, everything. Terrorism might be “the poor man’s nuclear weapon,” but it still wasn’t cheap.

One source of funding for many of the various movements had been a man known only as “the Paymaster”—a shadowy figure who’d provided huge sums of cash, but always at arm’s length.

The money handed out to pay for bombings, hijackings, and murders all over the world always came through a different front organization — an organization that vanished once the gift was accepted. For years, Reichardt had kept his ear to the ground — hoping to learn the Paymaster’s identity.

His search had taken on a new urgency after East Germany collapsed under the weight of its own inefficiency and corruption. He and his fellow Stasi operatives had taken considerable sums of cash with them when they’d gone underground, but not enough to last them forever. To Reichardt, the so-called Paymaster seemed like somebody who might value a man with his rather specialized skills.