Covert-ONE 06 - The Moscow Vector by Ludlum Robert

Author:Ludlum, Robert [Ludlum, Robert]
Format: epub
Published: 2010-01-21T03:00:00+00:00

Randi sat up straighter, watching an old, dented Audi pull slowly out of the

driveway not far ahead of her. The pair of illegal Slovak immigrants that Ul-

rich Kessler paid to clean his house, cook his meals, and maintain his garden

were on their way home to their own flea-ridden flat on the far side of Berlin.

The Audi turned left on Hagenstrasse and drove off past her truck. Her eyes

followed its taillights in her side mirror until they disappeared.

"What about our boy Kessler himself?" she asked, speaking softly into the

mike clipped to her coveralls.

"Still in his office," another voice, this one male and older, reported. It be-

longed to the CIA officer assigned to keep an eye on the BKA building in

which Kessler worked. "But he's definitely confirmed as one of the guests for a

big shindig the Chancellor is throwing at the Staatsbibliothek this evening.

According to our file, Kessler is a champion brown-noser. He won't miss the

chance to mingle with the Who's Who of German politics, so you should be

clear to go in."

"On my way," Randi said coolly. Now that she was free to act, her nerves

were noticeably steadier. "I'm moving onto the grounds now."

Without waiting any longer, she put the utility truck in gear and turned

into the driveway that curved through the tall trees surrounding Kessler's villa.

The house itself, built in the early 1900s, was a replica of an Edwardian-era

English country manor, all the way from its gleaming white, ivy-cloaked walls

to the wide veranda running the length of its second story.

Randi pulled around to the side of the house and parked next to a large

garage that must have once served as both a carriage house and stables. She

slid out of the truck and stood still for a moment, watching and listening.

Nothing stirred either inside the house or outside among the trees.

Reassured, she quickly fastened an SAS-pattern assault vest over her gray

coveralls. This vest's Velcro-sealed pouches and pockets contained a collec-

tion of small tools and electronics gear, not the usual assortment of weapons

and spare ammunition. With that done, she walked back around the house,

heading straight for the front door. It was the only way in that she could be

sure was not on a security latch or a deadbolt.

Randi stopped, knelt down to briefly examine the lock, and then fished the

appropriate set of lockpicks out of one of her vest pockets. She slipped them

into the tiny opening and stopped. "I'm at the door, Carla," she murmured

into her radio, speaking to her lookout. "Once I give you the word, I want to

hear a running thirty-second countdown. Clear?"

"Understood," the younger woman answered. "The thirty-second clock is

set."

"You with me, Mike?" Randi asked, this time addressing the electronics

specialist assigned to her forced-entry team.

"Standing by, Randi," the technician replied calmlv.

"Good." She risked a quick glance over her shoulder. Anyone passing bv

on the street would be able to spot her, though only if they looked carefully.

All the more reason to stop fussing around, Randi told herself sternly. She

took a deep breath, felt the crisp, clean oxygen flood her system, and then

breathed out.

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