CHAPTER 2

APRIL 27, 1988

LUBECK, WEST GERMANY

     Sebastian Cord stood in the tower of St. Peter's Church, scratching his heavy, black beard, gazing down at the city  of Lubeck. The tower was deserted this winter afternoon. The tourist season wouldn't begin for months, and the brisk weather saw all the locals snug and safe at home. Cord was glad there was no one else here -- fewer things to go wrong. Rain tatted against the walls of the church. To Cord, it sounded like a drum roll. How appropriate, he thought.
     He raised his video camera and focused on the street below. No one in sight yet except a youngster pulling a cart. Zooming in, he saw that the cart was full of firewood. He tilted the camera upwards and surveyed the sights of Lubeck. Through the rain he could barely make out the black glazed tiles of the City Hall. Here and there, sections of the city walls appeared. The camera panned smoothly to the horizon, and Cord could make out the East German border.
     He pressed a button on the side of the camera as he brought it around to focus once again on the street below. The time flashed in the upper right-hand corner of the viewfinder. Zabo was late. 
     Where are you, Zabo? he thought. 
     Silently, Cord ran through the identification sequence. Zabo would be looking for a man with a video camera. He'd approach the man and say, "Pity one can't make out the constellation Orion from here." The man with the camera -- Cord -- would reply, "Yes, I'm something of an astronomy buff myself." Then, the two would make small-talk and leave together, two tourists united by a common interest in the stars. 
     The job was appropriate for a beginner, and Cord wondered once again how he'd ended up with it. His last job had been as bad. Jahn wanted him out of Orion field work and was sending him on every lousy assignment that came down the pike. That didn't make sense, though -- he'd been one of the Foundation's top agents for twenty years.
     This line of thinking wasn't getting him anywhere, so he turned his attention back to the street. In the camera's crosshairs, he saw a short, fat man running across the street toward the church, his legs pumping comically as he hurried toward shelter. Then, a beige Volkswagen Polo splashed to a stop in front of St. Peter's. The passenger-side door opened just far enough for an umbrella to unfurl like a flower in the gap. The umbrella moved away from the car toward the church. The VW pulled slowly away from the curb.
     Zabo. About time, Cord thought. He turned to head toward the elevator, but found himself face to chest with the fat man from the street. Cord hadn't even heard the elevator doors open. He kicked himself for getting too caught up in his own thoughts -- the little fat man looked anything but comical now, as he glared up at the much taller Cord.
     "Hello, Mr. Cord. Good-bye, Mr. Cord."
     A glint of metal in the fat man's hand moved toward Cord with startling speed. Cord's hand moved up reflexively to intercept the knife before he was even aware what it was. The blade scratched against the side of the video camera.
     With his free hand, Cord grabbed the fat man's knife hand, while swinging at his head with the camera. He felt the fat man's knee dig into the fleshy part of his thigh just as the camera hit. Both men dropped to the ground. Only Cord got up.
     He rose gingerly, feeling a ripping sensation near his lower back as he did. Pain shot through his leg. The pain'll pass, he thought. No damage done. But where am I going to get the seat of my pants resewn? Won't do to be out looking like this.
     Smiling at his own vanity, and hoping his coat covered the newly exposed portions of his body, he turned his attention to the fallen man. A huge red welt was already beginning to rise on the side of the man's face. He'd be out for a while. 
     Cord began emptying the fallen man's pockets -- keys, change, billfold. Flipping through the billfold, he learned that the fat man's name was Edwin Neubauer, a German citizen, native of Hamburg in the south. Neubauer carried a business card identifying him as an employee of the Alt Stadt Trade Center in Hamburg's Alster Arcade. Cord knew all too well that Alt Stadt Trade was a Web front. They were on to him.
     Maybe this wouldn't be such an easy job after all.
     He replaced Neubauer's billfold and dragged the unconscious Web agent to a shadowed corner of the tower. Then, pulling out his own wallet, he produced a playing card -- a jack of spades -- and used Neubauer's knife to pin the card and Neubauer's tie to the ground.
     The elevator door opened just as Cord retrieved his camera. A frail-looking man, about fifty, maybe sixty, carrying an umbrella stepped out and looked around furtively. Cord smiled at the sight of one of the Web's top scientists acting like such an amateur. Guess poor training is one of the reasons he wants to come over to our side, Cord thought.
     Seeing no one but Cord in the tower, the old man walked up to him and, not even noticing the unconscious man in the shadows, said in halting English, "Pity one can't make out the constellation Orion from here."
     Cord replied, "Yes, I'm something of an astronomy buff myself," and added, in a harsh whisper, "Professor, let's get out of here...now!"
     Cord was still limping from the blow to his thigh, but, fortunatly, he'd parked his rental car just around the corner. The agent and the scientist reached the Audi Quattro in minutes and were on their way, following the E4 southwest to Hamburg and then the Grune Kusten Strasse north to Sylt in the North Frisian Islands, between West Germany and Denmark.
     The rain was sheeting down, leaving the roadway glistening and dangerous, but the Audi sliced through the standing water with ease. Even with the rain, the trip took just over two hours. Professor Zabo slept through most of it. That was good, Cord thought. He'd need his strength for what lay ahead.
     It was dark when Cord brought the Audi to a halt before a small, thatch-roofed home on the shore of the North Sea, near Westerland, Sylt's poshest resort community. It seemed an odd place for a pick-up, but Cord wasn't about to complain -- Westerland boasted a fine casino, one Cord hoped to relieve of excess capital after he saw the Professor safely on his way to the United States.
     But first, Cord had to drop the Professor off at a safe house and check out the lay of the land. He had to be ready to deliver Zabo to the submarine boys the next night.
     Cord nudged the sleeping Professor as gently as he could.
     "Huh?...Wha?..."
     "We're here, Professor. You'll be safe as soon as we get inside that house there."
     "Yes, yes, certainly."
     The Professor started to get out of the car.
     "Wait a minute," Cord said, grabbing Zabo's arm. "Let me come around and get you."
     Cord got out of the car, checking in all directions as best he could, given the rain and gale force winds blowing in from the North Sea.He saw nothing suspicious. Turning up the collar of his coat and dashing to the passenger side, he pulled the door open, and helped the Professor out. Together they trudged through sand blown up from the beach to the small house overlooking the sea.
     A single, flickering light shone from inside. It blinked on and off twice, as Cord had been told it would. Twice, he knocked on the door, hard, hoping the people inside could hear him over the howling wind. The door began to open, and as it did, Cord felt a strange tingling sensation at the base of his neck, a feeling he'd had many times in the past. That feeling always spelled trouble.
     "Down, Professor!" he yelled, dropping to one knee. He reached into his coat for his highly modified Mauser C96 automatic.
     He was still reaching when a burst of gunfire from inside nearly shattered the door. Splinters flew, and Professor Zabo grunted in pain on the other side of the doorway. Cord looked over just long enough to see him fall to the ground, but there wasn't time to rush to his aid. What was left of the door swung open. Instantly, Cord noted a woman standing directly in the doorway. Three men were fanning out behind her. The woman had a Makarov pistol, the men, AKM assault rifles.
     Cord's first shot caught the woman in her gun arm, spinning her part way around. Her gun clattered to the ground. His second shot was wasted, striking the wall opposite the door. Knowing a losing proposition when he saw one, Cord leaped across the open doorway toward the Professor, firing two quick shots and inviting another hail of bullets from within.
     The Professor looked shaken, but alive. "Come on, Professor, we've got to get to the car."
     A shadowy figure appeared in the doorway. Cord twisted around and fired quickly. A grunt of pain. Cord smiled grimly.
      "Okay now, you're going first. I'll follow. Keep low. Go!"
     Zabo crouched and ran. This should raise the proverbial "hail of gunfire," Cord thought as he followed, firing in the direction of the door. Sure enough, it did, but a dead AKM-toting goon in the doorway slowed pursuit a bit, and a bullet in the woman's gun arm killed her aim. That left two Web agents with assault rifles to worry about.
     Zabo was running like a champ, dodging and weaving like a wide receiver. Amazing what a little incentive will do Cord thought. Cord wished he was doing as well -- his thigh had tightened up during the long drive. Zabo was already in the car when Cord reached the driver's-side door. Yanking it open, he heard the whiz of a bullet nearby. Really nearby. It grazed his scalp. 
     He hadn't been shot in some time, and had forgotten just how little he liked it. Scalp burning and ears ringing, he managed to reach his keys, start the Audi, and head off down the road before he or the professor took any more damage.
     They drove in silence for a while, neither man able to do much more than pant heavily. Then smoke began to pour from under the hhood of the car: They'd taken a bullet in the radiator. Cord hoped they'd out-distanced their enemies. The lack of pursuit made it pretty clear the Web agents didn't have a car. A lucky break for the good guys, Cord thought.
     He stopped to consider his options: He was stuck on an island in the North Sea with a would-be Web defector. There were Web agents on the island as well. No telling how many. He had to prepare for a rendezvous with an Orion Foundation submarine tomorrow at midnight. It was pitch black out, he had a dead rental car, and he had nowhere to go. 
     There was only one answer -- head for the casino.

* * *

     A little over an hour later, hungry, dirty, and tired, they trudged into the posh hotel. Cord signed them in and a bellboy led the way to a suite. It wasn't the greatest suite in the world, nowhere near as nice as Cord's home away from home in Atlantic City, but it would more than do. The two men said their goodnights, and the Professor went immediately to bed.
     Cord went to the bathroom, ran some cold water over his face, and examined his head. The bullet had taken off some of his hair and left him looking like an overaged punk with a new kind of mohawk. Still, as bullet damage went, this wasn't too bad. Hurt like the dickens, but he'd felt worse. 
     He returned to the living room with a sewing kit thoughtfully provided by the hotel management, sat down in one of the overstuffed chairs, and fixed his ripped pants. Then, he studied his wristwatch carefully. It looked like a calculator watch with some extra buttons and an oversized display. 
     Figuring it was time to report in, he punched a series of three buttons, followed by a sequence of two. Some twenty seconds later, the watch beeped, and Cord's fingers began flying over the buttons. When he stopped, the words, "Sit tight. Rendezvous on. No changes," appeared in the display window.
     Shaking his head in disbelief -- surely some change in plan was prudent with the Web onto them -- he unscrewed what looked like the winder stem of the watch and wedged it under the door to the professor's room.  If anyone entered the room, he'd know about it.
     Then, he made for the door, stepped into the hall, and headed downstairs to the casino. He knew he wouldn't sleep tonight, and the chips were calling to him.
     Several hours later, Cord decided to spend some of his winnings in the hotel restaurant. Then, it was off to bed. No one had disturbed the Professor.

* * *

     First thing next morning, Cord bought himself a new suit, new shirt, new tie, new shoes, new socks -- new everything. All things considered, he felt like a new man.
     He and the Professor spent the day in their suite, which seemed to Cord like a collosal waste of a good casino and resort community, but was undeniably the prudent thing to do. Cord phoned the front desk and reserved a rental car. Finally, night fell, and midnight approached. Cord grabbed his ripped and dirtied clothes and his video camera and hustled the Professor to their car.
     The trip to the rendezvous site took them closer than Cord would have liked to the "safe" house, but there was no other choice -- Cord's orders had been explicit. There were to be no changes in plan, despite the obvious risks involved. Cord wondered once again what was going on back at Orion headquarters in New York. Nothing made sense anymore.
     He pulled the car off the road a mile from the "safe" house, at a point where the road snaked close to the shore of the sea. 
     "How far have we to walk?" the Professor asked.
     "About half a mile," Cord answered. He didn't feel much like talking. 
     They walked in silence after that and arrived at the rendezvous point in plenty of time. It wasn't much past eleven p.m.
     The wind whipped the long dune grass into a frenzy as they waited. Great night they picked for a rendezvous, Cord thought.
     Then Cord realized it wasn't the wind whipping the grass, but something else. What was it? A low-pitched hum grew louder and louder, and then, suddenly, the darkness was pierced by a blinding light. The beach was lit up like a sunny afternoon.
     "Damn it! What's happening now?" Cord shouted. "What's going on?" 
     Professor Zabo was already running toward the car, and couldn't hear Cord over the now-painful sound. The Orion agent couldn't make out the source of the sound and the light. He just knew it was getting closer.      
     He ran, the sand sucking at his feet, slowing him down, flying in his face, blinding him. Finally, he reached the car and shoved the Professor to the passenger side of the car. He pulled the keys from his pocket and tried to start the car. 
     Nothing.
     "Damn rental car!" he shouted.
     Professor Zabo was crying now, out of control. His eyes were shut fast, his hands over his ears. Blood trickled through his fingers. 
     "He's found me...I'm lost...He found me," Zabo repeated over and over.
     Cord threw open the door and, using it for cover, readied his Mauser. The intense white light seemed to be descending from the sky. The sound grew in intensity until Cord felt his teeth rattling and his brain frying. He was having difficulty concentrating, but he remembered the video camera in the back seat of the car. Reaching into the back seat he ripped the camera out, whipped around, and trained the video camera at what he thought was the source of sound and light. 
     He still couldn't make anything out for sure, but he was damn sure going to try to get whatever was up there on tape. Maybe the tech boys back at headquarters would be able to figure out what was going on.
     He felt a sudden pressure, as if someone had placed a huge flat stone on top of him. Then, he felt nothing at all.