Page 459 of Edge of Eternity (The Century 3)

East Berliners could see nothing but the four bronze horses pulling Victory's chariot atop the arch. But they could hear everything loud and clear: Lew's drumming; Buzz's thudding bass; Dave's rhythm guitar and high harmonies; and, best of all, Walli's perfect pop baritone and lyrical guitar lines. The familiar songs soared out of the speaker stacks and thrilled the moving, dancing crowd. That's my brother, Lili kept thinking; my big brother, singing to the world. Werner and Carla looked proud, Karolin was smiling, and Alice's eyes were shining.

Lili glanced up at a government office building nearby. Standing on a small balcony were half a dozen men in ties and dark coats, clearly visible by the streetlights. They were not dancing. One was taking photographs of the crowd. They must be Stasi, Lili realized. They were making a record of traitors disloyal to the Honecker regime--which was, nowadays, almost everyone.

Looking more closely, she thought she recognized one of the secret policemen. It was Hans Hoffmann, she was almost sure. He was tall and slightly stooped. He seemed to be speaking angrily, moving his right arm in a violent hammering gesture. Walli had said in an interview that the band wanted to play here because East Germans were not allowed to listen to their records. Hans must have known that his breaking Alice's disc was the reason for this concert and this crowd. No wonder he was angry.

She saw Hans throw up his hands in despair, turn, and leave the balcony, disappearing into the building. One song ended and another began. The crowd yelled their approval as they recognized the opening chords of one of Plum Nellie's biggest hits. Walli's voice came through the speakers: "This one is for my little girl."

Then he sang "I Miss Ya, Alicia."

Lili looked at Alice. Tears were streaming down her face, but she was smiling.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

William Buckley, the American kidnapped in Lebanon by Hezbollah on March 16, 1984, was officially described as a political officer at the U.S. embassy in Beirut. In fact he was the CIA head of station.

Cam Dewar knew Bill Buckley and thought he was a good guy. Bill was a slight figure in conservative Brooks Brothers suits. He had a head of thick graying hair and matinee-idol looks. A career soldier, he had fought in Korea and served with the Special Forces in Vietnam, ending with the rank of colonel. In the sixties he had joined the Special Activities Division of the CIA. That was the division that carried out assassinations.

Bill was single at fifty-seven. According to Langley gossip, he had a long-distance relationship with a woman called Candace in Farmer, North Carolina. She wrote him love letters and he telephoned her from all over the world. When he was in the USA, they were lovers. Or so people said.

Like everyone else at Langley, Cam was angry about the kidnapping and desperate to get Bill released. But all efforts failed.

And there was worse news. One by one, Bill's agents and informers in Beirut began to disappear. Hezbollah had to be getting their names from Bill. That meant he was being tortured.

The CIA knew Hezbollah's methods, and they could guess what was happening to Bill. He would be permanently blindfolded, chained at the ankles and wrists, and kept in a box like a coffin, day after day, week after week. After a few months of this he would be literally insane: drooling, gibbering, trembling, rolling his eyes, and letting out sudden random screams of terror.

So Cam was savagely pleased when at last someone came up with a plan of action against the kidnappers.

The plan originated not with the CIA, but with the president's national security adviser, Bud McFarlane. On his staff Bud had a gung-ho marine lieutenant colonel called Oliver North, known as Ollie. Among the men North had recruited to help him was Tim Tedder, and it was Tim who told Cam of McFarlane's plan.

Cam eagerly took Tim into the office of Florence Geary. Tim was a former CIA agent and an old acquaintance of Florence's. As always, he had his hair cut as if he were still in the army, and today he wore a safari suit that was as close to a military uniform as civilian dress could get.

"We're going to work with foreign nationals," Tim explained. "There will be three teams, each of five men. They won't be CIA employees and they won't even be Americans. But the Agency will train them, equip them, and arrange finance."

Florence nodded. "And what will these teams do?" she said neutrally.

"The idea is to get to the kidnappers before they strike," Tim said. "When we know that they're planning a kidnapping, or a bombing, or any other kind of terrorist act--we will direct one of the teams to go in and eliminate the perpetrators."

"Let me get this straight," said Florence. "These teams will kill terrorists before they commit crimes."

She was not as excited by the plan as Cam was, evidently, and he had a bad feeling.

"Exactly," said Tim.

"I have one question," said Florence. "Are you two out of your fucking minds?"

Cam was outraged. How could Florence be against this?

Tim said indignantly: "I know it's unconventional--"

"Unconventional?" Florence interrupted. "By the laws of every civilized country it's murder. There is no due process, there is no requirement of proof, and by your own admission the people you're targeting may have done nothing more than merely think about committing crimes."

Cam said: "Actually, it's not murder. We'd

be acting like a cop who gets off an early shot at a criminal who is pointing a gun at him. It's called preemptive self-defense."

"So you're a lawyer, now, Cam."

"That's not my opinion, it's Sporkin's." Stanley Sporkin was the CIA general counsel.

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