Free Edge of Apocalypse by Tim Lahaye, Craig Parshall Page A
Authors: Tim Lahaye, Craig Parshall
himself as a spy. Yes, he even privately entertained the idea he was an Eastern block equivalent of James Bond.
But then, three weeks ago, Yergi received a strange phone call. A man who claimed to be an Algerian had learned of him through an associate and asked if he might be able to provide information about a certain American defense contractor. At first, Yergi was suspicious. Why would this man think he could get this information? Did he know about Yergi's connections with the FSB? And who was this "associate" who had recommended him?
Then he became more practical. The Algerian was offering twenty thousand euros for the information, half now, half upon delivery. It was more than enough money for him and Elena to move away and start a new life together somewhere else. So he turned to the young FSB agent he'd been working with and offered him a deal--to exchange half of his upfront payment for any information that could be found pertaining to the American, Joshua Jordan. But did the young FSB agent have access to that? He said he would see what he could turn up.
A week later Yergi received a copy of the FSB's comprehensive dossier, which included pictures, biographies, personal data, and all manner of classified details on the American in question. This should make the Algerian happy, he thought. Yergi allowed his imagination to drift about freely once again. Perhaps he and Elena could move near the sea. She loved the sea. And she would love him.
As he turned the corner and the Athenee Palace Hotel entrance came into view, Yergi's dreams of his future abruptly morphed into nervousness. Shaken, he concluded it was the promise of wealth that had his nerves jangling, and not any potential danger. Certainly he could trust the Algerian. After all, the man had already paid ten thousand euros in advance, half of which was secure in Yergi's small apartment near the university. And he was moments away from being handed another ten thousand. Yes, the transaction would go smoothly. He had exactly what the Algerian wanted.
FOURTEEN
At 9:35 a.m. there was a knock at the door of room 417. Zimler opened it to reveal the slightly rotund, bespectacled Romanian with the small satchel under his arm.
"I am Yergi. You are...the Algerian?"
Zimler nodded and ushered him in. Pointing to a coffee table in the living room area, he persuaded the currier to set his package down.
The professor was clearly nervous. His eyes scanned the room, then his host.
"Funny, y-you don't really look Algerian...," he stammered.
Zimler smiled, then walked over to the balcony's French doors and swung them open to let in some fresh air.
He began with a question. "The information you have in the package," he began, pointing to the satchel, "is it up-to-date?"
"Yes, very much so. The Russian agent whom I obtained it from vouched for its authenticity. I have quite a bit of information here for you, including the basic research and development agreement between Mr. Jordan and the Pentagon in reference to his work on the Return-to-Sender technology. Of course, no one has the actual schematics for the system...but this should provide you with an excellent starting point..." Yergi was hoping this would all be over soon. "So, in regards to my payment--"
"Did you bring your passport, as I requested?" Zimler responded.
Despite the cool morning Bucharest breeze flowing into the room, the Romanian was nevertheless starting to feel the first signs of sweat beading on his forehead.
"I need to verify you are who you say you are," Zimler continued.
"Of course." Yergi fumbled a little and then removed his passport from his coat pocket and offered it to Zimler, who proceeded to flip through it.
"You haven't been to America then?"
The already uncomfortable professor now added confusion to his growing list of anxieties.
"No, why?"
"I was hoping you could tell me a little something about any experiences you might have had there. I plan on going there myself someday."
But then, three weeks ago, Yergi received a strange phone call. A man who claimed to be an Algerian had learned of him through an associate and asked if he might be able to provide information about a certain American defense contractor. At first, Yergi was suspicious. Why would this man think he could get this information? Did he know about Yergi's connections with the FSB? And who was this "associate" who had recommended him?
Then he became more practical. The Algerian was offering twenty thousand euros for the information, half now, half upon delivery. It was more than enough money for him and Elena to move away and start a new life together somewhere else. So he turned to the young FSB agent he'd been working with and offered him a deal--to exchange half of his upfront payment for any information that could be found pertaining to the American, Joshua Jordan. But did the young FSB agent have access to that? He said he would see what he could turn up.
A week later Yergi received a copy of the FSB's comprehensive dossier, which included pictures, biographies, personal data, and all manner of classified details on the American in question. This should make the Algerian happy, he thought. Yergi allowed his imagination to drift about freely once again. Perhaps he and Elena could move near the sea. She loved the sea. And she would love him.
As he turned the corner and the Athenee Palace Hotel entrance came into view, Yergi's dreams of his future abruptly morphed into nervousness. Shaken, he concluded it was the promise of wealth that had his nerves jangling, and not any potential danger. Certainly he could trust the Algerian. After all, the man had already paid ten thousand euros in advance, half of which was secure in Yergi's small apartment near the university. And he was moments away from being handed another ten thousand. Yes, the transaction would go smoothly. He had exactly what the Algerian wanted.
FOURTEEN
At 9:35 a.m. there was a knock at the door of room 417. Zimler opened it to reveal the slightly rotund, bespectacled Romanian with the small satchel under his arm.
"I am Yergi. You are...the Algerian?"
Zimler nodded and ushered him in. Pointing to a coffee table in the living room area, he persuaded the currier to set his package down.
The professor was clearly nervous. His eyes scanned the room, then his host.
"Funny, y-you don't really look Algerian...," he stammered.
Zimler smiled, then walked over to the balcony's French doors and swung them open to let in some fresh air.
He began with a question. "The information you have in the package," he began, pointing to the satchel, "is it up-to-date?"
"Yes, very much so. The Russian agent whom I obtained it from vouched for its authenticity. I have quite a bit of information here for you, including the basic research and development agreement between Mr. Jordan and the Pentagon in reference to his work on the Return-to-Sender technology. Of course, no one has the actual schematics for the system...but this should provide you with an excellent starting point..." Yergi was hoping this would all be over soon. "So, in regards to my payment--"
"Did you bring your passport, as I requested?" Zimler responded.
Despite the cool morning Bucharest breeze flowing into the room, the Romanian was nevertheless starting to feel the first signs of sweat beading on his forehead.
"I need to verify you are who you say you are," Zimler continued.
"Of course." Yergi fumbled a little and then removed his passport from his coat pocket and offered it to Zimler, who proceeded to flip through it.
"You haven't been to America then?"
The already uncomfortable professor now added confusion to his growing list of anxieties.
"No, why?"
"I was hoping you could tell me a little something about any experiences you might have had there. I plan on going there myself someday."
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