The Red Syndrome Read Online Free PDF Page A

fingers through my hair. Just hair
and some dandruff.
    I unscrewed the telephone handset to see if it had a harmonica bug -
those transistorized transmitters that are inserted into the mouthpiece,
making it a hot mike. Nothing. I opened my briefcase and emptied its
contents on the bed. It all looked benign. I pulled out my radio frequency
detector. Today's wireless transmitters are so small that they can be
hidden in many common objects, including neckties, eyeglasses, and
pens. Thus visual inspection of objects can be insufficient. My detector
scanned radio frequency ranges from 30 megahertz to 2.4 gigahertz,
which are the ones used by most wireless video and audio devices.
    I spread my clothes and shoes on the carpet and scanned them slowly.
An amber light on the detector went on, telling me that a device emitting a radio signal was close. I scanned again, but the amber color
remained steady. I turned to my briefcase: nothing. So where was it? I
threw my coat over the chair and scanned it. The light changed to red. I
had a bug in my coat. I kept scanning, carefully - and then I saw it. A
pinhead-sized device had been inserted behind the lapel. Oksana had stuck it into my coat when I'd left the prison cell to talk to Dr. Bermann.
She'd known who I was and that I was coming to interview Igor.

    I washed my hands thoroughly and got dressed. I pulled the tiny transmitter out of my coat and placed it next to the television, blaring at full
volume.
    Enjoy the music, comrades, I thought, and walked out to have dinner. The
smell of garbage was still in the air, but the sweet scent of success was
already taking over. I took the elevator to the hotel basement and dropped
the trash bag into a giant trash receptacle. I went to the reception desk
and deposited my newfound treasures in the hotel's safe. The fact that
somebody had gone to the trouble of hiding a microphone on my coat
lapel indicated I wasn't alone; someone was watching me. As a precaution, I thought about changing my plans to go out and instead have
dinner at the hotel restaurant. But then I reconsidered. It was in my
nature to be defiant, to ignore doubts, to dispense with routine safety
measures. This rebellious streak sometimes got me into trouble but also
led me to victories. My ratio of trouble to success wasn't bad.
    I walked into the nearly empty snow-covered street, looking for a good
German restaurant. As I crossed the road to a corner restaurant, I felt the
first blow to my head. Because I'd just turned, the slug lost some impact,
although it was still too strong to ignore. I completed the turn and saw two
guys built like linebackers, intent on finishing the job. The first guy aimed
at my solar plexus. My Mossad martial arts instructor had told us drily: ,4
blow to the gut could kill. This is one of the best ways to knock out your enemy.
And if you doubt me, think of the great magician Harry Houdini. He died from
an unexpected blow to his gut. I instinctively shifted to the side, redirecting
the blow to my obliques - the muscles around my ribs. It was painful, but
I could tell I'd avoid damage to internal organs. The second guy punched
my head directly, hitting my right ear. Against my instincts, but in keeping
with my Mossad training, I moved forward. Recoiling backward would
actually have resulted in my head taking the punch at full force.
    It was time to go on the offensive.
    I made a full-body swing and kicked the shorter guy hard in his groin;
as he bent forward I kicked him again. My shoe hit his lower abdomen and my knee smashed into his face. That did it. He fell on the sidewalk
vomiting. He'd be quiet for a while until his dinner completed its journey
onto his clothes and the sidewalk. The other guy shot a quick look at his
friend on the ground and realized that fists weren't enough. He pulled out
a knife. I had no weapons other than my hands and my experience.
Because I was much taller than he, and had longer