The Red Syndrome Read Online Free PDF

arms, I jabbed the fingernails of my right hand directly into his eyes; with my left I punched
his kidneys so hard I was afraid I'd broken my wrist. He groaned in pain,
dropped the knife to the pavement, and tried to push my hand out of his
eyes. I let him cover his eyes with his hands as I swiftly picked up the
knife and hurried back to my hotel.

    The entire episode had taken only a minute or two, and we didn't seem
to have attracted any attention. There were no pedestrians around, and the
few cars that were passing hadn't bothered to stop. I took inventory: Other
than breathing heavily, a ringing in one ear, and my disheveled clothes,
there'd been no serious physical consequences. I went up to my room,
leaving the front door open so as not to lock myself in with an intruder.
When I was certain I had no uninvited company, I bolted the door.
    Who were these guys? Was the attack random, a failed robbery of a
tourist, or was I the intended target? It had to be the latter. They hadn't
tried to rob or kill me; one bullet would have done that. Their purpose
had been to intimidate, to send me a message to back off. First the bug
in my coat, now the attack. I got the point: Their next move could be less
friendly. But I had no intention of taking these hints seriously.
    Since I had no further business in Stuttgart, my first instinct was to
check out of the hotel and leave Germany. But reason overtook anxiety,
and I changed my mind. In any case I would have to find another hotel
for the night, or go to the airport immediately. I did not want to meet up
again with Igor and Oksana's associates.
    I waited in the room until the early morning, then checked out; two
porters carried my luggage. I walked between them, making them an
improvised protective phalanx, and ignoring their surprised expressions. I
took a cab to the Echterdingen airport, checking occasionally to make
sure I had no escorts behind my cab. We were alone on the road.

    From the airport gate, just before boarding, I called Dr. Bermann. "I'm
writing my report and I need your help."
    "I am very sorry, Herr Gordon" he said candidly. Well, of course he was;
the nincompoop had dragged me all the way to Germany only to realize
that his smelly client wouldn't talk. He could have done it over the phone
and spared me the trouble.
    "I spoke to Igor again. He is not responding to my request to reconsider talking to you. In fact, he won't even discuss it."
    "Too bad about that. Anyway, I need to describe our meeting to my
boss. Could you please give me the interpreter's full name?"
    "It is-" He paused for a minute. "-let me see here...ja, her name
is Oksana Vasilev."
    "Got it. And she is an official interpreter?"
    "Yes, authorized by the court."
    "You were lucky to find a Belarusian interpreter; I don't suppose too
many people in Stuttgart speak that language."
    "You are correct, Herr Gordon. In fact I think this is her first job. After
our first telephone conversation, I asked Igor if he knew of any Belarusian
interpreters because we would need one for his court hearing. A few days
later, Frau Vasilev called me and said she spoke both German and
Belarusian and even some English, so she could be an interpreter in Igor's
case. I assumed Igor had sent her. I told her that she had to register with
the court first. It took her one week to prepare the application, and now
she is an official interpreter with the court. Otherwise she would not have
been permitted to enter the prison. If Igor or Oksana were to have any
difficulty with English, then I could translate from English to German
and Oksana from German to Belarusian."
    "Nice of you to think of it, and at the same time to help her," I said,
thinking of the chaos a twice-removed translation could cause.
    "I think so, too. She told me that she was new in town and needed a
job. I paid her fifty dollars just to be in the prison for one hour. I don't
think she made that much in Belarus in a