Laugh of the Hyenas Read online

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  Within a few hours after removing the couple, the flat was ready, although it had not been furnished in the manner to which Milev was accustomed. Three rickety chairs sat around a weathered wooden table scarred with cigarette burns. The mattresses looked lumpy and uncomfortable. The walls, with their peeling red paint, grime, and innumerable cracks, reminded Milev of a firing squad’s target, riddled with bullet holes and fresh blood stains.

  Although Milev knew that these decrepit living conditions existed in Sofia, he preferred not to see them firsthand. But, ironically, the dilapidated apartment gave him a perverse kind of pleasure and confirmed something he had always believed about himself: “I am better and smarter than most; therefore, I deserve to have more.” And more is what Milev got.

  In comparison to these squalid rooms, his family’s apartment was like a palace. It was located in a special apartment block in the heart of Sofia, a stone’s throw from the Czar’s Palace. When he looked out his window, Milev could see The Central People’s Theater across the square to his left. The adjoining park was filled with trees, flowers and a lake that was home to many birds and other creatures. It was a paradise in the middle of Sofia.

  The flat had every modern convenience, and he was very proud when his wife and daughters moved here from his father’s home, leaving behind his dusty old World War I memories and cheap furniture. This apartment symbolized Milev’s achievements in the Bulgarian police, and the fact that he had acquired it proved that he was destined for a government post. The Czar and his advisors obviously appreciated Milev’s hard work and expressed their gratitude by giving him this apartment to live in free of charge.

  As Milev looked around the sorry abode he now found himself in, he felt a small pang of guilt, not for the displaced couple, but for his wife and daughters. Milev’s wife hated the fact that he had to be away nights to work. She understood the extreme demands on a person in his position, but of course, she had no idea that he was spying on a beautiful woman and that he was nearly consumed with erotic visions of her. The fact was that while Milev cherished his wife and daughters, his sex life at home had become rather boring. He could truthfully say that the thought of peering into Noverman’s private life excited him more than just about anything else he could think of.

  Meanwhile, Milev’s assistants had finished setting up the telescopes, cameras, tape recorders, and microphones. Chattering like two horny school boys who just discovered photographs of a naked whore, the men talked nonstop about what they would like to do to the beautiful school teacher. Unfortunately for them, they wouldn’t have the opportunity to do anything more than talk. Milev had decided to observe Noverman by himself. Not only did he not want to share any of Noverman’s personal secrets with his uncouth assistants, but if he saw anything important happen, Milev wanted to be the only eyewitness. In his situation as a double agent, he had to make sure that he protected all of his interests, especially the vulnerable Helen Noverman.

  After Milev heard the last of his men’s footsteps down the hall, he watched from the rear window of the apartment as they exited the building and disappeared into the night. The apartment became silent save the couple arguing across the hall. Milev locked the door, switched off the lights, and took his place by the window, sitting in complete darkness. For the next few hours, he gazed out the apartment’s darkened windows and replayed his erotic dreams about Noverman from the night before.

  He had nearly dozed off when at about 2:00 a.m. her apartment was flooded with light. Milev reached for his binoculars and saw her literally dance into her living room. He watched every movement of her lanky body. First she tossed a large leather briefcase on the sofa. Then she pulled off her leather cap, her long dark hair falling onto her shoulders. She appeared to be excited about something, because she waltzed across the room with an invisible partner, pulling off her sweater in the process. She quickly closed the curtains, but in her haste, she left them open just wide enough for him to catch fleeting glimpses of her torso.

  The moment Milev had been waiting for had finally come. He quickly put down the binoculars and focused the eyepiece of the more powerful telescope on the window, only to catch a peek of her a few minutes later wearing nothing more than a small, sheer nightgown. Her long legs, shapely buttocks, and sensuous back filled part of the lens. A car backfired in the street, and she whirled around to the window. Black hair framed her heart-shaped face and red lips. She peered out the window for a moment and then pulled the curtains tight and disappeared. A moment later the light went off.

  Milev sat staring at the dark apartment. Why was Helen Noverman dancing around like a schoolgirl home from her first date? Certainly, there are a number of reasons for spies to celebrate. Had she uncovered some important intelligence that would make her British handlers happy? Or had she been promoted and gotten a raise? Maybe her assignment in Sofia was finished and she would be able to go home to her lover. Or maybe…

  “Jean Lopié!” he said aloud. Of course that was the logical answer. Lupus had predicted that he might show up in Sofia to supervise Noverman’s operation, and Milev was willing to bet a month’s salary that Lupus, as usual, was correct.

  The next morning, Helen Noverman left her apartment and took a bus to the Girls’ High School. Milev followed the bus and sat in his car down the street near a park, where he would not be noticed, watching her as she entered the school. As he waited, Milev’s eyelids grew heavy after a night without sleep.

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  I squeeze her breasts ... I gently roll her nipples between my fingers ... I kiss the mound of soft hair between her legs … she moans … What’s that sound?

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  The laughter and shouts of young girls running past Milev’s car jarred him awake. He rubbed his eyes and looked at his pocket watch. It was a few minutes past noon. The school’s morning session had let out, and the girls and teachers—including Helen Noverman—emptied onto the sidewalk and into the street. Helen dodged a few slow-moving cars as she crossed the street and then boarded a bus that had just pulled up to the corner. Milev quickly started his car and followed the bus until it stopped in front of a row of shops near her apartment. Helen hopped off, shopped for groceries, bought a bouquet of cut flowers, and returned to her apartment around 1:30 p.m.

  Milev parked his car behind the building across from her apartment and slipped in the back through a basement door. He scrambled up the stairs to his secret lair just in time to get a glimpse of Helen Noverman’s naked body in a short open robe as she glided into her bathroom.

  “God how I wished I had a clearer view into that room!” he said louder than he had intended.

  Thirty fantasy-filled minutes later, Milev watched as Noverman marched back and forth from the bathroom to the bedroom until she finished dressing. At 3:00 p.m. she hurriedly left her building, ran past several idle taxies, and boarded a crowded bus headed to Boris’s Garden, Sofia’s largest park. Milev raced down the stairs and hailed a taxi, staying close behind the bus.

  Boris’s Garden had lily ponds, dense woods, bandstands, and crisscrossing paths that made it a perfect place for casual walks or a secret rendezvous. The winter had been unusually mild, and hundreds of people strolled through the trees and around the shining frozen lake, which lay like a flat silver coin in the center of the park. Loud music, laughter, and the sounds of clattering plates and screaming waiters barking orders drifted from the café near the stone bridge.

  Under normal circumstances, Milev enjoyed walking through the garden, because he felt anonymous without feeling lonely. That afternoon, however, the crowds complicated his task. Helen Noverman left the bus at the park entrance and hurried past the four savage-looking stone birds that stood guard over Eagle Bridge. It remained to be seen whether Noverman was on her way to meet Jean Lopié or another source of information for British Intelligence.

  Milev practically had to run behind her to keep up. At one point he was so close that her perfume filled his nose.

/>   “You smell like a …” he said to himself just as she glanced behind her in his direction.

  He quickly pulled the brim of his hat down over his face and knelt to tie his shoe. If she saw him, surely she would wonder what he was doing no more than a few steps behind her. When Milev stood up he was shocked. Like a ghost, she had merged into a group walking in the opposite direction and vanished. In the agonizing half-hour that followed, he searched for her among strolling lovers, old couples, and children playing in the park. Perhaps he had underestimated her skill, because she had simply disappeared from his view without a trace.

  Milev was angry with himself that Noverman had given him the slip. But if Lupus learned about it, he’d probably take Milev off the case. Milev found a seat on a park bench overlooking the lake and considered his next move. Darkness was falling, and he wondered if there was any possibility that Noverman was still somewhere in the park. If so, there were three different paths she could have taken to one of the nearby bus stops or train stations. Two of the routes were through a densely wooded area where she could easily lose a tail, especially as the light faded from the winter sky. On the other hand, if she was careless and in a hurry, she might use the main entrance.

  Milev decided at that point that the main entrance provided his best chance of spotting Noverman and he could only pray that Lopié might be with her. The moon had risen and cast an eerie light about him as he sat on a bench under the dark shadow of a large barren willow tree. Milev had lost hope as he snubbed his seventh cigarette into the dirt. But when he stood up to leave, he caught a glimpse of two people in the shadows beside a small stone building to the right in the garden.

  As the couple walked arm-in-arm, they seemed to be merely two ordinary lovers in the moonlight. They acted as though there were no war, no spies, no dirty tricks and no death; just kisses, sweet promises and happy dreams. But with Milev around, their lovers’ stroll was neither private nor safe. He pulled his hat down over his face and turned up his collar as they approached.

  As the couple drew closer, the man bore a similarity to the photo that Milev had of Jean Lopié. But his hair was longer and gray, not blond. His trimmed goatee complimented the fine gray business suit that he wore. In an odd way, his distinguished manner reminded Milev of Lupus. They walked so close to Milev that he could hear them whispering. He pretended to be asleep, but out of the corner of his eye Milev watched them sway together as they passed by. Maybe it was the way she held onto his arm or her sensuous smell, but the fact that she was with this man filled Milev with jealousy.

  When they stopped and kissed near the park entrance, he was sure that they were on their way to spend the night together, so Milev followed them outside the gate. Suddenly the man turned around and gazed in Milev’s direction—it was Jean Lopié—but Noverman said something that grabbed his attention. They walked a few more blocks down the boulevard and turned onto a short street near the Café Pri Garo. Behind the establishment stood a four-story building that surrounded a courtyard.

  After Noverman and Lopié entered the building, Milev slipped in quietly behind them and watched them walk up the stairs hand in hand. Once they were on the landing of the second floor, he heard a door open, and Lopié invite Helen to go inside. As Milev tiptoed up the first few steps, suddenly there was a commotion outside their room. He couldn’t see what was happening, but he heard a man shout something in Bulgarian about a “pretty whore,” and then Noverman screamed Lopié’s name. Lopié cursed loudly in French, and he heard the Bulgarian groan.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Milev leapt from the third step to the floor and ducked into a small, darkened area beneath the staircase. A second later, Lopié dragged the drunkard down the stairs and threw him out the door into the building’s courtyard. As Lopié turned around and brushed off his hands, he glanced about the dimly lit foyer. Had he heard Milev as he jumped from the stairs? Milev held his breath as Lopié stood silently, no more than five paces away from him. Finally satisfied that he was alone, Lopié sprung up the stairs to the second floor and slammed the door of their room shut.

  Milev remained hidden in the stairwell as he considered what to do next. Now he was sure that the man with Noverman was Jean Lopié. Lupus’s orders were to arrest both of them on sight and immediately take them to his interrogation room in the basement of the police station.

  “But if I arrest them,” Milev thought, “then I’m as good as dead, too.”

  Instead, Milev did nothing but imagine what was going on between them in their room above him. He pictured Lopié caressing Noverman’s body, his mouth moving from her lips down to places that Milev had dreamed of visiting. After several fantasy-filled minutes, Milev slipped from his hiding place and stepped out of the building into the courtyard and then onto Maria-Luisa Boulevard. The cool night air dried his sweaty neck and scalp as he walked beside the dark waters of the Vladaja River.

  CHAPTER 10

  “Helen, how I missed you.”

  Jean Lopié kissed her long and hard on the lips as they made love. But a moment after they finished he got out of bed. Helen winced. She hadn’t seen Jean since she left him in Istanbul over a month ago, and all she wanted to do was hold him and kiss him all over for hours. Obviously he had other things on his mind besides sex, because from the moment he popped up in Sofia last night, he was unusually quiet and nervous. He cleared his throat. She sniffed.

  He gave her a curious look and said, “I hope you’re feeling okay because…well…we’ve been given another assignment that takes priority over everything else.”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “It’s just cold in here.” Helen sat up. “What do you mean another assignment?”

  Jean sighed and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, which hung over the chair beside the bed, pulling out a silver cigarette case and a matching silver lighter. “I mean we’re finished with Dr. Belevski, at least for now.”

  Helen climbed out of bed. She pulled a blanket about her shoulders and stalked to the window. The night sky was filled with a thick cold fog.

  “I tried to explain the value of Belevski to our operation in the Balkans,” Jean said. He rubbed his forehead and then brushed his hair back. “I told them we were about to spring a trap that would provide us with a steady and reliable source of military information in Sofia. But the more I talked, the less they listened. Sometimes I think our British partners have lost their minds.”

  Helen shrugged and asked, “So what’s our new assignment?”

  After another long moment of silence, Jean slammed his fist down on the table beside the bed and hissed, “Our British case officers ordered us to eliminate the Bulgarian Chief of the Secret Police.”

  “Who is he and what do you know about him?” she asked.

  “Not much. We know his name is George Milev,” Jean said, “and that he works closely with the Gestapo here in Bulgaria.”

  A big knot welled up in Helen’s stomach.

  “I met a George Milev at my school on parents’ night, she said. “He is the father of one of my students. But he said he was an engineer.”

  “And as if that isn’t enough,” Jean sighed, “they want the Gestapos’ number one man in Bulgaria, Wolff von Schjoderberg, dead, too. His nickname is Lupus, and he is as cunning and vicious as a wolf.”

  Helen lit another cigarette and sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Kill them, really? So how—exactly—are we supposed to do that?”

  Jean poured two glasses of brandy from a small flask that sat on the bedside table. He handed one to Helen, and as he sipped his drink, he paced the room and smoked. Helen watched the cigarette smoke drift upward and disappear. She tried to imagine what it would feel like to kill someone. Finally, Jean sat down beside Helen.

  “Your fingers are like ice,” he said. “Drink your brandy.”

  The liquor warmed her throat, but she still felt cold all over. Helen pulled the blanket up around her and shivered.

  “These men are rut
hless and clever,” he continued. “British Intelligence is still trying to find recent photos of them. But don’t worry, Helen. We won’t have to do this dirty job ourselves. Radoj Danev, hopefully, will help us.”

  Helen already knew that some of the best intelligence in Sofia came from Bulgarian Communist Party members. Radoj Danev, their leader, was no exception. Run by an agent in the British Embassy in Sofia, Communist Party spies were reliable and daring, but several had been arrested for espionage and murdering Bulgarian policemen.

  “Helen, I want you to contact Radoj Danev. If we promise him a fat enough purse—a lot of money, guns, and explosives—I’m sure he’ll help us.”

  Jean cursed as he scribbled the details on a small piece of paper. Helen’s stomach ached as she watched him working at a feverish pitch. This was her first assignment acting alone as a courier, and she was scared of what might happen. What if she didn’t have the nerve to pull it off or if something went wrong?

  Jean handed her the paper.

  “I want you to take this message to Danev tomorrow. We need two things from him. First, we need to know where to find Milev and Schjoderberg, and second, we need an assassin. Tell him we’ll pay top price, and he must be ready on a moment’s notice.”

  Jean stroked Helen’s cheek with the back of his hand. He must have read her mind and knew exactly what she needed to hear at that very moment because he said, “Enough about those hyenas. Let’s get back to what we were doing before.”