Countdown

BOOK TWO

Darkness had settled over the Eastern Mediterranean and with it came the lights of Tel Aviv, a city of 350,000 people, twenty percent of whom were Arabs who lived in an uneasy harmony with their Jewish masters. In a third-floor office of a surprisingly small and unprepossessing building in a courtyard off Hamara Street, Lev Potok sat back from his desk and rubbed his burning eyes. He had been working steadily for the past three hours trying to put everything together in his report to Isser Shamir, director of the Mosad. But the situation wasn’t clear in his own mind, so how could he make anyone else understand? The suicide of Viktor Voronsky in the interrogation cell weighed heavily on his mind. It had been a mistake on his part leaving the obviously distraught Russian alone, even for a few moments. But what in God’s name had motivated the man to such a desperate act? There were forces here, he told himself, that were much greater than any of them had any reason to suspect. Spying and espionage were one thing, but on arrest most spies were professional enough to understand that most likely they would only spend a few months or perhaps a few years behind bars before an exchange was made, and they were repatriated. Voronsky, though, had apparently killed himself so that he would not be broken under interrogation. But who was the master, who had been pulling his strings to such an extent? The Russians he had known were dedicated, but unlike many Arabs they were not fanatics. Lighting a cigarette, he looked at the half-finished page in his typewriter. They had come up with a date barely two weeks from now, but they had no concrete idea what it meant. The Hungarian Embassy was involved, directly or indirectly, but the telephone messages had been cryptic and could have meant anything. Even an upcoming trade agreement. Liebowitz’s speculation that the so-called German failure mentioned on the telephone had something to do with the aborted hijacking of the Pershing missile several days ago was just that-speculation. The pieces of the puzzle seemed to want to come together, almost of their own volition. But it was like building a complicated piece of machinery without blueprints, without even a firm idea what the machine was supposed to do. Someone knocked on his door, and he looked up in irritation as Liebowitz stuck his head inside. “Larry just came up. I think you’d better listen to what he has to say. “What’s she done this time” Potok asked. Larry Saulberg was one of the team assigned to keep a watch on Lorraine Abbott’s movements. So far she hadn’t done much except remain in her hotel, reading the steady stream of NPF documents and reports that had been coming to her out of Washinton twice daily. They had not been able to tamper with the letters for fear they would tip their hand even more than they already had. It was a delicate balance.

“She’s got a gentleman caller”

“Is it that prick-Hayes back again”

“No” Liebowitz said. The man had a flair for the dramatic. Potok pulled the paper out of his typewriter, placed it in a file folder with the rest of his report, and put the entire thing in his desk drawer. He nodded when he was ready, and Liebowitz stood aside. Larry Saulberg was a small, dark, intense man who’d immigrated with his parents from Kenya about fifteen years ago. He had absolutely no sense of humor, but he was like a hound dog with his steadfast devotion to his job. He’d even changed his name to one that sounded more Jewish. “Who is watching her at this moment” Potok asked. “Chaim” the little African said, his obsidian eyes bright. “What have you got for me”

“At seven this evening a man showed up at the hotel where he registered and had his bags sent up to his room. He received a package from the desk, and then went directly to Dr. Abbott who was seated in the lobby cocktail lounge where he introduced himself and sat down”

“Yes, and who is this man” Potok demanded. He glanced at the wall clock.

It was well past eight-thirty. “And why didn’t you report this sooner”

“He is registered under the name of Kirk McGarvey on an American passport; he has a long-term French visa along with a lot of others”

Saulberg reported. “The reason for the delay is I wanted to make sure who he was before I came up here to you. The package he received at the desk was sealed with a diplomatic stamp”

“Why didn’t you just stick with him” Potok asked. There was something else. There was always something else. “Because he had me made from the moment he entered the hotel” Saulberg said. “He even came over to me and told me it wasn’t polite to stare ” Potok suppressed a grin.

Saulberg was deadly serious, as was this entire business. McGarvey was most likely just another NPF courier. “Go on”

“I ran him through our files” the legman said. “Yes”

Liebowitz, who had stepped in behind Saulberg and had closed the door, handed over the file folder he’d brought with him. “He came up with this, Lev”

“Well, who is he” Potok asked, opening the file. “A former CIA case officer” Saulberg said softly. “Who is almost for certain an assassin”

Potok’s eyes shot up from McGarvey’s photograph, something clutching at his gut. “What”

“Not only that, Lev” Liebowitz interjected. “We have it on good authority that he has been in Germany”

“Recently”

“Yes.

Isser Shamir, known as Isser the Little, was a tiny barrelchested man who stood barely five feet, and whose head seemed almost ludicrously too large for his body. His longish white hair was always in disarray, his wide dreamy eyes seemed always to be half-closed as if he were drifting, but his mind was absolutely sharp. First class. Like a computer, his friends said; like a steel trap, his enemies countered. He looked up from reading Potok’s hastily finished report. “There is confirmation that McGarvey was in Kaiserslautern during the incident with the missile”

” Not one hundred percent” Potok admitted. “Liebowitz telephoned a friend on the police force, who said that a man matching McGarvey’s description was there. In fact, it was he who may have disarmed the missile”

“And now he has come here” Shamir said gently. “Yes, sir. Meeting with Dr. Abbott”

“It makes one wonder who he has come here to assassinate”

“That part has not been confirmed” Potok said. He sat forward. “But it has made me ask if there is any connection between the hijacked missile and En Gedi.

Shamir nodded. “That too makes for interesting speculation, Lev. What is your assessment in light of what you learned from the telephone intercept and your interrogation of this Russian” He tapped a finger on Potok’s report. “You don’t say here” With Isser the Little you never speculated. You either had the facts, and all of them, or you admitted up front that you didn’t know. Now he was asking for a guess. Potok, for all his years in the service, felt just a little uncomfortable. But then the stakes were so high that they couldn’t afford not to consider any and every possibility, no matter how farfetched. “I have a feeling that Rothstein and perhaps Simon Asher were working for the Russians. Their contact was Viktor Voronsky. I think that the Russians know about En Gedi, I think that the hijacked missile was somehow reprogrammed to strike there, and I think that they are planning to try again on June thirtieth” Shamir was nodding sadly. “What about Dr. Abbott and the NPT”

“I think she suspects but doesn’t know”

“And Mr. McGarvey” Potok nodded. “He knows. He would have gotten it from the reprogrammed rocket’s guidance system”

“That makes him a very dangerous man as concerns Israel’s safety”

“Yes, sir”

“What’s he doing here” Potok shook his head. “I don’t know”

“Nor do you wish to hazard a guess”

“Not this time”

“I see” Shamir said. “Well, then, find out”

“How far may I take it” Potok asked, keeping even the slightest inflection out of his voice. Shamir didn’t seem surprised by the direct question, but then Potok had never known the man to show surprise. “If he knows, as you say, from the reprogrammed missile, then the Americans know”

“Yes, sir”

“But they have said nothing. Perhaps he has been sent as an emissary”

“Would they have sent such a man as him on such a mission”

Shamir shrugged. “Perhaps”

“Then he has come as a friend. Again Shamir shrugged. “Which places you in a delicate situation. Fully as delicate as Israel finds itself in. Friend or foe, I suspect that soon enough the entire world will be privy to our little secret. It is up to us to keep it a secret for as long as possible, and then to safeguard what we have from attack. Whatever it takes.

After Potok left, Shamir sat for a long time staring out of his fifth-floor window toward the lights of the Shalom Meir Tower a few blocks away. It was the tallest building in Israel. A beacon, he thought, not only for hope as it had been designed, but now for guided missiles as well. Years ago, or was it centuries, he sometimes wondered, he had come to this city when it was mostly a collection of whitewashed homes, churches, mosques, and a few synagogues, all lorded over by the British. The future then had been very uncertain, as it had again seemed so in 1948 when their fight for independence had come. So many lives lost, so much blood spilled on both sides, so much senseless destruction, and now it threatened to happen again. Shamir was an ardent student of history. It seemed at times like these that we were indeed doomed to repeat our mistakes. If the Russians took over the Middle East, this part of the world would surely sink into the dark ages.

Sanity and reason would be lost for a very long time to come. Harry Truman, or had it been one of his successors, had been correct when he’d prophesied that the advent of nuclear weapons meant the abolition of all-out war. No one in their right mind would begin a war that could go nuclear. But if those weapons, as terrible as they were, no longer existed, what would hold back the horde?

He turned after a long time, picked up the telephone, and started to dial a Washington number, but before the connection was made he hung up.

He and the general went back a long way together. But he decided that he didn’t want to hear it from a friend. He would rather find out the truth himself.

EAST GERMANY The skies were overcast across much of central Europe. When Arkady Kurshin stepped from his plane and crossed the tarmac into East Berlin’s Schbnefeld’s Airport it was very dark and raining, a chill wind blowing from the northwest. The weather matched his mood. He’d come so close in Kaiserslautem that he’d almost been able to taste his success.

With a growing disbelief he had watched McGarvey simply pulling the plugs on the missile. Even now it was difficult to believe. Again in Paris he had come close. It would have been so easy to wait until dark, then sneak into McGarvey’s apartment and kill him. This far away the hate still burned strong within him. On the basis of his Soviet Russian diplomatic passport, one of several he carried, he was passed through customs with no delay. Outside a car and driver were waiting for him. He tossed his single bag in the back and climbed in the front. The driver, dressed in civilian clothes, said nothing as he pulled out into traffic, nor did he seem inclined to speak, so Kurshin sat back in his seat with his own morose thoughts for the twenty-minute drive out to Friedrichshagen on the Grosser Mijggelsee. Their intelligence about En Gedi was ironclad, Baranov had assured him, as was their information from the Pentagon. Had McGarvey not interfered, the rocket would have launched, and by now he would be on his way back to Moscow a hero, instead of here with his tail between his legs. “You understand”

Baranov had said before Kurshin had crossed the border into Western Europe, “that the price of our failure will be steep. They will know that I have a penetration agent working in their midst”

“I will not fail, Comrade General” Kurshin had promised. But he had failed. And perhaps this very night he would get his nine ounces-a Russian euphemism for a ninemillimeter bullet in the back of the head.

They skirted the small residential town and on the northwest side of the lake took a narrow dirt track down toward the water’s edge, the hills steep here, the pine trees very thick. They were stopped three kilometers off the main road by a pair of KGB guards armed with the new AK74 assault rifles equipped with night vision scopes. Kurshin had to present his papers. As one of the guards held a flashlight on his face, the other one got in back, opened his suitcase, and took his gun.

“You’re late” one of them said. “His plane was delayed” the driver explained. The flashlight was withdrawn and the rear door was slammed.

One of the guards was speaking into a walkie-talkie as they continued up the road toward dim lights just now visible through the trees and rain.

Kurshin shifted in his seat so that he could feel his left leg just above the ankle with the toe of his right shoe. The small.32 caliber automatic was still secure in its holster. Fuck your mother, he thought, using the national expression of disgust, but he wasn’t going to let himself be gunned down so easily. If need be, he would kill Baranov and make his escape. The narrow road opened onto a broad gravel driveway that led up to a large house, almost a mansion, rising out of the side of the hill. They parked in front. Kurshin got out of the car and started to reach in for his bag. “I’ll get that for you” the driver said. Kurshin shrugged and went up to the house, the front door opening for him. Inside the main stairhall he gave his coat to another burly man in civilian clothes, who laid it over the back of a chair and started to pat him down, but Baranov appeared at the head of the broad stairs.

“That will do, Gregory” he said. The guard stepped back. “Come, Arkasha” Baranov called down, his voice soft and congenial. Kurshin went up the stairs and at the top Baranov embraced him, holding him tightly for a long moment or two before kissing him. Then arm in arm they went down the corridor and into a study, a big fire burning in the fireplace across from a comfortable grouping of heavy chairs and couches. The room was book-lined and pleasantly warm. “Cognac or vodka”

Baranov asked. “Vodka” Kurshin replied. Baranov waved him to a seat while he poured their drinks. “It is too bad about Germany, but we are not finished yet” He turned, smiling. “Unless of course you mean to give up and return to Moscow, or perhaps shoot me to death with that little ankle gun of yours” Kurshin was startled, but he didn’t allow it to show. Baranov laughed as he came across the room and handed him his drink. “Didn’t I tell you once, Arkasha, to trust in me? I have friends everywhere. How else do you think I could get out of Moscow unobserved?

You simply cannot believe the pressures and restrictions placed on the shoulders of the director of KGB” He laughed again. “But the job has its compensations, and so will you, as you shall soon see. I I “Comrade”

Kurshin asked, confused. He felt as if he were sitting next to a high-tension wire. The slightest wrong move on his part and he would be dead. “You are going to kill McGarvey for me-and for yourself as well, I suspect-and afterward you are going to strike En Gedi, only this time your method will be so spectacular, so completely unexpected, that they will be talking about you for many years to come. With respect, Arkasha.

And fear.

At first Orraine Bborf wanted nothing to do with McGarvey. As she said, he could have been anyone with some inside knowledge. Even Mossad trying to trick her into revealing the extent of her own information. “If I were a Mossad agent, it would have been an extraordinary admission on my part, telling you about En Gedi” he’d said. “If it’s true she’d countered. “That’s what I’m here to find out”

They had left the cocktail lounge early, and Megarvey had gone up to his room where he cleaned up and changed clothes. A few minutes before nine he went up to her seventh-floor room and knocked on the door.

“I want to tell you one thing” she said, letting him in. “I am no spy”

“Neither am I.” McGarvey said and he motioned for her to keep silent.

For a moment or two she had no idea what he was trying to tell her as he gestured at the ceiling, the drapes, the television set, and the telephone, but then she caught it. “The room is probably bugged” he mouthed the words. She nodded her understanding. “Are you ready for dinner” he asked out loud. She was dressed in a simple dark skirt and white silk blouse, sandals on her feet, and only a slight amount of makeup to accent her high cheekbones and wide eyes. She looked freshly scrubbed, almost but not quite innocent. She nodded a little uncertainly. “Here in the hotel” she asked. “I thought we’d go for a walk first. It’s a nice evening. Afterward you can buy, last time in San Francisco it was my treat, remember” She shot him an angry look, but got her purse. They picked up their tail as they crossed the lobby to the front doors, and outside they walked across the broad driveway and headed back into the city, the night pleasantly cool with a nice breeze from the sea. “Did you call the general” McGarvey asked when they were well away from the hotel. Traffic was still fairly heavy. The city smelled of car exhaust and something else, something almost exotic. “No.

I didn’t think it was too smart under the circumstances”

“They’re probably going to kick both of us out of the country by morning McGarvey said. He didn’t bother turning around to see if their tail had followed them from the hotel. He knew the man had.

Instead, he kept his eye on the passing cars and trucks, because he had even less doubt that he had been made from the moment he’d shown up at the hotel. The Mossad would be frantically trying to figure out what the hell he was doing here.

Lorraine bridled. “I’ll be damned if I’ll let them” she snapped. “I’m still an NPT representative, and there are still questions about the incident for which I’ve received no satisfactory answers. “This is their country, Dr. Abbott” he said. “And they consider themselves at war. U they want you to leave Israel you’ll have to go” He looked closely at her. She was angry, but he could see just a little fear and uncertainty tinged in her eyes. Trotter had told him that she’d done a little work for the Company. But it had mainly been of the variety of keeping an open eye and reporting what she saw. “If and when they ask you to leave, I want you to go without an argument. She stopped short and faced him.

“Who the hell do you think you are” she demanded. “At this point, someone who is trying to save your life, Dr. Abbott” he said firmly.

She was taken aback. Her mouth opened. “There have already been half a dozen lives lost” he told her. “And if you get in the way they won’t hesitate to pull the trigger, no matter who you represent … or how pretty YOU are. II. This last stung. “Goddamnit she started to protest angrily, but McGarvey took her arm forcefully and they continued down the street.

“Now, just what is it I’m supposed to be looking for out at En Gedi” he asked. “Airvents” she said after a moment. “And the equipment for a laminar airflow installation. If they’re storing weapons out there, they’ll probably be deep underground” She looked at him. “They’ll shoot you”

“I’ll take my chances”

“You’re crazy if you think you can just sneak in and look around. “It’s called a finesse” McGarvey said. “Now let’s get to a very public restaurant. You and I are going to have a loud argument.

McGarvey pulled the small dark blue Fiat he had stolen from a side street in Tel Aviv to the side of the road and doused the lights.

Below in the valley about two miles away was the En Gedi Nuclear Research Station, lit up like a small town along the shore of the Dead Sea. A faint wisp of steam came from the one small cooling tower. Even from this distance he could see some activity within the compound. If the weapons were stockpiled down there, the Israelis would have been fighting a difficult battle from day one. If they guarded the place too heavily, it would call attention to the fact that something more than research was going on. If they were too lax, it would invite penetration. Lorraine had put on a convincing performance, raising her voice so loudly that everyone in the restaurant had stopped and looked at them. She had jumped up and started to leave, but he managed to grab her arm. Immediately she whirled around and slapped him in the face.

“You sonofabitch” she shouted, and she stomped off. McGarvey threw down enough money for their bill and hurried out after her, but she was already halfway down the street. “Then go, bitch” he shouted, and he turned and stormed off in the opposite direction. In the first sixty seconds the Mossad team who had been watching them was confused. This wasn’t what they expected at all. McGarvey had been easily able to shake the one man who’d split off to follow him, had doubled back to an area of apartment buildings, finding the Fiat, and headed out of the city.

His cheek still stung, and he reached up to rub it, a faint smile coming to his lips. He had told her to go directly back to the hotel and start packing without a word to anyone. He hoped that she had done just that.

He had been told a long time ago that if getting in the back door was impossible, you could always try the front door. The trick was in coming up with the key. Trotter had wanted him to confirm the existence of the weapons stockpile here. Going through the back door could get him killed, so he’d been provided with a key. It had come with his weapon in the diplomatic pouch. He pulled the plastic NPF Inspection Service badge out of his pocket, clipped it to his lapel, and switched on the headlights. He pulled away from the side of the road and headed down into the valley. For most of the way he drove slowly but steadily, keeping the car in a straight line. It was getting late, nearly midnight, and there was no other traffic on the road. At the bottom the highway curved south. A broad road led east for two hundred yards to the research facility’s main gate. Anything that moved on the highway in the vicinity of the entrance road would be carefully monitored. Guard towers rose every three hundred yards or so from the inner fence. As he neared the access road, McGarvey sped up a little, then stabbed on his brakes as he swung the car left, nearly running it off the highway. When he finally got the car straightened out, he turned onto the entrance road and shakily drove toward the main gate, swerving from side to side, alternately hitting his brake and the accelerator. Two men came out of the gatehouse and watched him. A second later one of them hurried back inside while the other stepped around the barrier and started to wave his arms. McGarvey slumped over the wheel at the last moment and let the car roll slowly the last few yards, crashing it gently into the fence, his head bouncing off the wheel and then lying on the horn. Someone was shouting something, and a moment later the car door was yanked open and he was pulled away from the steering wheel. He let his eyes flutter.

“Heart..” he stammered. “It’s my … heart. Already there were four or five armed guards surrounding the car and others coming from the compound on the run.

Hands were fumbling at the plastic badge on his lapel. Mcgarvey opened his eyes and looked up into the concerned face of a young soldier.

“Please help me” he whispered. “My heart “It’s all right, take it easy now” the soldier said. He shouted something in Hebrew over his shoulder.

McGarvey thought he caught the English letters NPT, and the guard turned back to him. “An ambulance is coming. Just take it easy. Do you have any medicine with you” No … nothing” McGarvey whispered, trying to grab for the young man’s tunic. “Help me “Easy now” the soldier said. He took McGarvey’s NPT badge and handed it out to one of the other soldiers, who said something in Hebrew. Within ninety seconds the ambulance, siren blaring and blue lights flashing, came from within the facility, eased through the gate, and pulled up alongside McGarvey’s car. “I don’t want to die” McGarvey whispered. “You’ll be okay now” the soldier said. “Just lie back and relax” The soldier moved aside as two ambulance attendants rushed over. One of them opened McGarvey’s shirt and listened to his chest with a stethoscope. “It hurts” McGarvey whispered. “You got chest pains” the attendant asked. “Your heart sounds good”

“Christ, it hurts … hard to breathe”

“Let’s get him to the clinic” the attendant shouted. With the help of the other attendant and one of the soldiers, they eased Mcgarvey out of the car, placed him on the gurney, and started to strap him down, but he struggled up against them. “No … God no … “All right, no straps” the attendant said, and they rolled him over to the ambulance and put him inside. One of them got in the back and the other hurried around front and climbed in behind the wheel. As they started to move, the attendant placed a blood pressure cuff on McGarvey’s left arm. McGarvey could see out the windows as they passed through the inner gate. He reached around to the small of his back, grabbed his gun, and, pushing the attendant back, sat up, bringing his pistol out. “I don’t want to kill you” he said.

The ambulance attendant stared openmouthed in stunned disbelief as McGarvey yanked off the blood pressure cuff and swung his legs over the side of the gurney. “If you cooperate with me, I promise that no one will get hurt ” The driver had no idea yet that anything was wrong. The attendant with McGarvey hadn’t uttered a sound. “Take off your uniform”

McGarvey said urgently. Now. I I The attendant hurriedly began unbuttoning his white tunic as McGarvey twisted around, opened the door to the cab, and placed the barrel of his pistol at the base of the driver’s head. He could see through the windshield that they were approaching the dispensary. At the restaurant, Lorraine had drawn him a quick sketch map of the facility. The air vents and airflow equipment, if they existed, would most likely be located somewhere in the vicinity of the secondary power generation building. She had vaguely remembered something from one of her early inspection tours. There would be procedures, she’d been told, should the reactor building itself ever have to be sealed. The people inside would need an emergency air supply.

“There has been an accident in the air vent building” McGarvey said softly. The driver jerked as if he had been shot. He started to turn around but McGarvey jammed the gun harder against his neck. “I don’t want to kill you or your partner, but I will unless you cooperate with me completely. Do you understand” The driver was swallowing hard, but he nodded. The attendant with McGarvey had the tunic off and was removing his trousers. “Slow it down and turn here”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” the driver stuttered. “What air vent building? I don’t..”

“I think you do” McGarvey said. “It will be a big building near the power generators”

“It’s G-3 between the reactor building and the cooling tower” the attendant in back said. “For God’s sake, do as he says, Misha” The driver had slowed down. They were barely twenty yards from the back of the dispensary. He said something in Hebrew. McGarvey cocked the Walther’s hammer. “Now” he demanded. “Yes, yes, I’m doing it” the driver cried, and he slowed even further as he hauled the ambulance around in a tight circle. “Cut the siren” McGarvey ordered. The driver did as he was told. “Nice and easy now. And I don’t want you to stop for anything, anything whatsoever, do you understand this”

“Yes, sir” McGarvey turned back to the other attendant who was now sitting in his shorts and boots. “I want some surgical tape and a packet of gauze” he said. As the attendant was rummaging in the ambulance’s supplies, McGarvey pulled off his jacket and donned the white tunic, buttoning it up over his shirt, while keeping an eye on the driver. It wouldn’t take very long now for security to realize that something was wrong and issue an all-out alert. The attendant’s trousers were a little small, but they were baggy so he was able to pull them on over his own trousers. He got up from the gurney and made the attendant take his place, lying face up. “We’re coming up on it now” the driver called back. “Fifty meters”

“Can you drive inside the building”

“I don’t know”

“Try” McGarvey said.

He turned back to the other attendant and quickly strapped him down to the gurney, stuffing a wad of gauze into the man’s mouth, and then taping more gauze over his face as if he had been severely injured. The ambulance was beginning to slow down again. He grabbed a stethoscope, looped it around his neck, and then crawled forward into the seat next to the driver. The man was highly agitated, his eyes bulging practically out of their sockets with fear. So far the alarm had not sounded. But it wouldn’t be much longer now. They were approaching a large, three-story metal building, two squat stacks rising five feet above the flat roofline. There were no windows, but on the front and side walls were large service doors, both of them closed, flanked by smaller doors. The building could have housed almost anything and was probably used as a warehouse for parts and equipment even if it also housed the laminar airflow equipment that Lorraine Abbott had described for him. “They would have to hide it out in the open so that no one from the NPF Inspection Service would know it for what it was” she’d said bitterly.

“But you had no reason to be suspicious” She smiled wanly. “You forget, that’s our job. But I guess we were blinded by the fact that Israel was operating a research reactor that we all thought was a fuel breeder” She shook her head. “Which it is, of course. But we never thought to look for evidence of a weapons stockpile”

“That’s what I’ll try to find out” he said. “Goddamnit, they’ll shoot you” she insisted again. He had grinned. “If they do, it’ll prove that whatever they’re trying to hide is damned important”

“You’re crazy”

“I’ve got a job to do” he’d said. “Pull up at the front service door”

McGarvey told the driver. “And hit your siren” The driver nervously swung the ambulance around and stopped in front of the door. He flipped the switch for the siren, the bellowing whoops echoing and reechoing off the buildings. A man in battle fatigues came out of one of the smaller doors. “We have an emergency” McGarvey instructed the driver, jamming the barrel of his gun into the man’s side. The driver hung out the open window and said something in Hebrew. The soldier, who was armed, shouted something back. McGarvey jammed the pistol harder into the driver’s side and the man shouted something else. A moment later the soldier went back into the building, and the big service door began to open. “What did he say”

“He said he knows of no emergency here. But he will admit us, only just within the loading area. He has to get his sergeant. “All right, listen to me now” McGarvey said. “We’re going to drive right through the loading area, all the way to the back of the building if we can get that far”

“They’ll open fire..”

“Not at an ambulance. Besides, my gun is a hell of a lot closer to you than theirs. Do you understand me” The young driver was torn between two choices, both of which frightened him half out of his mind. But what McGarvey said was true. He nodded. When the door was three-quarters open the soldier beckoned for them to drive through. “Now” McGarvey said.

The driver jammed his foot to the floor and the ambulance shot forward past the startled soldier into the cavernous building. Big lights hung from the ceiling illuminating the front third of the interior which was obviously used as a storage area. Tall crates were stacked, in some cases nearly up to the rafters, on long pallets that formed rows and lanes. To the left they passed four jeeps and two canvas-covered trucks, backed up against the wall, and then the lane swung sharply right, deeper into the bowels of the building, darkness closing around them.

McGarvey reached over and shut off the ambulance’s siren, and suddenly he could hear a loud Klaxon blaring. Within the building. The alarm had definitely been raised. They sped past what appeared to McGarvey to be electrical distribution cabinets, something Lorraine had said he might see, and then the lane suddenly turned left again, the driver nearly missing his turn. The ambulance skidded, slamming sideways into one of the cabinets with a huge shower of sparks, before the driver regained control. The lane immediately opened into a broad, dimly lit area where what appeared to be a series of wide air vents jutted from the concrete floor. “Bingo” McGarvey said. Two soldiers in battle fatigues came out of the shadows in a dead run, their Uzi submachine guns unslung. The driver slammed on the brakes, hauling the ambulance around to the right, sending it into another skid at the same moment the soldiers opened fire.

“Down” McGarvey shouted, pulling the terrified young driver below the level of the windshield that erupted in a shower of glass. The ambulance shuddered to a complete stop against one of the air vents, knocking it askew. McGarvey shoved open his door and leapt out, keeping low as he raced around the half-crumpled vent into the darkness. “Don’t shoot!

Don’t shoot” he shouted as he ran. A burst of automatic weapons fire ricocheted off the concrete floor ten feet behind him. McGarvey pulled up behind another of the air vents, yanked open the screen that covered the intake, and stuck his head inside. The darkness was unfathomable.

But he could hear machinery running, and he could definitely feel that the vent was drawing air down into the shaft, not the other way around.

The warehouse was suddenly in silence as the Klaxon was cut off. To the left he heard someone running, and then he stopped. Someone shouted something in Hebrew, and another man farther away answered. More soldiers were pounding in from the front of the building. McGarvey figured he had less than a half a minute remaining. He had found most of what he had come looking for. But not all of it. If the weapons are stockpiled underground, they will be very deep. Perhaps two hundred feet or more, Lorraine Abbott had told him. He ejected a round from his Walther, and then stuffing the gun back in his pocket, he dropped the bullet down into the air shaft, cocking an ear to listen for when it hit bottom, counting the seconds silently. Five seconds later he heard the faint clatter as the bullet hit bottom. Three hundred feet, give or take, he calculated. Deep. Deep enough for a weapons stockpile. Now was the time to save his own life. He turned away in time to see the stock of an Uzi swinging in a tight arc toward him but not in time to protect his head as it connected with a sickening crunch and he went down.

It was just six in the evening when trotter decided there was little else he could accomplish from his office. So far they’d heard nothing from McGarvey, but then he hadn’t expected much of anything this soon. Turning off the light in his third-floor office he got his briefcase and stepped outside. His secretary had left a half hour earlier and the corridors were already settling down for the night shift. Three doors down, he punched in a five-digit access code which admitted him into the Operations Center. There the OD monitored all incoming calls and messages for operations that were currently on the critical list. It was his job to make a preliminary evaluation and then contact the proper section if an immediate follow-up was needed.

Trotter had cut his teeth in this section in the early days and still maintained an interest in the case officers who were assigned OD duty.

He made it a point to stop in on a regular basis to talk with them, get to know them on a personal basis. Besides, he was worried about McGarvey. Not so much for the man’s physical safety, he’d shown that he was capable of taking care of himself, but because of the kinds of hell McGarvey always seemed to leave in his wake. This time they were dealing with a sensitive ally. Tom Dunbar, the early shift OD, looked up from his console when Trotter came in. He was a no-nonsense Harvard graduate who at the age of thirty had already shown his mettle and finesse in two important foreign postings. He would be rotated to the Russian Desk within the next few months preparatory to an assignment in Moscow. The big one. “Slumming tonight, John” he asked. “I’m on my way home. Maybe put on a steak, have a couple of beers” Trotter said. He’d lived alone in a big house across the river since his wife had died several years ago. In actuality he intended to have a glass of wine and perhaps a sandwich and then go to bed. Sure, rub it in. I’m stuck here until midnight, and I’ve got to be back first thing in the morning for a physical”

“No rest for the wicked” Trotter quipped. “Anything yet on Standhope”

STANDHOPE was the computer-generated operational name for McGarvey’s assignment to Israel. But it was in the blind. Only a very few people within the Agency actually knew the details. This number did not extend to the OD, who merely worked from a short list. If anything at all came in he had a list of four people to call: the general, the Agency’s general counsel, the DDO, and of course Trotter. “Nothing in the last half hour” Dunbar said. “Was there anything from last night that I should know about” Trotter shook his head. “Probably not. It’s just getting started”

“Your baby”

“In a manner of speaking. Anyway, I’ll be home if any thing does come up. I’d appreciate a call no matter what”

“Sure thing” Dunbar said. “Enjoy your steak”

“Thanks, I will” Trotter said, and he left, taking the elevator down to the ground floor, turning in his security badge with the guards at the door and heading across the parking lot to his car. It was always like this, he thought, during the first critical hours of an operation. This time, however, it was worse because not only were they spying on a friendly nation, they were using a free lance to do it. The general had never really answered his direct question of what the Agency’s position would be if the operation were to fall apart. “We’ll see” was the best he’d been able to get. He had just reached his car when someone came running across the parking lot from the main entrance. “Mr. Trotter.

Hold up, sir” the man called out. He was one of the security people from the front desk. Trotter automatically reached up to his lapel to see if he had forgotten to turn in his badge, but he remembered that he had.

“It’s the general, sir” the guard puffed. “He wants you upstairs on the double” something clutched at Trotter’s gut, and he hurried back across the parking lot.

“I just received a call from Lorraine Abbott” the DCI said when Trotter walked in. Howard Ryan, the Agency’s general counsel, was seated across the desk from Murphy. “Has McGarvey made contact with her” Trotter asked. The DCI motioned him to a seat next to Ryan. “Yes, and she sounded plenty upset”

“It’s just two in the morning over there, what’s happened”

“Possible big trouble for us” Ryan answered. “Evidently he’s on his way out to En Gedi” the general said. “Dr. Abbott told me that he arranged a little show for their Mossad tails and managed to break free.

It sounded like Kirk. “And she hasn’t heard from him since”

“That’s right” the general said. “He left several hours ago, and she thinks there is a very good possibility that he was arrested or even shot”

“Surely she wasn’t calling from a hotel phone”

“No. A public phone on the street. They might come up with the number, but they won’t get any further than that”

“Well, we gave him the assignment” Trotter said. “It’s going to be up to us to get him out of there if he is in trouble” The general’s eyes narrowed. He was in one of his dangerous moods. “You explain it to him, Howard”

“We’re going to have to deny him if he was actually arrested while on military property” the counsel said. “Goddamnit Trotter started, but Murphy held him off. “He’s armed, I assume” Ryan said. “We sent it over in the diplomatic bag. But remember what he did for us, and the Israelis, in Germany. Let’s just not forget that now. And we did send him on th’ after all. We owe him, sir” is assignment, “What do you suggest” the general asked coolly.

“You’re personal friends with Isser Shamir. Call him” And tell him what”

“That a mistake has been made and we’d like our man back, in one piece”

“He’ll naturally ask what McGarvey was doing at En Gedi”

“Lie to him” Trotter said with a straight face. The DCI and Ryan exchanged glances. “Short of that, John. Let’s say that there was some compelling reason that made such a call impossible. Then what” Trotter almost asked what could be so compelling, but he held the question in check. “Short of that, I would suggest that we take this over to the President. Immediately this evening. He can call the PM. They owe us.

They started spying on us first” The general had been hunched forward over his desk, his shirtsleeves rolled up, exposing his thick forearms.

He leaned back now, settling his bulk into the big leather chair. He nodded. “Let’s say we get him out of there, John. What’s next”

“Knowing McGarvey, if he actually got into the facility, he will have found out what we asked him to find for us. If it’s positive, if he can confirm the existence of their weapons stockpile, then we go ahead with our original plan. It’s a safe bet that Baranov won’t back off” Again the general and Ryan exchanged glances. “You’re talking about bait here, aren’t you” Ryan said softly. It was the same thing McGarvey had said.

And it was true, of course. But it was the business. “I’m talking about using a resource to its best advantage” he said without blinking. The DCI nodded again. “If he was identified in Germany, they’ll pull out all the stops to get him”

“Yes, sir” Again the DCI glanced at Ryan. “I’ll see what can be done.

But maybe we’ve made a mistake. Maybe we should have told the Israelis that the Pershing had been targeted on En Ciedi”

“It would have tipped our hand” Ryan said. “Springing McGarvey isn’t going to do us, or him, much good either”

Lorraine Abbott sat in her darkened hotel room chain-smoking cigarettes and looking out across the dark Mediterranean. Although it was a clear night the horizon was an indistinct blackness. Way out at sea she thought she could see the lights of some slow-moving ship, but then it disappeared, her night vision destroyed as she lit another cigarette. For the tenth time she told herself that she had done the right thing by telephoning Murphy on the special number he had given her more than three years ago. He had sounded noncommittal-of course, it was an open line-but he had told her to return immediately to her hotel and sit tight. He would look into things and get back to her. California just now seemed like a long way off. Her first mistake had been sticking it out here in Tel Aviv. She had won points with Mark O’Sheay, the NPT Inspection Service operations director, but she hadn’t accomplished a thing by remaining. Her second mistake had been listening to McGarvey.

He was an arrogant, conceited, macho sonofabitch. That had been her first impression, and nothing that had happened since had changed her mind. And he was a spy. Not her variety, not simply an eavesdropper or an observer, but a legitimate gun-carrying spy. A James Bond in Rambo warpaint. It made her sick to think that she had gone along with him.

Not only had he seriously jeopardized her position here in Isra el, it was possible that she would be asked to resign from her NPT position, which, though it wasn’t crucial to her career, provided her with … what? She turned that thought over in her mind. Burnout, her department head called it. “You can jaunt off all over the world from time to time.

It’s better than reading science fiction. Recharges your batteries”

What if they had shot him, the same thought that had driven her to call the general invaded her consciousness again, and her hand shook as she stubbed out the cigarette in the overflowing ashtray. Someone was at the door. She thought she heard a key grating in the lock. She turned around at the same moment the door burst open, snapping the chain, and an instant later the room lights came on. Two men, guns drawn, were standing there. Lorraine had raised a hand to her mouth in shock, but she found that she couldn’t do anything else, not even cry for help.

Two other men crowded into the room, one of them checking the bathroom, and the other looking in the closet, the chest of drawers, and even under the bed. “Dr. Lorraine Abbott” one of the gunmen asked in English.

She nodded, finally finding her voice. “Who are you”

“Military Intelligence, Doctor” the gunman said. “You are under arrest.

” Arrest? My God, on what charge”

“Espionage.

A pale blue Volkswagen camper van was parked at the edge of the beach across the street from the Uri Dan Hotel. Two young clerks from the Hungarian Embassy were in the front, making out, his hand beneath her sweater, cupping a breast. In the back, Arkady Kurshin was watching the hotel’s front entrance through binoculars. McGarvey was currently away from the hotel. He’d been seen leaving earlier in the company of a so far unidentified blond woman. The woman had returned soon afterward, had left once, and had come back again. “Who is she” he’d asked the man seated next to him. “I don’t know yet” Aleksei Piotrovsky, KGB’s number-two man in Israel, said. “But I do know those pricks who came up in that gray Mercedes”

“Mossad”

“No, AMAN. The question is, what the hell are they doing here at this hour of the morning” It could be because of McGarvey, Kurshin thought.

The moment they’d been informed that he was here in Tel Aviv, he had flown directly from his hotel in Rome where he’d been waiting for further word from Baranov. “There can only be one reason for him to be in Israel at this point” Baranov had explained. “It’s because of the Pershing. They know we were going after En Gedi. He’s come to find out for himself”

“Either that or tell the Israelis”

“I don’t think so” Baranov had replied. “But it gives you the easy opportunity to take him out. Don’t miss”

“Here they come” Piotrovsky said. Kurshin raised his binoculars in time to see the four AMAN plainclothes officers emerge from the hotel. They had brought the blond woman with them, her hands held curiously stiff behind her back. It took him several seconds to realize that she was handcuffed. They had arrested her. He lowered the binoculars again. What had they stumbled across here? And where was McGarvey? “I want to know who that woman is, within the hour” he said. Piotrovsky glanced over at him and swallowed.

This was one man, he thought, who was to be placated at all costs. “Yes, Comrade” he said.

Roland Murphy had been in plenty of tough spots in his life, but he’d never been known to walk away from a fight, or hang his head in submission no matter how he had conducted the battle. This was the day, however, when the shit was very likely to hit the fan. He had taken a calculated risk, and it was about to come back and bite him. It was just seven-thirty. The president had agreed to see him in his study.

He rose from behind his desk when Murphy came in. He was a large man, who like the general preferred rolled-up shirtsleeves and loosened ties and had some years ago served a brief term as director of the CIA. He was a no-nonsense man. “Harry S told his people that the buck stopped at his desk. I tell mine that this is where the bullshit stops”

“We have a developing problem on our hands, Mr. President, that could turn into something very political”

“You wouldn’t be here at this hour of the evening if it wasn’t serious, General” the president said wryly. “Coffee”

“I’d prefer something a little stronger this time” The president’s thick eyebrows rose. “This is serious” he said. He poured them both a good measure of Jack Daniel’s. Murphy knocked his back, set the glass down, and then extracted a group of satellite reconnaissance photographs from his briefcase and laid them out on the desk. The president set his whiskey aside, picked up a large magnifying glass, and hunched over the photographs, studying each one carefully. “En Gedi” he asked. Yes, sir.

These were taken shortly after midnight, local time. They showed up on my desk an hour ago”

“They’re having another alert over there”

“Someone may have been injured. That’s an ambulance at the main gate in the first frames. It headed for the dispensary, but then made a turn and went back across the facility, entering what we have been identifying to this point as a warehouse”

“To this point” the president asked. “We now believe that the building may contain something else. Something that might point to another purpose for the facility’s existence”

“Namely as a weapons depot”

“We now believe that is very likely”

“The Russians know about it, as well, otherwise they wouldn’t have pulled that jackass missile stunt” the president said, shaking his head.

“You know, General, I’ve been behind this desk for one hundred sixty-three days, but it only took half that long for me to lose my capacity for surprise” He glanced down at the photographs. “This ‘ is no coincidence.

“No, sir, it is not” Murphy said. “But I’m afraid I’ve made a mistake that could cost us”

“Welcome to the club” the president said not unkindly. “What sort of a mess have we gotten ourselves into this time”

Murphy extracted a thin, buff-colored file folder from his briefcase. It was stamped top and bottom Top Secret, a pair of orange stripes diagonally across the cover, beneath which was stamped the legend: STANDHOPE. He passed it across to the president, who made no immediate move to open it. “We believe that the previous En Gedi incident may have involved a penetration of the facility by the Russians, which led them to hijack the Pershing”

“Yes, we’ve gone over that”

“We also have very good reason to believe that the Russians have a knowledgeable source within the Pentagon. Someone who would have had the data about the Pershing’s Radar Area Guidance system”

“The one you are calling Feliks”

“Yes, sir” Murphy said, girding himself. “But the impetus for our investigation is and always has been whether or not the Israelis are in actuality maintaining a stockpile of battleready nuclear weapons. At En Gedi, or anywhere else for that matter”

“Your rationale for believing that Valentin Baranov is personally involved”

“Yes, Mr. President”

“He brought down your predecessor. Is this a vendetta”

“No, Mr. President, it certainly is not” Murphy said, careful to keep his voice as inflectionless as possible, letting the meaning of his words convey his anger. “Sorry, Roland” the president said. “But get on with it”

“We need to know what is going on at En Gedi. “You have sent someone there” the president asked sharply. “And you think he has been arrested”

He glanced again at the photographs.

“It’s most likely that he has been arrested, yes, Mr. President. The president stared long and hard at him. But when Murphy started to say something, the president shook his head. “Wait” He put on his glasses, opened the STANDHOPE file, and began reading. It took him less than five minutes; like Jack Kennedy, he was a speed reader. When he looked up and took off his glasses, there was an angry set to his mouth. “Yes, General” he said. “You definitely have made a mistake. I would never have authorized this”

“Then we would have been stopped in our tracks. Baranov is almost certainly going to try again” Murphy had decided that no matter what happened he was not going to back down. Presidents came and went, the problems remained. If he wanted the resignation of his DCI, he would have it, but Murphy was not going to cower. “I could have your ass for this” the president said coldly. “But I’m probably just as guilty. I should have telephoned Peres and told him about the Pershing. So you see, General, you are not the only one to make a mistake” No answer was expected. “What do we do about it, Roland”

“I need your authority to call Isser Shamir and tell him what we know”

Murphy said. “The timing is off, he’ll know that”

“I’ll lie. We weren’t certain until this moment”

“You want him to release McGarvey, a lone ranger who is in possession of Israel’s most vital state secret”

“Yes, sir”

“Why should he do that for us”

“Because of Baranov’s continued threat.

We mean to set McGarvey after Feliks with the hope that it will force Baranov’s hand and pull Arkady Kurshin out of hiding. At the very least it may delay another strike against En Gedi, possibly giving the Israelis enough time to move their weapons”

“You’ll invite the Mossad to participate in this investigation” the president asked.

“Naturally” Murphy said, although until this moment the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “We have our sensitive secrets as well, Roland” the president said with a dangerous edge to his voice. “It will be a tightly controlled operation” The president closed the STANDHOPE file and sat back in his chair. He finished his drink. “McGarvey was involved with Baranov the last time, wasn’t he”

“Yes, sir”

“Baranov would naturally have a grudge against him” Murphy nodded. “If the Russians succeed this time the entire Middle East could fall. At the very least the entire region would become embroiled in an all-out war”

the president gathered up the photographs and STANDHOPE file and handed them back to Murphy. “You have my authorization, Roland. Make your call to Shamir. Let’s just hope that this doesn’t blow up too badly, because a lot of people will start getting killed”

Isser Shamir was an extremely early riser. Murphy knew that for a fact. The two of them went way back together, and when they’d both been promoted to head their respective secret intelligence services, they had continued their warm relationship. Shamir had even been Murphy’s house guest on a visit to Washington a few years ago. He was up every morning before five, making his own tea and then taking a long walk. Even so, Murphy held off calling until well after ten o’clock, making it after six in the morning in Tel Aviv. He wanted Shamir to be well rested and wide awake. He telephoned Shamir’s blind number. The director of the Mossad answered on the first ring, and Murphy would forever be left with the impression that the man had been waiting for the call. “Do you know who this is” Murphy asked.

“Yes” Shamir answered. “Let’s go over” In this instance, the Israelis were using American-made telephone encryption equipment, as they had begun to do nearly ten years ago, like the secret services of a half-dozen other allies. “Good morning, Isser” Murphy said when the switch had been made. “Can you hear me all right”

“Yes, just fine, General. How is the weather in Washington”

“It’s warming up” Shamir chuckled. “Here as well” There was no doubt in either man’s mind that they were speaking about the same subject, and it wasn’t the weather. “There has been another incident at En Gedi” Murphy said. “We were hoping for cloud cover, but then we cannot have everything. “I’d like to propose a trade” Murphy said, getting right to it. “Yes, I am listening”

“I will give you some information, and then you will give me something of equal importance” At this point there was no ironclad guarantee that McGarvey had been arrested, or, if he had that he was still alive. But all the signs pointed toward something happening out there at the same time Lorraine Abbott had said he was there. If there was one thing Murphy did not believe in, it was coincidences. “We always appreciate anything that you can do for us” Shamir said noncommittally. “You were aware, of course, of our recent troubles in West Germany involving a nuclear-armed Pershing missile. “Of course”

“We’ve just learned that the rocket had been reprogrammed. Its target, which it would have almost certainly reached had it actually been launched, was En Gedi”

“I see” Shamir said, and even in those two words Murphy could hear the man’s surprise.

“The man who stopped the launch, at great risk to his life, was one of our people”

“A true hero”

“His name is Kirk Megarvey. And at this moment he is there in Israel”

“Yes, we know this”

“We need him back in Washington, Isser”

“What is he doing here, General” Shamir asked pointedly. It was time now, Murphy thought. To every operation came moments of truth, sometimes so stunning they seemed, larger than life. “We know, Isser. He was sent to confirm “To spy on Israel, is that what you are telling me? Is that what you meant to say? Is that exactly your meaning now”

“Let’s stop screwing around” Murphy snapped. “Here is the deal”

“I’m listening”

“The Russians broke in out there and almost certainly know what’s going on. It’s the only reason they would have gone to such extraordinary lengths, to steal a Pershing and reprogram it. The operation is, we believe, being handled by Valentin Baranov, and he won’t stop, you know this. We also believe that he has an agent highly placed within the Pentagon. We would like McGarvey back here to find him. We would be willing, under the circumstances, to make this a joint operation. It would be to both our interests” The line was silent. “Do I make myself clear”

“Perfectly, General” Shamir said distantly. “I will have to take this up with my … superiors. I assume you have or will be doing the same”

“The president is waiting for a call from Mr. Peres, if it comes to that. But I believe we can handle this among ourselves”

“I will see what can be done” Shamir said. “But there will be at least one condition that we will insist upon. The NPT must be kept out of this. Completely”

“I don’t understand “Dr. Abbott was arrested earlier this morning by AMAN on a charge of espionage”

“Oh, Jesus Christ” Murphy swore softly. “If you say so” Shamir said.

The room was large, the bare walls and ceiling whitewashed, the flours tiled so that sounds seemed sharp and angular. McGarvey sat in a chair in the middle of the room. His five interrogators sat behind or perched on the edge of a long table, facing him. It was dawn finally and his head was splitting. He suspected they were in a Mossad safehouse somewhere in or near Tel Aviv. From time to time he could hear the sounds of traffic, and once he thought he might have heard a ship’s whistle from a long way off. Lev Potok got up and came over to McGarvey.

He had been the toughest of the interrogators, his face was now screwed up in a grimace of disgust. “You are an assassin, McGarvey, this much we know for certain. What we would like to know is who you planned on killing out there”

“No one” McGarvey said softly, relaxing, saving his strength. By now Lorraine Abbott would have realized that something had gone wrong and would have called the general. “Then what were you doing with an NPT identification badge and a gun? Can you tell me this”

“Not yet” McGarvey replied, giving the same answer he’d given all night.

It would be up to the Agency to decide what to tell the Israelis.

He had gotten the information they’d wanted. “Not yet” Potok said. “It is a bullshit answer. What does this mean”

“You’ll find out in due course” Potok suddenly swung around and slapped McGarvey in the face with his open hand, the blow rocking McGarvey backward, nearly tipping the chair over” Talk to me, you bastard, or you’ll never leave this room alive” Potok shouted. McGarvey shook his head to clear the fuzziness. He reached up with his right hand and touched his upper lip. His fingers came away bloody. “I’ll tell you this much” he said. “If you do that again, you won’t leave this room alive”

Potok wanted to come after him, McGarvey could see that much in his eyes. But there was something else there as well, and it wasn’t fear.

“Lev” one of the men at the table said gently. Potok turned away and went back to the table, where he hesitated for a moment, but then turned around again to face McGarvey. He leaned against the table.

We know quite a bit about you, McGarvey” the Israeli said, calm again for the moment. “For instance, we know that you once worked for the CIA, and that you were, until a couple of years ago, in retirement in Switzerland. What has happened since”

“I moved to Paris”

“Yes, and what were you doing in Germany just last week” McGarvey said nothing. Potok shook his head. “We have reason to suspect that the Pershing missile which you so valiantly disarmed was aimed at us. For that we thank you. We are not the enemy. “If you know or have guessed that much, then you know that I’m not the enemy either”

“Then why did you come to Israel, Mr. McGarvey? You came to spy, I think, and not to kill anyone. But why? Are you a free lance these days, or has the CIA rehired you”

“I can’t tell you that yet” Potok threw up his hands in disgust. “You are treading on exceedingly dangerous grounds with us. In Israel we shoot spies”

“We might have to start shooting yours then as well” McGarvey retorted.

It had been Israel’s big embarrassment that their operation to steal U.S. cruise missile plans had been discovered by the FBI. It had been called a “maverick” operation by Jerusalem, a statement that no one believed, but that everyone could live with. Potok was getting worked up again.

“Everybody out of the room” he ordered. The others looked up at him in surprise. “We can’t do that, Lev” one of them said. “That’s a direct order, Abraham; you know what’s at stake here. Out. All of you”

The man started to say something in Hebrew, but Potok cut him off. “Now”

he shouted. “All right” the man said, and he got up and left the room with the other three without a backward glance. When the door closed Potok managed a tight little smile. He reached over and shut off the tape recorder. “Now it is just you and I. McGarvey did not want to hurt the man who was only doing his job the best he knew how. His back was against the wall. Twice in barely a week Israel’s most important secret had been compromised. First by the Russians and now by the CIA. But McGarvey wasn’t going to simply sit back and take whatever the Mossad wanted to do to him. He tensed. “Tell me about your relationship with Dr. Abbott, are you fucking her” Potok asked, the question completely unexpected. “What are you talking about? “She was under surveillance.

When you and she pulled your little trick so that you could break out, she was arrested. Right now her main concern seems to be your well-being”

McGarvey was careful to show no reaction. Had she had the time to call the general? If not, it would be up to Trotter to realize that something had gone wrong and to blow the whistle. But that could take time. “She has nothing to do with this” he said. “Ah, your concern is equally touching. But the fact of the matter is that she does have something very much to do with this. Enough for our charge of espionage against her to stick in court. But I asked you a question. Are you fucking her”

“Up your ass”

Potok snatched up a pistol from the table and pointed it directly at McGarvey’s head. “One question. Yes or no”

“You will have a hard time justifying my death, Major Potok” McGarvey said, revealing for the first time that he knew who and what Potok was.

“You were shot trying to escape”

“No” McGarvey said. He folded his hands on his lap and crossed his legs. Potok cocked the pistol’s hammer, his aim never wavering. “How does it feel to have the tables reversed, assassin? No one will mourn your passing, I think” The door opened. Potok’s gaze shifted beyond McGarvey. Liebowitz said something in Hebrew, his tone definitely urgent. Potok seemed to waver. Liebowitz said something else. Slowly Potok’s gun hand came down. He uncocked the pistol, looked bleakly at McGarvey for several long seconds, and then left the room.

Potok sat in stunned-silence across the desk from Isser Shamir. What he had just been told confirmed their worst fears and suspicions. The Russians definitely knew about En Gedi and they were going to destroy the place at all costs. June thirtieth was the date.

“As I said before, Israel is in a delicate position” Shamir continued.

“We cannot bring diplomatic pressures to bear without admitting the truth”

“All the work … all the years, the security” Shamir shook his leonine head, his eyes sad. “Haven’t you learned by now that trying to hold a secret is more difficult than trying to hold water in your hands?

Ultimately impossible”

“Then the weapons must be moved”

“I agree. But this will take time, which you and Mr. McGarvey will provide for us” Potok sat forward. “What”

“The Russians apparently have a source within the Pentagon, someone the CIA has code-named Feliks. You and Mr. McGarvey are going to return to Washington to find this leak and plug it” Potok was shaking his head in disbelief. “I don’t understand “The information that the Russians needed to reprogram the Pershing missile to strike En Gedi came from this Pentagon source”

“Surely they won’t try to steal another missile” Potok argued. “Every American installation in the world will be watching for just such an attempt”

“Perhaps you are right, Lev, perhaps not. The real issue, now ever, is somewhat more complicated. Valentin Baranov has planned this strike.

Your Mr. McGarvey stopped him two years ago. Once he learns that Mcgarvey is again trying to interfere with one of his operations, the Russians will almost certainly go after him. “He will be a marked man”

“Yes, but a man not to be underestimated. Once the Russians are drawn out, it will be up to the two of you to stop them. “I’m to work with him, then”

“For him” Shamir corrected. “It is a strange world, isn’t it”

Kurshin could hardly believe his ears.

He was seated in the embassy’s basement communications room where he had come to find out about the American bitch, Lorraine Abbott, and now he was being told that she and McGarvey had left Israel. “You are sure” he asked. Yes, Comrade” Piotrovsky said. “I watched them board the flight for Paris” Why?

Kurshin asked himself. First McGarvey had disappeared. Then the woman had been arrested, and now the two of them were on their way to Paris.

It made no sense. “Can you get aboard that flight”

“No”

“Then we will have lost them” Kurshin screamed. “Pardon me, Comrade, but we do have resources in Paris. It should be a simple matter to trail them from there” The bastard was correct, of course. But Kurshin still could not get rid of the vision of McGarvey pulling the Pershing’s plugs, just as he might have unplugged a night light.

They were not going to Paris, though. It was just a way point for them.

Kurshin was almost one hundred percent convinced they were returning to Washington. “Make certain they do not go into Paris. They’ll probably be switching planes. For Washington. Do you understand”

“Yes, Comrade. “Once they have left French soil your job will be done”

Kurshin slammed down the telephone. Within twenty-four hours, forty-eight at the most, they would be dead. Both of them. He would see to it himself.

They’d switched planes at Paris’s Orly airport and as on the first leg of the trip, Lorraine Abbott maintained an uneasy silence.

They traveled first class, and crossing the Atlantic she managed to get a few hours’ sleep or at least pretended to. She was angry that she had been pulled into this situation against her will, and now it would probably mean that her career would be sidetracked. The moment they got home, she’d told him even before they’d left the ground at Lod, she would go directly up to the NPT Inspection Service’s office at the UN in New York, make her report, and then try her best to forget the ugly incident had ever occurred. The pilot switched on the 747’s No Smoking and Fasten Seatbelt signs, and McGarvey gently nudged her. Her eyes came open immediately, and she glared at him. “We’re coming in. Put on your seatbelt” McGarvey said. She glanced out the window before she did as he told her. He studied the back of her head for that moment. She had a right to be angry, he thought. He had placed her life, and certainly her career, in jeopardy. Even though she was an NPT field inspector whose job it was to find out such things, her knowledge of what was really happening at En Gedi placed her in danger. He was going to have to ask Trotter to have the Agency do something for her. At least until this business was taken care of. At least she had called the general before her arrest. It’s what had started the wheels in motion. Potok had not returned, but an hour after he had left, McGarvey’s personal belongings had been returned to him, and he had been driven directly to the VIP lounge at the airport. They’d picked up his bag from his hotel. About his gun no one would comment. Lorraine had shown up a couple of minutes later, just as surprised to see him as he had been to see her. “Are you all right” he had asked when they were alone for just a second or two.

“No thanks to you” she’d snapped, her eyes straying to the thick bandage on his head. “What did you tell them”

“Nothing” she said. “Because that’s exactly what I know” She turned away. It was just two in the afternoon when they touched down at Dulles Airport, and McGarvey went with Lorraine down the jetway into customs. A young man in a three-piece suit directed them away from the counters, and through a door that led directly out into the terminal. “We have a car waiting for you” he said. “Will either of you be needing medical assistance”

“Who are you” McGarvey asked pointedly, before Lorraine could say anything.

“Oh, sorry, sir” the young man said. He dug out his Agency identification. His name was Stanley Barker. “Mr. Trotter sent me out to pick you up”

“That’s just fine” Lorraine said. “Now if you will just excuse me, I’ve got to see about a flight to New York”

“I’m sorry, ma’am” Barker said, a little embarrassed. “But my instructions were to pick up both of you”

“I demand.

“Ma’am, Mr. O’Sheay is waiting for you. He asked me to assure you that all of your questions will be answered”

“Mark is here, in Washington”

“Yes, ma’am. In the area. I have a car just outside” She looked at McGarvey, a smug little grin of satisfaction on her lips. McGarvey figured she was going to get her answers, but they probably would not be ones she would care to hear. Crossing the terminal McGarvey spotted at least three men who were probably FBI surveillance people, and he allowed himself to relax for the first time since they’d left Israel.

All the way across he’d gotten the uncomfortable feeling that the operation had been too loose. They had simply been kicked out of the country and left to fend for themselves. Considering the nature of his assignment, and the fact that they were carrying around in their heads the literal future of Israel, he had expected to be shadowed. But until now he had picked out no one. Outside, a dark gray Taurus pulled up.

Barker got in the front, and they got in the backseat. McGarvey spotted at least two surveillance cars, one in the rear and one in the lead.

Barker turned in his seat as they pulled away from the curb. “Your bags will be brought along shortly, not to worry” he said. “Where are we going” McGarvey asked. “Falmouth”

“What” Lorraine asked, sitting forward. “That’s in Virginia”

“Yes, ma’am, about fifty miles south of here”

“Goddamnit, you said that Mark O’Sheay would be meeting us”

“He’s down there waiting for you,’” Barker said. “Believe me, Dr.

Abbott, this is for the best. You’ll understand once it’s explained to you”

“Has anyone been spotted coming in” McGarvey asked. Barker looked at him through lidded eyes. He finally shook his head. “We don’t think so.

Leastways, we haven’t spotted any unusual activity. If they’re there, they are good”

“You can count on it” McGarvey said, relaxing back in his seat and lighting a cigarette. Lorraine had followed the exchange. “What’s going on” she cried. “You bastards, someone tell me what’s going on”

“Yes, ma’am, as soon as we get there”

“And stop calling me ma’am” she screeched.

The safehouse was on a ninety-acre farm a few miles outside the small town, the Rappahannock River bordering the property to the south.

The house itself was a two-story colonial built on the crest of a hill with a clear view in three directions. The access road wound up from a secondary highway through a thick stand of trees that at times formed a canopy over the narrow road. General Accounting actually owned the place, but the FBI’s Witness Protection Program had been the most recent users. They parked in front and went up the sloping pathway to the broad porch. Before they went inside McGarvey turned and looked back down the road. The cars that had come from the airport with them had peeled off and were nowhere in sight. The afternoon was warm and lovely. The countryside seemed peaceful. Inside the foyer they were met by a well-dressed man with startlingly blue eyes and a slightly disdainful expression.

McGarvey had never met him, but he pegged the man almost immediately as a lawyer. “Any trouble” he asked Barker. “No, sir. From somewhere McGarvey thought he could hear the murmur of a conversation. A bulky man in a khaki shirt and trousers, hunting boots on his feet, stood at the head of the stairs. When McGarvey looked up at him, he moved off. He was armed with an M16 and he looked serious. Whatever had happened or was about to happen here, they were definitely taking it for real. The blue-eyed man spoke. “I’m Howard Ryan, general counsel for the Central Intelligence Agency, and you must be Dr. Abbott” He stuck out his hand, but Lorraine ignored it, her right eyebrow rising slightly. “Would you mind telling me what is going on here, Mr. Ryan” she demanded. “If it’s no trouble, that is”

“Of course” Ryan said smoothly. “Would you like to freshen up before we get started”

“No. Is Mark O’Sheay here” Ryan nodded. “Yes, he is. If you’d like we can go in now. They are waiting for you”

“It’s been a long trip, don’t screw with me” Lorraine said crudely.

Ryan’s gaze shifted to McGarvey. “You can wait in the living room, we’ll be with you in a half hour”

“I don’t think so” McGarvey said. “That’s an order, Mr. McGarvey..”

Ryan started to say, but Trotter had come to a doorway at the end of the stairhall. “It’s all right, Howard. We’ll see them both” McGarvey and Lorraine went back to the study, where Trotter was waiting. “Hello, Doctor, I’m John Trotter, I’m also with the Agency. We have someone here whom you know” He stepped aside. A fat, academic-looking man with pince-nez was just rising from his seat at a long table.

“Mark” Lorraine gave a little cry and she went in. McGarvey was right behind her. He could see that O’Sheay was angry and disturbed. “Now”

Trotter said, coming in with Howard Ryan, who shut the door and locked it. “We have a lot to talk about, and very little time, I’m afraid, to do it in”

Now that she was with at least one familiar, friendly face, Lorraine Abbott had regained some of the confidence she had lost when she’d been arrested in Tel Aviv. “What’s going on here, Mark” she asked her boss. “Have they told you yet”

“If you’ll just have a seat, Dr. Abbott, we can get started” Trotter said. “We have a lot of ground to cover”

” I will not” Lorraine snapped at him. “Mark, can we get the hell out of here? Now” O’Sheay shook his ponderous head. “Not just yet” he said.

“Listen to the man” McGarvey had remained standing by the door.

She shot him an angry look. “I’ve listened to about as much as I want to listen to. My lab will be expecting me”

“We have taken the liberty of informing them that you are on an extended assignment with the NPT” Trottei said. “You what”

“Please, Dr. Abbott, if you will just have a seat, I’ll explain everything to you”

“Goddamnit..”

“Sit down” McGarvey said. “The man is trying to save your life”

“I don’t she started again, but then she nodded and sat down, O’Sheay next to her, and Trotter and Ryan across the table. Megarvey remained standing. “Before we begin, it is my duty to inform you, Dr. Abbott, that these proceedings are being videotaped, and that the subjects that will come under discussion are classified top secret. You may not divulge what has happened here with anyone outside of this room unless you are instructed to do so by proper authority. Ryan passed a single-page document and a pen across to her. “If you have understood what Mr. Trotter has just told you, please sign this; it outlines the penalties for noncompliance under the National Secrets Act. The color left her face. “I’ve already signed it” O’Sheay said. “But the NPT..”

“Has been cut out for the moment. Just sign it, Lorraine. She did it, and pushed the paper back to Ryan, who put it in a file folder. She was subdued. McGarvey felt a little sorry for her. She was a smart, beautiful woman, but she had been playing an amateur’s game until now.

Her education wasn’t going to be pleasant to watch. “On June ninth of this year you were dispatched by the Non-Proliferation Treaty Inspection Service to investigate an incident at the En Gedi Nuclear Research Station” Trottei began. Lorraine nodded. “Along with a British scientist, Scott Hayes, you did so. Mr. Hayes was apparently satisfied with what he was shown.

We have seen his report. But you were not. Can you tell us why”

Again Lorraine appealed to O’Sheay for help, but he nodded for her to answer the question. “I felt they were hiding something” she said. Her voice had lost its harsh edge. “Hiding what”

“Mr. McGarvey has already briefed me”

“We’ll get to that, Doctor. What did you think the Israelis were hiding”

“I didn’t know at the time, but the man who met us at the gate was Lev Potok. I happen to know that he is a major in the Mossad. “After your inspection tour was completed, why didn’t you return home and make your report”

“I talked to Mark and told him that something funny was happening, and asked him to send out whatever material he could on the research facility. Construction and start-up information, that is”

“You were looking for something specific”

“Yes. “Could you explain that to us” Trotter gently prompted. “I thought there was a possibility that the Israelis were hiding fissionable material somewhere within or beneath the facility.

Specifically weapons-grade material. There is certain equipment …

certain things they would have to have done in order to maintain such a depot”

“Did you find anything in your document search”

“I wasn’t sure at the time. There were certain airflow installations that supposedly were to be used in a reactor room emergency. I thought it was possible they could be used for something else”

“The equipment is there” McGarvey said. Lorraine looked up at him. “You saw it? You were actually inside”

“Not in the weapons vault itself. But the laminar airflow equipment was there, laid out about the way you said it might be. And the air shafts are deep. Perhaps three hundred feet”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Judging from their reaction, you must have struck a nerve” Trotter hadn’t turned to look at McGarvey, he’d kept his eyes on Lorraine. “Your conclusion then, Doctor, from everything you’ve seen and heard concerning En Gedi” She glanced at Mark. “If you mean to ask, do I believe the Israelis are storing nuclear weapons at En Gedi, I can’t answer you. If you want to know do I think it’s possible, I do.

Very likely, in fact” Now Trotter turned around to face McGarvey.

“The good doctor says you briefed her, Kirk”

“I told her everything”

McGarvey said. “Everything” Ryan snapped.

“Yes. “Well, that tears it” Ryan said in disgust. “You had no goddamned brief..” McGarvey overrode him. “Her ass was hanging out on the line.

I was either going to tell her nothing, or I was going to tell her everything. And that, Counselor, was my studied decision as a field officer whose own ass was on the line”

“Under the circumstances I have to agree with Kirk” Trotter said.

Lorraine’s eyes were bright. “Why am I getting the feeling that I’m not going to like what’s coming next”

“It’s for your own protection, Doctor” Trotter said. “Believe me, if there was any way, any way at all of doing this any differently we would”

“What are you talking about”

“You are going to have to stay here, for … a few days, perhaps a little longer”

“Bullshit” she snapped, jumping up. “I’m not going to be kept a prisoner in my own country. In the first place I’ve done nothing wrong, and in the second place I have two research grants and two teams I’m currently supervising”

I’ll I I’m sorry’mark, for God’s sake” she cried. But O’Sheay was again shaking his head. “There’s not a thing I can do about it, Lorraine, I’m sorry. I’d rather do without your company for a few days or even a month than forever”

“And they will kill you if they find you, Dr. Abbott” Trotter said.

“Who is they”

“That isn’t necessary to know at this momentryan said. “The Russians”

McGarvey interjected. Ryan thumped his fist on the table.

“Listen here, mister, I’ve had enough of your prima donna crap”

McGarvey ignored him. “It will be the same people who reprogrammed the Pershing to strike En Gedi. They know what’s there, and they won’t stop.“

“Trotter” Ryan demanded in exasperation. “Let’s step outside for a moment, Kirk” Trotter said. “Please. “I’ll talk them into getting you a computer, maybe flying some of your programs out here, if that’ll help.

But no matter what, you’re going to have to remain here out of sight for as long as it takes” She was shaking her head in amazement. “I don’t believe this. “Believe it” McGarvey said. He turned, opened the door, and went out into the stairwell where he lit a cigarette. Trotter and Ryan were right behind him, and Ryan was turning. “That was quite a performance in there”

“Counselor, why don’t you stick to counseling and let me stick to spying” McGarvey told him. He turned back to Trotter. “They’re there, John. I’m as convinced as I can be without having actually seen the weapons themselves”

“Are you all right” Trotter asked. “Just fine. She saved my ass by getting to the general before they picked her up. She’s got fine instincts”

“She’ll be okay here, Kirk. You’re coming back to Washington with me this afternoon”

McGarvey shook his head. “Leave me a car, and I’ll drive in tomorrow morning. It’s been a long forty-eight hours. I can use a few hours’ sleep”

“Everything is all right here” Trotter said. “I’m sure it is.

I’ll be even more sure in the morning. What are we going to do now?

Baranov won’t back off, and Kurshin is still floating around out there somewhere”

“You’re going after FELIKS” Trotter said. “We’ll brief you in the morning”

“Have your people developed a short list”

“Not as short as we’d like, but you’ll have a decent head start”

“I’ll see you in the morning”

” Sure” Trotter said” We’ll leave you the Taurus. Ryan had held his silence, listening to the exchange. “I think it would be better if you came back with us now, McGarvey”

“I don’t” McGarvey said, starting to turn away. “What, are you fucking her already” McGarvey swiveled smoothly on his heel, grabbed a handful of Ryan’s shirt front, and half lifted him off his feet. “That’s the second time I’ve been asked that question, and frankly I’m getting tired of it. Have you seen my dossier, Counselor”

Ryan was able to do little more than squeak an affirmative. “Then you know what I am” McGarvey growled. “And didn’t your mama ever tell you not to piss off a killer”

It was nearly midnight. The light wind had died and the evening had become warm and humid. McGarvey stood on the side porch in the shadows watching the gravel road as it disappeared down into the woods toward the highway. Trotter had left four FBI officers here to watch after Lorraine Abbott’s safety. So far he had picked out three of them. One in an old pickup truck just down from the barn, another just off the road, a flash of his white face briefly visible in the starlight, and the third had actually lit a cigarette farther down in the woods. “I want to thank you” Lorraine Abbott’s voice came from the open window just behind him and to the left. “Go to bed, Doctor” McGarvey said.

“The name is Lorraine” McGarvey smiled to himself. “I thought your friends called you Dr. Abbott”

“None of them have any balls” He had to laugh. “Now you sound like one of the boys”

“Did you ever know a physicist who wasn’t”

“Not one who looks like you”

It had been a long time since McGarvey had been to the headquarters building. The last time he’d left in disgrace and had packed himself off to Switzerland. It was odd coming back like this.

Driving up the broad road from the main gate where Trotter had left him a grounds pass, he could see that the new section of the main building had been completed. The Russians, it was said, were adding on to their Foreign Operations Building on the Circumferential Highway outside of Moscow. When that building had been constructed in 1972 it had been a nearly exact copy of CIA headquarters. It was a safe bet that their new addition would closely resemble the CIA’S. Spying was a big business, and the KGB admired the Americans’ way of doing it.

He parked the Taurus in the visitors’ lot and walked across to the main entrance of the building, where he signed in and was searched with a metal detector. Trotter himself came down a couple of minutes later to fetch him. “Has she settled down” he asked on the way up to the seventh floor. “She’s still grumbling, but she’s beginning to understand. How about O’Sheay-do you think he’ll blow the whistle”

“No” Trotter said.

McGarvey hadn’t thought so either. The man had been cowed. But they had probably made some sort of a deal with him. After all, his job in a large measure depended on National Security Agency spy satellites. The NPT Inspection Service would be hard pressed to do without the KHII.

“How about her computer”

“Barker will have it to her by this afternoon. We’re just waiting for some of her research materials to come in from California” Trotter looked at him. “She’ll be all right out there, Kirk”

“Any word on Kurshin”

“No, he’s gone to ground again”

“If he’s found out about her, he might try something”

“That’s why you’re here” Trotter said. “We want him to come to Washington, after me”

“Which he will do, once you start poking around Baranov’s main source”

“He’s pretty good, John”

“Yes he is, but now we know his target”

“And he knows that we know”

McGarvey said. They had to sign in with the seventh-floor security people, where they were again subjected to a metal detector search before they were allowed across the corridor and through the glass doors into the huge outer office of the CIA’s director. Lawrence Danielle was just coming from his office adjacent to the general’s, a pleasantly neutral expression on his face when he spotted McGarvey. “Hello, Kirk.

Welcome back”

They shook hands. Danielle had headed the review board which had recommended McGarvey’s dismissal. McGarvey was surprised at his own self-control now. He had done a lot of thinking, though, and years ago he had come to the conclusion that it had been time for him to get out anyway. It didn’t matter that Danielle had made the decision for him.

“This go-around it’s just a part-time job”

“Yes, well, they’re waiting for us inside” The DCI’s secretary buzzed them through and they went into the general’s vast office with its magnificent view of the rolling hills to the southwest. Howard Ryan and another man were seated across from Murphy, who rose from behind his massive desk. “Kirk McGarvey, I assume” the general said. “Yes, sir”

McGarvey said, crossing the room and shaking his hand. “I don’t believe you’ve met Phil Carrara, our deputy director of operations”

“No”

McGarvey said. Carrara got to his feet and they shook hands. “A hell of a job you did for us in Germany” he said. “I had help”

“Yes, it’s too bad about Jim Hunte. He was a good man from what I understand”

“Yes, he was”

“I believe you know Howard Ryan, our general counsel” the general said.

Ryan didn’t bother to rise nor did McGarvey even look at him. “Yes, sir, we’ve met”

In the awkward silence that followed, Murphy waved them to the three vacant chairs. It was an odd little group, McGarvey thought. But then the need-to-know list for this operation would have to be kept very small. Washington was a town filled with ears, and Baranov had his share of them. A basic assumption of every secret intelligence service was that the enemy almost certainly had his own people on the payroll. Not very often the Kim Philbys, but certainly the odd reader or analyst here and there. Ultra-sensitive operations of necessity were often top-heavy with brass. “I’ve read John’s overnight report, which included Dr.

Abbott’s assessment of what you found at En Gedi” the general said.

“And I think we’re all agreed here-and the president concurs-that the Israelis do have battleready nuclear weapons, that they are stored beneath En Gedi, and that the Russians know about it and will certainly make their next attempt to destroy the facility on June thirtieth. That gives us eleven days” The date was something new. But McGarvey kept a poker face. “Not enough time for the Israelis to move the depot and maintain any kind of security. “No, nor have they confirmed or denied the real purpose of En Gedi. I have spoken with Isser Shamir, and the president with Prime Minister Peres. They’re angry, of course, that you got as far as you did, but when we explained our position-fully explained it-they agreed to your release. Contingent on two things”

“The first would be that the NPT Inspection Service was to be cut out of the deal” McGarvey said. “What about the second”

“That you’re to have help on this one” the general said. He glanced at Trotter. “Mossad”

“Yes” the general said. “I want you to understand something up front, McGarvey. I think you handled Germany brilliantly, but I think you fucked up at En Gedi. It was a damned fool stunt that could have gotten you killed, and certainly pissed off our only ally in the Middle East who is worth a danm”

“I got what I was sent to get”

McGarvey said. He’d expected the little morality speech. “I also want you to understand that the reason your name came up in the first place was because of the way you handled yourself two years ago” McGarvey leaned forward. “Let’s cut the bullshit, Mr. Director” he said. “We all know why I’ve been brought back into the fold. I’m to be used as bait for Baranov and his trigger man, Arkady Kurshin” Ryan started to say something, and Danielle was hiding a little grin, but the general held them off. “All right, we’ll cut the bullshit, McGarvey. You make me nervous, and it’s not because you’re a maverick who wants to do things his own way, but because you are an assassin. Very probably you are unbalanced, and certainly you are dangerous. “You’re most likely right, General, but at the moment I’m needed” McGarvey said, surprised at the hurt he was feeling. This was like coming back from Vietnam all over again. He touched his face, remembering the spit. “Yes, you are. But if you want out you have my word that no one on this side of the Atlantic will ever bother you again”

“I’m along for the ride”

“Why” Murphy asked him point-blank. Why indeed, McGarvey wondered. He didn’t know, it was as simple as that. Or was it?

What did he believe in? Truth, he supposed. Justice, though he hadn’t seen much of it in his life. Honor? Was that it? “It’s a job” he finally said. The general grunted. He tossed a fat file folder across the desk to McGarvey. “We want you to find Feliks for us, and we hope your doing so will draw Arkady Kurshin out of hiding before the thirtieth. He’ll try to kill you, of course. We want you to kill him first”

“And afterward” McGarvey asked, not yet reaching for the file. “Go back where you came from”

Carrara, who had done most of the actual briefing on the FELIKS file, rode down to Operations on the third floor with Trotter and McGarvey.

“There has already been a lot of fallout on this one” he said. “NATO has been raising hell about our security, and the president has a tight lid on the entire mess. And it’s a mess. We’re all under a lot of pressure here. With the addition of the Israelis, it’s made things doubly difficult”

“It’s the business” McGarvey said, getting him off the hook for the general’s comments. “Yes. John will take it from here. He’ll set up your cutout procedures and security arrangements. Good luck”

“Yeah”

McGarvey said. ““Thanks”

“He’s a good man” Trotter said as Carrara headed down the corridor to his own office. McGarvey turned to him. “They all are” he said. “Or at least most of them start that way”

“I’m sorry about upstairs..”

“Don’t be, John. Murphy knows what he’s talking about. Possibly the only man in this town who does. Nothing has changed” Trotter just shook his head. “Let’s go meet my Mossad partner, maybe he’ll be willing to tell me how we’ve suddenly come up with such a specific date”

“Not here. From this point on we’re keeping both of you at arm’s length from the Agency. Murphy’s orders. We’ve got a place set up for you in Georgetown. It should be okay for a few days, maybe longer. At least we’ve got secure phone lines in and out”

“Anything on the opposition yet”

“No, but watch yourself”

“Are you coming over”

“No. But I’ll give you a contact number and physical handover procedures”

“They’ll try again”

“No doubt of it, Kirk, no doubt whatsoever. Just take care of yourself, and when it’s over I’ll see that you’re treated right. I promise you that, Kirk. I swear to God. “Sure” McGarvey said.

The safehouse was a three-story brownstone a couple of blocks from Georgetown University in a nondescript but obviously expensive neighborhood. McGarvey had parked his car by the Naval Observatory and had taken a cab past the place, watching for anything or anyone out of the ordinary. But he had seen nothing. Still, his instincts were telling him that Kurshin was very near. He could almost taste it in the air.

Paranoia? he wondered. With age and experience sometimes comes overcaution. He was back on the hunt, and only Trotter, it seemed, was minding his back door. And exactly whatfallout had Carrara been talking about? As with every operation he’d been involved in, the unanswered questions were a legion in the beginning, among them the participation of the Mossad. “We’re helping them out, Kirk. Naturally they’d insist on inserting one of their own people into the operation” Trotter had explained. “We’re talking about a Soviet penetration agent somewhere within the Pentagon. That covers a lot of territory” Trotter had nodded glumly. “We all know it, but your arrest put us against the wall”

McGarvey said nothing. “It’ll be up to you to see that they don’t get into too much mischief..”

“For Christ’s sake, John, we’ve been around too long for that kind of crap. Talk to me. Murphy must have safeguards. I I “Yes, he does”

“If they get in my way someone could get hurt”

“I know” Trotter said. “In this my hands are practically tied, Kirk.

I’ll do what I can to keep them off your back, but when it gets down to the last analysis, it’ll be up to you to i make peace with the Mossad”

McGarvey hadn’t bothered asking what he’d meant by that; he figured he’d be finding out soon enough. He got his car from the Naval Observatory, parked it on a narrow side street a block away from the safehouse, and went the rest of the way on foot, reasonably certain, at least for the moment, that he had not been followed. Mounting the steps at three in the afternoon, McGarvey had the impression that he was passing from one time zone into another, and no matter what had come before, once he crossed the threshold there would be no turning back.

He let himself into the stairhall and stood in the shadows for a few moments listening to the sounds of the house. They would be alone, Trotter had assured him. “Complete privacy. Hash out whatever it is you two have to hash out there, inside the safehouse, away from prying eyes and ears, and then do your job.

Lev Potok, wearing khaki trousers and a light V-neck sweater, appeared at the head of the stairs. “You” McGarvey said, once again amazed at his own self-control. “There’s some cold beer up here. I think you and I are going to have to get some things straight between us before we get started”

“You bet” McGarvey growled, starting up the stairs. He followed Potok down the hall into the long, narrow living room, with large bowed windows that looked down on the street. A white noise generator had been attached to the windowpanes so that conversations could not be picked up from outside. “When did you get to Washington” McGarvey asked. “Last night”

“Have you been briefed” Potok had stepped into the small utility kitchen. He came back with two beers, handing one to McGarvey. “Yes. I was allowed to read the Feliks file” He shook his head. “This man has been very damaging to you, I think. And to us. “Who briefed you”

“Howard Ryan. He is your Agency’s general counsel, I believe..”

“I know the man” McGarvey said. He went to the window, parted the curtains, and looked down at the street. Normal traffic, nothing out of the ordinary, but there was something. “Who knows you’re here”

“The prime minister. My boss. A few people in travel and historical section..”

“And the Russians” Potok started to object, but then he nodded. “You are probably correct. “Your service is just like any other “You’ve made your point” Potok said. “But before we start, let me apologize for … Lod.

“You were doing your job”

“Yes. But would you have tried to kill me had I slapped you a second time” McGarvey turned away from the window where he had been studying the Israeli’s reflection in the glass. “Yes. Whether it was the answer Potok had expected or not, it didn’t show on his face. “I see”

“Like you said, we’ve got a few things to get straight between us. You are working for me on this project. I won’t lie to you, nor will you lie to me. The first time it happens, I’ll have your ass on a plane back to Israel”

“Fair enough, within certain limitations” the Israeli said cautiously.

Whatever your instructions were, the Pentagon will not be a Mossad supermarket”, Understood. McGarvey stared at him for several seconds, trying to work out in his own mind exactly how he felt about working with the man. He was a professional, otherwise he wouldn’t have been sent here. Was that enough? “We have a lot of ground to cover”

McGarvey said. “I’m going to ask you a question, for which you’ll give me the truth. And then you can ask me a question, which I will answer truthfully” Potok nodded, the caution still in his eyes. “There was an incident at En Gedi, which the NPT investigated. It was picked up by our KHII surveillance satellite. We believe that the Soviets penetrated you.

Is this correct”

“Yes. His name was Benjamin Rothstein”

“Where is he now? Do you have him”

“He is dead. Where is Dr. Abbott at this moment”

“In a CIA safehouse about fifty miles from here. The NPT has been cut out of this operation until it’s over. At that time it’ll be up to the politicians to negotiate some sort of a deal. McGarvey had perched on the edge of the couch. “We know what is stored at En Gedi. Potok’s jaw tightened.

“Now, tell me exactly what happened out there with Rodistein. I want to know everything” The Israeli glanced at the windows. “If I cannot” he asked. “Then our association ends here and now. I won’t work with you”

“Is this place bugged”

“I was told it was not”

“Did you believe them” McGarvey shrugged. It was hard sometimes to know exactly what he believed. “I don’t think either of us has much choice.

They know a hell of a lot more than they’ve told either of us. But we’ve got a job to do”

“Yes” Potok said. “We have a job to do and it will not be pleasant. Nor do we have much time”

“No. “We were penetrated twice”

Potok said. “The first time by Rothstein, who was almost definitely a Russian, and the second time by a nuclear technician named Simon Asher”

“Rothstein was in the vault? He saw the weapons” Potok was very uncomfortable. “Yes. He managed to get clear of the base, and we think that he managed to call his contact with the information”

“What about Asher, did he escape as well”

“No. Nor have we found a Russian connection yet. In fact, he was born in New York City and educated here in the States”

“What happened to him”

“He died of radiation poisoning” Potok said. “Our scientists say that he was attempting to install an … initiator into one of the weapons.

But he made a mistake, spilled radioactive material, and died. “When did this happen”

“At the same moment Rothstein was in the vault”

“That doesn’t make any sense” McGarvey said half to himself. What the hell was he being told? “If Rothstein was working for the Russians, to confirm the existence of your weapons stockpile, then why was Asher down there trying to destroy the place” He looked up. “That’s what he was trying to do, wasn’t it”

“Yes. Maybe it was a safeguard. The Pershing missile would be sent if Asher had failed. But..”

“What” McGarvey said, sitting forward”

We have been monitoring the telephone lines from the Hungarian Embassy for some time now. We have a new technique that allows us to do this without being detected, no matter how sophisticated their telephone equipment is. There were a series of telephone calls between the Soviet Interests section of the embassy and a man we arrested a few days ago.

They discussed the failure in Germany, and they said that another attempt would be made on June thirtieth” It was the date, finally.

“What about this man”

“His name was Viktor Voronsky. A KGB field officer who had until a few months ago been seen in Damascus. It is possible that he was Rothstein’s contact. “He’s dead”

“Unfortunately. He committed suicide. But, no mention was made of Asher’s attempt to destroy the facility” McGarvey nodded. “Then something else is going on. But it’s Baranov. It’s the way he works”

“My turn” Potok said. “There were three men who hijacked your Pershing missile. “Arkady Kurshin, whose file I’ve brought for you. He managed to escape. And it’ll be he who is going to make the next attempt. Ivan Yegorov, who I killed. And an East German rocket scientist by the name of Dieter Schey. “What happened to him”

“He’d been shot in the head, probably by Kurshin, and left there to die.

We have him here in Washington. He’s alive, but not conscious” Potok’s mind was racing, McGarvey could see it in his expression. “In order to get to Arkady Kurshin we must uncover Feliks. “Who almost certainly is Baranov’s source for technical information” McGarvey said. “Of the sort Kurshin would have needed to operate the missile”

“Information that their rocket scientist needed to operate the missile”

Potok took the thought a step forward. “If we therefore make an announcement that Dieter Schey is alive and well, angry that his own people left him for dead, and that he is willing to cooperate with us in naming his Pentagon source, Kurshin will come after him. Schey will be the bait”

“Something like that” McGarvey said. “But there’s more.

I “Yes”

” Kurshin will be coming here to kill me as well”

“Why”

“I stopped him in Germany”

“There’s more” Again McGarvey nodded. “It’s a long story, Lev, one I’m going to have to tell you on the run. But it goes directly back to Baranov. The man has got a price on my head.

The four-seat Ranger helicopter came in low from the southwest for the third time in the past half hour. FBI agent Tom Sills watched it through binoculars from the edge of the clearing by the driveway. He could see the pilot and three other men, one of whom had a pair of binoculars raised to his eyes. Sills keyed his walkie-talkie.

“Goddamnit, it’s the same bird. Have we gotten anything out of the FAA yet”

“Just got off the blower with them” Beit Langerford radioed from the house. “Registered to Bekins Real Estate Company out of Alexandria”

“Well, I don’t like it”

“They’re showing property, Tom. Do it all the time”

“I said I don’t like it” Sills barked. “On this pass the sonofabitches were scoping us. Call operations and have them send a couple of men over to Alexandria-wherever that chopper took off from-and check these guys out”

“Christ, we’re supposed to be keeping this low-key”

“Do it now, Bert, god damnit” Sills snapped. He laid the walkie-talkie down and watched the helicopter as it disappeared to the northeast. He had been a field agent for a long time, long enough to trust his hunches. And he had a bad feeling about this one.

When Arkady Kurshin walked into the referentura, the most secret section within the embassy and the one in which KGB matters are discussed, there was an immediate electricity in the air. In the eighteen hours he had been here he had galvanized the entire KGB staff into his own personal weapon. But then his credentials were beyond question; even the ambassador deferred to him. He was a Baranov tool, and Baranov was one of the most powerful men in the Rodina at this moment. Boris Antipov, the KGB rezident, seated at the end of the long table, was fidgeting with some papers. He looked up with a start. “Good evening, Boris Nikolaievich” Kurshin said pleasantly enough. He glanced at the other two men seated around the table. They were Yuri Deryugin and Mikhail Lakomsky, the Washington operation’s best case officers. Either one of them could have easily passed for an American. Their English was perfect, as were their bearing and manner and dress. “Have you found her” Kurshin asked, standing at the end of the table, his powerful hands splayed out in front of him. “Yes”

Deryugin replied. “As you know, we managed to trace her transfer out of Washington as far as the Falmouth area, where we had to back off for fear of detection”

“Yes” Kurshin replied, holding his impatience in check. Deryugin glanced at his partner. “We arranged to take a helicopter tour of the area this afternoon with a real estate firm. We found her at a farmhouse a few miles outside of the town, right along the river”

“You actually saw her”

“No. But the house is being guarded by at least three FBI agents.

They’re even wearing their blue windbreakers with FBI stenciled on the back”

“But you didn’t see her face”

“No, Comrade. But she is there all right. I don’t think they are playin games. Kurshin thought about it for a moment or two, and then nodded.

They were almost certainly correct. “Were you spotted”

” Yes. Kurshin waited for the explanation. “It won’t matter. Such flights are very common over the area. We were merely a pair of businessmen looking for investment property. Even if the FBI checks.

“They will”

“Yes, Comrade, when they check they will find that we work for Xavier Enterprises here in Washington. It is a blind company, of course. They will learn nothin “Excellent work, Yuri Ivanovich” Kurshin said. He glanced at his watch. It was just 7:30 in the evening. “Do you foresee any problem getting in there and killing her”

tonight”

The two field officers again exchanged glances. “No, Comrade”

“Will you require more people”

“No” Kurshin allowed a slight smile to play across his lips. He admired competence. If McGarvey wasn’t out there, and he didn’t think McGarvey was, they would succeed. “Do it” he said. The rezident was clearly agitated. Kurshin turned to him. “Do you have a problem with this, Boris Nikolaievich”

“I have many problems, Comrade Colonel, which is part of my job. As far as killing an American citizen here on American soil, there will be repercussions, of course. There is no way of predicting how severe their countermeasures will be, but they will happen”

“If it is traced back to us.”

“It will be” Antipov said, not willing to back down. He too was very good at his job, and although he had an abiding respect and even fear of Kurshin, he had his own brief. Secretly he was one of the men within the KGB who thought Baranov was a madman and would someday bring them all down. Of course he never voiced his opinion … or at least not that one. Kurshin was beginning to lose his patience. “You have read the directive” Antipov nodded. “An extraordinary document”

“Yeskurshin said coolly. Baranov had sent the directive ahead of him, giving Kurshin extremely broad powers and authority. In short he was not to be refused anything, anything at all.

Not by the ambassador, and certainly not by the rezident. “There is a possibility that Xavier may already have been penetrates. “But we are not certain”

“No.

“Then no matter what happens, it would take the FBI time to connect our attack with the helicopter overflight and therefore Xavier and back to us”

“In all probability, yes”

“By then this mission will be once again off American soil” Kurshin said, giving his first hint that what was happening here in the Washington area was only a small part of a much larger and more important whole. Important enough to require the killing of Dr. Abbott.

I “But I will not be” Antipov said softly. Kurshin’s eyes narrowed, causing the rezident to flinch, but still the man did not back down. “As you know, Comrade Colonel, Hammerhead is our most important source here in Washington at the moment” Antipov said. Second most important source, Kurshin thought, with out giving voice to the extraordinary secret Baranov had shared with him. He didn’t know the agent’s real name, only his code name and the fact he was of utmost importance. He merely nodded. “I will arrange, as you asked, for you to meet with him.

But under the circumstances I do not believe this would be wise. “Why”

“In all likelihood it would compromise not only us but him. “Imis meeting is extremely important, Comrade Antipov. Extremely important. I trust you passed my message to him”

“Yes, but under the circumstances..”

“What circumstances”

Kurshin shot back dangerously. He had been out on the streets all day trying to get the flavor of the city. He had even walked past the White House, where he’d stood by the fence gazing at the seat of power. It had given him a chill, which he had found somehow annoying. Antipov opened one of the file folders in front of him and passed it down the table. “I take it that you have not seen a television or radio news broadcast this afternoon”

“What is this” Kurshin asked, without looking down at the open file.

“Transcripts of several news broadcasts. We monitor them on a daily basis, of course. These are from the six o’clock news programs. I think you should read them” Kurshin did not want to be trifled with. His failure in Germany still rankled. Nothing could go wrong this time.

Nothing. He wouldn’t allow it. With a great effort of will he tore his eyes away from the rezident and began reading the transcripts, the top one from Peter Jennings’s ABC television report. After a few seconds he looked up. “The one they are talking about must be Hammerhead, Comrade Colonel” Antipov said. “They know” That wasn’t what had struck Kurshin.

Another name leapt off the page at him. A name impossible to believe. He was back in the transporter. Nothing can stop it? Schey shook his head.

Nein. Thank you. The pistol was coming up, Kurshin could feel it in his hands, the metal warm, smooth to the touch, the weapon comfortably heavy. Sure. He had shot the East German in the face. He could not have survived. “It is a lie” he mumbled. “Then it is a Lie extraordinarily damaging to their position, Comrade Colonel. With it they have given away their only advantage … that they suspect there is a penetration agent within the Pentagon. Kurshin went back to his reading, quickly scanning the text-English on the left, Russian on the right-through the rest of the ABC report as well as the half a dozen others that had been monitored. He was looking for one name other than Schey’s, but it wasn’t there. Nevertheless, he thought, looking up at last, this was McGarvey’s doing. Baranov had told him all about the man, about his early days with the CIA, about is Swiss girlfriend, about his parents and the ranch they had left him. Even Kurshin had thought it was incredibly callous of McGarvey to have sold off the property. The man was now living off the interest the money provided him. But land was far more important than money. “Have you an emergency contact procedure with Hammerhead” he asked. Relief showed on Antipov’s face. “Yes. I’ll make contact immediately. And I’m going to recommend that we pull him out of there before it is too late”

“No” Kurshin said softly, a plan already forming in his mind. “But.

“There are things here that you do not understand, Boris Nikolaievich.

Important things. More important even than Hammerhead” Antipov threw up his hands in despair. “He has been a loyal source. We must pull him out”

“Contact him immediately. Tell him that it is essential that we meet this evening, but that we will meet in another place”

“I won’t do this the rezident started to say, realizing almost immediately that he had stepped over the line. “You will” Kurshin said gently, and he could read the surprise on Antipov’s face. “Yes, I’ll do as you say, Comrade Colonel” Antipov agreed. “But it is my duty to warn you that you may be walking into a trap. If this Dieter Schey has named our man, or at least given them the information they need to track him down, they will be waiting for you. Kurshin flipped the file folder closed and straightened up. He glanced at the two field officers. “You have your assignment”

Both men got to their feet. “If there is any trouble, get out immediately. You have a usual route out of here”

“Across the Mexican border” Deryugin said. “Dr. Abbott must die tonight.

That is your top priority.

There will be no other considerations. Do I make myself clear”

“Perfectly, Comrade Colonel”

“Go” Kurshin said, and the two men left the referentura. He turned back to Antipov. “You believe that this may be a trap”

“Yes, I do”

“Good, then let’s help them spring it” Kurshin said. “By the way, who is this Hammerhead”

“He is an Air Force colonel. Works directly for the Joint Chiefs as a weapons strategist. He knows every single weapon within the American military system. All services”

“A gold seam”

“Yes” Antipov said. “It’s a shame” Kurshin mumbled, but didn’t say any more.

“There are eight officers and two civilians on the list of suspects” McGarvey said as he and Potok took the elevator up to the fourth floor. “If they are watched too closely, Feliks will either skip or dig in, and we will have lost. “I agree, but you are taking a very large risk, making such an announcement and then pulling off all surveillance” Potok said. “We don’t know if Kurshin will make contact” McGarvey looked at him. “He will, but first he’ll come here to take care of Schey. He made a mistake with the Pershing, and another with Schey. He’ll come to finish the job. “And we will be waiting for him”

if I’m alive, if at all possible” Potok shrugged. “From what I’ve learned about this man, I don’t think that will be so easily accomplished”

“We’ll try” They were met at the nurses’ station by Dr. Julius Rabbinoux, the naval physician in charge of the ICU where the East German rocket scientist was being kept. He was a darkhaired, thick-eyebrowed little man with a swarthy complexion and piano player’s hands. “Are you the jackasses responsible for pulling off the security people from this floor” he said without preamble when McGarvey showed his FBI identification. “Just the replacements, Doctor. How is he doing tonight” The doctor stared at them for a long time. When he spoke his head bobbed up and down as if he were a boxer waiting to slip a blow.

“Stable, but not much change”

“Has he regained consciousness”

“There are moments” the doctor said.

“He’s still alone in there, no other patients; I assume that’s still the drill”

“Yes, it is. But I’m going to be up front with you, Doctor. There may be trouble coming our way tonight” Dr. Rabbinoux bridled. “Then I’ll have the Marines up here right now..”

“No” McGarvey said. “That’s not going to be possible. But you may pull your staff off this floor”

“I don’t know what kind of goddamned stunts you people are pulling, but this is as far as it goes” the doctor snapped. “I’m getting my security people up here on the double” McGarvey took a pen from the doctor’s pocket and reached out for the clipboard he carried. He jotted a number across the top of the patient report form and handed the clipboard back.

“Do you recognize this number”

“No, should I”

“It’s the White House” Crap.

C i sai It was the number Trotter had given him. The doctor’s eyes widened. He finally nodded. “I’ll make that call” he said. “In the meantime I want you to stay out of the ICU”

“Make the call, Doctor, and then get your people off this floor. Dr.

Rabbinoux turned and stalked down the empty corridor. The two nurses behind the desk turned away and suddenly busied themselves. “We’ll lock the elevator out as soon as the floor is cleared” McGarvey said softly.

“Check the east stairs, I’ll take the west” Potok nodded and headed down the corridor. McGarvey went to the opposite stairwell, opened the door, and looked down into the well. it was quiet, and smelled of cement dust and a faint hospital odor. “Come on” he told himself. “He’s here and waiting for you” Taking the stairs two at a time, he went down to the third floor and looked out on the corridor as a nurse was just turning the far corner. This was one of the recovery wards. Kurshin, when he came, would be passing this way, he suspected. Another visitor to see a friend. He was called the chameleon. He would blend in. Closing the door, he again listened for sounds, any sounds, as he pulled out his gun and checked the load, but there was nothing. Potok had brought the gun over with him and had handed it over at the Georgetown house.

“Not a very good weapon, I think” the Israeli said. it was a Walther PPK, lightweight, flat, reasonably accurate and fairly jam proof. At one time it had been the weapon of preference in the British Secret Intelligence Service. McGarvey had selected it as a young man because he had had a feeling for the traditions of the business. By the time he understood it wasn’t the best choice, he had become too proficient with it to change. It was an old friend. “Not an assassin’s gun”

that line of thinking any further. He hurried back up the stairs and reentered the fourth-floor corridor as Potok was coming from the east stairwell. He was shaking his head. “Nothing. It was a little after nine. “It’s too early yet. He’ll wait until the hospital settles down for the night”

“Unless he’s coming in as a visitor” Potok said. “He could be in the building already”

“I don’t think so” Potok looked at him closely, but said nothing. He was professional enough to respect another professional’s hunch. One of the nurses had left, the other was behind the counter. She put down the telephone. “Who else is on this floor tonight” McGarvey asked her. Her name tag read LEVIN. “Patients”

“Yes. “Only ICU-4A” she said. Schey’s name had never been used, only his bed number in the fourth-floor ICU.

The other patients had been moved at the request of the FBI. The hospital director had not liked it, but he had gone along. Dr. Rabbinoux got off the elevator a minute later. He didn’t look happy. He motioned toward the elevator. “They need you in Six-ICU, stat” he told the nurse.

“What about … “

“I’ll stay with him” the doctor snapped. She gathered up her purse, came around the counter, and took the elevator up. “Maybe you should have gone with her, Doctor” McGarvey said. “He’s my patient”

“As you wish” McGarvey replied. He recalled the elevator and, using the key he’d been supplied with, locked the car from opening on this floor.

All that was left were the stairwell doors, both of which could be seen from the glass doors that led into the ICU.

“I don’t want you endangering him” Dr. Rabbinoux said. “Believe me, Doctor, we’re just as interested in keeping him alive as you are. But I’d like to see him. You can be right there with me”

“I don’t know who he is, nor do I want to know “He is an East German, Doctor, who worked for the KGB. He and his two friends hijacked a nuclear missile from one of our bases in Germany, reprogrammed it to strike a spot in Israel, and nearly succeeded in firing it”

“Jesus Christ” Dr. Rabbinoux said, half closing his eyes. “Did you shoot him”

“One of his friends did it. The KGB. It’s how they operate. “They’re coming here? The KGB? To finish the job”

“We think so”

“Sick. All you bastards are sick”

“You’re wearing the uniform, Doctor, or had you forgotten” Dr. Rabbinoux wanted to make a sharp retort, but he held himself in check.

“No” he said finally. “I have not”

“May I see him now”

“Yes. I I “Watch the stairwells” McGarvey told potok. The lsraell too wanted to protest, but he understood the validity of McGarvey’s order, and he nodded.

Trotter sat in his study, the lights out, the door to the living room open so that he could hear the Mahler symphony playing on the stereo system. He was drinking a glass of white Zinfandel and smoking his first cigarette in seven months. There had been times in his long career, waiting for the telephone to ring like now, that he had wished for something to happen. His call to arms, as he termed it.

Action was better ary. This time, however, he wanted nothing to happen.

At least not yet. Was he getting old? Slowing down? Or had he simply become more of a realist who understood that in this dangerous world no news was almost always good news? The telephone rang, and it was a mark of his expectations that he didn’t flinch. He finished his wine, put the glass down, and picked up the telephone on the third ring. “Yes”

“This is Special Agent Tom Sills, I have been authorized to call this number”

“Yes, go ahead” Trotter said, keeping his voice even. His heart was beginning to accelerate. “You know who I am and where I’m calling from, sir”

“Yes, I do”

“Well, sir, we’ve got a possible situation developing out here. I thought I’d better give you a call”

“Is the house secure”

“Yes, sir, for the moment. But we were overflown three times this afternoon by a civilian helicopter operated by Bekins Real Estate in Alexandria. A team went out there to talk with the pilot, who told us that he had shown some property to two men from Xavier Enterprises, a Washington company-“

“Go ahead”

“Sir, that company is flagged by our Counter Intell people. It’s a Russian front organization. Most likely KGB”

“Damn” Trotter swore half to himself. “You say the property and the subject are secure”

“Yes, sir”

“Just hold on, I’ll come out there myself. Should be able to make it within the hour”

“Shall I call for help”

“Not yet. Just keep your eyes open”

“Will do, sir” Trotter broke the connection and dialed the Georgetown House number McGarvey had been given as a contact. “Trotter” he said when the man answered it. “Run down McGarvey and Potok. Tell them there may be something developing at Falmouth. I’m on my way down there now”

The joke was that Lt. Col. Bob Rand was at forty one the world’s oldest computer hacker. But of the nonmalicious variety. Once, on an evening two years ago, a number of his friends were at his house in Arlington Heights when he tapped into the bank’s computer system for a captain from the Strategic Planning Pool. With a few touches of his keys he transferred an even one million dollars into the captain’s checking account. For a few hours the captain was rich. In the morning, before the bank reopened, Rand retransferred the money out of his account, leaving the bank officials in happy ignorance. In the main, however, Rand was a loner, had always been a loner, taking his solace in his studies. He had become, at Force, a rank which ten years later he still held, not because he didn’t deserve a promotion but because his superiors understood that Rand was in the perfect job. To promote him would be to lose him. He had always been a man with a bitter edge. The world had passed him by in looks-he was very short, with a thin, almost emaciated torso, a ridiculously oversized head, and watery, myopic eyes-it had passed him by with women who would not look twice at him-and even the Air Force had passed him by with promotions. But he had become a defector in the beginning not because of any dislike for his own government, but merely for, he liked to think, the ultimate in hacking.

He told the Russians what they wanted to know about US. weapons systems, and in the doing gained rare insights into what the Soviets were most frightened of. Because of his unique, intimate knowledge of the enemy’s fears and weaknesses, he had become the Stephen Hawking of strategic weapons planning. But now, for the first time in his life, he was frightened. It wasn’t a game any longer, and someone was watching him.

He had tried two months ago to tap into the FBI’s computer system, but had failed to come up with anything specific about himself, except that the Bureau believed there was a Soviet spy within the Pentagon whom they had code-named FELIKS, after the cat he supposed. Over the following weeks he had come to believe that he was the FELIKS they were searching for, and he understood that there was no simple way out for him. Tonight he was convinced of it. It was nearly ten in the evening.

He sat in his tiny office in one of the sub-basements of the Pentagon staring at his computer screen. Normally he was home by six in the evening, when he would check his computer message service. If he was going to be late, he would bring up his home system on his office machine to see if anything was waiting for him on the amateur network.

This evening he had forgotten until now.

was a message, @from a man new on y as Jo, at TS Industries in California’s Silicon Valley. A complicated series of formulae filled his screen, describing the effects on a computer’s bubble memory system as it began to reach absolute zero, where all electrical resistance disappeared. In reality it was a message from his Soviet control officer. By running the formulae through a complex series of transformations, Rand could come up with a date, time, and grid reference for the city of Washington. The date was today, and the time was 2230, barely a half hour from now. Rand pulled up the street map of Washington, overlaid the grid reference, and picked out the meeting location. It was odd, he thought, meeting in a hospital parking lot, but then their meetings had been held at odder places: the Lincoln Memorial, Union Station, Gallaudet College. No way out, he thought again. He had gotten a kick out of the movie. But in real life things like that simply didn’t happen. He’d gotten the latest information they’d wanted, it was stored now in his home computer, and he would give it to his control officer tonight. But he was also going to give the man something else.

Something the Russians simply couldn’t refuse. Erasing the incoming message, Rand shut down his computer, pulled on his uniform blouse, and, briefcase in hand, took the elevator up to the security gate. “Working late tonight, Doc” one of the guards said as Rand turned in his security badge. He managed a tight smile and a shrug, laid the briefcase on the counter and opened it. Besides a few computer magazines, and a couple of nonclassified reports, there was a Police Special .38 revolver in a standard military issue holster. “You going partridge hunting” the guard asked a little too sharply. Again Rand managed a little smile.

“They want me to qualify by Monday, but I haven’t shot the damned thing for two years. ure,(orders he had worked up for himself, directing him to the range officer for pistol qualification on 26 June. The guard relaxed. “Watch out you don’t shoot your foot. “They’d probably qualify me on the spotrand quipped. “It would be the first thing I’d ever hit”

Outside in the parking lot, Rand tossed his briefcase into the passenger seat of his panel van and got in. Swiveling his seat toward the back he flipped on the van’s computer system, which was connected by cellular telephone to his house, and within seconds the data the Russians had requested from him was being transferred onto a floppy disk. Reaching over, he opened his briefcase, took the pistol out of its holster, and laid it on the seat next to his right leg. Oh, yes, he thought, smiling. He was definitely going to give the Russians something they couldn’t refuse. When the disk drive stopped, he swiveled forward, started the van and pulled out onto the highway.

Arkady Kurshin stood in the corridor a few feet from the emergency room watching the elevator going up. His car was parked just outside, and no one had given him a second glance as he had entered the hospital through the staff entrance. He was dressed in surgeon’s blue scrubs, including the booties and cap. Schey was in the fourth-floor ICU. He had gotten that information easily from the hospital switchboard. The elevator passed the third floor but instead of stopping at the fourth continued up to the fifth. He had punched the buttons for both floors. They had the elevator blocked on four, which left two stairwells, both of which would be watched. They wanted him to come here. They were waiting for him upstairs. McGarvey was waiting for him. He could almost feel the man’s presence in the air go to the range.

There had been no other special security from what he had been able to see. But the fourth floor would be different. Turning, he walked back down the corridor, passed through the emergency room, and stepped outside into the still warm evening. Checking his watch he saw that it was nearly ten-thirty. HAMMERHEAD would be arriving at any moment. He crossed the parking lot, stopping in the shadows between a Ford and a van about thirty feet from his own car as a pair of headlights entered the parking lot from the far end, and slowly started down the back row.

HAMMERHEAD had worked out the contact procedures himself some years ago.

He was given the meet time and place over his computer message network.

A car would be waiting for him with its dome light on. They had used four different color cars: white, blue, red, and black, and license plates from the District of Columbia, Maryland, Virginia, and Delaware.

Each plate began with the same letter: P. Rand was searching now for the white Mercedes with its dome light on and the proper license plate. At the end of the first row the van turned down the next, passing beneath a light, giving Kurshin a brief glimpse of a lone man behind the wheel.

The van passed the Mercedes, stopped, backed up, and then pulled into the adjacent parking place. The headlights went off, the driver’s side door opened, and a man stepped out. Kurshin, carrying his medical bag loosely in his left hand, stepped out of the shadows and approached Rand who looked up nervously and backed up a step. “Good evening” Kurshin said pleasantly. Rand’s eyes flicked from his medical garb to the black bag. He nodded. It was obvious that he was very frightened. A gold seam, perhaps, but an amateur ready to explode. “Damn” Kurshin suddenly swore.

“Looks as if I’ve left my dome light on. Probably run down the goddamned battery. I I “It would take at least twenty-four hours to do that” Rand answered automatically.

“It’s only been out here fifteen hours”

“Then you’ll be okay”

“Yes, I guess I’m safe” Rand was shaking his head. “Who the hell are you? I’ve never seen you before. Where is Thomas” Thomas, for the past couple of years, had been Antipov himself. “He sends his greetings”

Kurshin replied. “You must know by now that the situation is becoming dangerous for you”

“You’re goddamned right I know it. They’re calling me “Feliks the Cat,’ for Christ’s sake. Can you imagine that? I got it off the FBI’s machine.

Christ”

“Do you have something for me” You’re damned right I do” Rand said. He was working himself up. “But this time I want something in return”

“Is this information valid? It has not been compromised” Rand waved the questions off. He pulled out a three-and-one-half-inch floppy disk from his pocket and held it in his left hand. His right hand was in his trousers pocket. His nostrils were flaring and his eyes were very wide.

Something was drastically wrong here. Kurshin’s gut tightened, but he held himself in check. “This is our information”

“Everything you asked for. Current to the next twelve days and untraceable. I mean totally in the blind”

“You mentioned something in return. “I want out” Rand said. “What do you mean”

“I want you to take me to Moscow. I’m going to trade you this data for my passage”

“I don’t think that’s possible Kurshin started to say when Rand suddenly pulled the .38 Police Special out of his pocket and cocked the hammer.

“Then I’ll bag me a goddamned Russian spy” Rand shouted. Driven purely by instinct, Kurshin batted the pistol away rand’s finger jerked on the trigger and the gun went off. Kurshin pulled out his silenced Graz Buyra from the waist band of his scrubs and fired one shot point-blank into Rand’s face. As the man was flung backward he fired his gun again, the noise shockingly loud in the parking lot.

“Those were gunshots” McGarvey shouted, racing out of the ICU. He and Dr. Rabbinoux had been standing beside Schey’s bed near the window. When the shots were fired, McGarvey had looked down into the parking lot. But there was nothing to be seen. Potok had drawn his gun. “Somewhere outside” McGarvey snapped. “He knows we’re here, and he’s trying to draw us out” Potok said. They were in the outer office. Dr. Rabbinoux snatched the telephone. McGarvey grabbed it from him. “Get the hell out of here now, Doctor” he yelled. “That’s my patient in there..”

“Not for the moment. I’m telling you to get out of here. Go to your office and stay there, no matter what you hear” Dr. Rabbinoux stepped away from them uncertainly, then turned and hurried out into the corridor, and disappeared. “I’ll take the west stairwell” McGarvey said.

“You stick it out here. Anyone comes through either door, shoot them.

“What about Schey”

“I don’t give a shit about him. He’s served his purpose. It’s Kurshin down there, and he’s waiting for me”

“Watch yourself” Potok said, but McGarvey was already racing down the corridor. The stairwell was silent.

If anyone was coming up they were making absolutely no noise. McGarvey switched the Walther’s safety to the off position and started down, taking the stairs two at a time but making as little noise as possible.

At the bottom of each course he leaned well over the steel railing which gave him a clear shot at the next two courses below. Nothing moved. No one was there. On the third floor two nurses were talking at their station, and on the second an attendant was pushing a man on a gurney through double doors.

Nothing out of the ordinary. At the bottom, McGarvey pulled out his FBI identification, clipped it to his lapel pocket, and stepped out into the corridor. A knot of people had gathered near the front desk, staring and gesticulating down the broad corridor toward the emergency room entrance. Two Marine guards came pounding up the hall, and when they spotted McGarvey, they split up, dropping into shooter’s stances. “Halt!

Halt” one of the Marines shouted as McGarvey started to turn toward them. He raised his hands above his head so that his gun was in plain sight. “FBI” he shouted. The Marines were well trained but they were young and inexperienced. They hesitated, their weapons trained on McGarvey. Behind him he could hear that the people who’d been standing near the front desk were scattering, trying to get out of the line of fire. “Look at my badge” McGarvey yelled. “I’m FBI” One of the Marines straightened up and cautiously approached, his eyes switching nervously from McGarvey’s gun to the badge on his lapel. “I’m Special Agent McGarvey. FBI. You can check it out, but we heard shots down here”

“Call Captain Schiller” the Marine called back to his partner. “On the double” The other Marine jumped up and rushed down the corridor back into the emergency room. “What the hell happened” McGarvey demanded. “I heard two shots, somewhere outside” The Marine was still uncertain.

“We’ll just wait “Goddamnit” McGarvey shouted. “You people know what’s going on up on the fourth floor. It’s why I’m here. Now what the hell happened out there” The Marine finally backed down a little. He lowered his weapon, and McGarvey slowly lowered his hands.

“It’s an Air Force officer. He was shot out in the parking lot”

“Who did it”

“We don’t know, sir. He apparently drove up, shot the officer and drove off. The police have been notified … I I “How did you know this, exactly? Did you see it yourself’”

“No, sir. It was the doctor who “What doctor”

“A surgeon, I think. Blue scrubs. He saw everything, called for the emergency room team, and got him inside”

“Christ” McGarvey swore. “It’s him”

“Sir”

“That doctor is the killer!

He’s Russian! KGB” McGarvey pushed past the Marine and raced down the corridor to the emergency room. The kid caught up with him almost immediately. Together they burst through the swinging doors and into the waiting room filled with people. “He’s in here” the Marine shouted, swinging left and rushing into the examining room area. McGarvey was right behind him. A team of doctors and nurses were working frantically on a man lying flat on his back on an examining table. Kurshin was not among them. The Air Force officer had been shot in the face. “Where is the doctor who brought this man in” McGarvey shouted. One of the nurses looked over her shoulder at McGarvey and the Marine standing there, guns in hand, then glanced at the team members and shook her head. “I think he’s on seven getting an operating room ready” she said and went back to her work.

Arkady Kurshin nodded tiredly at the three nurses on the fifth-floor duty station as he picked up the telephone and dialed the three-digit number for the fourth-floor ICU. Rand’s a 0 is scru S. in im 00 as if he had just come from an operating theater. “Tough night, Doctor” one of the nurses asked. “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you” Kurshin said injecting a note of deep tiredness into his voice. The nurse smiled solicitously and moved off so that he could have a little privacy for his telephone call. It was ringing. Potok answered. Kurshin did not recognize his voice, but he knew it wasn’t McGarvey. “This is security”

Kurshin snapped, keeping his own voice just low enough so that the nurses couldn’t hear what he was saying. “We’ve got him on the second floor”

“What? Who is this”

“Security, god damnit. The Russian, we’ve got the bastard cornered on the second floor. Is McGarvey there”

“No, he went down just a couple of minutes ago” Shit, Kurshin swore to himself. “Well, we need help, god damnit. Either find McGarvey or get your ass down here on the double”

“What about Schey”

“We’ve got the goddamned Russian cornered, didn’t you hear me” Kurshin snapped. The nurse was looking at him. He smiled tiredly, and she gave him a knowing look. “On my way” Potok said.

“Good” Kurshin said and he hung up the telephone. The elevator was still on the fifth floor. Except for McGarvey’s absence, his luck was holding.

But if the bastard had gone downstairs, he would know by now what was going on. There still could be a chance. “The nights keep getting longer” the nurse said. “Isn’t that the truth” Kurshin replied and he went down the corridor and stepped out into the stairwell. He could hear someone rushing down the stairs below as he pulled out his gun and hurried down, his bootied feet making absolutely no noise. The fourth-floor corridor was deserted. Nothing moved, there were no sounds.

that this was a trap. He pushed open the ICU doors and went into the unit itself. Schey was the only patient. He had regained consciousness, and his eyes were open. He spotted Kurshin and he went wild, thrashing around in the bed, pulling IV tubes out of his arms. “You were a mistake, Dieter” Kurshin said softly in German. He raised his gun and shot the East German in the face. Above the bed, the heart monitor went flat and began to whistle in a steady tone. Turning, Kurshin walked back through the ICU and out into the corridor at the same moment Dr.

Rabbinoux was emerging from his office. “Who called you up here”

Rabbinoux started to ask. Kurshin raised his pistol and shot the doctor in the face at a range of less than twenty feet, the man’s head snapping back, his eyes and nose filling with blood, and his body slamming backward against the wall. McGarvey. He wanted McGarvey. It was the entire reason for coming here like this tonight. The bastard had sent up the signal: Here I am, come and get me. Dieter Schey, your little East German expert, is here. Bait. Come if you can. “Well, I came” Kurshin mumbled in frustration. Reaching the stairwell he heard the first-floor door slam open and someone start up the steps. More than one person. At least two, perhaps more. He wanted McGarvey, but he had another job to do. As much as it rankled, he was professional enough to realize that if he remained here to fight it out, he would lose. There was no way of going up against them all. At least not this time … perhaps. Kurshin turned and hurried noiselessly back up to the fifth floor, where he flashed the nurses another tired smile. The elevator was still on this floor. He punched the button, the doors opened, and he stepped aboard.

“Have a good evening” he said pleasantly. “You too, Doctor” the nurse said.

McGarvey with the two Marines right behind him held up at the fourth-floor door, opening it carefully. “Potok” he started to shout, the word dying on his lips as he spotted Dr. Rabbinoux’s body lying in a pool of blood. He slammed open the door and ran down the corridor, again holding up at the ICU door. The Marines were right behind him. McGarvey motioned for them to back him up, and he shoved his way into the room, sweeping his gun right to left, keeping low, moving fast. Schey was dead, shot in the face at close range. “Christ” McGarvey swore.

“Sir” one of the Marines shouted from the corridor. “Out here”

McGarvey spun on his heel and raced back out of the ICU. Potok had just come through the east stairwell door. The Marine had a gun on him, Potok’s hands raised above his head. “Where the fuck did you go”

McGarvey shouted. “You bastard. potok was shaking his head. McGarvey turned on the Marine. “He’s on the loose. Have this building sealed.

Immediately”

“Yes, Sirthe Marine snapped, but McGarvey had the feeling that they were too late. Once Kurshin was free, God only knew what would happen next.

Trotter had used his car phone to call ahead twice. Each time FBI Agent Tom Sills had assured him that nothing had happened yet, but that they were keeping their eyes open. Turning off the secondary highway he hurried up the narrow gravel road three-quarters of a mile to the house. His windows were down. The night was very dark under a slightly overcast sky, and the air smelled heavy.

It would probably rain soon, he thought. Fifty yards before the road opened into the clearing, his way was blocked by a battered blue pickup truck and he had to stop. He reached beneath his coat and pulled out his pistol, thumbing the safety off. “It’s me” he called out softly. “John Trotter”

illuminated the interior of the car, blinding him. “It’s him” a voice said from the darkness. He heard the static and crackle of a walkie-talkie. A second later the flashlight was switched off, and Agent Sills approached the car. “You made good time, sir” he said. “Sorry about the light, but we had to make sure”

“No problem” Trotter said.

“Everything is still okay here”

“So far so good” Sills said but he seemed a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry, sir, but I called for backup.

It’s very dark out here and there’s no way the four of us will be able to cover every approach” They had wanted to keep this operation as quiet as possible, but the man did have a point, and Trotter conceded it.

“You’re right, but I want the extra hands kept away from Dr. Abbott.

Officially she is just another body in the Witness Protection Program.”

“Yes, sir”

“They don’t even have to know she is a woman”

“No”

“Move your truck now and tell them I’m coming up to the house. I want to talk to her”

“Will do” Agent Sills said.

Yuri Deryugin and Mikhail Lakomsky lay on the floor of the dark woods a few meters down from where the blue pickup truck was parked. They were dressed in black night fighter coveralls, their faces blackened. Each of them was armed with an AK74 assault rifle equipped with infrared spotting scope. In addition they each carried a suppressed .22 caliber automatic pistol, a razorsharp stiletto, and a wire garrote capable, in the right hands, of completely severing a man’s head from his body. They were both experts, KGB Department Viktor graduates, whom Baranov had handpicked for advancement. For the past hour since penetrating the property’s outer spotting the three FBI agents, one by the pickup truck, one just within the woods down from the clearing, and the other on the east side of the house. They assumed there would be at least one other agent within the house, in addition to the man who’d just shown up. They had been close enough to overhear most of the conversation between Sills and Trotter, so they knew that they would have to get in and out soon, before the reinforcements arrived. Deryugin motioned for Lakomsky to hold up. The other man nodded and took aim on Agent Sills’s back with his rifle. It was very quiet. Even so, Lakomsky could hear absolutely no noise as Deryugin crept forward toward where Agent Sills was backing the pickup truck into place. Sills got out of the truck. He was dressed in a blue windbreaker and dark blue baseball cap. He carried an M16 rifle, which he slung, barrel down, over his shoulder as he stepped off the road, and hid himself behind the hole of a larger tree, barely one meter from where Deryugin lay perfectly still. Slowly, the Russian rose up from the darkness behind Sills. He held the garrote loosely in his two hands, and as he took a single step forward he raised it up over his head. Sills never really knew what happened. One instant he was standing behind the tree looking toward the driveway, and in the next something incredibly sharp was around his neck, and his world began immediately to grow gray and soft.

“We think there may be some trouble coming our way” Trotter told Lorraine Abbott. They sat in the pleasantly furnished living room across from each other. Agent Bert Langerford had stepped out into the stairwell to let them talk. “Is it the Russians” she asked. She hadn’t gotten much rest in the past few days, and it was beginning to show in her eyes, which were red and puffy. “We think so” Trotter said. “I’m not going to lie to you. But I think you will be safe here for the moment.

In the morning we’ll be moving you to another place” She was watching him, her nostrils flared. “You think there may be some trouble.

You think they may be Russians. You think I’ll be safe here for the moment. What, Mr. Trotter, do you know”

“That you are a very important woman, Dr. Abbott” Trotter said tiredly.

“And that the Russians want you dead “Why, in God’s name? What have I done to them”

“You got in their way”

“How”

“By helping Kirk McGarvey”

“Damn” Lorraine said in frustration. She jumped up and went across to the heavily draped window, hugging herself as if she were cold. “Please don’t open the curtains” Trotter said. She spun on him. “Are they here now”

“It’s possible”

“Then what” she demanded. Trotter didn’t understand the question.

“Doctor”

“If they come here tonight and try … and fail. Then what happens to me”

“As I said, we’ll be moving you to a new safehouse. “I mean afterward.

How long is this going to keep up”

“I don’t know” Trotter admitted. “But not very long”

“It’s already been too long” Lorraine snapped. “Far too long.

“It was Kurshin on the telephone” Potok said.

HE and McGarvey stood back as the FBI’s forensics crew worked with two computer experts from the CIA’s Technical Services Division, going over Rand’s van. There were police and military security people everywhere, and more were coming. They could hear sirens in the distance. “Yeah”

McGarvey said. “And now the sonofabitch is gone” It rankled, and it was all he could do to hold his anger in check. The man was good. Almost too good, as if he had gotten information from another source. “If I had stayed “

McGarvey shook his head. “He would have found another way in, or he would have killed you” An APB had been put out, and police in a twenty-five seen him leave the hospital or seen what kind of a car he was driving. The Soviet Embassy was being watched, but it wasn’t likely he would go back there. He’d had this all worked out in the beginning.

Rand’s meeting him here like this was nothing more than a convenience for him. All of his ducks had been lined up in a neat little row. “What I can’t figure out is what happened here. The shots you heard were fired from Rand’s pistol”

“He was on Trotter’s short list, and he was smart enough to figure that we were on to him. He probably came here demanding that Kurshin get him out of Washington. When Kurshin refused he pulled out a gun”

“The poor bastard never had a chance” Potok said. McGarvey looked at him. He was starting to come down, and a deep tiredness seemed to be closing in. But there was something else. He was missing something.

Kurshin had known what the setup was on the fourth floor. How? Who knew besides Trotter? Don Lillianthal, one of the CIA technicians, broke away from the others searching Rand’s van and came over to where McGarvey and Potok were standing. He was young, in his early twenties. “It’s all there” he said. “Hell of a setup. State of the art. The man definitely knew his shit”

“What have you got for us” McGarvey asked. “It’s hard to say, Mr.

McGarvey. What he’s got in there is an IBM XT, but jazzed up with some of his own circuitry, and wired directly into a cellular telephone.

Which means he could tap into his own home system, which I’m sure is a doozy, and in turn tap into any computer network in the country … hell, probably the entire world”

” Any physical evidence that he turned something over to the Russians”

“Only in a negative sense, sir” Lillianthal said. “One of his disk drawers was empty”

“Which means”

He’d almost always be running one program or another. We found plenty of disks in the van”

“Anything classified”

“Almost certainly” Lillianthal said. “That’ll be up to the Pentagon to decide, they know their own shit better than I do.

But the point I’m trying to make, sir, is that it’s possible that whatever information he’d wanted to pass over to the Russians was contained on the disk he took out of the reader. He just bought the farm before he had a chance to reload”

“How much information is on one of those things” McGarvey asked. “A lot”

“Enough, let’s say, to reprogram an intercontinental ballistic missile”

Potok asked. Lilliandial grinned. “Hell, sir, there’s enough room on that type of disk to build an ICBM” Potok turned away, his jaw tight.

McGarvey knew what the man was thinking. June thirtieth was less than two weeks away, and almost certainly Kurshin had the data he needed for the second attack. But what data? Rand was an expert on virtually every weapons system within the US. and NATO arsenals. That was a lot of dangerous territory. “Thanks” McGarvey told the kid. “We’ll get out of your hair now”

“No sweat. We’ll have something put together for you first thing in the A.M. We’re heading over to his house now”

“That’s it for us now” Potok said when Lillianthal had gone. “Truly, I am sorry that this did not work out”

“It’s not over with yet” Potok shrugged. “It is for me. Now I must call my embassy, and in the morning I will return home. We have much work to do”

“I’ll see what I can do from this end” McGarvey said. “It may not be much”

“I think you will go after Kurshin. I think that you will not let that go so easily, but it has nothing to do with Israel. It has only to do with you”

come up with something “Then you will contact me, or you will not. We’ll see” A Montgomery County patrol car pulled up, and the cop called to them from the open window. “Mr. McGarvey” McGarvey turned around.

“Yes”

“Been trying to find you for the last half hour, sir. You’re supposed to call two-eight-seven on the double. Sounded urgent. It was the extension Trotter had given him. “Hold on” he told Potok. “Can I call out on your radio” he asked the cop. “Yes, sir” the cop said McGarvey went around the car and got in on the passenger side as the cop contacted his central dispatch. He handed the microphone to McGarvey, who radioed the telephone number. It was answered on the first ring. “Good evening, the White House” The cop’s eyes widened. “Two-eight-seven” McGarvey said.

The connection was made a second later. “Yes”

“McGarvey”

“There may be a developing situation at Falmouth. Trotter is on his way there now”

McGarvey’s grip tightened on the microphone. “How long ago”

“Sixty-five minutes”

“Call him and say that we’re on our way. “Yes” the man said and the connection was broken. “Can you get me a helicopter” he asked the cop.

“Now”

“Yes, sir. On the hospital roof. Five minutes”

“Do it” McGarvey snapped and he jumped out of the car.

Potok had heard the entire exchange. “He made his contact, took care of Schey, and now he’s after Dr. Abbott”

“Looks like it” McGarvey said. “We just might have the bastard after all.

Arka(ty Kurshin lowered his police-band walkie-talkie, a thin smile coming to his lips. From where he stood on the roof of the hospital building he had a clear sight line down into the parking lot. The game he was playing was dangerous, and he knew it. If he lost now, his life would be forfeit. Baranov would see to it. The entire project rested on his decision and his ability to carry it out. But the timing was tight.

It depended upon who would show up first, McGarvey or the helicopter.

Kurshin was still dressed in his blue hospital scrubs. He moved away from the roof edge and in the shadows pulled off the bloodstained clothes, bundled them up and stuffed them behind an airconditioning vent. Beneath, he wore a short-sleeved khaki jacket, khaki trousers, and soft boots. He had reloaded his automatic on the way up to the roof, and he checked its action as he moved directly across to the helicopter pad on the north side of the building, low red lights outlining the landing circle. From where he crouched in the darkness behind the main airconditioning equipment house he could see the elevator door to his left, and the helicopter pad directly ahead. Trotter was assistant deputy director of operations for the Agency, and a longtime friend of McGarvey’s. Baranov had described him as a capable administrator and more than a fair cop. Something had spooked him into going out to Falmouth. Kurshin figured it was probably the helicopter overflight this afternoon. Antipov was probably right, the Americans had discovered the true nature of Xavier Enterprises. Again, Kurshin had the thought that he was backing himself into a trap. He had the data they needed, so why hadn’t he turned and left the hospital when he’d had the chance? By now he would have been long gone. On his way back to Rome where his team would be gathering. McGarvey. He had eyes now only for that man. He could still hear the American’s voice clearly in his mind from the sewer tunnel beneath the streets of Kaiserslautern. He could still see McGarvey disarming the missile. And he could still feel the incredible surprise and anger that had overcome him at that moment. The bile then as now tasted bitter at the back of his throat. He had been staring at the elevator indicator-the car was still on the ground floor-when he suddenly could hear the distant sound of an incoming helicopter. He looked up and searched the sky, finally finding it coming fast from the northeast. He glanced at the elevator indicator again; still the car remained downstairs. Time. It always was just a matter of timing. The helicopter, with police markings on its tail, quickly loomed large overhead as it slowly came in for a landing, centering on the pad and swinging around in a tight little circle before settling in. Hiding his gun behind his right leg, Kurshin ran across to the helicopter, keeping low. The pilot was alone in his machine. As Kurshin approached he popped open the door. “Mr. McGarvey” he shouted over the noise of the rotors.

“No” Kurshin said. He raised his pistol and shot the cop in the face, careful to aim above the microphone in front of his lips, and below the rim of his helmet. The cop’s body was shoved to the side against his restraints, and then slumped forward. Kurshin looked over his shoulder.

The elevator indicator was on the second floor and starting up now!

Shoving his pistol in his belt, he quickly unharnessed the cop’s body, manhandled it out of the helicopter, and dragged it across the roof, dumping it in the darkness behind the airconditioning house. He unstrapped the helmet and pulled it off the cop’s head. Only a small amount of blood had spattered the inside of the helmet which Kurshin quickly wiped off with his handkerchief, and as he raced back to the helicopter he pulled the helmet on. He scrambled into the machine, strapped himself in, and plugged in his headset. A split second later the elevator door opened, and two men stepped out, one of them McGarvey.

They rushed across the roof to the helicopter as Kurshin reached over and popped open the rear door, then turned back to his instruments and control column. This machine, he decided, wasn’t much different from the larger Hind trainers he had learned on. “We have to get down to Falmouth in a hurry” McGarvey said, climbing into the rear seat. “Yes, sir”

Kurshin replied. “Exactly where do you want to go”

“I’ll tell you on the run. Now get us out of here”

It had taken Yuri Deryugin a full fifteen minutes to make his way through the dark woods to the edge of the clearing. He had sent Lakomsky across the dirt road to approach the house from the east. Between them they would be able to cover the entire clearing and three sides of the large farmhouse. Standing behind the hole of a large tree, the Russian raised his rifle, activated the infrared scope, and slowly scanned the clearing left to right. Images appeared pale gray and ghostly, but nobody could hide in the darkness. A very bright light bloomed in his scope from the edge of the woods about fifty yards to Deryugin’s left, momentarily overpowering his scope and blinding him.

For a second or two he wasn’t sure what he had seen. Gunfire, an explosion? But there had been no sound. The light breeze was blowing in his face, and the images in his scope cleared about the same moment he smelled cigarette smoke. One of the FBI agents had actually lit a cigarette. In Deryugin’s mind the action was extremely stupid, unprofessional. They were expecting trouble, and yet this man could not control his petty vice. The agent’s body was partially hidden behind brush and small trees, but Deryugin had a clear sight line on his head.

At this distance he would have preferred a torso shot, and under normal conditions he would have moved in closer to get it. But there were others coming. He had heard the other agent tell Trotter so. There was no time. Deryugin settled the rifle’s crosshairs on the FBI agent’s ear, then raised his aim slightly to compensate for the effect the Kevlar silencer would have on the path of the bullet and squeezed off a shot, the noise audible perhaps for as far as twenty yards. The agent disappeared, his body crashing into the brush. For just an instant Deryugin thought he might have missed, but there were no other sounds in the woods, and he knew that he had not. The agent was down and dead.

Again the Russian carefully scanned the clearing and the house, left to right. He caught a movement in the woods across the driveway, lost it, then picked it up again, a dark figure moving silently. It was Lakomsky getting into position. From the helicopter they had spotted a man on the east side of the house. Lakomsky would be in position to see him at any moment now. The walkie-talkie he had taken from Sills’s body crackled to life. “Hank”

Deryugin pulled it from his pocket and put it to his ear. “Hank, for Christ’s sake, was that you making all that goddamned noise over there”

Apparently he had heard the body crashing into the brush, but had not heard the silenced shot. “Tom, you copy”

“What the hell is going on out there” another voice radioed. “Is that Bert”

“Yeah, I’m in the front hallway. Now what the hell is going on out there”

“I heard a noise in the woods, and now I can’t raise Hank or.” The agent’s voice was abruptly cut off in midsentence by a distinctive short, sharp sound and the radio was silent. Deryugin knew what he had heard. Lakomsky had shot him. The sound was that of a high-powered rifle bullet hitting a human skull. “Mays, you were cut off” the agent from inside the house answered. Deryugin keyed the walkie-talkie. “Christ, I think Mays and Hank are both down. We’ve got troubles out here”

” Who is this”

“Tom” Deryugin replied, muffling his voice a little. “Goddamnit, Sills, where the hell are you”

“I’m coming up the road from the truck. Should be to you in a couple of minutes, maybe less”

“Are we under attack”

“I think so Deryugin radioed, cutting himself off before finishing the sentence. He dropped the walkie-talkie to the ground and raised his rifle, aiming at the front door of the farmhouse.

“Sills” the agent in the house radioed urgently. “Sills, goddamit”

At this point, his first objective accomplished, Lakomsky would have moved farther south so that he could cover the rear exits from the house. Sixty seconds. Deryugin was going to give the agent inside the house that long. No more. Less than ten seconds later the front door of the house opened. Deryugin could see the figure of a man just inside. He waited patiently. The FBI agent came out of the house a moment later in a dead run, momentarily catching Deryugin off guard. But the Russian was a professional and extremely well trained. He led the man off the porch, and twenty feet from the house, he squeezed off a shot, hitting the man high on his torso, literally lifting him off his feet. Bert Langerford’s M 16 fired a quick burst as he went down, but he was dead before he hit the ground.

Deryugin lowered his rifle. Now there was only the woman and Trotter, left inside. Moving fast, he stepped around from behind the tree and zigzagged across the clearing toward the house.

Langerford was down and a darksuited figure was racing across the clearing from the woods. Trotter, standing a few feet inside the stairhall, led the man with his pistol and fired off three shots in rapid succession. The figure went down, rolled twice, and fired two shots, the bullets smacking into the wall behind Trotter. A silenced rifle, Trotter had time to note, as he dove left. His heart was hammering in his chest. Somehow they had managed to take out all four agents. There was no telling how many of them were out there. But Sills had said he had called for reinforcements. If they could only hold out here for a little longer. Lorraine Abbott was at the head of the stairs.

Langerford had told her to hide herself somewhere upstairs, but she had turned back when she’d heard the M16 firing. Deryugin fired a third shot, the bullet shattering a section of banister a few feet below where she stood. “Get back” Trotter shouted up at her. He started for the stairs when the back door burst open, and Lakomsky’s big frame suddenly filled the doorway. Trotter snapped off two shots, both of them hitting the Russian in the chest, driving him backward.

Ignoring it, Trotter took the stairs up two at a time. Lorraine had shrunk back against the corridor wall, her eyes wide with fright.

Grabbing her arm, he roughly hauled her the rest Of the way down the hall to the attic door, which he yanked open. The narrow stairs led up into the darkness. “They’ve come here to kill me, haven’t they”

Lorraine whispered. She was very frightened” Yes, but I’ve managed to kill one of them, and I may have wounded the one out front”

“There’s probably more than two of them”

“Possibly” Trotter admitted.

“But the FBI is sending someone else out here. They should be arriving very soon. “Can we hold out that long”

“We’re going to try, Doctor, believe me” Trotter said. His weapon was a six-shot .38 caliber revolver. He’d already fired five times. “For now I want you to go up to the attic, find the darkest spot, and hide yourself. No noise, no sounds, nothing. And I don’t want you coming out of there until you hear my voice or McGarvey’s”

“He’s coming here”

“I left the message for him. Now get up there. No noise” She looked at him for a long moment, then turned and headed up the stairs on the balls of her feet. As soon as she had disappeared into the darkness, Trotter closed the door and headed back down the corridor to the stairs, stopping just at the end of the corridor. Nothing moved below in the stairhall. The front door was still open. Turning, he hurried silently back down the corridor and went into one of the front bedrooms, where he cautiously approached the window and, parting the curtain slightly, looked down into the clearing. Langerford’s body still lay in the gravel driveway, but the Russian was gone. Where was he, and how many others were out there? There was no telling when Sills’s reinforcements would — god Until then it would be up to him to hold out here. His first task would be to find more ammunition for his weapon, or take the rifle from the dead Russian in the back hall. “Put your gun down, Mr. Trotter”

someone said from behind him. Trotter stiffened and started to turn. “I will kill you unless you do exactly as I say” Trotter weighed his chances, which at the moment were practically nil. The man behind him was almost certainly a Russian Department Viktor type. Highly trained, highly motivated. “We don’t do things like this on each other’s territory” he said. “Your gun. Drop it”

“If you know my name, then you know who and what I am. If you kill me, the political repercussions could even bring a man such as Baranov down”

“I have no time to argue with you. Either drop your gun this instant or I will kill you” Trotter had absolutely no doubt the man meant what he was saying. Time, it was all he needed. Slowly he bent over and laid the .38 on the floor, and straightening up he stepped away from it and turned around. The Russian was tall and very well built. His weapon was equipped with the latest night spotting scope, and silencer, which explained their effectiveness. “Where is Dr. Abbott”

“The FBI is sending reinforcements out here. They will be here momentarily”

“Yes, I know this” Deryugin replied calmly. “So you will either take me to Dr. Abbott or I will kill you and search the house myself” Trotter shook his head. “You will either kill me now or then, so it doesn’t matter”

“No. I don’t mean to kill either of you. My orders were to come here, kidnap Dr. Abbott, and take her to Freder City. If you cooperate, I will bring you as well. You would be quite a prize in Moscow” Was the man telling the truth? Probably not, Trotter decided. An assassination was infinitely easier than kidnapping. There would be no need for them to take the latter risk. Again it came down to a question of time. “She’s in the basement” Deryugin’s eyes narrowed. “I think she is up here somewhere”

“As soon as the shooting began, I sent her downstairs. I came up here to see what was happening outside. High ground” Deryugin was weighing the possibilities, Trotter could see it in the man’s eyes. “We will go to the basement. If you are lying I will kill you. Trotter nodded. “I think we’ve already established that”

They had followed Interstate 95 out of Washington, skirting Falmouth along the Rappahannock River which brought them in from the rear of the ninety-acre property on which the farmhouse was perched. At first they nearly overflew the place. There were absolutely no lights showing from the house. They came around in a tight circle, and McGarvey finally spotted Trotter’s car parked behind the FBI’s blue van. “There” McGarvey shouted, leaning forward. “Set us down in the clearing at the front of the house” Kurshin nodded. “Yes, sir” McGarvey sat back and studied the pilot’s neck and shoulders. The voice. There was something vaguely familiar about the man. He hadn’t gotten a very good look at him because of the helmet he wore, and the rush they were in. But all the way down something kept nagging at the back of his mind. “Kirk” Potok suddenly shouted. McGarvey turned to him. They were barely a hundred feet off the ground now. Potok was pointing down. There was a stenciled in yellow letters on the back of his dark blue windbreaker. “Get us down now”

McGarvey shouted. “And then call for backup”

“Yes, sir” Kurshin replied. McGarvey pulled out his Walther, checked the action, and switched the safety off. The instant the helicopter’s skids touched the gravel driveway, he popped the hatch and he and Potok scrambled out, separated and raced up toward the house. Behind them the helicopter rose up a few feet and sideslipped all the way across the clearing, where it set down just at the edge of the woods. It was a good move, McGarvey thought, getting the machine out of the line of fire. But he didn’t have time for that now. Potok reached Langerford’s body first and turned it over. “He’s dead” he called out. McGarvey nodded and pointed up toward the house. The front door was open. Together they raced the rest of the way up the driveway, mounted the three steps onto the porch, and stopped on either side of the door, their guns up and at the ready. They exchanged a look, and McGarvey rolled left, leaping into the stairhall, sweeping left to right as he ran. He pulled up at the bottom of the stairs. In the dim light filtering in from outside he could see another figure lying in a heap in the back corridor. This one was dressed in black. Potok came in a moment later, flattening against the opposite wall. For a moment they remained in position, listening.

But the house was absolutely still. “Trotter” McGarvey shouted. There was no answer. They were too late. While Kurshin had been running them around in circles at the hospital, he had sent his people out here to kill Lorraine. “We’ll start upstairs” he said.

“The body out front was oozing blood. He cannot have been dead for more than a few minutes”

“I hope you’re right” McGarvey replied. His gut was tight, and a rage threatened to engulf him. Control, he told himself. It always came down to that. The upstairs corridor was in nearly complete darkness. McGarvey started up the stairs, slowly, softly, his every sense straining to detect a noise, a movement, anything that would indicate someone was waiting above. At the top he stepped into the deeper shadows along the wall and cocked his ear. Had he heard something? Perhaps above, in the attic, a floorboard creaking. “Hold up” he whispered softly to Potok who was a few steps down. The Israeli stopped. “John” McGarvey called out.

“Lorraine” There was a definite movement above in the attic, and then someone was coming down the stairs at the end of the corridor.

McGarvey dropped back and brought his gun up, aiming into the darkness.

A door banged open. “Kirk” Lorraine Abbott cried. “Oh, God, is it you”

“Here” McGarvey called to her. She came the rest of the way down the corridor in a rush, and suddenly she was in his arms, crying and laughing. For just a second or two, McGarvey kept his gun up, but then he allowed himself to relax, and he led her to the head of the stairs.

“There was shooting, and I think they killed all the FBI agents. I can’t believe you’re here. It’s over”

“Are you all right”

“Frightened, but I’m okay” She spotted Potok and stiffened. “What about John? Where is he” Her eyes suddenly went very wide. “Oh, my God, Kirk.

You haven’t found him”

“What is it”

ie s ie stammere(Isere.

“Heard who”

“One of the Russians. He wanted to know where I was hiding. John told him I was down in the basement. They’re still there”

Potok spun around and dropped low so that he could see down into the stairhall. He shook his head. “Stay here” McGarvey whispered urgently to Lorraine. “It was a police helicopter that brought us in. The pilot has called for backup”

“Kirk, it was the Russians in a helicopter this afternoon. That’s how they found us”

“It’s all right. No matter what happens stay here” McGarvey said. He hadn’t really listened to her. She nodded, her eyes wide. Potok started down the stairs, McGarvey a few feet behind him. Suddenly there was a shuffling below. “Kirk” Trotter cried out. A burst of automatic weapons fire raked the stairwell. The Israeli took at least three hits in his legs, and he pitched forward, tumbling down the stairs. “Now” Trotter shouted again. McGarvey was down the stairs in time to see Trotter desperately struggling with a black-suited figure who was trying to bring his bulky rifle around again. He snapped off three shots as he scrambled past Potok, the first going wide, the second hitting the Russian in the neck and the third smacking into the side of his head, spinning him around against the wall, where he collapsed. “Are you all right” he shouted back at Potok who was struggling to sit up. “I’ll live” the Israeli said, gritting his teeth in pain. “John … “

McGarvey started to ask when another burst of automatic weapons fire raked the stairhall, this time from the rear corridor.

Trotter took at least one hit in his hip, the force of the bullet slamming him backward off his feet.

McGarvey took one in the side, shoving him to the left, as he fired two shots at a darksuited figure in the back doorway.

He hit the floor and rolled over and over toward the wall as the firing went on and on. It came to him in a split instant then; their pilot in the khaki jacket, his familiar voice, there on the roof of the hospital waiting for them. It was Kurshin. It had to be! He fired three more shots in desperation, but the doorway was empty. “Kurshinhe shouted at the top of his lungs. “Kurshin! He tried to struggle up, but it was hard to move, and it seemed as if the stairhall was becoming even darker than before. Kurshinhe shouted again. In the distance he thought he could hear sirens, a lot of them, but that was impossible, he thought, sinking back on the floor. Again he had failed. The sirens were much closer now, but then they were drowned out by the sounds of the helicopter lifting off. He had failed, but so had the Russian. There would be a next time, he thought as the darkness settled in over him.

There definitely would be a next time.