The Victorian's dark turrets, wrapped in gray shingles, seemed to lean over them as they reached the house. A porch wrapped around the side and front of the house, half in collapse. Parts of it were little more than splintered piles of rotted wood. The intact portion, in front of the main entrance, had a roof that visibly bowed in the center.
Their keeper pushed them toward the stairs. Gideon and Ruth stepped up to the unstable-looking porch. Gideon went slowly, out of fear of putting a foot through a rotten board. Once he stepped onto the snow-covered porch, he realized he needn't have worried. The surface he walked on, under a thin coating of snow, was a new piece of plywood. Once he was on the porch, he could see that there were a number of places above them where metal braces supported what was left of the porch above them.
The main doorway appeared to be boarded shut, but as they approached, the sheet of plywood covering the doorway opened up, swinging out to reveal a stern looking guy in a turtleneck, carrying another Kalishnikov. If it hadn't been for the Russian weapon, the guy in the sweater projected an attitude reminiscent of the plain-clothes Marines.
They didn't get to see much of the interior as they were hustled upstairs. From what Gideon saw, this place had been abandoned at one point. But it was being used for something now. They passed a drawing room that seemed to be the final resting place of every piece of furniture that had been abandoned with the house. Just before they ascended the stairs, Gideon looked down a hallway and saw that the warped, water-stained hardwood floor snaked with cables.
Then they were upstairs, walking down a corridor of cracked plaster and peeling wallpaper. The hallway had once been carpeted, but the carpet, what was left of it, was rolled up and leaning at the end of the hall against a boarded-up window.
Their keepers took them to a room that held a few cots, a desk, and a small computer terminal. Gideon noticed that the desk had a set of cables that went through a hole in the floor that had been made by removing one of the floorboards. The cables included the power cord that led to the standing lamp that was the only light in the windowless room.
'Sit,' said the man who had led them all the way from the van. He set down his rifle behind the desk and stripped off his parka. Briefly, Gideon thought of diving for the weapon, but the gentleman with the sweater was still with them, his own Kalishnikov ready.
Gideon and Ruth sat. Gideon couldn't help but sigh with relief as he took the weight off his leg. Both his legs were stinging as ice melted off his too-thin jeans.
The man hung his parka up on a hook in a wall and pulled a small box out from a drawer in the desk. It looked like a small vinyl briefcase. He opened it to reveal a complex telephone. The whole case was about the size of a brick, but it was larger than any cellular phone that Gideon had seen recently.
The man with the phone nodded at the man with the rifle. He received a nod in return, and the man in the sweater picked up the extra rifle and left, closing the door on the three of them.
The man gave them an inscrutable look and keyed a number into his phone. After a few moments he said, 'This is Volynskji.'
In response he nodded a few times. After a few moments he said, 'Is that wise, sir?' A shake of the head. 'Even if the mission is compl—' Pause. 'Yes. It is your operation.' Look up at the two captives. 'I'll take care of that now. I'll give you an update as soon—' Nod. 'If you say so. No transmissions. I'll defer the report until you arrive.'
Volynskji slowly put the phone back on the cradle and closed the small case.
He looked up at the two of them. 'I have some questions I need to ask you, but before I do so, I should say something.' He walked around the side of the desk. 'First, if you're thinking of being uncooperative, you should know that most professionals have the following standing orders—if suicide is not an option, they should cooperate. Every agency who has an operative fall into the hands of the enemy automatically assumes all information possessed by the operative is compromised. Stubbornness on your part will not serve any purpose—except to make things more difficult. For you, not me. All it will cost me is time.' He gave both of them a flat emotionless stare that was as bad as any threat. Gideon could look into those eyes and easily imagine what he would do to someone who was 'stubborn.'
He sat on the edge of the desk, facing them, and asked, 'Now exactly what did you say to Chaviv Tischler?'
Volynskji questioned them for several hours. Several times, Gideon thought of trying to overpower the man, but he couldn't see how to do it without raising an alarm that would alert the rifle-bearing guard at the door. So, despite what he thought of the man, and despite his reluctance to answer any questions, Gideon played along with Volynskji. He rationalized that he was protecting Ruth. He was responsible for her being here, and he couldn't allow any reluctance on his part to result in something happening to her.
So, for hours, Gideon answered Volynskji's questions. All of them were directed at him, not Ruth. And the majority were about the old man with the cane and the safe house in New Jersey. Volynskji's questions confirmed Gideon's suspicion that they were Israelis. The name 'Chaviv Tischler' belonged to that old man, who was so interested in their conversation in the restaurant. The way Volynskji talked about the man, Tischler was a high ranking member of Israeli intelligence. That didn't surprise Gideon.
What surprised Gideon was the fact that Volynskji didn't ask him one question about the Colonel and the U.S. government officials who had questioned them.
Maybe he already knew all he needed from that. The thought chilled Gideon. It implied that his own government's security was compromised way beyond what Tischler had implied. The Colonel and his people knew that Zimmerman was out there, and should know the extent that compromised them. They would be taking active steps to conceal their movements from the perceived threat. If Volynskji knew the contents of those debriefings— and the focus of his own questions implied that— despite the Colonel's precautions, these people—these terrorists—had penetrated the government far beyond what anyone suspected.
Volynskji kept at the questions until the answers became incoherent because of exhaustion. After that, the guard came in and led them to another room, higher in the building, and locked them in. There was a small window on one wall, an oval about a foot in its longest dimension. The only light came from the moon reflecting off of snow on the sill.
3.03 Fri. Mar. 26
L awrence Fitzsimmons was in his office early before the President's daily—and lately, embarrassing— intelligence briefing. He was drinking coffee and looking out at the sunrise, when the intercom buzzed.
'Mr. Fitzsimmons? There's a gentleman here to see you.'
That in itself was odd. For an unscheduled visitor to get to his office, he would have to pass through four people after building security. Each one had to make an independent decision whether the visitor was worth the director's attention. That usually took a while, so seeing anyone before eight was a rarity.
He told them to send the man in. Obviously someone thought it was worth his while.
He turned his chair around and tried to hide his surprise as Chaviv Tischler walked into his office.
The old man leaned on his cane and smiled. 'I've heard a rumor that you're retiring. If that's true, it would be a loss.'
Fitzsimmons sipped his coffee and shook his head.
'You aren't here to discuss my retirement plans, are you? Or are you recruiting?'
'May I sit?'
Fitzsimmons nodded and put down his coffee.
'I'm here to discuss a current problem of yours. Or to be more precise, to enlighten you about it.'
'I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about.'
Tischler nodded. 'And I am certain you do. I know, for instance, that your sudden noises about retirement have to do with this problem. I know that there have been serious differences between parts of your intelligence community about dealing with it. I know that there is a high-ranking member of the NSA, a Colonel Mecham, under
