Anna wrote the address on a piece of paper, along with the time, date and password, and asked Antoyan to memorize the information. He studied the sheet for thirty seconds, closed his eyes, and repeated the words to himself several times. Anna retrieved the paper and put it in her purse.
“I will be there,” he said.
“Come back to my hotel with me,” said Anna when they had done their business. “I’d like to spend a few more hours with you.”
“That would not be wise,” the Armenian answered softly.
“Why not? I’m tired of wisdom. Wisdom is for old men.”
“If I spend more time with you, I will not want to leave. And it would put us both in danger. They may be watching me more carefully, now that I’m about to go home.”
Anna felt a wave of sadness flow over her. “When will I see you again?” she asked.
“The next time I come to the West.”
“When will that be?”
“I don’t know. It could be a few years.”
“How will you know where to find me?”
“That should not be hard. I think I know how to contact you.” He had that sly half smile which once would have charmed Anna but now just made her anxious for him.
“How can we contact you in Yerevan?”
“I thought we agreed at our last meeting that you would not try to use me for any other purpose.”
“We did agree. This is just for emergencies.”
Antoyan wrote an address and phone number on a paper napkin and gave it to her. “This is the hospital where I will be working. But people should be very careful if they ever try to contact me. The Soviet Union is not like the West. There is no such thing as an innocent meeting.”
“Do you have a home address?”
“Not yet. But I can give you the address of my parents’ apartment.” He took back the napkin and wrote the address in English and Armenian script. “Be careful,” he said again.
Anna tried hard not to show it, but she was frightened for him. She had worked so hard to arrange Antoyan’s mission, but now on the eve of his departure, she didn’t want him to go. She had brought along her airline bag of cash and tried to give him some money, to buy gifts for his relatives at least, but he dismissed her with an abrupt wave of his hand.
“Don’t be silly,” he said.
The waiter came and asked if they would like anything more. Aram shook his head.
“Let us say goodbye now,” he said. “Otherwise it will be too hard.” He embraced Anna, kissed her on both cheeks, and let her go. Her eyes were full of tears. Anna had heard that when Russians don’t want someone to leave, they sit on their bags at the train station and refuse to move. But she couldn’t do that. She was Aram Antoyan’s case officer.
“If anything goes wrong, we’ll contact you,” she said.
“Nothing will go wrong.”
“But if something does, we’ll make sure you get a warning in time. I promise.”
“Goodbye, my darling,” he said. He kissed her a final time on the cheek, turned, and walked toward the Métro station. He never looked back. Dr. Antoyan, as he had said so often, had no desire to be a victim. Not even of love.
VIII
ANNA BARNES
WASHINGTON / ISTANBUL YEREVAN / BOSTON
OCTOBER 1979–DECEMBER 1980
40
The roof of Edward Stone’s cantilevered house of cards fell in one morning in mid-October. Stone was as usual a step ahead of his pursuers, but in this instance it did him little good. He received a telephone call just after seven-thirty from Harry Peltz, his friend and informant in the European Division. Peltz said he had received a tip from a neighbor in Falls Church who worked for the Office of Security. At ten-thirty that morning, Peltz confided, a team of investigators from the Office of Security would raid the headquarters of an unauthorized CIA proprietary in Maryland that traded under the name Karpetland, Inc. The bust was part of a larger dragnet, Peltz said. Very secret, very closely held. He thought Stone would want to know.
“Thanks so much, old boy” was all Stone said. But he was as close to panic in that moment as a controlled and composed man can be.
Stone left his blue pinstripe suit and black wing-tip shoes on the valet stand. He pulled on a pair of corduroy pants, a polo shirt and a sweater and headed out the door. The traffic was slow all the way out Wisconsin Avenue, but Stone managed to reach the office in Rockville just before nine. He was there when Marjorie arrived, punctual as ever. He got right to the point.
“We’re closing up shop, Marjorie,” he said. “Immediately.”
Marjorie stared at Stone, hearing the words but not really taking them in. She had never before seen her boss quite so disheveled, but the detail that disturbed her most was that he wasn’t wearing any socks. She stared for a long moment at his white wrinkled insteps.
“Is everything all right, Mr. Stone?” she asked.
“Yes, of course it is,” he said, looking at his watch. “Everything is just fine. But we must close this office. Right now. Do you understand?”
“When?”
Stone exploded in exasperation. “Right now! Today! This morning! Are you deaf?”
He was almost shouting. Marjorie, who was even less accustomed to hearing Stone raise his voice than to seeing him without socks, began sniffling and looked as if she might burst into tears.
“Get a grip on yourself,” said Stone. “We have a lot of work to do in a very short time.”
That quieted her. “Now unlock the desks and the filing cabinet,” he said. “Quick!”
Marjorie fumbled with her keys a few moments but managed to open the various locks. The filing cabinet didn’t
