everything—’
'Cypriot security?' yelled the furious Czech. 'It's riddled with a dozen hostile elements! Fools, fools, fools!'
'Do you want my job, Mr. A?'
'I wouldn't take it,' said Varak, controlling his anger, lowering his voice. 'I do not work with amateurs,' he added contemptuously, hanging up and going to the door. He turned and spoke to Khalehla. 'What was needed here today were the brains of Kendrick of Oman. He would have been the first to tell all of you what to do, what to look for. And you probably would not have listened to him.' The Czech opened the door, let himself out, and slammed it shut.
The telephone rang. 'He's gone,' said Rashad, picking it up, knowing instinctively who was on the line.
'I offered him my job, but he made it clear that he didn't work with amateurs… Strange, isn't it? A man without any credentials that we know about alerts us, and we blow it. And a year ago, we send Kendrick to Oman and he does what five hundred professionals from at least six countries couldn't do. It makes you wonder, doesn't it… I'm getting old.'
'No way, MJ!' cried the agent from Cairo. 'They happen to be bright guys and they hit jackpots, that's all. You've done more than they'll ever do!'
‘I'd like to believe that, but tonight's pretty horrible for whatever ego I've got left.'
'Which should be a bunch!… But it's also a good moment for me to explain that insubordinate remark I made to you a few minutes ago.'
'Please do. I'm receptive. I'm not even sure I have a hell of a lot of breath left.'
'Whomever Milos works for, they want nothing from Evan. When I pressed him, he pointed out the obvious. If they made any demands on him, he'd throw them to the wolves, and he's right, Evan would.'
'I also agree. So what does he want?'
'To back off and let events take their course. They want us to let the race go on.'
'Evan won't run—'
'He may when he learns about the black knights who are running things in California. Say we stop them; there are hundreds more waiting to take their places. Milos is right, a voice is needed.'
'But what do you say, niece?'
'I want him alive, not dead. He can't go back to the Emirates—he may persuade himself that he can but he'd be killed the moment he got off the plane. And he can't vegetate in Mesa Verde, not with his energy and imagination—that's a form of death, too, you know… The country could do worse, MJ.'
'Fools, fools!' whispered Varak to himself as he dialled while studying a diagram of the Vanvlanderen suite in his hand; there were small red Xs marked in each room. Seconds later a voice was on the other end of the line.
'Yes?'
'Sound Man?'
'Prague?'
'I need you.'
'I can always use your money. You roll high.'
'Pick me up in thirty minutes, the service entrance. I'll explain what I want you to do on the way to your studio… There are no changes in the diagram?'
'No. You found the key?'
'Thank you for both.'
'You paid. Thirty minutes.'
The Czech hung up the phone and looked at the packed recording equipment in front of the door. He had listened to Rashad's interview with Ardis Vanvlanderen, and despite his anger over the tragedy of the Secretary of State's death, he had smiled—grimly to be sure—at the bold strategy employed by the field agent from Cairo and her superior. Based on what they had learned, they had gambled on the presumed truth of Andrew
