“You're bucking a couple of major bureaucracies.”
Ryan leaned against the doorframe. “My cause is just, isn't it?”
“You never learn, do you?” Murray shook his head and laughed.
Those bastard Americans!' Narmonov raged.
“What's the problem now, Andrey Il'ych?”
“Oleg Kirilovich, have you any idea what it is like dealing with a suspicious foreign country?”
“Not yet,” Kadishev answered. “I only deal with suspicious domestic elements.” The effective abolition of the Politburo had perversely eliminated the apprenticeship period during which an up-and-coming Soviet political figure might learn the international version of statecraft. Now they were no better off than Americans were. And that, Kadishev reminded himself, was something to keep in mind. “What seems to be the problem?”
“This must be kept absolutely secret, my young friend.”
“Understood.”
“The Americans have circulated a memorandum around their embassies to make discreet inquiries concerning my political vulnerability.”
“Indeed?” Kadishev did not allow himself to react beyond the single word. He was immediately struck by the dichotomy of the situation. His report had had the proper effect on the American government, but the fact that Narmonov knew of it made his discovery as an American agent possible. Wasn't that interesting? he asked himself in a moment of clear objectivity. His maneuvers were now a genuine gamble, with a downside as enormous as the upside. Such things were to be expected, weren't they? He was not gambling a month's wages. “How do we know this?” he asked, after a moment's reflection.
“That I cannot reveal.”
“I understand.” Damn! Well, he is confiding in me… though that might be a clever ploy on Andrey Il'ych's part, mightn't it? “But we are sure of it?”
“Quite sure.”
“How can I help?”
“I need your help, Oleg. Again, I ask for it.”
This business with the Americans concerns you greatly, then?'
“Of course it does!”
“I can understand that it is something to be considered, but what real interest do they have in our domestic politics?”
“You know the answer to that.”
“True.”
“I need your help,” Narmonov repeated.
“I must discuss this with my colleagues.”
“Quickly, if you please.”
“Yes.” Kadishev took his leave and walked out to his car. He drove himself, which was unusual for a senior Soviet politician. Times had changed. Such officials now had to be men of the people, and that meant that the reserved center lanes of the broad Moscow streets were gone, along with most of the other traditional perks. That was too bad, Kadishev thought, but without the other changes that made it necessary, he'd still be a lonely voice in some distant oblast instead of the leader of a major faction in the Congress of People's Deputies. So, he was willing to do without the dacha in the woods east of Moscow, and the luxury apartment, and the chauffeur-driven, hand- made limousine, and all the other things that had once attached to the rulers of this vast and unhappy country. He drove to his legislative office, where at least he had a reserved parking place. Once behind the closed door of his office, he composed a brief letter on his personal typewriter. This he folded into a pocket. There was work to do this day. He walked down the street to the immense lobby of the Congress, and checked his coat. The attendant was female. She took his coat and handed him a numbered token. He thanked her politely. As she took the coat to its numbered hook, the attendant removed the note from the inside pocket and tucked it into the pocket of her own jacket. Four hours later, it arrived in the American Embassy.
“Panic attack?” Fellows asked.
“You might call it that, gentlemen,” Ryan said.
“Okay, tell us about the problem.” Trent sipped at his tea.
“We've had more indications that our communications links may be penetrated.”
“Again?” Trent rolled his eyes.
“Come on, Al, we've heard that song before,” Fellows grumbled. “Details, Jack, details.”
Ryan went through the data.
“And what's the White House think?”
“I don't know yet. I'm heading up the street after I leave here. Frankly, I'd rather discuss it with you guys first, and I had to come down on some other stuff anyway.” Jack went on to describe the SPINNAKER report on Narmonov's problems.
“How long have you had this?”
“A couple of weeks—”
“Why haven't we heard it?” Trent demanded.
“Because we've been running around in circles trying to confirm it,” Jack answered.
“And?”
“Al, we've been unable to confirm directly. There are indications that the KGB is up to something. There seems to be a very discreet operation in Germany, looking for some lost tactical nukes.”
“Good Lord!” Fellows noted. “What do you mean by 'lost'?”
“We're not sure. If it ties in with SPINNAKER, well, maybe there's been some creative accounting on the part of the Soviet Army.”
“Your opinion?”
“I don't know, guys, I just don't know. Our analysis people are about evenly divided — those that are willing to offer an opinion.”
“We know their army isn't real happy,” Fellows said slowly. “The loss of funding, loss of prestige, loss of units and billets… but that unhappy?”
“Pleasant thought,” Trent added. “A power-struggle in a country with all those nukes… How reliable has SPINNAKER been?”
“Very. Five years of devoted service.”
“He's a member of their parliament, right?” Fellows asked.
“Correct.”
“Evidently a very senior one to get stuff like this… that's okay, I don't think either one of us wants to know his name,” Fellows added.
Trent nodded. “Probably somebody we've met.” Good guess, Al, Jack didn't say. “You're taking this seriously also?”
“Yes, sir, and also trying very hard to confirm it.”
“Anything new on NIITAKA?” Trent asked.
“Sir, I—”
“I heard from up the street that there's something to do with Mexico,” Al Trent said next. “The President evidently wants my support on something. You are cleared to tell us. Honest, Jack, the President has authorized it.”
It was a technical rules violation, but Ryan had never known Trent to break his word. He went through that report also.
“Those little bastards!” Trent breathed. “You know how many votes it cost me to roll over on that trade deal, and now they're planning to break it! So, you're saying we've been rolled again?”
“A possibility, sir.”
“Sam? The farmers in your district use all those nasty agricultural chemicals. Might cost 'em.”
“Al, free trade is an important principle,” Fellows said.
“So's keeping your goddamned word!”
“No argument, Al.” Fellows started thinking about how many of his farmers might lose expected export income from a flip-flop on the deal that he'd fought for on the floor of the House. “How can we confirm this
