They put in beds, too. That's where he'll be. Their PM likes to kibbitz with the drivers. He's pretty smart about traveling, sleeps as much as he can to handle the jet-lag.”
Clark nodded. “People have to wipe the windows. Not like he's got an air force base to handle all the ground-service requirements like we do it. If JAL flies into there regularly, they'll have Mexican ground crews. I'll check out data on the 747… Like I said, that's the easy part. I can probably talk my way there. Might even get Ding to head down with a good set of papers and get a job. That would make it easier. I presume this has executive approval?”
“The President said 'find a way.' He'll have to approve the final op-plan.”
“I need to talk to the S&.T guys.” Clark referred to the CIA's Directorate of Science and Technology. “The real problem is noise… How fast, doc?”
“Fast, John.”
“Okay.” Clark rose. “Gee, I get to be a field-spook again. I'll be over in the new building. It may take me a few days to figure if it's possible or not. This means I can't go on the U.K. trip?”
“Bother you?” Jack asked.
“Nope. Just as soon stay home.”
“Fair enough. I get to do some Christmas shopping at Hamley's.”
“You know how lucky you are to have 'em little? All my girls want now is clothes, and I can't pick girl clothes worth a damn.” Clark lived in horror of buying women's clothing.
“Sally has her doubts now, but little Jack still believes.”
Clark shook his head. “After you stop believing in Santa Claus, the whole world just goes downhill.”
“Ain't it the truth?”
23
OPINIONS
“Jack, you look bloody awful,” Sir Basil Charleston observed.
“If one more person tells me that, I'm going to waste him.”
“Bad flight?”
“Bumpy as hell all the way across. Didn't sleep much.” As the even darker than usual circles under his eyes proclaimed.
“Well, we'll see if lunch helps.”
“It is a pretty day,” Ryan noted as they walked up Westminster Bridge Road towards Parliament. It was a rare early-winter English day with a blue, cloudless sky. A brisk wind swept down the Thames, but Ryan didn't mind. He had on a heavy coat and a scarf around his neck, and the frigid blast on his face woke him up. “Trouble at the office, Bas?”
“Found a bug, a bloody bug, two floors down from my office! The whole building's being swept.”
“Things are tough all over. KGB?”
“Not sure,” Charleston said as they crossed the bridge. “Trouble with the facade, you see, bloody thing began crumbling — same as happened to Scotland Yard a few years ago. The workers replacing it found an unexplained wire, and followed it … Our Russian friends have not cut back on their activities, and there are other services as well. See anything like that in your shop?”
“No. It helps that we're more isolated than Century House.” Jack meant that the British Secret Intelligence Service was in so densely populated an area — there was a nearby apartment block, for example — that a very low-power bug could get data out. That was less likely at the Agency's Langley headquarters, which sat alone on a large wooded campus. In addition to that, the newer construction had allowed installation of elaborate protections against internal radio sources. “You should do what we've done and install waveguides.”
“That would cost a bloody fortune, which we do not have at the moment.”
“What the hell, it gives us a chance to take a walk. If anyone can bug us out here, we've already lost.”
“It never ends, does it? We win the Cold War, but it never, ever ends.”
“Which Greek was it? The one whose personal hell was rolling a big rock up a hill, and every time he got it there the son-of-a-bitch rolled down the other side.”
“Sisyphus…? Tantalus, perhaps? Long time since I bade farewell to Oxford, Sir John. In either case, you're right. Get to the top of one hill and all you see is another damned hill.” They continued walking down the embankment, away from Parliament, but towards lunch. Meetings like this one had rules. You couldn't get down to business until after the small talk and a pregnant pause. In this case, there were some off-season American tourists snapping pictures. Charleston and Ryan walked around to avoid them.
“We have a problem, Bas.”
“What's that?” Charleston said, without turning. Behind them were three security officers. Two more preceded them.
Jack didn't turn either. “We have a guy inside the Kremlin. Spends some time with Narmonov. Says Andrey Il'ych is worried about a military/KGB coup. Says that they might renege on the strategic-arms treaty. Also says that some tactical nuclear devices may be missing from their inventories in Germany.”
“Indeed? That's cheery news. How good is your source?”
“Extremely good.”
“Well, I can say it's news to me, Dr. Ryan.”
“How good is your guy?” Jack asked.
“Quite good.”
“Nothing like this?”
“Some rumbles, of course. I mean, Narmonov does have a full plate, doesn't he? Ever since that dreadful affair with the Balts, and the Georgians, and his Muslims. What is it you Yanks say, 'one-armed paper hanger'? He's that busy and more. He's had to make a deal with his security forces, but a coup d'etat?” Charleston shook his head. “No. The tea leaves don't appear that way to us.”
That's precisely what our agent is telling us. What about the nuclear thing?'
“I'm afraid our chap isn't well-placed for that sort of information. More the civilian side, you see.” And that, Jack knew, was as far as Basil would go. “How seriously are you taking this?”
“Very seriously. I have to. This agent has been giving us good stuff for a lot of years.”
“One of Mrs. Foley's recruits?” Charleston asked with a chuckle. “What a marvelous young lady. I understand she recently delivered another child?”
“Little girl, Emily Sarah, looks just like her mom.” Jack thought he'd dodged the first question rather adroitly. “Mary Pat will be back at work right after New Year.”
“Ah, yes, you do have that fortress nursery on your grounds, don't you?”
“One of the smartest investments we ever made. Wish I'd thought of it.”
“You Americans!” Sir Basil laughed. “Missing nuclear weapons. Yes, I suppose one must take that very seriously indeed. Possible collusion between the army and KGB and a tactical-nuclear trump. Quite frightening, I must say, but we have not heard a whisper. Rather a difficult secret to keep, wouldn't you say? I mean, blackmail doesn't work terribly well unless people know they're being blackmailed.”
“We've also caught a rumble that KGB is running some nuclear-oriented operation in Germany. That's all, just a rumble.”
“Yes, we've heard that too,” Charleston said, as they turned to walk down the brow to the Tattersall Castle, an old paddle steamer long since converted to a restaurant.
“And?”
“And we've run our own op. It seems that Erich Honecker had his own little Manhattan Project underway. Fortunately, it died in the womb. Ivan was quite upset to learn of it. The DDR returned a goodly supply of plutonium to their former socialist colleagues just before the change. I speculate that KGB is investigating the same thing.”
“Why didn't you tell us?” Jesus, Bas. Jack thought. You guys just don't forget, do you?
“Nothing to tell, Jack.” Charleston nodded at the headwaiter, who took them to a table well aft. The security
