«Finished with anything that might concern you.»
«Out of sanction?» asked the KGB officer, rounding the border of the doorframe and leaning against the wall, his Graz-Burya steady, leveled now at Havelock’s throat. «No longer employed by your government in any official capacity? It’s difficult to accept. It must have been a blow to your dear friend Anthony Matthias.»
Michael studied the Russian’s face, lowering his eyes to the huge gun aimed at him. «A Frenchman mentioned Matthias the other day. I’ll tell you what I told him, although I don’t know why I should. You paid him to bring up Matthias’s name.»
«Gravet? He despises us. He’s civilized toward us only when he’s walking through the galleries of the Kremlin or the Hermitage in Leningrad. He might tell us anything.»
«Why did you use him, then?»
«Because he’s fond of you. It’s far easier to spot a lie when the liar is referring to someone he likes.»
«Then you believed him.»
«Or you convinced him and our people had no choice. Tell me. How did the brilliant and charismatic American Secretary of State react to his krajan’s resignation?»
«I have no idea, but I assume he understood. It’s exactly what I told Gravet. I haven’t seen Matthias or spoken to him in months. He’s got enough problems; there’s no reason why those of an old student should be added.»
«But you were far more than a student. His family knew your family in Prague. You became what you are—»
«Were,» interrupted Havelock.
«—because of Anton Matthias.»
«It was a long time ago.»
Rostov was silent; he lowered his weapon slightly, then spoke. «Very well, a long time ago. What about now? No one’s irreplaceable, but you’re a valuable man. Knowledgeable, productive.»
«Value and productivity are generally associated with commitment. I don’t have it anymore. Let’s say I lost it.»
«Am I to infer you could be tempted?» The KGB man lowered the weapon further. «In the direction of another commitment?»
«You know better than that. Outside of personal revulsions that go back a couple of decades, we’ve got a mole or two in the Dzerzhinsky. I’ve no intention of being marked ‘beyond salvage.’»
«A hypocritical term. It implies compassion on the part of your executioners.»
«It says it.»
«Not well.» Rostov raised his automatic, thrusting it forward slowly. «We have no such problems with verbal rationales. A traitor is a traitor. I could take you in, you know.»
«Not easily.» Michael remained still, his eyes locked with the Russian’s. «There are corridors and elevators, lobbies to pass through and streets to cross; there’s risk. You could lose. Everything. Because I have nothing to lose but a cell at the Lubyanka.»
«A room, not a cell. We’re not barbarians.»
«Sorry. A room. The same kind of room we have reserved in Virginia for someone like you—and we’re both wasting money. When people like you and me get out with our heads still on, everything’s altered. The Amytals and the Pentothals are invitations to traps.»
«There are still the moles.»
«I don’t know who they are any more than you did when you were in the field—for those same reasons, those same rooms. None of us do on either side. We only know the current codes, words that take us where we have to go. Whatever ones I had are meaningless now.»
«In all sincerity are you trying to convince me a man of your experience is of no value to us?»
«I didn’t say that,» interrupted Havelock. «I’m simply suggesting that you weigh the risks. Also something else, which, frankly, you pulled off with reasonable success two years ago. We took a man of yours who was finished, ready for a farm in Grasnov. We got him out through Riga into Finland and flew him to a room in Fairfax, Virginia. He was injected with everything from scopolamine to triple Amytal, and we learned a lot. Strategies were aborted, whole networks re-structured, confusion the order of the day. Then we learned something else: everything he told us was a lie. His head was programmed like a computer disk; valuable men became useless, time was lost. Say you got me to the Lubyanka—which I don’t think you could—how do you know I’m not our answer to what you did to us?»
«Because you would not expose the possibility.» Rostov pulled the gun back, but did not lower it.
«Really? It strikes me as a pretty good blanket. I mean, you’d never know, would you? On the other hand, we’ve developed a serum—which I know nothing about except that it’s injected at the base of the skull—that voids the programming. Something to do with neutralizing the lobus occipitalis, whatever the hell that is. From here on we can make a determination.»
«Such an admission astonishes me.»
«Why should it? Maybe I’m just saving our respective directors a lot of aggravation; that could be my objective. Or maybe none of it’s true; maybe there is no serum, no protection, and I’m making it all up. That’s also a possibility.»
The Russian smiled. «Khvatit! You are out! You amuse us both with logic that could serve you. You’re on your way to that farm in your own Grasnov.»
«That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Am I worth the risk?»
«Let’s find out.» Suddenly the Russian flipped his automatic, barrel up; he slapped it back in the palm of his hand and threw it to Havelock on the bed. Michael caught the weapon in midair.
«What am I supposed to do with this?»
«What do you want to do with it?»
«Nothing. Assuming the first three shells are rubber capsules filled with dye, I’d only soil your clothes.» Havelock pressed the magazine release; the clip dropped to the bed. «It’s not a very good test, anyway. Say the firing pin works and this thing makes any noise at all, twenty khruschei could break in here and blow me out of the park.»
«The firing pin works and there’s no one outside in the hallway. The Arethusa Delphi is very much in Washington’s camp; it’s watched and I’m not so foolish as to parade our personnel. I think you know that. It’s why you’re here.»
«What are you trying to prove?»
The Russian smiled again and shrugged. «I’m not really sure. A brief something in the eyes, perhaps. When a man’s under a hostile gun and that gun is suddenly his, there is an instant compulsion to eliminate the prior threat—assuming the hostility is returned. It’s in the eyes; no amount of control can disguise it—if the enmity is active.»
«What was in my eyes?»
«Absolute indifference. Weariness, if you will.»
«I’m not sure you’re right, but I admire your courage. It’s more than I’ve got. The firing pin really works?»
«Yes.»
«No capsules?»
The Russian shook his head, his expression conveying quiet amusement. «No bullets. That is to say, no powder in the shells.» Rostov raised his left hand and, with his right, pulled back the sleeve of his overcoat. Strapped to the flat of his wrist, extending up toward his elbow, was a thin barrel, the trigger mechanism apparently activated by the bending of his arm. «Snotvornoye,» he said, touching the taut, springlike wires. «What you call narcotic darts. You would have slept peacefully for the better part of tomorrow while a doctor insisted that your odd fever be studied at the hospital. We’d have gotten you out, flown you up to Salonika and over the Dardanelles into Sevastopol.» The Russian unsnapped a strap above his wrist and removed the weapon.
Havelock studied the KGB man, not a little perplexed. «You really could have taken me.»
«Until the attempt is made, one never knows. I might have missed the first shot, and you’re younger, stronger than I; you could have attacked, broken my neck. But the odds were on my side.»
«I’d say completely. Why didn’t you play them?»