Kimberly stood and walked to Androv. He looked through the window out over the distant tree line. A faint aura of light from Van Dorn’s house outlined the rolling treetops against the blackening sky. Kimberly said, “You know, Viktor, George Van Dorn and I went to the same army schools. The philosophy of the American army is aggressive, not defensive. They are great believers in the spoiling raid, the preemptive attack, the commando strike — like the British.” He gave Androv a sidelong glance. “You ought to deal with Van Dorn before he deals with you.”
Androv pulled the windows shut and walked to his desk. He pushed a button on a console and George Van Dorn’s voice came out of the speaker.
Kimberly listened silently.
Androv said, “That is a recording of George Van Dorn calling the Pentagon. Since he has warned them of our plans, and believes the situation is under control, he is unlikely to try anything against us on his own.”
Androv pushed another button and a woman’s voice came on. Androv said, “That is your daughter, Ann.”
Kimberly said nothing.
Androv continued, “She’s speaking to the National Security Agency. About Molniya.”
Kimberly listened to Ann’s voice for a few seconds, then walked to the desk and pushed the stop button. He turned to Androv. “How did they find out?”
Androv shrugged. “I assume they started with the premise that we wish to destroy them and worked backward. How many solutions are there to a problem? They asked themselves, ‘How would I destroy America with little or no damage to myself?’ They arrived at the answer we arrived at.”
Kimberly nodded slowly.
Androv continued, “So you see, Henry, I haven’t underestimated Van Dorn or his organization. We know they long ago put away the dagger and use only the cloak now. Van Dorn learned something and he called his friends in the military to deal with it. He will not come here with guns blazing.”
Kimberly did not reply for some time, then said, “But he has warned them, Androv. The Americans have an automatic launch response under certain—”
Androv held up his hand. “I know. But let me continue, please. You see, in this country almost every long-distance telephone call is relayed by microwave stations. This is very convenient for us because this house sits in the middle of what is known as ‘Microwave Alley.’ We intercept these microwave calls and listen to the diplomats in New York, as well as the Long Island and Connecticut defense contractors. Every call made to a government agency in Washington is monitored here. Van Dorn, of course, took precautions against this. He installed a fiber optic telephone line that runs into the main AT&T underground cables. His phone, he believes, is virtually untappable, which is why he speaks so freely over it.”
Androv looked at Kimberly. “However, because these secure lines are so few, the telephone exchange has the ability to switch a call to the microwave station. Therefore, if one were to pass a sum of money to a technician at the main telephone exchange, it would be possible to have Mr. Van Dorn’s calls rerouted as microwave calls without his being informed that the call was not secure. That’s how we were able to listen—”
Kimberly interjected, “That won’t do you much good now. The Pentagon is alerted.”
Androv smiled. “It would also be possible to reroute these calls to a place other than the Pentagon, Henry. To have them rerouted here, for instance. In fact, your friend has not been speaking to the Pentagon at all, but to Nikhita Tulov in the attic, who has spent a good number of years of his young life learning how to think and talk like a Pentagon staff officer.”
Kimberly’s face broke into a smile in return. “Touché, Viktor.”
Androv bowed his head in acknowledgment. “We had to let your daughter’s call through because we weren’t prepared to imitate anyone at the NSA. But we were able at least to listen.” He added, “We’ve also managed to intercept Van Dorn’s bothersome telex.”
Androv stared down at his desk and said, “Your daughter is also quite bothersome.” He glanced at Kimberly. “I don’t mean to belabor this issue, but now that she is here in America, I must ask you…”
Kimberly waved his hand in a gesture of annoyance. “Oh, do what you want, Viktor. Stop bothering me with these things. If you have a personal grudge against her, act accordingly. If you don’t, then let the state apparatus deal with her as if she were any one of the ten million people on the list of enemies.” Kimberly walked to the door. “I’ll see you upstairs later.” He opened the door of the chapel.
Androv called out, “One more thing, Henry.”
Kimberly turned. “Yes?”
“The courier. He said something which may interest you.” Androv walked toward the door and stood close to Kimberly. He stared at him for a few seconds, then said, “Tonight… Talbot Three will be here tonight.”
Kimberly nodded. “I suspected that if Talbot Three was alive and in this country, then he — or she — would be seeking sanctuary from the Stroke. I thought we might meet tonight.”
Androv looked at Kimberly. “Do you have any idea who it could be?”
Kimberly shook his head, then said, “Whoever it is, it will be someone I knew then.”
“Yes, I’m sure of that. One of your blue-blooded Ivy League friends. We will have a reunion in the White House. President Kimberly, Secretary of State Allerton, and Chief of American State Security — who?”
Kimberly’s expression remained impassive. He said, “There’s no use speculating. We’ll see who shows up.”
Androv nodded slowly. “Yes. And we don’t even know how he, or she, will come — by land, sea, or air. But it will be interesting to see who arrives at our doorstep tonight.”
“Most interesting.” Kimberly turned and left.
Claudia Lepescu felt the pistol caressing the nape of her neck as she knelt in the damp earth, her head bowed. A guard pulled back on the leash of a German shepherd that was growling ominously. Another man held a radio and was making a report. The officer in charge, standing in front of her, spoke loudly in English and it startled her. “Who are you?”
She drew a short breath. “Claudia Lepescu. I work for Alexei Kalin.”
The Russian officer moved his flashlight over her body, then shined it full on her face. “You are not American?”
“I am Rumanian.”
“What do you want here?”
“Asylum. Sanctuary.”
“Why?”
“They are after me—”
“Who is after you?”
Claudia said sharply in Russian, “You have all the information you need. Take me to Kalin at once, or it will go badly for you.” As soon as the words were out, she realized she shouldn’t have abused him in Russian so his men could understand. She waited.
The Russian did nothing for some time, then his hand flew out and struck her across the face.
Claudia cried out and put her hand to her cheek.
The Russian barked, “Stand.”
She stood and the shepherd lunged at her, but was pulled up short by its handler.
Another man approached with a flashlight and searched her, passing his hands roughly over her body. She said, “Please, I must see Kalin. I have urgent information.”
The first Russian said, “If it is urgent, you can run.” He snapped an order and two of the uniformed guards fell in on either side of her, their Kalishnikov rifles held across their chests. “Quick, march! Move!”
Claudia, flanked by the two men, began moving at a near run through the trees. She stumbled once and one of the men pulled her to her feet. Stones and twigs dug into her bare feet, and branches whipped across her perspiring body. Occasionally one of the men prodded her along with a rifle jab to her buttocks.