Yurchenko couldn't look at him. "The Takisian is a double agent. He's working for the Americans and has for thirty years."
Polyakov turned toward the GRU man. "So now the GRU is sharing its precious intelligence. What a great day for the Soviet Union. I suppose I'm suspected of being an agent."
The GRU man spoke for the first time. "What did the Takisian give you?"
"I'm not talking to you. What my agents give me is KGB business-"
"The GRU will share with you, then. Tachyon has a grandson named Blaise, whom he found in Paris last month. Blaise is a new kind of ace ... potentially the most powerful and dangerous in the world. And he was snatched right out of our hands to be taken to America."
The car was crossing Lambeth Bridge, heading toward a gray and depressing industrial district, a perfect location for a safe house ... the perfect setting for an execution.
Tachyon had a grandson with powers! Suppose this child came into contact with Hartmann-the potential was horrifying. Life in a world threatened by nuclear destruction was safe compared to one dominated by a wild card Ronald Reagan. How could he have been so stupid?
" I didn't know," he said finally. "Dancer was not an active agent. There was no reason to place him under surveillance."
"But there was," Dolgov persisted. "He's a goddamned alien, for one thing! And if his presence on the tour itself wasn't enough, there was the situation in Paris!"
It was easy for the GRU to spy on someone in Paris: the embassy there was full of its operatives. Of course the sister service hadn't bothered to pass its vital information along to the KGB. Polyakov would have acted differently with Molniya had he known about Blaise!
Now he needed time to think. He realized he had been holding his breath. A bad habit. "This is serious. We should obviously be working together. I'm ready to do whatever I can-"
"Then why are you packed?" Yurchenko interrupted, sounding genuinely anguished.
"You've been watching me?" He looked from Yurchenko to Dolgov. My God, they actually thought he was going to defect!
Polyakov turned slightly, his hand brushing Yurchenko, who recoiled as if slapped. But Polyakov didn't let go. The cab sideswiped a parked car and skidded back into traffic just as Polyakov saw Yurchenko's eyes roll up ... the heat had already boiled his brain.
Dolgov threw himself into the front seat, grabbing for the wheel, and managed to steer right into another parked car, where they stopped. Polyakov had braced for the impact, which threw Yurchenko's smoking body off him ... freeing him to reach out for Dolgov, who made the mistake of grabbing back.
For an instant Dolgov's face was the face of the Great Leader ... the Benevolent Father of the Soviet People ... himself turned into a murderous joker. Polyakov was just a young courier who carried messages between the Kremlin and Stalin's dacha--sufficiently trusted that he was allowed to know the secret of Great Stalin's curse-not an assassin. He had never intended to be an assassin. But Stalin had already ordered the execution of all wild cards....
If it was his destiny to carry this power, it must also be his destiny to use it. As he had eliminated Stalin, so he eliminated Dolgov. He didn't allow the man to say a word, not even the final gesture of defiance, as he burned the life out of him.
The impact had jammed the two front doors, so Polyakov would have to crawl out the back. Before he did, he removed the silencer and the heavy service revolver Dolgov carried... the weapon he was to have pressed to the back of Polyakov's neck. Polyakov fired a round into the air, then put the revolver back where Dolgov carried it. Scotland Yard and the GRU could think what they liked... another unsolved murder with the murderers themselves the victims of an unlucky accident.
The fire from the two bodies reached the tiny trickle of gasoline spilled in the crash.... The crematorium would not get Dolgov.
The explosion and flames would attract attention. Polyakov knew he should go ... yet there was something attractive in the flames. As if an aged, dutiful KGB colonel were dying, too, to be reborn as a superhero, the one true Soviet ace.... This would be a legend of his own creation.
IV.
There were many signs in Russian at the British Airways terminal at Robert Tomlin International Airport, placed there by members of