ferrying tourists up to the Tower of London and back to Lambeth Bridge before returning to the waters of Cleopatra's Needle.
Years ago these boats were known as Tower Central, drops for Soviet couriers and KGB agents making contact with informers and deep-cover espionage personnel. Consular Operations had uncovered the drop; in time, the Russians knew it. Tower Central was taken out; a known drop was eliminated for some other that would take months to find.
Scofield cut through the garden paths of the park behind the Savoy; music from the ballroom floated down from above. He reached a small band amphitheater with its rows of slatted benches. A few couples were scattered around, talking quietly. Bray looked for a single man for he was within the vicinity of Tower Central. The Russian would be somewhere in the area.
He was not; Scofield walked out of the amphitheater into the widest path that led to the boulevard. He emerged on the pavement; the traffic in the street was constant, bright headlights flashing by in both directions, mottled by the winter mists that rolled off the water. It occurred to Bray that Taleniekov must have hired an automobile. He looked up and down the avenue to see if any were parked on either side; none were. Across the boulevard, in front of the Embankment wall, strollers walked casually in couples, threesomes and several larger groups; there was no man by himself.
Scofield looked at his watch; it was five minutes to one. The Russian had said he might be as late as two or three o'clock in the morning. Bray swore at his impatience, at the anxiety in his chest whenever he thought about Paris. About Toni.
There was the sudden flare of a cigarette lighter, the flame steady, then extinguished, only to be relighted, a second later. Diagonally across the wide avenue, to the right of the closed, chained gates of the pier that led to the tourist boats, a white-haired man was holding the flame under a blonde woman's cigarette; both leaned against the wall, looking at the water. Scofield studied the figure, what he could see of the face, and had to stop himself from breaking into a run. Taleniekov had arrived.
Bray turned right and walked until he was parallel with the Russian and the blonde decoy. He knew Taleniekov had seen him and wondered why the KGB man did not dismiss the woman, paying her whatever price they had agreed upon to get her out of the way. It was foolish- conceivably dangerous-for a decoy to observe both parties at a contact point. Scofield waited at the curb, seeing now that Taleniekov's head was fully turned, the Russian staring at him, his arm around the woman's waist.
Bray gestured first to his left, then to his right, his meaning clear. Get her out! Walk south; we'll meet shortly.
Taleniekov did not move. What was the Soviet doing? It was no time for whores!
Whores? The courier's whore? Oh, my God!
Scofield stepped off the curb, an automobile horn bellowed, as a car swerved toward the center of the boulevard to avoid bitting him. Bray barely heard the sound, was barely aware of the sight; he could only stare at the woman beside Taleniekov.
The arm around the waist was no gesture of feigned affection, the Russian was holding her up. Taleniekov spoke in the woman's ear; she tried to spin around; her head fell back on her neck, her mouth open, a scream or a plea about to emerge, but nothing was heard.
The strained face was the face of his love. Under the blonde wig, it was Toni. All control left him; he raced across the wide avenue, speeding cars braking, spinning wheels, blowing horns. His thoughts converged like stac- cato shots of gunfire, one thought, one observation, more painful than all others.
Antonia looked more dead than alive.
"She's been drugged," said Taleniekov.
"Why the hell did you bring her here?" asked Bray. "There are hundreds of places in France, dozens in Paris, where she'd be safe! Where she'd be cared for! You know them as well as I do!" "If I could have been certain, I would have left her," replied Vasili, his voice calm. "Don't probe. I considered other alternatives." Bray understood, his brief silence an expression of gratitude. Taleniekov could easily have killed Toni, probably would have killed her had it not been for East Berlin. "A doctor?" "Helpful in terms of time, but not essentially necessary." "What was the chemical?" "Scopolamine." "When?" "Early yesterday morning.