head, but they'll be careful. They'll document as much as they can." "I'm sure they will. One needs words to read over the corpse. Thank you.
You'll hear from me." Vasili had not returned to his flat, but instead to his office. He had sat in the darkness for hours, arriving at his extraordinary decision.
Hours before it would have been unthinkable, but not now. If the Matarese could corrupt the highest levels of the KGB it could do the same in Washington. If the mere mention of its name called for the death of a master strategist of his rank-and there was no mistaking it: death was the objective-4hen the power it possessed was unthinkable. If, in truth, it was responsible for the murders of Blackburn and Yurievich, then Krupskaya was right. There was a timetable. The Matarese were closing in, the Premier or the President moving into the gunsight.
He had to reach a man he loathed. He had to reach Brandon Alan Scofield, American killer.
In the morning, Taleniekov had put several wheels in motion, one after the other. With his customary-if curtailed-freedom of decision, he let it be known quietly that he was traveling under cover to the Baltic Sea for a conference. He then scoured the rolls of the Musicians Protective and found the name of a violinist who had retired five years ago to the Ural Mountains; he would do. Lastly, he had put the computers to work looking for a clue to the whereabouts of Brandon Scofield. The American had disappeared in Marseilles, but an incident had taken place in Amsterdam that bore the unmistakable mark of Scofield's expertise. Vasili had sent a cipher to an agent in Brussels, a man he could trust for he had saved his life on more than one occasion.
Approach Scofield, white status. Amsterdam. Contact must be made.
Imperative. Stay with him. Apprise situation Southwest Sector codes.
Everything had happened rapidly, and Taleniekov was grateful for the years that made it possible for him to arrive at swift decisions.
Sevastopol was less than an hour away. In Sevastopol-and beyond-those years of hard experience would be put to the test.
He took a room at a small hotel on the boulevard Chersonesus and called a number at the KGB headquarters that was not attached to a recorder; he had installed it himself.
VKR-Moscow had not as yet put out an alarm for him, that much could be ascertained from headquarters' warm greeting. An old friend had returned; it gave Vasili the latitude he needed.
"To be frank," he said to the night duty officer, a former associate, "we have our on-going problem with VKR. They've interfered again. You may get a teletype inquiry. You haven't heard from me, all right?" "That's no problem as long as you don't show up here; you called on the right telephone. Are you staying in cover?" "Yes. I won't burden you with my whereabouts. We're involved with a courier probe, convoys of trucks heading for Odessa, then south to the mountains. It's a CIA network." "That's easier than fishing boats through the Bosporus. By the way, does Amsterdam fit into your blueprints?" Taleniekov was startled. He had not expected so quick a reply from his man there. "It could. What have you got?" "It came in two hours ago; it took that long to break. Our cryptographer-the man you brought from Rigarecognized an old code of yours. We were going to send it on to Moscow with the morning's dispatches." "Don't do that," said Vasili. "Read it to me." "Wait a minute." Papers were shuffled. "Here it is. 'BeowuIf removed from orbit. Storm clouds Washington. On strength of imperative will pursue and deliver white contact. Cable instructions capitol depot.' That's it." "It's enough," said Taleniekov.
"Sounds impressive, Vasili. A white contact? You've struck a high-level defeWon, I gather. Good for you. Is it tied in with your probe?" "I think so," lied Taleniekov. "But don't say anything. Keep VKR out." "With pleasure. You want us to cable for you?" "No," replied Vasili, "I can do it. It's routine. I'll can you this evening. -Say nine-thirty; that should be time enough. Tell my old friend from Riga I said hello. No one else, however. And thank you." "When your probe's over, let's have dinner. It's good to have you back in Sevastopol." "It's good to be back. We'll talk." Taleniekov hung up, concentrating on the message from Amsterdam. Scofield had been recalled to Washington, but the circumstances were abnormal. Beowulf Agate had run into a