they'll meet." "I see," repeated the Soviet. "And presuming there is such an address, or addresses, what would be the position of your government?" Congdon was prepared for the question. "No position at all," he replied in a monotone. "The information will be relayed to others, men very much concerned about Beowulf Agate's recent behavior. Outside of myself, no one in my government will be involved." "A ciphered cable, identical in substance, was sent to three counter-revolutionary cells in Europe. To Prague, Marseilles, and Amsterdam. Such cables can produce killers." "I commend you on your interception," said the Director of Cons Op.
"You do the same with us every day. No compliments are called for." "You made no move to interfere?" "Of course not, Mr. Undersecretary. Would youT' "No."
"It's eleven o'clock in Moscow. I'll call you back within the hour." Congdon hung up and leaned back in the chair. He desperately wanted a drink, but would not give in to the need. For the first time in a long career he was dealing directly with faceless enemies in Moscow. There could be no hint of irresponsibility; he was alone and in that solitary contact was his protection. He closed his eyei and pictured blank walls of white concrete in his mind's eye.
Twenty-two minutes later the phone rang. He sprang forward and picked it up.
"There's a small, exclusive hotel on Nebraska Avenue...
Scofield let the cold water ran in the basin, leaned against the sink, and looked into the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, the stubble of his beard pronounced. He had not shaved in nearly three days, the periods of rest cumulatively not much more than three hours. It was shortly past four in the morning and no time to consider sleeping or shaving.
Across the hall, Taleniekov's well-dressed decoy was getting no more sleep than he was; the telephone calls were coming every fifteen minutes now.
Mr. Brandon Scofield, please.
I don't know any Scofield! Stop calling mel Who are you?
A friend of Mr. Scofield's. It's urgent that I speak with him.
He's not here! I don't know him. Stop it! You're driving me crazy. I'll tell the hotel not to ring this phone any more!
I wouldn't do that, if I were you. Your friend would not approve. You wouldn't be paid.
Stop itl
Bray's former lover from Paris was doing her job well. She had asked only one question when he had made the request that she keep up the calls.
"Are you in trouble, darling?" It "Yes.
"Then I'll do as you ask. Tell me what you can, so know what to say." "Don't talk over twenty seconds. I don't know who controls the switchboard." "You are in trouble." Within an hour, or less, the woman across the haU would go into panic and flee the hotel. Whatever she had been promised was not worth the macabre phone calls, the escalating sense of danger. The decoy would be removed, the hunter stymied.
Taleniekov would then be forced to send in his birds and the process would start over again. Only the phone calls would come less frequently, perhaps every hour, just when sleep was settling in. Eventually, the birds would fly away, there being limits as to how long they could stay in the air. The hunter's resources were extensive, but not that extensive. He was operating in foreign territory; how many decoys and birds were available to him? He could not go on indefinitely calling blind contacts, setting up hastily summoned meetings, issuing instructions and money.
No, he could not do that. Frustration and exhaustion would converge and the hunter would be alone, at the end of his resources. Finally, he would show himself. He had no choice; he could not leave the drop unattended.
It was the only trap he had, the only connection between himself and the quarry.
Sooner or later Taleniekov would walk down the hotel corridor and stop at the door of suite 11. When he did, it would be the last sight he'd see.
The Soviet killer was good, but he was going to lose his life to the man he called Beowulf Agate, thought Scofield. He turned off the faucet and plunged his face into the cold water.
He pulled up his head; there were sounds of movement in the corridor. He walked to the tiny circular peephole. Across the way, a matronly looking hotel maid was unlocking the door. Draped over her right forearm were several towels and sheets. A maid at four o'clock in the morning? Bray silently acknowledged Taleniekov's