Oh, God! There was a method; it had been used before by Washington... and strangely enough there was a vague similarity to the ways of the Matarese. Storm clouds over Washington.... Scofield had run into a storm so severe that he had not only been terminated, but conceivably his execution had been ordered. Vasili had to be sure; the man from Prague might himself be a ploy, a brilliant ploy, designed to trap a Russian, not kill an American.
His hand was still suspended in front of the dial. He pressed down on the coin return lever and thought for a moment, wondering if he could take the risk. Then he saw the man across the street check his watch and turn toward the entrance of a coffee shop; he was going to meet someone. There were others, and Vasili knew that he could not afford not to take the risk. He had to find out; there was no way to know how much time was left. It might only be minutes.
There was a pradavyet at the embassy, a diplomatic assistant whose left foot bad been blown off during a counterinsurgency operation in Riga a number of years ago. He was a KGB veteran and he and Taleniekov had once been friends. It perhaps was not the moment to test that former friendship, but Vasili had no choice. He knew the number of the embassy; it had not changed in years. He reinserted the coin and dialed.
"It's been a long time since that terrible night in Riga, old friend," said Taleniekov after having been connected to the pradavyet's office.
"Would you remain on the line, please," was the reply. "I have another call." Vasili stared at the telephone. If the wait was more than thirty seconds, he'd have his answer; the former friendship would not serve. There were ways for even the So- viets to trace a call in the national capital of the United States. He turned his wrist and kept his eyes on the thin, jumping hand of his watch.
Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one... thirty-two. He reached up to break the connection when he heard the voice.
"Taleniekov? It is you?" Vasili recognized the echoing sound of an activated jamming device placed over the mouthpiece of a telephone. It operated on the principle of electronic spillage; any intercepts would be clogged with static. "Yes, old friend. I nearly hung up on you." "Riga was not that long ago. What happened? The stories we get are crazy." "I'm no traitor." "No one over here thinks you are. We assume you stepped on some large Muscovite feet. But can you retum?" "Someday, yes." "I can't believe the charges. Yet you're herel" "Because I must be. For Russia's sake, for all our sakes. Trust me. I need information, quickly. If anyone at the embassy has it, you would." "What is it?" "I've just seen a man from Prague, someone the Americans used for his more violent talents. We kept an extensive file on him; I assume we still keep it. Do you know anything--P "Beowulf Agate," interrupted the diplomat quietly. "It's Scofield, isn't it? That's what drives you still." "Tell me what you knowl" "Leave it alone, Taleniekov. Leave him alone. Leave him to his own people; he's finished." "My God, I'm right," said Vasili, his eyes on the coffee shop across Nebraska Avenue.
"I don't know what you think you're right about, but I know three cables were intercepted. To Prague, Marseilles and Amsterdam." "They've sent a team," broke in Taleniekov.
"Stay away. You have your revenge, the sweetest imaginable. After a lifetime, he's taken by his own." "It can't happen! There are things you don't know." "It can happen regardless of what I know. We can't stop it." Suddenly, Vasili's attention was drawn to a pedestrian about to cross the intersection not ten yards from the telephone booth. There was something about the man, the set expression of his face, the eyes that darted from side to side behind the lightly tinted glasses-bewildered, perhaps, but not lost, studying his surroundings. And the man's clothes, loose-fitting, inexpensive tweeds, thick and made to last... they were French. The glasses were French, the man's face itself Gallic. He looked across the street toward the marquee of the hotel, and hastened his step.
Marseilles had arrived.
"Come in to us." The diplomat was speaking. "Whatever happened cannot be irreparable in light of your extraordinary contributions." The former comrade from Riga