was no answer and Vasili began to think the unthinkable: Beowulf Agate had intercepted his bait. If so, the American was in greater danger than he could imagine. Three men had flown in from Europe to be his executioners, and-no less lethal-a gentle-appearing old woman whom he might try to compromise would kill him the instant she felt cornered. He would never know where the shot came from, nor that she even had a weapon.
"I'm sorry, sir!" said the operator angrily. "There's still no pickup in suite two-eleven. I suggest you call again." She did not wait for a reply; the switchboard line was disconnected.
The switchboard? The operator?
It was a desperate tactic, one he would never condone except as a last-extremity measure; the risk of exposure was too great. But it was the last extremity and if there were alternatives he was too exhausted to think of them. Again, -he knew only that he had to act, each decision an instinctive reflex, the shaping of those instincts trusted. He reached into his pocket for his money and removed five one-hundred dollar bills.
Then he took out his passport case, and extracted a letter he had written on an P-nglishlanguage typewriter five days ago in Moscow. The letterhead was that of a brokerage house in Bern; it identified the bearer as one of the firm's partners. One never knew.
He walked out of the telephone booth and entered the flow of pedestrians until he was directly opposite the entrance of the hotel. He waited for a break in the traffic, then walked rapidly across Nebraska Avenue.
Two minutes later a solicitous day manager introduced a Monsieur Blanchard to the operator of the hotel switchboard. This same manager-as impressed with Monsieur Blanchard's credentials as he was with the two hundred dollars the Swiss financier had casually insisted he take for his troubles-dutifully provided a relief operator while the woman talked alone with the generous Monsieur Blanchard.
"I ask you to forgive a worried man's rudeness over the telephone," said Taleniekov, as he pressed three one-hundred-dollar bills into her nervous hand. "The ways of international finance can be appalling in these times.
It is a bloodless war, a constant struggle to prevent unscrupulous men from taking advantage of honest brokers and legitimate institutions. My company has just such a problem. There's someone in this hotel...." A minute later, Vasili was reading a master list of telephone charges, recorded by a mindless computer. He concentrated on the calls made from the second floor; there were two corridors, suites 11 and 1 opposite three double rooms in the west wing, four single rooms on the other side.
He studied all charges billed to telephones 11 through 15. Names would mean nothing; local calls were not identified by number; long distance charges were the only items that might provide information. Beowulf Agate had to build a cover and it would not be in Washington. He had killed a man in Washington.
The hotel was, as Taleniekov knew, an expensive one. This was further confirmed by the range of calls made by guests who thought nothing of picking up a telephone and calling London as easily as a nearby restaurant. He scanned the sheets, concentrating on the O.O.T. areas listed.
1... London, U.K. chgs: $6.50 14... Des Moines, Ia. chgs: $4.75 14... Cedar Rapids, Ia. chgs: $6.0 13... Minneapolis, Minn. chgs: $7.10 15... New Orleans, La. chgs: $11.55 14... Denver, Col. chgs: $6.75 13... Easton, Md. chgs: $8.05 15... Atlanta, Ga. chgs: $3.15 1... Munich, Germ. chgs: $41.10 13... Easton, Md. chgs: $4.30 1... Stockholm, Swed. 'chgs: $38.5
Where was the pattern? Suite 1 had made frequent calls to Europe, but that was too obvious, too dangerous. Scofield would not place such traceable calls. Room 14 was centered in the Midwest, Room 15 in the south. There was something but he could not pinpoint it. Something that triggered a memory.
Then he saw it and the memory was activated, clarified. The one room without a pattern. Room 13. Two calls to Easton, Maryland, one to Minneapolis, Minnesota. Vasili could see the words in the dossier as if he were reading them. Brandon Scofield had a sister in Minneapolis, Minnesota.
Taleniekov memorized both numbers in case it was necessary to use them, if there was time to use them, to confirm them. He turned to the operator. "I don't know what to say. You've been most helpful but I don't think there's anything here that will help." The switchboard operator had entered into the minor conspiracy, and was enjoying