Casing the Colors © Week 10

Casing the Colors © Week 10 • • • CHAPTER 19 • • Early the next morning, a Russian diplomatic limousine arrived at the American Embassy for Kate. President Katerinov sent his apologies and asked her to use his personal aide as her guide for the morning. She thought the president wanted to put a little distance between them after the prior evening's encounter. She was happy to have the morning free to explore Moscow, but she missed the president and his appreciation of the humor, as well as the poignancy, in his country's daily struggles. She also had to admit that she missed his attention. Midway thought the morning, the Russian aide interrupted his tourist guide narrative. "The president would like you to see the countryside around the city, if you are at all interested," he said. "Of course," Kate replied. "Can we talk to some farmers and villagers?" she asked, trying to ease the aide's awkward effort to be casual. Kate wondered what point the president would be making in absentia because it clear to her from Alexei Katerinov's tumble of words and actions the prior evening that even if he was directing considerable charm toward her, his intention was to use it to Russia's advantage. As she considered the possible scenarios being concocted by the Russian president, the limousine sped along, leaving neighborhood streets for broad boulevards where train stations and bus stops were surrounded by the ubiquitous markets and enterprising Russian capitalists edging onto the street to wave dolls or vodka at them. "They aren't Russia's best citizens," the aide said, "but they provide a service we would not be able to replace. I wish we had a better solution." "So do I," Kate answered, thinking more of the Baltics than Moscow's street vendors. The city quickly faded behind them, first the drab Soviet high rise structures and then the three and four story great houses that had become either prized 'possessions' or tenements in the Soviet era. Soon they were motoring through flat, open country marked only by tiny hamlets peopled by farmers who worked small holdings. Occasional stands of tall birch woods provided relief. They didn't stop to talk to anyone. The aide explained that they would have lunch and visit with farmers at a village farther on. They drove through empty countryside for almost two hours before the limousine turned off the main highway and followed an unmarked lane through a series of woods and open spaces. Kate could see a village ahead of them. As they approached, the residents, all in work clothes, assembled in front of a double row of small square houses that faced each other across a paved path, not, she noted, the mark of an ordinary Russian farm village. The dark weathered wood houses were well-built, with painted trim and cement walks leading to the central path. The villagers waved when the limousine passed them. As they left the village, Kate saw another wooded area ahead. A much larger house, with stone trim and a deep covered encircling porch, stood beyond the woods at the end of the lane. A manned gate house and railroad barrier separated it from the village. The guard opened the gate to let them pass. "You should rest and eat something before we begin the tour," the aide said, helping Kate from the limousine. They ascended the wide steps that rose in an easy gradient to the porch. The foyer was a spectacular blend of polished dark wood paneling and ornately carved deer antlers set into the upper walls and ceiling. A large Persian carpet runner led to closed wooden pocket doors set with frosted Art Nouveau glass panels where wood nymphs danced in naked innocence near a waterfall. In the diffused light of the elaborate entry, fragrant with wax and emanating unhampered privilege, Kate was filled with a yearning for a time she had never known, when the Czars and Kaisers took their leisure in hunting lodges hidden in the countryside of eastern Europe. She handed her coat to the butler and stood motionless, waiting for someone to tell her what to do next. The butler opened the pocket doors, motioned for her to enter, and stepped aside. As she entered the room, she was greeted by a stone fireplace that covered the entire far wall. It was surrounded by more antlers and gave off the scent and crackling sound of another age. The warmth enveloped and soothed her after the long drive through the cold, snowy landscape. The doors closed, leaving her alone until a side door opened and Alexei Katerinov came toward her, smiling broadly. "Welcome to my dacha, Katharine. It is the only place in Russia where we can spend an undisturbed afternoon," he said as he kissed her cheek. "Would you like some champagne before lunch?" he asked, motioning toward the silver tray on the ornate library table stretching behind a large dark brown leather sofa covered with colorful silk paisley throws. "Does the Embassy know I'm here?" she asked. The president gave a loud, delighted laugh. "Do you think I've kidnapped you?" "No, no, but I'm..." She couldn't describe the feelings that made her cheeks flush and her words halt in embarrassment." You are a remarkable man, President Katerinov," she finally managed. "My name is Alexei. Remember?" "I remember, Alexei." "That is much better. Of course the Embassy knows you are here. I phoned the Ambassador after you left this morning. I told him I wanted to show you the countryside and continue our discussions of last evening. I'm sorry I couldn't join you this morning." The president offered her a glass of champagne. "I'm not prepared to give you an answer about the Baltics," she remarked, searching for an objective subject of conversation. "I haven't had time to talk to anyone." "I didn't expect an answer today," he replied. "I simply want to share a meal with you. I want to watch you fall into the embrace of the timeless and seductive Russia. I want to see you smile at me," he added gently. "Why do these dachas still exist?" she asked, trying to keep their conversation impersonal. "Why weren't they destroyed during the revolution?" "Many were, but the Bolsheviks weren't completely indifferent to small comforts in their struggle against capitalism. They kept some dachas for entertaining and holidays. Rather like Camp David." It was her turn to laugh. "Not exactly the same style," she grinned, her upturned hands taking in the immense and ornate room. "You have been to Camp David?" he asked. She nodded affirmatively. "You cannot deny that you have power." She was fully alert, trying to understand what was happening between them. She knew that she would have to tell Secretary Stevens about the last twenty-four hours. She had learned a lot about President Katerinov, much of it missing from the State Department briefing books. He had talked to her about his childhood in the Urals east of Moscow, where he had been raised by his grandmother after his father was killed during military service. His parents were a dim blur in his memories of childhood, and his grandmother was reticent to talk about them, which led him, as a teenager, to dig through enough local registry records to learn that they had been transported to Siberia for nonconformism. He assumed they had died there in the camps, and not in the military, although he had never been able to trace them. His childhood had been hard but when things seemed to be beyond bearing, his grandmother would always remind him that he should be brave and learn to succeed because he had a family history to match any in Russia. As a child he had never been able to make sense of her admonishments. He had also spoken of his careful rise in the Soviet bureaucracy, with little time for anything but official duties. He told Kate that, despite his parents' fatal experience, he had as a young party member felt a growing sympathy for the small but influential number of dissidents who courageously resisted the imposed Soviet dogma and that he had finally decided to join them, offering aid from inside the state apparatus. "Today," he had told her, "I am President of Russia, but my accomplishments, while personally gratifying and greater than anything my grandmother could have expected, have not even begun to satisfy my need to do all that is required for Russia and for our people." Kate would be able to report all those things easily, but it wouldn't be easy to say, and, oh yes, we made love. As the thought formed instinctively, she was certain for the first time of the afternoon's agenda. The bell calling them to lunch interrupted her reflections. They ate an excellent meal of foie gras followed by green salad and grilled fish, accompanied by the famous Russian dark bread and churned sweet butter from the farm village beyond the gate. Kate thought of her father's lunches, so far away today. As they ate, Alexei talked easily about his plans for encouraging Russia's economic progress, expanding her industrial base to include more consumer products, create new jobs and, above all, build the modern infrastructure needed to support his goals. While he talked, Kate remembered his compassion for the old woman in the shabby coat and his ease with ordinary Russians suffering through the democratization process he seemed determined to complete. Considering the elegance of his dacha, she wondered if Alexei Katerinov was just the latest in the long line of men who had led Russia down political and economic blind alleys, living above the people's misery while calling for their commitment to yet another disastrous plan. She suddenly realized that he had stopped talking and was watching her. "No, I am not an autocrat," he said, reading her thoughts. "I live here because I am expected to. I won't pretend to dislike it, but it is largely a display of power. In Russia, it is important to use one's power, to be seen to reward oneself for having gained it." "You have sophisticated tastes," she answered, "but this house and your being comfortable in it is confusing. It is so at odds with your ideas for the future of your country." "It is Russia you are sensing," he replied. "We are the children of a complex heritage and history. It torments us and it makes us endlessly fascinating to the West." They finished their dessert and went into the living room. Kate sat leaning against the end of the tall tufted sofa, watching the snow fall onto the branches of the trees outside the window as the fire made reassuring crackling noises. "Alexei, how old are you?" she asked, knowing the answer, but trying to put some perspective into her thoughts. "You know how old I am," he responded, deflecting her attempt. "You are a diplomat with all the usual briefing books." "You're fifty-five." "Younger than Stuart Wellford," he nodded, "and you are thirty-five," he said. "Age is meaningless, Katharine. First, one must feel, and then one can love, and then age disappears." She was astonished that he referred to Stu and not Scott, but considering the remarkable last twenty-four hours, she finally smiled. "I told you I wanted to see you smile," he said, sitting on the edge of the sofa in front of her. He kissed her face and eyelashes. He caressed her waist and abdomen with a touch that made her feel naked. He loosened her blouse and his tongue played so delicately with her skin that she was excited as much by her imagination as by his touch. She shivered and stretched as he took possession of her senses. Suddenly, she bolted and tried to rearrange her blouse, but he took her hand and led her up the curving stairway. She wanted to run but her body moved up the stairway following him. "It is not possible," she repeated as he undressed her. "For heaven's sake, Alexei, think. Think about what you are doing." "Feel," he said, quietly, "do not be afraid to feel." Twilight had turned the bedroom into a shadowy theater when the phone rang beside the bed. President Katerinov handed the phone to her. "Kate?" It was Bill Stevens' voice. "Sorry to interrupt you, but we need you and General Barber in Washington as soon as possible." She shook her head, trying to find the lawyer in it. "What's wrong, Bill?" "Just get back to Moscow. Ask President Katerinov to send you directly to the airport. General Barber will be waiting there with your baggage." "I'll wait for you downstairs," Alexei said, disappearing into his dressing room. The snow continued to fall as they left the dacha. Alexei covered them with a fur lap rug and they settled back in the limousine to watch the evening, bright in the whiteness of the new snow. The slippery road made little difference to the driver, who sped along the empty highway. "My dear," Alexei said, "soon we will be back in the public eye at the airport, the Russian president saying good-bye to the American diplomat. Please, come back. Bring me an answer and bring me Katharine." He put a tiny box into her hand and then wrapped his much larger hand around both the box and her closed fingers. "It is a little gift, given to me by my grandmother before she died. I want you to have it to remind you of our private tolkouchka this afternoon," he said, his smile becoming a laugh as he added, "remember the word, tolkouchka. It will be our special code." He turned her face toward his with his free hand and kissed her, a long tender kiss, as soft as the falling snow obliterating everything outside the car and just as hauntingly beautiful. Alexei wouldn't let her open the box while he was with her. On the plane, while Tony talked to the pilots, she lifted its velvet lid and discovered a gold ring, just big enough for her ring finger, with a large, perfect cabochon ruby set into a raised golden crown of the Czars. • • • CHAPTER 20 • • "The Russian military is more than ready for the Republics," Tony Barber told Kate as the State Department plane left Russian skies and sped toward Ramstein. "I don't think they'll waste much time with negotiations. But I was surprised as hell to hear just how many nukes are still buried in the former satellite states west and south of Moscow. There is no consensus among the Russian general staff about how to withdraw them without risking a nuclear confrontation between the Republics and Russia or Europe." "President Katerinov has an idea," Kate offered. "He wants to trade them for an American promise not to interfere while Ukraine and Belarus take back the Baltic states." "He must be drinking too much vodka," Tony laughed. "We would never surrender eastern Europe again." "He says the West doesn't need them, and Ukraine and Belarus do. He told me we have all the Atlantic ports we need. You know, he's not all wrong, Tony." "If that's the report you're taking back to the White House, Secretary Stevens will be thrilled," Tony answered. "If I were you, I'd mail it in, for your own safety," he added looking out into the darkness beyond the plane's windows. Kate noticed the vacant look on his face and asked what was troubling him. "Nothing, really," he said. "I was just thinking of the good old days when life was simple and everybody knew who the enemy was. How the hell could we ever explain to the American public that the United States and Russia had made a deal to conquer the former Soviet Republics and trade the Baltics for nuclear missiles. The only thing I'm certain of after my Moscow briefing is that Russia can handle the Republics without our military help." "That's not the kind of help Russia needs," Kate answered. "President Katerinov says his country needs to be a fully accepted world player again -- forget Ukraine and let Russia be surrounded by her prosperous satellites, both to justify the president's insistence on democracy and to validate capitalism." "Sure," Tony said sarcastically, "and if it takes the Baltics, we'll just look the other way. Does he really expect us to swallow such bullshit?" Kate didn't have an answer. She closed her eyes. Back in the snowy Moscow evening, thirty-five thousand feet below, Alexei Katerinov was having dinner, but with whom and what was the agenda? She remembered his body and realized that she was still warm and relaxed from his touch. Maybe Tony was right. Maybe Alexei was simply using her to regain Russia's lost empire. But she had heard him talk about freedom and jobs. She had seen him plunge into Muscovite crowds unafraid. She would never forget the old woman in Red Square waving to him. Could he be as deceitful as Tony believed. While Tony slept, Kate wrote a note. During the refueling stop in Ramstein, she handed it to a military officer who was with the official group that met the plane. "Please encrypt this and send it to our Ambassador in Moscow for personal re-delivery to President Katerinov," she directed. "Don't translate it from the French." "Yes, ma'am," he answered, as if she had asked him to remember to breathe. The message was simple, "White House meeting tomorrow. Will discuss proposal. Companion skeptical. Please advise. K. Gordon, ASSPA." The note was written in familiar French, reserved for family members, old friends, children, and lovers. She knew he would understand its significance and realize how much the day had meant to her. She hoped he would also help. Her thoughts were interrupted by one of the pilots carrying a headset. It was Bill Stevens at the White House. General Barber, tired and grouchy after being awakened, and still angry at being slightly out of the information loop, demanded to know what was going on. "Rome isn't exactly burning," the Secretary answered. "Get some sleep because a helicopter will meet you at Andrews to bring you directly to the White House. We've had a response from Mexico and it isn't promising. Kate, we need to talk to Dave Browning again. We have tails on him and he's okay, but no one has heard from him since our dinner." General Barber, despite his frustration, slept for another five hours, as any soldier would. The sound of the plane's engines made sleep difficult for Kate, who tried not to think about the hours slipping by, representing time zones taking her farther and farther away from Alexei Katerinov. • Before the plane landed, Tony shaved and changed uniforms and Kate put on a fresh suit. They were red-eyed but presentable when the helicopter dropped down onto the South Lawn. In the Cabinet Room, the President, Stu Wellford, Bill Stevens, George Morrison and the Joint Chiefs were assembled. Bill Stevens presided. He asked for a report on the Russia trip before taking up the other agenda item, which was still a mystery to Kate and Tony. Kate summarized her discussions with Alexei. "The price tag for the Russian Duma's cooperation with an America it distrusts but needs is our guarantee to intervene if the Russian action to demilitarize the Republics gets bogged down in a protracted ground war. No one in Moscow wants to be embroiled in another Afghanistan or Chechnya." She paused. "Russia also wants something else. There are still large numbers of short and mid-range nuclear missiles buried in Ukraine, Georgia and other Republics along Russia's western and southern borders. In return for cooperating with the United States and the United Nations to dismantle the Republics' nuclear capability, Russia wants America to look the other way while Ukraine and Belarus retake the Baltic states and Russia clears the Black Sea of all non-Russian naval presence. They believe the Republics would support this in exchange for a joint Russian-American pact to protect the Republics and get them on their feet as free democratic economies, whatever the price tag." "God almighty," Bill exclaimed, "just how does Katerinov think we would get Europe to agree?" "He doesn't," Kate answered. "He simply wants us to provide a diplomatic delay while the Baltics are taken. He needs a stalemate in the West for a week or so, to give them an open field." "I don't believe the democracy crap," Tony Barber interjected. "President Katerinov is maneuvering to create the next century's version of the Soviets and if we oblige him with a week's stalemate, he will be well on his way to succeeding." Kate rebutted emphatically. "There is no doubt that he wants Russia to be the major Eurasian power, protected by a group of buffering countries, but I think he's sincere in his belief that democracy is the only way to give Russia a stable and prosperous future. He believes Russia can be the major central Asian power only if the Black Sea is cleared of all other navies. He also knows that he needs the kind of economic growth that would be impossible without American support." "He's not all wrong," General Gordon said. "Jesus," General Barber muttered, looking toward Kate, "it must be a family disease." "It makes some sense," Bill said, "but we cannot become involved in a protracted struggle between Russia and the Republics and we need to be damned sure that Katerinov is not simply using our preoccupation with domestic problems to bolster his own position." "My judgment is that we could be asked to intervene in Ukraine," Tony Barber said. "Russia can handle the other Republics, but if the Russian general staff has any concern, it's about NATO and the weapons stockpiled in Ukraine, and her army. It's been a stalemate there for years and Russia wants a resolution." "That makes President Katerinov's request about the Baltics understandable," General Gordon said. "If Ukraine moves west against the Baltics, it will take the European heat off Russia and give Katerinov time to subdue the other Republics and then negotiate from strength with Ukraine." "That's a likely strategy, Jim," General Volti said. "If, as is almost certain, Poland and the rest of eastern Europe protest, and perhaps even threaten Ukraine's western borders, it would be an extra window of opportunity for Russia in south Asia." "It would certainly give Kiev a greater impetus to settle with Moscow," Stu Wellford said. "Bill, could you stir up enough diplomatic debate to give Katerinov the time he needs?" "Of course," Secretary Stevens answered, "but do we really want to be a party to re-creating a two-superpower world?" "Maybe that's just what we need," General Volti said. "The United States can't police the entire world. A strong Russia could take responsibility for the disorder in eastern Europe and south-central Asia that Europe has been unwilling to step up to. If we could depend on Russia's democratic intentions, if we could keep her locked out of Iran and the Middle East, it would be a real bonus for us." "I can't imagine Europe standing by while Russia re-establishes itself as the other superpower," Stu replied. "Europe has been doing exactly that for a decade," General Gordon said. "What makes you think they can or would want to change now. Europe has neither a strategic ground and naval presence nor a defensive satellite system. It is as if Europe didn't exist, with each country organizing a separate military operation. Even NATO would be hard pressed to function if the United States weren't in control. If Bosnia taught us anything, it is that Europe doesn't exist beyond German and French diplomatic pouches. If America had a superpower partner again, it might even ease Europe's need for greater military strength, and if Katerinov can be believed, the partnership would be directed toward worldwide economic development, not the old East-West military agenda. Isn't that what the United States has always said it wants?" "What have we got to lose," George Morrison suggested. "If Russia doesn't ask for an immediate US troop commitment, there would be no real threat for us. We could wait for European reaction. If eastern Europe threatens to respond militarily, we can call for the usual conference to settle all grievances. If Europe hesitates, the Baltics will be absorbed and power will have shifted to Russia and the United States. No one will seriously argue after that." "Damn it, George," the President sputtered, "that's too cynical to come from anyone but you." President Harper looked around the room. "Does anyone disagree?" he asked. General Gordon turned the group's attention to another possible consequence. "The Baltics were held in check under the Soviets because of the massive Soviet military presence in the region," he reminded them. "We could see violent reaction if Russia tries to assert its hegemony again without first asking for local consent." "The joint American-Russian guarantee ought to ease that possibility," Kate said. "At least that is President Katerinov's feeling, that we're not condoning a hostile military occupation, only a decision about economic aid and political stability," she added. "Besides, we've seen former communists win elections all over eastern Europe." "If we can agree to the deal," Bill Stevens said, "what do we want from Russia and Katerinov in return?" As the Generals were mulling over their requirements, the President's red telephone rang. His chief of staff answered and then cast a mystified glance toward the President and Secretary Stevens. "It's President Katerinov," he said. As President Harper reached for the receiver, the aide stopped him. "President Katerinov wants to speak with Miss Gordon." Alexei's voice, calm and impersonal, told Kate to simply listen. Bill Stevens passed her a scribbled note to tell her that the conversation was being taped. When Alexei finished speaking, Kate said, "I understand. I will deliver your message to the President. Thank you for your help." The group listened as the tape was played back. President Katerinov had spoken to Kate about a White House security leak. This was the second agenda item that Kate and Tony Barber didn't know about yet. He had also asked Kate to go alone to her favorite Washington restaurant at 7 p.m., where a table would be waiting for her. Someone would contact her and deliver a code word that she would recognize. "What the hell's going on?" George Morrison exploded as the tape ended. "Code word, favorite restaurant? And how in the hell does he know about the possibility of a White House leak?" "Let's follow his instructions and find out," General Gordon said calmly. "I told President Katerinov about my favorite restaurant," Kate volunteered, "but I don't know anything about a code word," she lied, adding hesitantly, "I sent him an encrypted message from Frankfurt through our Russian Ambassador. I asked him for a sign of good faith. Perhaps this is his response." "Not exactly routine State Department protocol," Bill Stevens said, "but maybe you've hooked him. Let's give it a shot." "Do we tail her?" General Gordon asked. "Let's give President Katerinov the first bite," Kate said, "I'm only going to Mr. Liu's." "I doubt that you'll eat dinner this evening," her father replied, "and certainly not at Mr. Liu's. I vote for full routine procedures. Katerinov would do the same thing." Everyone nodded in agreement. Only Tony Barber abstained, demanding, "What leak in Washington security? What the hell does the Russian president know that I don't?" "We know there's a leak," Bill answered. "Jim's decision to tail the Vice President hasn't yielded anything concrete yet, but Jack Wilson is obviously the weakest insider, for several reasons. Disillusionment, ambition, a need for campaign money. We're still tailing him. Maybe this evening will give us some leads." "Let's leave the discussion for tomorrow," George Morrison said. "We'll have the results of tonight's meeting. The source has to be close to one of us and we could blow our chances tonight without knowing it, just by talking to someone on our staffs." "Right, George," Stu smirked skeptically. "George is dead on," General Gordon said. "Let's table everything until tomorrow morning. I'll brief Kate before she leaves for the meeting." • Just before seven o'clock, Kate Gordon's limousine turned onto "K" Street, driven by a Secret Service agent assigned to her for the evening. "I'll be near the car," he said as they approached Mr. Liu's. "Don't think about me or anything except what your contact says. Remember every nuance as precisely as you can. They're pro's and so are we. They'll know I'm here. Just let them, and us, take care of you. If you need me, I'll be there, and remember, you're the necessary link to make the information exchange work. That's your ticket." As Kate got out of the limousine, her heart was pounding. She tried to concentrate on Alexei, hoping he would not have set her up. She shook off her fears and started toward the restaurant. A woman exited and moved quickly toward her, taking her arm and turning her back toward the curb. "Please, Miss Gordon, come with me," the woman said, as another limousine turned the corner. Its door opened and the woman motioned Kate into it. The limousine rounded the next corner and accelerated into a garage under the building. The man sitting beside her in the limo was silent as it swerved around pillars, finally stopping next to an elevator on an empty lower level. He got out, keeping Kate in front of him. They entered the elevator and rose, coming to a stop several stories above Mr. Liu's. The man, still silent, hurried her into a stairwell and down again, into a service area behind the restaurant kitchen. He took her by the arm and walked swiftly through the restaurant and out onto "K" Street, where another limousine was waiting. Finally, as they pulled away from the restaurant entrance and headed toward Washington Circle, the man spoke. "Tolkouchka, Miss Gordon." The word sliced through her apprehension and she laughed, returning his greeting. "I have information for you," he continued. "Your Vice President, Mr. Wilson, is talking to Raqqa. In return, Raqqa is providing cash for his campaign and promising ghetto votes for him." "That's absurd," Kate answered. "Ghetto kids don't vote, let alone vote for a conservative Republican." "Raqqa knows what he is doing. Money can buy almost anything, certainly including fraudulent votes." "Where is the Vice President getting his information?" Kate asked. "It is coming from someone very close to the President because some of it is being verified by other Washington operatives." Disappointed, she said, "That isn't much more than we already know." "Tonight, while we are talking, Mr. Browning will tell Secretary Stevens that he has been contacted by Carlos Miguel. Miguel has asked for a meeting in Monterrey with Browning and he will request that you attend as well." "Me?" "Miguel apparently trusts you because of the payments you have arranged for his people. Here is a phone number. When you're in Mexican territory, call it. The person who will answer is one of us. Use the code word, tolkouchka. He will respond with a phrase that only you would recognize. He will help you. Trust him." "Our own agents will be with us," she replied. "Why would I need to trust someone else?" "Miss Gordon, you are obviously important to someone very powerful. Do not be so foolish as to refuse his help. Your own people will agree with me. Do not try to meet Miguel without first making the call. Follow the instructions the contact gives you. They are meant to help you." "Who arranged this?" Kate asked, hoping to hear Alexei's name. "I cannot answer that question," the man said. "Make the phone call." The limousine, which had been driving through the dark, narrow streets around George Washington University, made a U-turn on Pennsylvania Avenue and stopped in front of the Bristol Hotel. "Before you disappear," Kate said, "tell me what Raqqa hopes to get from Jack Wilson." "Your country, Miss Gordon, but you already knew that, too. Raqqa needs access to power and Wilson is his entree." The man turned toward her, smiling. He was fifty, with ordinary features and graying light brown hair. He handed her a small envelope marked with the seal of the government of Russia. "Don't be frightened," he reassured her. "I'm responsible for you. Take a cab back to Mr. Liu's. Your driver will be waiting for you there." He closed the car door after her. She watched the limousine circle in front of the hotel and disappear into Georgetown. The whole encounter had lasted less than an hour. When she got out of the taxi at Mr. Liu's, her driver, who was leaning against the limousine parked farther along the street, waved to her. She hurried to the limousine, settling into its safe confines to recover her nerve, which had held up remarkably well during the last hour only to collapse once she was safely back in the control of the Secret Service. The driver handed her a drink and headed for General Gordon's home, where Stu Wellford and Bill Stevens were waiting with her father. "We want to talk here, tonight," Bill said, "because we're sure of the people in this room. At the White House, we're only guessing who's clean." "Where is Scott?" Kate asked. "He's surely not a suspect." "No, but he talks to a lot of people and we don't want to involve him more than is needed," Bill answered. "We heard from Dave Browning this evening," he added impatiently. "He has a meeting in with Miguel and I'm on the guest list," Kate replied. "Chelenko gave you accurate information," her father said. "The meeting is set for tomorrow afternoon. You and Dave are traveling in one of his planes. We'll cover you all the way." Bill Stevens filled in the essential diplomatic information. "President Allezar has responded to our request for help by saying that Mexico can't move against Carlos Miguel, at least not without causing serious internal disruptions. Miguel's forces have infiltrated most of the dissent groups in the country, as well as parts of the government, and President Allezar can't risk a coordinated rebellion." "Terrific," Kate said, "so we have to ask Miguel to become a conscientious citizen and stop his own war. And who is Chelenko?" she asked. "He was very polite, and he sounded American." "He's a member of the Russian diplomatic delegation, in charge of security activities here. Not a trench coat type. He's smart and tough. He usually doesn't try to hide from us. Tonight's show must have been meant to impress you." "He gave me a phone number to call," Kate said, handing the card to her father. "I'll check it out," he replied. She took the planted micro recorder out of her purse and put it on the coffee table to play it. When the playback ended, her father, correctly guessing who the powerful protector was, asked why Katerinov would single her out. "Kate," Bill Stevens said, fielding her father's question, "that's the reason Scott isn't here. You need to tell us everything." She looked at Stu, hesitating. But he nodded to encourage her and so she started by recounting the Moscow flea markets and ended with the afternoon in the dacha. When she finished, no one spoke. Finally, her father got up and poured himself another scotch. Stu held up his glass and toasted Kate. "Here's to passion," he said wistfully. "Honey," her father said, "you are in a very lonely position, and we will need to take advantage of it and of you. If you want out, now is the time to tell us." "I'm in," she answered. "I trust Alexei and I think I may be in love with him. How will I ever know for sure if I bail out now? Besides, you military types need a little romance every so often. It's good for troop morale," she joked in an effort to break the tension she felt from Stu, who was staring at her. "Can I ask you for a difficult favor, Kate?" Bill appealed. "Don't tell Scott, or words to that effect?" she guessed. "I'm way ahead of you. If the story leaks, it's on your shoulders, gentlemen. I'm not telling anyone. It's business as usual for Scott and me, and I'd say that just about describes us. I'd rather talk about tomorrow. I need instructions." "I think we ought to go ahead with the meeting with the President," Bill said. "We'll report that Kate had to go to Monterrey with Dave, leaving out any details about Jack Wilson, simply saying that the Russian contact confirmed that Jack is our leak. And, we'll play down Katerinov's role." "Right," General Gordon agreed. "We'll put the Mexican offensive on hold but deploy our troops as discreetly as possible, in case Miguel is simply buying time. Stu, we'll need your help to put together a response for Katerinov so Kate can get back to Moscow for his reaction after the Mexico trip." Stu nodded as Bill finished his drink. "I'm going home to get some sleep," he said. "Tomorrow will be a long day." Kate and her father walked out to the limousine with Stu and Bill. Stu put his arm around her and gave her a big hug. "For luck, Sweetie. Don't worry about me," he whispered, "I suppose he's one of the few men you could have chosen." Alone in her bedroom, Kate took the sealed note from her purse. It was the one detail she had chosen not to mention to the group assembled in her father's living room. She opened the envelope, being careful not to damage the official emblem on it. She found a note, faxed but carefully trimmed to fit the envelope. "Katharine," she read, "please forgive my precipitous actions over the past two days, but when I met you I understood that for the first time in many years, I had found the woman I could love. I wanted to tell you many things which are difficult for me to speak of. Now, I can only hope that you will come back to Moscow so that we may accept our good fortune. Please do not attempt to write to me. I await with great impatience your return. A." Kate read the words over and over again, trying, as Alexei had suggested, to understand and accept what had occurred between them. She fell asleep with the note in her hand.