Threat Level Black - Страница 12

Chin Yop held up his hands, not understanding or at least pretending that he didn’t.

Dr. Park explained in Korean, then added that he ought to hold out for three at least.

“Three?” said the European when the trade was offered. But he made the deal, trading his entire pack for three Marlboros. He lit up immediately.

“Where?” he asked as he exhaled. “Buy them? Where did you find them? American, right? I didn’t know you could get them here.”

“Should I tell him where I got them?” Chin Yop asked Dr. Park as he deciphered the question.

Dr. Park shrugged. Cigarettes were available throughout the city, though they had bought theirs from a black-market vendor near the hostel at a considerable discount.

Was this man really a Russian policeman, checking on them?

“You tell him,” said Chin Yop.

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“But I don’t know.”

“You’re the senior man. Go ahead, it will seem odd if you don’t reply.”

Dr. Park looked at the European and then at his minder. Probably the minder was simply worried about his English, but perhaps this was part of an elaborate trap: Dr. Park would be arrested for buying forbidden items, then thrown into a Russian jail.

“Is he a policeman?” asked Dr. Park in Korean.

“You think so?” answered Chin Yop. “No. Too confused. Look, he’s a geek like you.”

“Maybe it’s a trick.”

The minder looked at the European and laughed.

If it was a trick, Dr. Park decided, the minder wasn’t in on it.

“Go ahead and tell him,” said Chin Yop. “He’s harmless. A nicotine addict.”

Dr. Park had trouble smiling, still unsure if he would be arrested for answering.

“I have heard that you can get them near Kolomev Street,” said Dr. Park, naming the street where their hostel was located. He had to repeat it twice before the foreigner understood.

“Oh.” The man nodded. “I heard there are shops in Arbatskaya.”

Dr. Park felt the blood leave his head as he finally understood who the man was and what he was doing. The Americans were quite clever after all.

Chapter 15

After the excitement of the Hawk flight, Howe found the rest of his week rather mundane. The girl in the aircraft was okay — physically, at least: Her father had had a heart attack and died as she watched. Howe, who had lost his own father when he was young, knew she would never truly get over that.

He had missed lunch with Blitz and they kept missing each other as they tried to reschedule, but otherwise he got the full-court treatment, VIPs at every meal. He phoned home once and sometimes twice a day, talking to his mom and occasionally his younger sister, who lived nearby and stopped by the house every so often. They were terribly impressed.

So was his friend Jimmy Bozzone, who kept calling him a big-shot muckety-muck and asking if he’d be able to get him tickets to all the sporting events now.

“What would that do for you, Jimmy?” asked Howe as Jimmy ragged him that night after dinner.

“Well, like, you know, you talk to the powers that be and get an executive box and I come along as your aidede-campo.”

“Campo?”

“Whatever. As long as I get a free beer. Listen, they’re having the Final Four down in New York City this month. Get us some tickets.”

“Right.” Howe shook his head and lay back on the bed. He yawned.

“Sorry if I’m keeping you up,” said Jimmy.

“All this wining and dining is hard work.” Howe hadn’t told Jimmy how much money was involved. He knew if he did, Jimmy would yell at him, call him a fool for even hesitating.

Would he, though? Jimmy valued his independence, and that was something you couldn’t really put a price tag on. As head of the NADT, Howe would be answering to all sorts of people at the Pentagon, the White House, Congress. He’d have to deal with contractors, blue suits, Navy people, the GAO — everyone in the world.

That was why they would pay so much money.

“You watching Syracuse?” asked Jimmy. “They’re ahead.”

“I may turn on the TV just to see them get their asses kicked,” Howe told him.

“Screw yourself. And don’t forget, I want tickets to the finals at Madison Square Garden.”

They were having the Final Four championship games at the Garden this year, the first time ever. Jimmy had gone to Penn State but had inexplicably seized on Syracuse as a team to root for after moving to New York State a decade or so before. Howe had no doubt that he would try and scalp tickets at Madison Square Garden if the Orangemen somehow made it to the play-offs. Tickets would go for thousands, he thought; everybody was making a big deal out of the fact that they were at the Garden.

“Ain’t gonna happen,” said Howe.

“We’ll see,” said Jimmy.

After he hung up, he flipped on the basketball game, a first rounder in the NCAA finals. Syracuse was comfortably ahead, but they were only playing Marist, which had managed somehow to draw the last bid of the tourney. With Syracuse up by twenty after one period, the game was pretty boring. He was just about to click off the set when the phone rang; thinking it was Jimmy calling back to rub in the game details, he hesitated but then picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Colonel Howe,” said a female voice, “stand by, please, for Dr. Blitz.”

“Colonel,” said Blitz, coming on the line before Howe could even answer. “Sorry we’ve been missing each other. A lot of stuff going on over here. I know it’s getting late and I won’t keep you. How about we have dinner next Tuesday night?” suggested Blitz. “My wife loves to cook.”

“I wasn’t planning on staying in town quite that long,” said Howe. “I was hoping to leave Saturday.”

“I’m afraid I have to go to Camp David for the weekend with the President.” Blitz paused. “Why don’t you come along?”

“I don’t think so,” said Howe.

“No, no, you really should: A lot of the important people you’ll be working with will be there.”

Howe smiled at the way Blitz had made it sound as if he’d decided to take the job.

“I think I’ll pass on the weekend, if that’s okay. Thanks, though.”

“Well, let’s set up that dinner, then. And I think the President will want to talk to you as well.”

Howe sighed. They really did want him to take the goddamn job, didn’t they?

Maybe he wanted it as well. Because really, if he didn’t, wouldn’t he have gone home already?

“So I can mark you down for dinner Tuesday?” asked Blitz. “Come over to my office in the afternoon-four, say. This way the President can drop by and say hi.”

Howe barely got “Well…” out of his mouth when Blitz started talking again.

“I understand your hesitation,” said Blitz, in a voice that suggested the opposite. “At least let the board of directors make a formal offer,” insisted Blitz. “We’ll have lunch Monday. Come over to my office. In the meantime, use that limo. Go out. Have fun. Even if you don’t take the job.”

The national security advisor paused and said something to someone else in his office. “Maybe you should have your mom come down from Pennsylvania. Show her Washington,” he said when he came back on the line.

“My mother’s sixty-eight.”

“Colonel, you really ought to relax for the next few days, just give yourself some time to think. Enjoy it — like a little minivacation. You’ve dedicated your life to your country, and you’ve made huge contributions. This is just a little bit of payback.”

“I’ll see you for lunch. I have to be honest, though: I’m leaning against the job. Very much against.”

“We’ll talk Monday,” said Blitz. “Wait until Monday.”

Chapter 16

Fisher was now officially played and had to stay in the background as the operation proceeded. Unfortunately, he couldn’t just disappear; one more lecture on joules and he would stick his fingers into the nearest light socket. So he feigned gastric distress and made a show of heading quickly to the men’s room, where he hung out for a while, smoking the cigarettes he’d traded for and listening to the attendant harangue customers for greenbacks instead of rubles. A few strategic groans kept him from being bothered, and when he finally emerged, the attendant steered well clear of him. Fisher made his way back to his hotel three blocks away; Madison flagged him down in a small Toyota.

“Nobody followed you,” the CIA officer told him. “You must’ve put on some act.”

“Looking stupid just comes naturally to some of us.”

They headed toward Arbatskaya, an area west of the Kremlin that once had a vaguely bohemian flavor and lately had become something of a tourist trap. Kung and the gnome were already en route, driven by a CIA operative disguised as a taxi driver; Madison would “deploy” them once Dr. Park arrived in the area.

If he arrived in the area.

“Your partner’s bugged, so we’ll hear what happens.”

“Who’s my partner?” objected Fisher.

“What’s-her-name-the short one. Mathers.”

“The gnome is not my partner,” said Fisher.

“Will he show up?” asked Madison.

“Got me,” said Fisher. “His minder will, though. I just about cleaned him out of smokes.”

* * *

Dr. Park walked past the shop, his heart thumping. Moscow was supposedly undergoing a very warm winter, but he felt like ice, even inside his warm parka. It had not been difficult to persuade Chin Yop to come here; he mentioned that he had eaten in the area during his one previous trip to Moscow and that it was very inexpensive. Chin Yop was undoubtedly being paid an allowance, and thus any savings on meals would go into his pocket.