They failed to notice that Suvorov's eyes seldom strayed from the digital clock on one wall.

Lugovoy entered the room at 11:20 P.M. and made his routine examination of the analogous data on the President. At 11:38 he turned to Suvorov. "Join me in a glass of port, Captain?"

"Not tonight," Suvorov said, making a pained face. "I have a heavy case of indigestion. I'll settle for a glass of milk later."

"As you wish," Lugovoy said agreeably. "See you at breakfast."

Ten minutes after Lugovoy left, Suvorov noticed a small movement on one of the TV monitors. It was almost imperceptible at first, but then it was caught by one of the psychologists.

"What in hell!" he gasped.

"Something wrong?" asked the other.

"Senator Larimer-he's waking up."

"Can't be."

"I don't see anything," said Suvorov, moving closer.

"His alpha activity is a clear nine-to-ten-cycle-per-second set of waves that shouldn't be there if he was in his programmed sleep stage."

"Vice President Margolin's waves are increasing too."

"We'd better call Dr. Lugovoy-" The words hardly escaped his mouth when Suvorov cut him down with a savage judo chop to the base of the skull. In almost the same gesture, Suvorov swung a crosscut with the palm of the other hand into the throat of the second psychologist, crushing the man's windpipe.

Even before his victims hit the floor, Suvorov coldly gazed at the clock. The blinking red numbers displayed 11:49-eleven minutes before Lugovoy was scheduled to exit the laboratory in the elevator. Suvorov had practiced his movements many times, allowing no more than two minutes for unpredictable delays.

He stepped over the lifeless bodies and ran from the monitor room into the chamber containing the subjects in their soundproofed cocoons.

He unlatched the top of the third one, threw back the cover and peered inside.

Senator Marcus Larimer stared back at him. "What is this place?

Who the hell are you?" the senator mumbled.

"A friend," answered Suvorov, lifting Larimer out of the cocoon and half carrying, half dragging him to a chair.

"What's going on?"

"Be quiet and trust me."

Suvorov took a syringe from his pocket and injected Larimer with a stimulant. He repeated the process with Vice President Margolin, who looked around dazedly and offered no resistance. They were naked, and Suvorov brusquely threw them blankets, "Wrap yourselves in these," he ordered.

Congressman Alan Moran had not yet awakened. Suvorov lifted him out of the cocoon and lain him on the floor. Then he turned and walked over to the unit enclosing the President. The American leader was still unconscious. The latch mechanism was different from the other cocoons, and Suvorov wasted precious seconds trying to pry open the cover. His fingers seemed to lose all feeling and he fought to control them. He began to sense the first prickle of fear.