"But if Moran included her in the deal?"
"Then we sink the laboratory along with Margolin and Loren Smith in a hundred fathoms of water."
Unknown to Lee Tong and Min Koryo, their conversation was transmitted to the roof of a nearby apartment building where a secondary reception dish relayed the radio frequency signals to a voice-activated tape recorder in a dusty, vacant office several blocks away on Hudson Street.
The turn-of-the-century brick building was due to be demolished, and although most of the offices were empty, a few tenants were taking their sweet time about relocating.
Sal Casio had the tenth floor all to himself. He squatted in this particular site because the janitorial crew never bothered to step off the elevator, and the window had a direct line of sight to the secondary receiver. A cot, a sleeping bag and a small electric burner were all he needed to get by, and except for the receiver/ recorder, his only other piece of furniture was an old faded and torn lobby chair that he'd salvaged out of a back-alley trash bin.
He turned the lock with his master key and entered, carrying a paper sack containing a corned beef sandwich and three bottles of Herman Joseph beer. The office was hot and stuffy, so he opened a window and stared at the lights across the river in New Jersey.
Casio performed the tedious job of surveillance automatically, welcoming the isolation that gave him a chance to let his mind run loose. He recalled the happy times of his marriage, the growing-up years with his daughter, and he began to feel mellowed. His long quest for retribution hadfinally threaded the needle and was drawing to a close. All that was left, he mused, was to write the Bougainville epilogue.
He looked down at the recorder while taking a bite out of the sandwich and noted the tape had rolled during his trip to the delicatessen. Morning would be soon enough to rewind and listen to it, he decided. Also, if he was playing back the recording when voices activated the system again, the previous conversation would be erased.
Casio had no way of guessing the critical content on the tape.
The decision to wait was dictated by routine procedure, but the delay was to prove terribly costly.
"May I talk to you, General?"
About to leave for the day, Metcalf was in the act of snapping closed his briefcase. His eyes narrowed in apprehension at recognizing Alan Mercier, who was standing in the doorway.
"Of course, please come in and sit down."
The President's National Security Adviser moved toward the desk but remained standing. "I have some news you aren't going to like."
Metcalf sighed. "Bad news seems to be the order of the day lately. What is it?"
Mercier handed him an unmarked binder holding several sheets of typewritten paper and spoke in a soft, hurried voice. "Orders direct from the President. All American forces in Europe must be pulled out by Christmas. He's given you twenty days to draw up a plan for total withdrawal from NATO."