“Obviously you’re not new to this,” said Rogers, his eyes constantly in motion as he drove. “So you also know I can’t go with you. I don’t want to cause an international incident if the guy decides to claim that some American intelligence agent is trying to mark him. Could get me thrown out of the country, and I’m having too much fun right now to leave. If you want to make him on your own, as a citizen searching for historical information, that’s fine. There’s no blow-back if he refuses to cooperate. But you’re really on your own. This is your show, not mine. No noise, Mr. Condley. Please. The last thing either of us wants is for our favorite Marine Corps general to be standing with his heels locked in front of some bow-tied White House weenie.”

“That would be General Delivery?” grinned Condley, flicking his eyes toward Pham.

“No, General Background,” laughed Rogers. He tapped the folder as he drove. “But everything you need is in there. Everything. Whoever put this together”—he looked in the mirror at Colonel Pham, having issued a disclaimer in case their conversation was indeed passed on to Russian intelligence—“has got the guy down to what time he goes to the bathroom, and how many times he farts.”

“You’re a good man,” said Condley.

“The general passed on your story after he read the back brief about my little shopping trip to the Arabat,” said Rogers. His eyes never stopped moving, flitting from the road in front of them to the occupants of nearby cars and then to the colonel’s face in the rearview mirror. “I’m doing this out of respect, Mister Condley. For you and your Marines.”

Near Red Square the car slowed in front of a glorious old hotel. Watching the uniformed doormen and the glowing chandeliers inside, Condley’s eyes lit up.

“You can’t afford it,” laughed Rogers as the car turned a corner and stopped in front of a clearly seedy, second-rate establishment. He halted the car in front of a worn walkway that led up a wide set of stairs to the entrance of the Kamchatka Hotel.

Rogers jumped out, meeting them at the car’s trunk, where they unloaded the luggage. Colonel Pham had said nothing since leaving the airport terminal. He picked up his bag, watching Rogers with his ever-discerning eyes, and finally reached out and shook the agent’s hand.

“Nice to meet you,” he said in heavily accented English.

“See?” said Rogers as he shook the colonel’s hand. “I told you he spoke English.”

“Only a little,” admitted the colonel with a small, embarrassed grin. “Too long ago I learned.”

Condley lingered at the car with Rogers as Pham headed into the hotel. He tapped the folder, then shook Rogers’s hand.

“Thanks for the ride.”