"You know how they do business over there nowadays? Say a ministry needs a million dollars to fix a road. They apply to the Russian parliament for the funds, the lawmakers--hah!--approve them, and then the ministry takes three percent off the top and hands it back to the lawmakers. Who then bank it in Switzerland or the Bahamas or Macao, or launder it through the Bank of New York." Golden wasn't telling them anything they didn't already know, but they also knew that it was useless to try to derail him. "Christ, I miss the good old days when all we had to worry about was a KBG mole bugging the men's washroom at Langley."

"Why didn't Ivanov just buy the plutonium from the government? If everything's for sale, why not that, too?" Carroll said with a frown.

Golden grunted. "He doesn't believe in bribes."

After a moment they all realized how funny that sounded, and the three of them burst into a roar of laughter that jolted Dennis Haley at his desk in the office outside.

"So how did it go down?" Casanare said, sobering.

"Report says the driver handled the actual trade, while Ivanov and Glukhov waited it out in Glukhov's office."

They considered this. "Glukhov nervous, wanting insurance," Carroll said. "He keeps Ivanov with him while the transaction goes through."

The stakes had just gone through the roof, but both agents were maintaining, although Carroll's fair skin was a little flushed and Casanare tugged at his tie. "Yeah," Golden said, "that's my take on it, too. The whole thing's pretty slick. There's a forklift warmed up and waiting, one of the workers rides one of the forks into the plant, I guess pointing the way. They weren't inside more than twenty minutes.

So, maybe an hour all told later, Ivanov comes out, walks past the two guards to the outer office door. They turn to escort him out, and the general shoots both men in the back, bang, bang, a walk in the park."

Carroll examined him with a shrewd eye. "They were in on it with Glukhov, weren't they, the two grunts."

It wasn't a question. "Yes. But--"

"But what?" A crook was a crook, in Carroll's book. She had no sympathy or regrets to waste on a crook.

For the most part, Golden agreed with her. Still-- "One of the guards had been with Glukhov since Czechoslovakia, the other since Afghanistan."

"Cold," Casanare said with distaste. "When he decided to go, he decided to go all the way."

"Price of entry into the brotherhood," Carroll said, curling her lip.

"Ivanov would require it." Golden smiled inwardly, anticipating their reaction to his next news.

"He's been seen. Two days ago."

Carroll's voice was tense with excitement. "Ivanov?" "No," Golden said, still smiling. "Glukhov."

Her enthusiasm waned noticeably. "Oh. Where?"

"Anchorage, Alaska." "Alaska?" Casanare said blankly. "You mean like the Arctic?"

"Yes, Al, the Arctic, with dog teams and Eskimos and blubber," Carroll said, but then she was from Seattle, which was practically a suburb of the Last Frontier. "Where in Anchorage?"