Rodgers didn't bother to explain. The Intelligence Officer was a good man, someone who had paid the price for what he did. He lost his wife and the use of his legs in the Beirut Embassy bombing in 1983. But after a great deal of initial reluctance, even Herbert was beginning to be seduced by the computers, satellites, and fiber-optic cables. He called this technological triad a "God's-eye view of the world."

"What we've got," Herbert said, "are two things, maybe related, maybe not. You know we've been picking up microwave radiation from the Neva as it passes near the Hermitage in St. Petersburg."

"Yes," Rodgers responded.

"At first we figured the radiation was from the TV studio the Russians are building at the Hermitage to broadcast artwork to schools. But my TV specialist has been watching their test broadcasts, and they're all in the 153 to 11950 kilohertz range. That's not what we're getting from the Neva."

"So the TV studio's a front for some other kind of operation," Rodgers said.

"Most likely. We thought it might be a new security setup to handle the extra tourists the Russians are expecting for the city's three hundredth anniversary, but that doesn't compute."

"How so?"

"Martha Mackall called a friend at Treasury to get me the budgets for the Russian Ministries of Culture and Education," Herbert said. "There isn't a ruble in either of them for what should be a five-to-seven-million-dollar facility. So we hacked around and found funds for the studio in the budget of the Ministry of the Interior."

"That doesn't mean anything," Rodgers said. "Our government transfers money all the time."

"Yes," said Herbert, "but the ministry earmarked twenty million dollars for the project."

"Interior's run by Dogin, the hard-line Minister who just lost the election over there," Rodgers said. "Some of that money may have gone to his presidential campaign."

"That's a possibility," Herbert agreed. "But there's something else which indicates that the TV studio may be more than that. At one-thirty yesterday afternoon, we intercepted a communication from the northern sector of St. Petersburg to New York. An order for bagels."

"Come again?" Rodgers said.

"It was a brunch order faxed from St. Petersburg to the Bestonia Bagel Shop in Brighton Beach. They asked for an onion bagel with cream cheese, a salt bagel with butter, an everything bagel plain, and two garlic bagels with lox."

"A take-out order from half a world away," Rodgers said. "And it wasn't a joke."

"No," said Herbert. "Bestonia sent back a confirmation. Definitely spooks."

"Right," Rodgers agreed. "Any idea what it means?"

"We sent it over to cryptology," Herbert continued, and they're stumped. Lynne Dominick says the different bagels could represent sectors of the city or of the world. Or they could be agents. The different kinds of spreads could stand for different targets. She said she'll keep working on it, but she called Bestonia and they've got a dozen kinds of bagels with twenty different 'shmears.' It'll take a while."