Greenfield's eyes widened in surprise, which pleased him.

He went on. "I see it being used by your new Border Security Force-but there are other applications for that wonderful machine. Civil transportation, law enforcement, offshore oil derrick supply-the possibilities are endless. "He paused, making sure he had Sharon's full attention, then added with a smile, "Why, I'll bet you can launch one or two of those things off the deck of, say, an old cargo ship right in the Baltic Sea. You could even fly it into Liepaja, land it, retrieve a Commonwealth spy, a band of U.S. Marines .

Sharon Greenfield hoped some color was still left in her face. Things were bad in the capital, and the Soviet Union was history, but the old KGB spy network was still intact. And Dvornikov was the master.

"I don't have any idea what you're talking about, Boris Georgivich," Sharon Greenfield said.

"It would make a very good book, though. Perhaps an American publisher will offer you a deal, and you can become a novelist. You know, like John Le Carr~."

"Now, that is a fine idea, Sharon Greenfield." He paused, his smile disappearing, and in clipped, stern Russian ordered the soldier to leave. Sharon took a moment and searched the adjacent rooms and found them all empty. Dvornikov did not question or impede her search-he would have done the same thing if the situation was reversed.

"Let me help you write chapter two of your novel, Boris," Greenfield said finally. "You invented this Soviet man that was kidnapped by Marines . .

"A Commonwealth officer of Lithuanian birth. A lieutenant," Dvornikov corrected her. "And not kidnapped. He went willingly. Obviously he was feeding information to the Americans for months and was about to be caught."

"You can work out the details in your book later, Boris," Greenfield said, still disturbed by how much Dvornikov knew about the RAGANU operation. "Let's go to chapter two. Say the Commonwealth officer told his benefactors some interesting tales-like about an American military officer being held captive in a certain Commonwealth research institute for several years. The Americans might want this officer back."

Dvornikov's eyes widened in complete surprise.

Sharon had been around Soviet and Commonwealth agents, bureaucrats, and other government officials long enough to know when they were really surprised and only faking it-the CIA teaches a class in body language-and Dvornikov was really surprised. "What do you think, Mr. Dvornikov?"

"I think," he said slowly, "that you are a better novelist than I am." Sharon could only guess what Boris was thinking. She had information he did not have. That meant that the CIS or Russian government- Dvornikov had high-level contacts in both places and probably in many other government houses as well-probably didn't know it, either. But that also meant that REDTAIL HAWK, the new code name of the Air Force officer inside the Fisikous Institute, most likely wasn't under the control of the Commonwealth or Russian government. Whoever had REDTAIL HAWK had him in secret. Bleed the man dry, discard him, and no one, not even the central government, would know about it. She was gambling with REDTAIL