"You'll see why in a second." White opened it and handed a photograph to Elliott. "He's alive, General. We got that photo several months ago from an informant in Lithuania. That's him. I know it is."

There was no mistaking it. Elliott assumed it would be one of the typically fuzzy photos taken from long distance, or deliberately fuzzied to protect the informant's identity or methods used to obtain the photograph-but it wasn't. It was Dave Luger. He was going through a security checkpoint, emerging from a metal detector. The photo was taken from slightly above head level-with the photographer or informant standing halfway up a staircase in front of the security area perhaps-but it was clear and sharp, perhaps computer-enhanced.

Luger looked thin and pale, but it was definitely him-the eyes, the shape of the head, the long legs, the slight slouch, the big Texas-sized hands with long fingers. Luger was carrying a briefcase. He was wearing a simple brown overcoat, no gloves, no hat, even though the men accompanying him wore thick fur hats and leather gloves against the obvious cold outside.

"Want to kick me out now, General?" White asked, a hint of a smile on his face.

"Shut up, White," Elliott grumbled. "Another word and I'll personally close that mouth of yours." Elliott sat down, running his hand through his hair, studying the picture more closely, trying to see if there was anything.. . anything at all.., that indicated a setup. God knows he'd Seen a lot of them in the press over the years, especially the faked POW pictures coming out of Vietnam. Elliott sighed. This one looked real, which actually made things harder: It meant Luger hadn't died.., and that raised a lot of questions. Where was he? What had happened? Had he been captured and turned by the Soviets? Or, worse, had he. . . Elliott dismissed the thought immediately. Yes, someone would probably wonder if it was possible Luger had always been working for.., someone else.., but Elliott knew that was absurd. He'd spent too much time with Luger. Elliott knew Luger as well as he knew McLanahan and the rest of the crew.

No, David Luger was no traitor. At least, he hadn't been. He was, if anything, a prisoner. Or a brainwashed collaborator. It happened to the best of them. Elliott had seen it himself, with his own men, back in 'Nam. But if they could get him back...

White couldn't stand the silence any longer. "We've got to talk about this, General Elliott."

"Hold it. Just shut up for a second." He paused for another moment, then pressed his interoffice intercom button and said, "Sergeant Taylor, I've got the ceremony taken care of.

See to it I'm not interrupted except by a priority-one call."

"Yes, sir," came the reply.

"We call our office recording devices 'sandwich' instead of 'ceremony,' "White said with a smile. "We find we can use it in more conversations."