“And if it is out there, what?”

“Then I hope the baby my wife is pregnant with, I hope it’s one like you, and not one like me.”

“Why?”

“Your tragedy, Bean, is that you are the only one. If all the world will soon be like you, then you know what that makes you.”

“A damn fool.”

“It makes you Adam.”

Anton was unbearably complaisant about this. What Bean was, what was happening to him, he wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Not his child, and not Anton’s. But Anton could be forgiven for his idiotic wish. He had not been so small; he had not been this large. He could not know how…how larval the early stage was.

Like silkworms, the larva of my species does all the work of its life while it’s young. Then the big butterfly, that’s what people see, but all it has left to do in its life is get laid, then lay eggs, then die.

Bean talked it through with Petra, and then they went to Ferreira and Peter. Now the computer search was geared—with some urgency—toward detecting any kind of dead-man switch that Volescu was signing on to every day or every week. No doubt the dead-man switch was set to destroy itself as soon as its message was sent. Which meant that if it was already sent, it wouldn’t be there anymore. But somewhere there were tracks. Backups. Records of one kind or another. Nobody traveled the networks clean.

Not even Bean. He had made himself untraceable by constantly changing everything. But Volescu had stayed rooted in a lab here or a lab there, as long as he could. He might not have been as careful in his maneuvers through the nets. After all, Volescu might think he was brilliant, but he was no Bean.

7

AN OFFER

From: PeterWiggin%[email protected]
To: Vlad%[email protected]
Re: my brother’s friends

I’d like to have a chance to talk with you. Face to face. For my brother’s sake. On neutral territory.

Peter arrived in St. Petersburg ostensibly to be an observer and consultant at the Warsaw Pact trade talks that were part of Russia’s ongoing effort to set up an economic union to rival the western European one. And he did attend several meetings and kept his suite humming with conversations. Of course, his agenda was quite different from the official one, and he made good headway with—as expected—representatives from some of the smaller or less prosperous countries. Latvia. Estonia. Slovakia. Bulgaria. Bosnia. Albania. Croatia. Georgia. Every piece in the puzzle counted.

Not every piece was a country. Sometimes it was an individual.

That’s why Peter found himself walking in a park—not one of the magnificent parks in the heart of St. Petersburg, but a smallish park in Kohtla-Järve, a town in northeastern Estonia with delusions of city-hood. Peter wasn’t sure why Vlad had chosen a town that involved crossing borders—nothing could have made their encounter more obvious. And being in Estonia meant there’d be two intelligence services watching them, Estonia’s and Russia’s. Russia hadn’t forgotten history: They still watched over Estonia using their domestic spy service rather than the foreign one.