* * *

"Hello, Sergey Nikolayevich." Ryan had said as the man had entered his office, a week before.

"Ivan Emmetovich," the Russian had replied, holding out his hand. Ryan remembered the last time they'd been this close, on the runway of Moscow's Sheremetyevo Airport. Golovko had held a gun in his hand then. It had not been a good day for either, but as usual, it was funny the way things had worked out. Golovko, for having nearly, but not quite, prevented the greatest defection in Soviet history, was now First Deputy Chairman of the Committee for State Security. Had he succeeded, he would not have gone quite so far, but for being very good, if not quite good enough, he'd been noticed by his own President, and his career had taken a leap upward. His security officer had camped in Nancy's office with John Clark, as Ryan had led Golovko into his.

"I am not impressed." Golovko looked around disapprovingly at the painted gypsum-board drywall. Ryan did have a single decent painting borrowed from a government warehouse, and, of course, the not-exactly-required photo of President Fowler over by the clothes tree on which Jack hung his coat.

"I do have a nicer view, Sergey Nikolayevich. Tell me, is the statue of Iron Feliks still in the middle of the square?"

"For the moment." Golovko smiled. "Your Director is out of town, I gather."

"Yes, the President decided that he needed some advice."

"On what?" Golovko asked with a crooked smile.

"Damned if I know." Ryan answered with a laugh. Lots of things, he didn't say.

"Difficult, is it not? For both of us." The new KGB Chairman was not a professional spook either - in fact, that was not unusual. More often than not, the director of that grim agency had been a Party man, but the Party was becoming a thing of history also, and Narmonov had selected a computer expert who was supposed to bring new ideas into the Soviet Union's chief spy agency. That would make it more efficient. Ryan knew that Golovko had an IBM PC behind his desk in Moscow now.

"Sergey, I always used to say that if the world made sense, I'd be out of a job. So, look what's happening. Want some coffee?"

"I would like that, Jack." A moment later he expressed approval of the brew.

"Nancy sets it up for me every morning. So. What can I do for you?"

"I have often heard that question, but never in such surroundings as this." There was a rumbling laugh from Ryan's guest. "My God, Jack, do you ever wonder if this is all the result of some drug-induced dream?"

"Can't be. I cut myself shaving the other day, and I didn't wake up."

Golovko muttered something in Russian that Jack didn't catch, though his translators would when they went over the tapes.

"I am the one who reports to our parliamentarians on our activities. Your Director was kind enough to respond favorably to our request for advice."