"You don't mean the little Mexican fellow in the copilot's seat?"

"I do."

Simon looked totally skeptical.  "What brilliant logic brought you to

that conclusion?"

"Elementary," Pitt said with a sly grin.  "The killer in the best

murder-mystery tradition is always the least obvious suspect.

"Who dealt this mess?"

Julius Schiller, Under Secretary for Political Affairs, grimaced

good-naturedly as he studied his cards.  His teeth clamped on a cold

stogie, he looked up and peered over his hand, his intelligent blue eyes

moving from player to player.

Four men sat across the poker table from him.  None smoked, and Schiller

diplomatically refrained from lighting his cigar.  A small bundle of

cedar logs crackled in an antique mariner's stove, taking the edge off

an early fall chill.  The burning cedar gave an agreeable aroma to the

teak-paneled dining saloon inside Schiller's yacht.  The beautifully

proportioned 35-meter-motor sailer was moored in the Potomac River near

South Island just opposite Alexandria, Virginia.

Soviet Deputy Chief of Mission Aleksey Korolenko, heavybodied and

composed, wore a fixed jovial expression that had become his trademark

in Washington's social circles.

"A pity we're not playing in Moscow," he said in a stern but mocking

tone.  "I know a nice spot in Siberia where we could send the dealer."

"I second the motion," said Schiller.  He looked at the man wfio had

dealt the cards.  "Next time, Date, shuffle them up."

"If your hands are so rotten," growled Dale Nichols, Special Assistant

to the President, "why don't you fold?"

Senator George Pitt, who headed up the Senate Foreign Relations

Committee, stood and removed a salmon-colored sport jacket.  He draped

it over the back of the chair and turned to Yuri Vyhousky.

"I don't know what these guys are complaining about.  You and I have yet

to will a pot."

The Soviet Embassy's Special Adviser on American Affairs nodded.  "I

haven't seen a good hand since we all began playing five years ago."

The nightly poker sessions had indeed been held on Sctfiller's boat

since 1986, and went far beyond a simple card game between friends who

needed one evening out of the week to unwilld.  It was originally set up

as a small crack in the wall separating the opposing superpowers. Alone,

without an official setting and inaccessible to the news media, they

could informally give and take viewpoints while ignoring bureaucratic

red tape and diplomatic protocol. ideas and information were exchanged

that often had a direct bearing on Soviet-American relations.

"I open for fifty cents," announced Schiller.

"I'll raise that a dollar," said Korolenko.

"And they wonder why we don't trust them," Nichols groaned.

The Senator spoke to Korolenko without looking at him. "What's the

prediction from your side on open revolt in Egypt, Aleksey?"

"I give President Hasan no more than days before his government is

overthrown by Akhmad Yazid."

:'You don't see a prolonged fight?"

'No, not if the military throws its weight behind Yazid."

"You in, Senator?" asked Nichols.

"I'll go along for the ride."