“We have much to discuss,” added Taleniekov, moving away from the wall.

  “Then hurry,” said Bray.

  Antonia’s breathing was steady, the muscles of her face relaxed in sleep.

  When she awoke she would be nauseated, but it would pass with the day.

  Scofield pulled the covers over her shoulders, leaned down and kissed her on her pale white lips, and got up from the bed.

  He walked out of the bedroom, leaving the door ajar. Should Toni stir he wanted to hear her; hysterics were a byproduct of scopolamine. They had to be controlled; it was why Taleniekov could not risk leaving her alone, even for the few minutes it would have taken to lease a car.

  “What happened?” he asked the Russian, who sat in a chair, a glass of whisky in his hand.

  “This moming-yesterday morning,” said Taleniekov, correcting himself, his white-haired head angled back against the rim of the chair, his eyes closed; the man was clearly exhausted. “They say you’re dead, did you know that?” “Yes. What’s that got to do with it?” “It’s how I got her back.” The Russian opened his eyes and looked at Bray. “There’s very little about Beowulf Agate I don’t know.” “And?” “I said I was you. There were several basic questions to answer; they were not difficult. I offered myself in exchange for her. They agreed.” “Start from the beginning.” I wish I could, I wish I knew what it was. The Matarese, or someone within the Matarese, wants you alive. It’s why certain people were told that you are not. They don’t look for the American, only the Russian. I wish I understood.” Taleniekov drank.

  “What happened?” “They found her. Don’t ask me how, I don’t know. Perhaps Helsinki, perhaps you were picked up out of Rome, perhaps anything or anyone, I don’t know.” “But they found her,” said Scofield, sitting down. “Then what?” “Early yesterday morning, four or five hours before you called, she went down to a bakery; it was only a few doors away. An hour later she had not returned. I knew then I had two choices. I could go out after her-but where to start, where to look? Or I could wait for someone to come to the flat. You see, they had no choice, I knew that. The telephone rang a number of times but I did not answer, knowing that each time I didn’t, it brought someone closer.” “You answered my call,” interrupted Bray.

  “That was later. By then we were negotiating.” “Then?” “Finally two men came. It was one of the more testing moments of my life not to kill them both, especially one. He had that small, ugly little mark on his chest. When I ripped his clothes off and saw it, I nearly went mad.” “Why?” “They killed in Leningrad. In Essen. Later you’ll understand. It’s part of what we must discuss.” “Go on.” Scofield poured himself a drink.

  “I’ll tell it briefly, fill in the spaces yourself; you’ve been there.

  I kept the soldier and his hired gun bound and unconscious for over an hour. The phone rang and this time I answered, using the most pronounced American accent I could manage. You’d have thought the sky over Paris had fallen, so hysterical was the caller. ‘An imposter in London!’ he squeaked. Something about ‘a gross error having been made by the embassy, the information they received completely erroneous.’ ” “I think you skipped something,” interrupted Bray again. “I assume that was when you said you were me.” “Let’s say I answered in the affirmative when the hysterical question was posed. It was a temptation I could not resist, since I had heard less than forty-eight hours previously that you had been killed.” The Russian paused, then added, “Two weeks ago in Washington.” Scofield walked back to the chair, frowning. “But the man on the phone knew I was alive, just as those here in London knew I was alive. So you were right. Only certain people inside the Matarese were told I was dead.” “Does that tell you something?” “The same thing it tells you. They make distinctions.” “Exactly. When either of us ever wanted a subordinate to do nothing, we told him the problem was solved. For such people you’re no longer alive, no longer hunted.” “But why? I am hunted. They trapped me.” “One question with two answers, I think,” said the Russian. “As any diverse organization, the Matarese is imperfect. Among its ranks are the undisciplined, the violenceprone, men who kill for the score alone or because of fanatic beliefs. These were the people who were told you were dead. If they did not hunt you, they would not kill YOU.” “That’s your first answer; what’s the second? Why does someone want to keep me alive?” “To make you a consigliere of the Matarese.” “What?” “Think about it. Consider what you’d bring to such an organization.” Bray stared at the KGB man. “No more than you would.” “Oh, much more. There are no great shocks to come out of Moscow, I accept that. But there are astonishing revelations to be found in Washington.

  You could provide them; you’d be an enormous asset. The sanctimonious are always far more vulnerable.” “I accept that.” “Before Odile Verachten was killed, she made an offer to me. It was not an offer she was entitled to make; they don’t want the Russian. They want you.

  If they can’t have you, they’ll kill you, but someone’s giving you the option.” It would be far better for all concerned if we sat down and thrashed out the diflerences between us. You may discover they’re not so great after all. Words from a faceless messenger.

  “Let’s get back to Paris,” said Bray. “How did you get her?” “It wasn’t so difficult. The man on the phone was too anxious; he saw a generalship in his future, or his own execution. I discussed what might happen to the soldier with the ugly little mark on his chest; the fact that I knew about it was nearly enough in itself. I set up a series of moves, offering the soldier and Beowulf Agate for the girl. Beowulf was tired of running and was perfectly willing to listen to whatever anyone had to say.

  He-I-knew I was cornered, but professionalism demanded that he-youextract certain guarantees. The girl had to go free. Were my reactions consistent with your well-known obstinacy?” “Very plausible,” replied Scofield. “Let’s see if I can fill in a few spaces. You answered the questions: What was my mother’s middle name? or When did my father change jobs?” “Nothing so ordinary,” broke in the Russian. “Who was your fourth kill.

  Where?”’ “Lisbon,” said Bray quietly. “An American beyond salvage. Yes, you’d know that…. Then your moves were made by a sequence of telephone calls to the flat-my call from London was the intrusion-and with each call you gave new instructions, any deviation and the exchange was canceled. The exchange ground itself was in traffic, preferably one-way traffic, with one vehicle, one man and Antonia. Everything to take place within a time span of sixty to a hundred seconds.” The Russian nodded. “Noon on the Champs Elys6es, south of the Arch. Vehicle and girl taken, man and soldier bound at the elbows, thrown out at the intersection of the Place de la Concorde, and a swift, if roundabout, drive out of Paris.” Bray put the whisky down, and walked to the hotel window overlooking Carlos Place. “A little while ago you said you had two choices. To go out after her, or wait in the rue de Bac.

  It seems to me there was a third but you didn’t take it. You could have gotten out of Paris yourself right away.” Taleniekov closed his eyes. “That was the one choice I didn’t have. It was in her voice, in every reference she made to you. I thought I saw it in Corsica, that first night in the cave above Porto Vecchio when you looked at her. I thought then, how insane, how perfectly….” The Russian shook his head.

  “Unreasonable?” asked Bray.

  Taleniekov opened his eyes. “Yes. Unreasonable… as in unnecessary, uncalled for.” The KGB man raised his glass and drank the remaining whisky in one swallow. “The slate from East Berlin is as clean as it will ever be; there’ll be no more cleansing.” “None will be asked for. Or expected.” “Good. I presume you’ve seen the newspapers.” “TransCommunications? Its holdings in Verachten?” “Ownership would be more like it. I trust you noted the location of the corporate headquarters. Boston, Massachusetts. A city quite familiar to you, I think.” “What’s more to the point, it’s the city-and state of Joshua Appleton, the Fourth, patrician and Senator, whose grandfather was the guest of Guillaume de Matarese. It’ll be interesting to see what-if any-his connections are to TransComm.” “Can you doubt they exist?” “At this point I doubt everything,” said Scofield. “Maybe I’ll think differently after we’ve put together those facts you say we now have.

  Let’s start with when we left Corsica.” Taleniekov nodded. “Rome came first. Tell me about Scozzi.” Bray did, taking the time to explain the role Antonia had been forced to play in the Red Brigades.

  “That’s why she was in Corsica, thenT’ asked VasiIL “Running from the Brigades?” “Yes. Everything she told me about their financing spells Matarese…

  .” Scofield clarified his theories, moving swiftly on to the events at Villa d’Este and the murder of Guillamo Scozzi, ordered by a man named ParavacinL “It was the first time I heard that I was dead. They thought I was you…. Now Leningrad. What happened there?” Taleniekov breathed deeply before answering. “They killed in Leningrad, in Essen,” he said, his voice barely audible. “Oh, how they kill, these twentieth-century Fida’is, these contemporary mutants of Hasan ibn-al-Sab-bah. I should tell you, the soldier I pushed from the car in the Place de la Concorde had more than a blemish on his chest. His clothes were stained by a gunshot that left another mark. I told his associate it was for Leningrad, for Essen.” The Russian told his story quietly, the depth of his feelings apparent when he spoke of Lodzia Kronescha, the scholar Mikovsky, and Heinrich Kassel.

  Especially Lodzia; it was necessary for him to stop for a while and pour more whisky in his glass. Scofield remained silent; there was nothing he could say. The Russian finished with the field at night in Stadtwald and the death of Odile-Verachten.

  “Prince Andrei Voroshin became Ansel Verachten, founder of the Verachten Works, next to Krupp the largest company in Germany, now one of the most sprawling in all Europe. The granddaughter was his chosen successor in the Matarese.” “And Scozzi,” said Bray, “joined Paravacini through a marriage of convenience. Bloodlines, a certain talent, and charm in exchange for a seat in the board room. But the chair was a prop; it’s all it ever was. The count was expendable, killed because he made a mistake.” “As was Odile Verachten. Also expendable.” “And the name Scozzi-Paravacini is misleading. The control lies with Paravacini.” “Add to that TransCommunication’s ownership of Verachten. So two descendants of the padrone’s guest list are accounted for, both a part of Matarese, yet neither significant. What do we have?” “What we suspected, what old Krupskaya told you in Moscow. The Matarese was taken over, obviously in part, possibly in whole. Scozzi and Voroshin were useful for what they brought or what they knew or what they owned. They were tolerated-even made to feel important-as long as they were useful, eliminated the moment they were not.” “But useful for what? That’s the questionl” Taleniekov banged his glass down in frustration. “What does the Matarese want? They finance intimidation and murder through huge corporate structures; they spread panic, but why? This world is going mad with terror, bought and paid for by men who lose the most by it. Their investment is in total disorder!

  It makes no sensel” Scofield heard the sound-the moan-and sprang out of the chair. He walked quickly to the bedroom door; Toni had changed her position, twisting to her left, the covers bunched around her shoulders. But she was still asleep; the cry had come from her unconscious. He went back to the chair and stood behind it.

  “Total disorder,” he said softly. “Chaos. The clashing of bodies in space.

  Creation.” “What are you talking about?” asked Taleniekov.

  “I’m not sure,” replied Scofield. “I keep going back to the word ‘chaos’ but I’m not sure why.” “We’re not sure of anything. We have four names-but two didn’t amount to much-and they’re dead. We see an alignment of companies who are the superstructure-the essential superstructure-behind terrorism everywhere, but we cannot prove the alignment and don’t know why they’re sponsoring it.

  Scozzi-Paravacini finances the Red Brigades, Verachten no doubt Baader-Meinhof, God only knows what TransCommunications pays for-and these may be only a few of the many involved. We have found the Matarese, but still we don’t see theral Whatever charges we leveled against such conglomerates would be called the ravings of madmen, or worse.” “Much worse,” said Bray, remembering the voice over the restaurant’s telephone. “Traitors. We’d be shot.” “Your words have the ring of prophecy. I don’t like them.” “Neither do 1, but I like.being executed less.” “A non sequitur.” “Not when coupled with what you just said. ‘We’ve found the Matarese, but still we don’t see them,’ wasn’t that it?” “Yes.

  “Suppose we not only found one, but had him. In our hands.” “A hostage?” “That’s right.” “That’s insane.” “Why? You had the Verachten woman.” “In a car. In a farmer’s field. At night. I had no delusions of taking her into Essen and setting up a base of operations.” Scofield sat down. “The Red Brigades held Aldo Moro eight blocks away from a police headquarters in Rome. Although that’s not exactly what I had in mind.” Taleniekov leaned forward. “Waverly?” “Yes.” “How? The American network is after you, the Matarese nearly trapped you; what did you have in mind? Dropping into the Foreign Office and proffering an invitation for tea?” “Waverly’s to be brought here-to this room-at eight o’clock tonight.” The Russian whistled. “May I ask how you managed it?” Bray told him about Symonds. “He’s doing it because be thinks whatever convinced me to work with you must be strong enough to get me an interview with Waverly.” “They have a name for me. Did he tell you?” “Yes. The Serpent.” “I suppose I should be flattered, but I’m not. I find it ugly. Does Symonds have any idea that this meeting has a hostile basis? That you suspect Waverly of being something more than England’s Foreign Secretary?” “No, the reverse, in fact. When he objected, the last thing I said to him was that I might be trying to save Waverly’s life.” “Very good,” said Taleniekov. “Very frightening. Assassination, like acts of terror, is a spreading commodity. They’ll be alone then?” “Yes, I made a point of it. A room at the Connaught; there’d be no reason for Roger to think anything’s wrong. And we know the Matarese haven’t made the connection between me and the man Waverly is supposedly meeting at the MI-Six offices.” “You’re certain of that? It strikes me as the weakest part of the strategy. They’ve got you in London, they know you have the four names from Corsica. Suddenly, from nowhere, Waverly, the consighere, is asked to meet secretly with a man at the office of a British intelligence agent known to have been a friend of Beowulf Agate. The equation seems obvious to me; why would it elude the Matarese?” “A very specific reason. They don’t think I ever made contact with Symonds.” “They can’t be sure you didn’t.” “The odds are against it. Roger’s an experienced field man; he covered himself. He was logged in at the Admiralty and later returned a blind inquiry. I wasn’t picked up in the streets and we used a sterile phone. We met an hour outside of London, two changes of vehicle for me, at least four for him. No one followed.” “Impressive. Not conclusive.” “It’s the best I can do. Except for a final qualification.” “Qualification7” “Yes. There isn’t going to be a meeting tonight. They’ll never reach this room.” “No meeting? Then what’s the purpose of their coming here?” “So we can grab Waverly downstairs before Symonds knows what’s happened.

  Roger’ll be driving; when he gets here, he won’t go through the lobby, he’ll use a side entrance, I’ll find out which one. In the event-and I agree it’s possible-that Waverly is followed, you’ll be down in the street.

  You’ll know it; you’ll see them. Take them out. I’ll be right inside that entrance.” “Where they least expect you,” broke in the Russian.

  “That’s right. I’m counting on it. I can take Roger by surprise, hammer lock him and force a pill down his throat. He won’t wake up for hours.” “It’s not enough,” said Taleniekov, lowering his voice. “You’ll have to kill him. Sacrifices inevitably must be made. Churchill understood that with Coventry and the Ultra; this is no less, Scofield. British Intelligence will mount the most extensive manhunt in England’s history.

  We’ve got to get Waverly out of the country. If the death of one man can buy us time-a day perhaps-I submit it’s worth it.” Bray looked at the Russian, studying him. “You submit too godamn much.” “You know I’m right.” Silence. Suddenly Scofield hurled his glass across the room. It shattered against the wall. “Godamn itl” Taleniekov bolted forward, his right hand under his coat. “What is it?” “You’re right and I do know it. He trusts me and I’ve got to kill him.

  It’ll be days before the British will know where to start. Neither MI-Six nor the Foreign Office know anything about the Connaught.” The KGB man removed his hand, sliding it on to the arm of the chair. “We need the time. I don’t thank there’s any other way.” “If there is, I hope to God it comes to me.” Bray shook his head. “I’m sick to death of necessity.” He looked over at the bedroom door. “But then she told me that.” “The rest is detail,” continued Talemekov, rushing the moment. “I’ll have an automobile on the street outside the entrance. The moment I’m finished-if, indeed, there’s anything for me to do—I’ll come inside and help you. It will be necessary, of course, to take the dead man along with Waverly. Remove him.” “The dead man has no name,” said Scofield quietly. He, got out of the chair and walked to the window. “Has it occurred to you that the closer we get, the more like them we become?” “What occurs to me,” replied the Russian, “is that your strategy is nothing short of extraordinary. Not only will we have a consigliere of the Matarese, but what a consigherel The Foreign Secretary of Englaudl Have you any idea what that means? We’ll break that man wide open, and the world will listen. It will be forced to listeal” Taleniekov paused, then added softly, “What you’ve done lives up to the stories of Beowulf Agate.” “Bullshit,” mid Bray. “I hate that name.” The moan was, sudden, bursting into a prolonged sob, followed by a cry of pain, muffled, uncertain, desperate. Scofield raced into the bedroom. Toni was writhing on the bed, her hands clawing her face, her legs kicking viciously at imaginary demons that surrounded her. Bray sat down and pulled her hands from her face, gently, firmly, bending each finger so that the nails would not puncture her skiii. He pinned her arms and held her, cradling her as he had cradled her in Rome. Her cries subsided, replaced once more by sobs; she shivered, her breathing erratic, slowly returning to normal as her rigid body went limp. The first hysterics brought about by the dissipation of scopolamine had passed. Scofield heard footsteps in the doorway; he angled his head to signify that he was listening.