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"You say the fisherman who came to your office with the evidence stated he snagged it in the middle of the Potomac River."
"You're the Director of the FBI," snapped Moran angrily. "You figure it out. I'm not on trial here."
"Perhaps it would be in the best interests of everyone present," Oates said quietly, "to continue the search for Margolin."
"I'm in total agreement," said Brogan. "We can't write him off until we find his body."
"Questions will most certainly arise," an
ded Mercier. "For example, how did he die?"
"Obviously he drowned," Moran answered. 'Trobably when the Eagle sank."
"Also," Mercier continued, "you never satisfactorily explained when and how you and Marcus Larimer disembarked from the Eagle and traveled to an as-yet-undisclosed resort for your Caribbean fishing trip."
"I'll be happy to answer any questions before a congressional investigating committee," said Moran. "Certainly not here and now in front of people who are in opposition to me."
"You must understand, in spite of his mistakes, our loyalties lie with the President," said Oates.
"I don't doubt it for a minute," said Moran. "That's why I summoned you here this morning. Ten minutes after the Senate votes, I will be sworn in as President. My first official act will be to announce either your resignations or firings; you have your choice. As of midnight tonight, none of you will be working for the United States government."
The narrow paved road snaked through the high hills that dropped steeply into the Black Sea. In the rear seat of a Cadillac Seville stretch limousine, Vladimir Polevoi sat reading the latest report from Aleksei Lugovoy. Every once in a while he looked up and gazed at the dawn sun creeping past the horizon.
The limousine turned heads wherever it rolled. Custom built with inlain wood cabinets, color TV, electric diviner, liquor bar and overhead stereo console, it had been ordered purchased by Polevoi and transported to Moscow under the guise of studying its mechanical technology. Shortly after its arrival he'd commandered it as his own.
The long car climbed around the forested edge of a craggy cliff until the road ended at a huge wooden door hinged to a high brick wall.
A uniformed officer saluted the KGB chief and pressed a switch. The door silently swung open to a vast garden that blazed with flowers, and the car was driven in and parked beside a spreading one-story house, constructed in a Western contemporary design.
Polevoi walked up circular stone steps and entered a foyer, where he was greeted by President Antonov's secretary and escorted to a table and chairs on a terrace overlooking the sea.
After a few moments Antonov appeared, followed by a pretty servant girl carrying a huge plate of smoked salmon, caviar and iced vodka.
Antonov seemed in a happy mood and casually sat on the iron railing around the terrace.
"You have a beautiful new dacha," said Polevoi.
"Thank you. I had it designed by a firm of French architects.
They didn't charge me a ruble. It won't pass critical inspection by a state building committee, of course. Too bourgeois. But what the hell. Times are changing." Then he switched the subject abruptly.
"What news of events in Washington?"
"The President will be removed from office," answered Polevoi.
"When?"
"By this time tomorrow."
"No doubt of this."
"None."
Antonov picked up his vodka glass and emptied it, and the girl immediately refilled it. Polevoi suspected the girl did more than simply pour vodka for the head of the Soviet Union.
"did we miscalculate, Vladimir?" Antonov asked. "did we expect to accomplish too much too quickly?"
"Nobody can second-guess the Americans. They don't behave in predictable ways."
