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"What do we know about Pitt?"
"I have a complete dossier flying in from Washington. It should be here within the hour."
Min Koryo's mouth tightened as she moved closer to the TV.
"How could he know so much? NUMA is an oceanographic agency.
They don't employ secret agents. Why is he coming after us?"
"It'll pay us to find out."
"Move in closer," she ordered.
Lee Tong again enlarged the image, moving past Sandecker's shoulder until it seemed as though Pitt was talking to the camera.
Then he froze the picture.
Min Koryo placed a pair of square-lensed glasses over her narrow nose and stared at the weathered but handsome face that stared back.
Her dark eyes flashed briefly. "Goodbye, Mr. Pitt."
Then she reached over and pushed the "off" switch, and the screen went black.
The smoke from Suvorov's cigarette hung heavily in the air of the dining room as he and Lugovoy shared a bottle of 1966 Croft Vintage Port. Suvorov looked at the red liquin in his glass and scowled.
"All these Mongolians ever serve us is beer and wine. What I wouldn't give for a bottle of good vodka."
Lugovoy selected a cigar out of a box that was held by one of the Korean waiters. "You have no culture, Suvorov. This happens to be an excellent port."
"American decadence has not rubbed off on me," Suvorov said arrogantly.
"Call it what you will, but you rarely see Americans defecting to Russia because of our disciplined lifestyle," Lugovoy retorted sarcastically.
"You're beginning to talk like them, drink like them; next you'll want to murder and rape in the streets like them. At least I know where my loyalties lie."
Lugovoy studied the cigar thoughtfully. "So do i. What I accomplish here will have grave effects on our nation's policy toward the United States. It is of far greater importance than your KGB's petty theft of industrial secrets."
Suvorov appeared too mellowed by the wine to respond angrily to the psychologist's remarks. "Your actions will be reported to our superiors."
"I've told you endlessly. This project is underwritten by President Antonov himself."
"I don't believe you.
Lugovoy lit the ciiiarette and blew a puff of smoke toward the ceiling. "Your opinion is irrelevant."
"We must find a means to contact the outside." Suvorov's voice rose.
"You're crazy," Lugovoy said seriously. "I'm telling you, no I'm ordering you not to interfere. Can't you use your eyes, your brain?
Look around you. All this was in preparation for years. Every detail has been carefully planned to carry out this operation. Without Madame Bougainville's organization, none of this would have been possible."
"We are her prisoners," Suvorov protested.
"What's the difference, so long as our government benefits?"
"We should be masters of the situation," Suvorov insisted. "We must get the President out of here and into the hands of our own people so he can be interrogated. The secrets you can pry from his mind are beyond comprehension."
Lugovoy shook his head'in exasperation. He did not know what else to say. Trying to reason with a mind scored by patriotic fervor was like trying to teach calculus to a drunk. He knew that when it was all over Suvorov would write up a report depicting him as unreliable and a potential threat to Soviet security. Yet he laughed inwardly. If the experiment succeeded, President Antonov might be of a
