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It's done all the time."
"Like Carter playing softball and Reagan chopping wood," said Oates thoughtfully. "I think I see a down-home scene on the President's farm."
"Complete with crowing roosters and bleating sheep," allowed Fawcett.
"And Vice President Margolin? Our double for him can't be faked in shadows at a hundred feet."
"A few references by Sutton and a friendly wave by the double at a distance should suffice," Fawcett answered, becoming more enthusiastic over his brainstorm.
Simmons gazed steadily at Fawcett. "How soon can you have everyone ready?"
"First thing in the morning. Dawn, as a matter of fact.
Reporters are night owls. They hang around waiting for late news to break, They're not at their best before sun up."
Oates looked at Metcalf and Simmons. "well, what do you think?"
We've got to throw the reporters a bone before they become hored and start snooping," answered Simmons. "I vote yes."
Metcalf nodded. "The only stalling tactic we've got.
Fawcett came to his feet and peered at his watch. "If I leave for Andrews Air Force Base now, I should arrive at the farm in four hours.
Plenty of time to arrange the details with Thompson and make an announcement to the press corps."
Fawcett's hand froze on the doorknob as Oates's voice cut across the room like a bayonet.
"Don't bungle it, Dan. For God's sake, don't bungle it."
VLADIMIR POLEVOI CAUGHT up with Antonov as the Soviet leader strolled beneath the outer Kremlin wall with his bodyguards. They were moving past the burial area where heroes of the Soviet Union were interred. The weather was unusually warm and Antonov carried his coat over one arm.
"Taking advantage of the fine summer day?" ?" Polevoi asked conversationally as he approached. Antonov turned. He was young for a Russian head of state, sixty-two, and he walked with a brisk step.
"Too pleasant to waste behind a desk," he said with a curt nod.
They walked for a while in silence as Polevoi waited for a sign or a word that Antonov was ready to talk business. Antonov paused before the small structure marking Stalin's grave site.
"You know him?" he asked.
Polevoi shook his head. "I was too far down the party ladder for him to notice me."
Antonov's expression went stern and he muttered tensely. "You were fortunate." Then he stepped on, dabbing a handkerchief at the perspiration forming on the back of his neck.
Polevoi could see his chief was in no mood for small talk, so he came to the point. "We may have a break on the Huckleberry Finn Project."
"We could use one," Antonov said grudgingly.
"One of our agents in New York who is in charge of security for our United Nations workers has turned up missing."
"How does that concern Huckleberry Finn?"
"He disappeared while following Dr. Lugovoy."
"Any possibility he defected?"
"I don't think so."
Antonov stopped in minstep and gave Polevoi a hard stare.
