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nd thoroughly at Langley； with the help of a tame KGB Second Chief Directorate defector。
Mary Pat had her husband's clothes all laid out on the bed； including the green tie to go with his brown suit。 Like the President； Ed looked good in brown； his wife thought。 Ed would wear a raincoat again； and he would keep it unbuttoned and loose around his body should another message be passed； and his senses would be thoroughly sandpapered all day。
〃What are your plans for the day？〃 he asked Mary Pat in the living room。
〃The usual。 I might get together with Penny after lunch。〃
〃Oh？ Well； say hello for me。 Maybe we can get together for dinner later this week。〃
〃Good idea；〃 his wife said。 〃Maybe they can explain rugby to me。〃
〃It's like football； honey； just the rules are a little goofy；〃 the Station Chief explained。 〃Well； off to keep the reporters happy。〃
〃Right！〃 Mary Pat laughed； working her eyes at the walls。 〃That guy from the Boston Globe is such an ass。〃
Outside； the morning was pleasant enough…just a hint of cool air to suggest the approach of autumn。 Foley walked off toward the station； waving at the gate guard。 The guy on morning duty actually smiled once in a while。 He'd clearly been around foreigners too much； or had been trained to do so by KGB。 His uniform was that of the Moscow Militia…the city police…but Foley thought he looked a little too intelligent for that。 Muscovites thought of their police as a rather low form of life； and such an agency would not attract the brightest of people。
The couple blocks to the metro station passed quickly。 Crossing the streets was reasonably safe here…far more so than in New York…because private cars were pretty rare。 And it was a good thing。 Russian drivers made the Italians look prudent and orderly。 The guys driving the ubiquitous dump trucks must all have been former tank crewmen； judging by their road manners。 He picked up his copy of Pravda at the kiosk and took the escalator down to the platform。 A man of the strictest habits； he arrived at the station at exactly the same time every morning； then checked the clock hanging from the ceiling to make sure。 The subway trains ran on an inhumanly precise schedule； and he walked aboard at exactly 7：43 A。M。 He hadn't looked over his shoulder。 It was too far into his residency in Moscow to rubberneck like a new tourist； and that； he figured； would make his KGB shadow think that his American subject was about as interesting as the kasha that Russians liked for breakfast along with the dreadful local coffee。 Quality control was something the Soviets reserved for their nuclear weapons and space program； though Foley had doubts about those； based on what he'd seen in this city； where only the metro seemed to work properly。 Such a strange bination of casual…klutz and Germanlike precision they were。 You could tell how well things worked over here by what they were used for； and intelligence operations had the highest priority of all； lest the Soviets' enemies find out not what they had； but what they didn't have。 Foley had agent CARDINAL to tell him and America what the Soviet Union had in the military realm。 Generally； it was good stuff to learn； but that was mainly because the more you learned； the less you had to worry。 No； it was political intelligence that counted most here because； as backward as they were； they were still big enough to cause trouble if you couldn't counter them early on。 Langley was very worried about the Pope at the moment。 He'd evidently done something that might be embarrassing to the Russians。 And Ivan didn't like being embarrassed in the political field any more than American politicians…just that Ivan didn't go running off to The Washington Post to get even。 Ritter and Moore were very concerned about what Ivan might do…and even more worried about what Yuriy Andropov might do。 Ed Foley didn't have a feel for that particular Russian。 Like most in CIA； he knew the guy only by his face； name； and his evident liver problems…that information had leaked out through a means the Station Chief didn't know。 Maybe the Brits。。。 if you could trust the Brits； Ed cautioned himself。 He had to trust them； but something kept making the hackles on his neck get nervous about them。 Well； they probably had doubts about CIA。 Such a crazy game this was。 He scanned the front page。 Nothing surprising； though the piece on the Warsaw Pact was a little interesting。 They still worried about NATO。 Maybe they really did worry about having the German army e east again。 They were certainly paranoid enough。。。 Paranoia had probably been invented in Russia。 Maybe Freud discovered it on a trip here； he mused； lifting his eyes for a pair tracking him。。。 no； none； he decided。 Was it possible that the KGB em》wasn't tracking him？ Well； possible； yes； but likely； no。 If they had a guy…more likely a team…shadowing him； the coverage would be expert…but why put expert…but why put expert coverage on the Press Attache？ Foley sighed to himself。 Was he too much of a worrier； or not paranoid enough？ And how did you tell the difference？ Or might he have exposed himself to a false…flag operation by wearing a green tie？ How the hell do you tell？
If he was burned； then so was his wife； and that would put the brakes on two very promising CIA careers。 He and Mary Pat were Bob Ritter's fair…haired pair； the varsity； the young all…pro team at Langley； and it was a reputation that had to be both protected carefully and also built upon。 The President of the United States himself would read their 〃take〃 and maybe make decisions based on the information they brought in。 Important decisions that could affect the policy of their country。 The responsibility was not something to dwell on。 It could drive you nuts； make you too cautious…so cautious that you never acplished anything。 No； the biggest problem in the intelligence business was in drawing the line between circumspection and effectiveness。 If you leaned too far the one way； you never got anything useful done。 If you went too far the other way； then you got yourself burned； and your agents； and over here that meant virtual certain death for people for whose lives you were responsible。 It was a dilemma fit to drive a man to drink。
The metro stopped at his station and he went out the door； then up the escalator。 He was pretty sure that nobody had fished in his pocket。 On the street level； he checked。 Nothing。 So whomever it was； either he only rode the afternoon train or the Chief of Station had been 〃made〃 by the opposition。 It would give him something to worry about all day。
〃This one's for you；〃 Dobrik said； handing it over。 〃From Sofia。〃
〃Oh？〃 Zaitzev responded。
〃It's in the book； your…eyes…only； Oleg Ivan'ch；〃 the night…duty officer said。 〃At least it's short。〃
〃Ah；〃 Zaitzev said； taking the message and seeing the header： 15…8…82…666。 So they figured that with a number instead of a name； the header didn't need to be encrypted。 He didn't react or say anything further。 It just wasn't done。 Surely； Kolya wondered about it…it was the office sport in munications； wondering about the things one couldn't read。 This message had e in just forty minutes after his departure。 〃Well； something to start my watch with。 Anything else； Nikolay Konstantinovich？〃
〃No； aside from that； you have a clean desk。〃 Dobrik was an efficient worker； whatever faults he might have had。 〃And now I am properly relieved of duty。 At home I have a fresh bottle of vodka。〃
〃You should eat first； Kolya；〃 Zaitzev warned。
〃That's what my mother says； Oleg。 Perhaps I'll have a sandwich with my breakfast；〃 he joked。
〃Sleep well； rade Major； I relieve you；〃 Zaitzev said； as he took his seat。 Ten minutes later； he had the brief dispatch decrypted。 The Sofia rezident acknowledged that Colonel Rozhdestvenskiy was his point of contact for Operation 15…8…82…666。 So that /was properly crossed。 And 15…8…82…666 was a full…fledged operation now。 He tucked the decrypted message into a manila envelope； sealed it； and then dripped hot wax on the seal。
They're really going to do it； Oleg Ivanovich told himself with a frown。 What do I do now？
Work his usual day； and then look for a green tie on the metro h