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er； but there it was。 A Hungarian national…you could tell from his clothing…dropped something。 It was about the size of a tin of pipe tobacco。 He quickly bent down to pick it up； and then； remarkably enough； he stuck it to the underside of his table。 And； Andreas saw； it didn't fall off。 It must have some sort of adhesive on the side。 And that sort of thing was not only unusual； but also one of the things he'd been shown in a training film at the KGB Academy outside Moscow。 It was a very simple and obsolete form of dead…drop； something used by enemy spies to transfer information。 It was； Andreas thought； like walking unexpectedly into the cinema and watching a spy film and knowing what was happening just on pure instinct。 His immediate reaction was to walk off to the men's room； where there was a pay phone。 There he dialed his office and spoke for less than thirty seconds。 Next he made use of the men's room； because this might take a while； and he was suddenly excited。 No harm was done。 The head office of his agency was only a half…dozen blocks away； and two of his coworkers came in； took their seats； and ordered their coffee； talking with apparent animation about something or other。 Andreas was relatively new in his job…just two years…and he'd yet to catch anyone doing anything。 But this was his day； the officer knew。 He was looking at a spy。 A Hungarian national who was working for some foreign power； and even if he were giving information to the Soviet KGB； he was mitting a crime for which he could be arrested…though in that case； it would be cleared up quickly by the KGB liaison officer。 After another ten minutes； the Hungarian rose and walked out； with one of the two other officers in trail。
What followed was； well； nothing； for more than an hour。 Andreas ordered some strudel…every bit as tasty here as it was in Vienna； three hundred kilometers away； and this despite the Marxist government in the country； because the Hungarians loved their food； and Hungary was a productive agricultural country； despite the mand economy imposed on the farmers to the east。 Andreas lit up a string of cigarettes； read his newspaper； and just waited for something to happen。
Presently； it did。 A man dressed a little too well to be a Hungarian citizen took his seat at the table next to his； lit a cigarette of his own； and read his newspaper。
Here it worked for Andreas that he was badly nearsighted。 His glasses were so thick that it took a few seconds for anyone to see where his eyes were pointed； and he remembered his training enough not to allow his eyes to linger on any one spot more than a few brief seconds。 Mainly he appeared to be reading his paper； like half a dozen others in this elegant little shop； which had somehow survived the Second World War。 He watched the American…Andreas had it fixed in his mind that this one had to be an American…sip his own coffee and read his own paper； until he set his coffee cup down in the saucer； then reached into his hip pocket for a handkerchief； which he used to wipe his nose； and then replaced in the pocket。。。
But first he retrieved the tobacco tin from under the table。 It was a move so skillfully done that only a trained counterintelligence officer could have spotted it； but； Andreas told himself； that was exactly what he was。 And it was his pride that generated his first and most costly mistake of the day。
The American finished his coffee and took his leave； with Andreas in close pursuit。 The foreigner walked toward the underground station a block away and nearly made it。 But not quite。 He turned in surprise when he felt a hand on his upper arm。
〃Could I see the tobacco tin that you took from the table？〃 Andreas said； politely； because this foreigner was probably； technically speaking； a diplomat。
〃Excuse me？〃 the foreigner said； and his accent made him either British or American。
〃The one in your pants pocket；〃 Andreas clarified。
〃I do not know what you are talking about； and I have business to do。〃 The man started to walk away。
He didn't get far。 Andreas pulled out his pistol。 It was a Czech Agrozet Model 50 and it effectively ended the conversation。 But not quite。
〃What is this？ Who are you？〃
〃Papers。〃 Andreas held out his hand； keeping his pistol in close。 〃We already have your contact。 You are；〃 he added； 〃under arrest。〃
In the movies； the American would have drawn his own side arm and tried to make his escape down the twenty…eight steps into the ancient metro。 But the American's fear was that this guy had seen too many movies himself； and it might make him nervous enough to pull the trigger on his Czech piece…of…shit handgun。 So he reached into his coat pocket； very slowly and deliberately； lest he scare the idiot； and withdrew his passport。 It was a black one； the sort issued to diplomats； and instantly recognizable to lucky asses like this stupid； fucking Hunky。 The American's name was James Szell； and he was by ancestry Hungarian； one of the many minorities weled to the America of the previous century。
〃I am an American diplomat； properly accredited to your government。 You will take me to my embassy immediately。〃 Inwardly； Szell was seething。 His face didn't show it； of course； but his five years in the field had just e to a screeching halt。 All this over a rookie second…rate agent furnishing second…rate information about a third…rate munist air force。 Goddamn it！
〃First you will e with me；〃 Andreas told him。 He motioned with his pistol。 〃This way。〃
The PAN AM 747 landed at Kennedy half an hour early due to favorable winds。 Cox put his books back in his carry…on and stood； managing to be the first passenger off； with a little help from the stewardess。 From there； it was a quick walk through customs…his canvas bag told everyone who and what he was…and from there to the next shuttle to Washington National。 A total of ninety minutes later； he was in the back of a cab to the State Department at Foggy Bottom。 Inside that capacious building； he opened the Diplomatic Bag and parceled out the various contents。 The envelope from Foley was handed to a courier； who drove up the George Washington Parkway to Langley； where things also move fairly fast。
The message was hand…carried to MERCURY； the CIA's message center； and； once decrypted and printed up； hand…delivered to the Seventh Floor。 The original was put in the burn bag； and no hard copies were kept； though an electronic one was transferred to a VHS cassette； which ended up in a slot in Sneezy。
Mike Bostock was in his office； and when he saw the envelope from Moscow； he decided that everything else could wait。 It surely could； he saw at once； but when he checked his watch he knew that Bob Ritter was over eastern Ohio and heading west on an All Nippon Airlines 747。 So he called Judge Moore at home； and requested that he e in to the office。 Grumbling； the DCI agreed to do so； at once； also telling Bostock to call Jim Greer as well。 Both lived agreeably close to CIA headquarters； and they came out of the executive elevator just eight minutes apart。
〃What is it； Mike？〃 Moore asked on his arrival。
〃From Foley。 Looks like he has something interesting。〃 Cowboy or not； Bostock was one to understate things。
〃Damn；〃 the DCI breathed。 〃And Bob's already gone？〃
〃Yes； sir； just an hour ago。〃
〃What is it； Arthur？〃 Admiral Greer asked； wearing a cheap golf shirt。
〃We got us a Rabbit。〃 Moore handed the message over。
Greer took his time going over it。 〃This could be very interesting；〃 he thought； after a moment's reflection。
〃Yes； it could。〃 Moore turned to the deputy of the Operations Directorate。 〃Mike； talk to me。〃
〃Foley thinks it's hot。 Ed's as good a field officer as anybody we have； and so's his wife。 He wants to exfiltrate this guy and his family soonest。 We pretty much have to go with his instincts on this one； Judge。〃
〃Problems？〃
〃The question is： How do we acplish the mission？ Ordinarily； we leave that to the people in the field； unless they try to pull something crazy； but Ed and Mary are too smart for that。〃 Bostock took a breath and looked out the floor…length windows to the Potomac Valley； out beyond the VIP parking lot。 〃Judge； Ed seems to th