Murov nodded and said, "Colonel Evgeny Evgenyvich Alekseev. And Evgeny wanted to be a general, too. And I would suppose there was a human element in here as well."

"Human element?"

"Aside from everything else, his losing Svetlana. She's a strikingly beautiful woman. Charming, elegant. Evgeny was crazy about her. Jealous."

"Does the term 'soap opera' mean anything to you, Sergei?"

"I know what a soap opera is, of course."

"This sounds like a soap opera. A bad one."

Murov sucked in his breath audibly. And then he was spared having to reply immediately by the waiter.

"Excuse me," the waiter interrupted. "Are you ready to order, gentlemen?"

He was pushing a cart loaded with steaks, chops, lobster, and other items from which one could select one's steak, chop, lobster, or other item.

Whelan seriously doubted one actually got what one selected. For one thing, all the cuts were lying on a bed of ice, and were therefore presumably below room temperature, and you weren't supposed to grill steaks unless they were at room temperature. For another, it was reasonable to a.s.sume the diner would pick the best chunk of meat. If this then went to the grill, another good-looking steak would have to be added to the cart.

It would therefore be easier to let the customer think think he was selecting his entree, and actually serve him with something from the kitchen, and he was sure they did just that. he was selecting his entree, and actually serve him with something from the kitchen, and he was sure they did just that.

"Filet mignon, pink in the middle, with Wine Merchant's sauce, asparagus, and a small salad, please," Whelan ordered without looking at the selection on the cart.

"Twice, except because of the big portions I'll have mushrooms instead of asparagus," Murov said, then looked at Whelan, and said, "We can rob from one another's side dish," then turned back to the waiter, and added, "And bring another bottle of the Egri Bikaver."

The waiter repeated the order and then left.

"You will recall I used the phrase 'touches on the incredible,'" Murov said, "when we began."

"That was an understatement, but go on," Whelan said. "What happened?"

"Well, all of this apparently pushed him over the edge. He decided to punish her. Or maybe he did what he did consciously, thinking that losing a wife who was a thief would be less damaging to his career than a wife who had kicked him out of the marital bed. So he started to set up her and her brother on false embezzlement charges."

"Sounds like he's a really nice guy," Whelan said.

Murov exhaled audibly again.

"One does not get to be the Berlin rezident rezident of the SVR without a very well-developed sense of how to cover one's back," Murov said. of the SVR without a very well-developed sense of how to cover one's back," Murov said.

"I suppose that would also apply to the Washington rezident rezident of the SVR." of the SVR."

Murov ignored the comment. He went on: "Dmitri learned what was going on ..."

"Why didn't he go to his boss and say, 'Hey, boss. My sister's husband is trying to set me up. Here's the proof.'"

"Because his boss was his cousin, Colonel V. N. Solomatin. I'm sure Vladlen would have believed him, but Solomatin's superior was-is-General Yakov Sirinov, who runs the SVR for Putin. And Sirinov was unlikely to believe either Vladlen or Dmitri for several reasons, high among them that he believed Dmitri was a personal threat to his own career. The gossip at the time Sirinov was given his position was that it would have gone to Dmitri if Dmitri and Putin had not been at odds. And also of course because Vladlen and Dmitri were cousins."

The odds are a hundred to one that I am being fed an incredible line of bulls.h.i.t.

But, my G.o.d, what a plethora of details! Murov should have been a novelist.

Either that, or he's telling me the truth.

Careful, Harry! Not for publication, but you're really out of your league when dealing with the Washington rezident rezident of the SVR. of the SVR.

"So Dmitri did what any man in his position would do."

"The SVR Washington rezident rezident, for example?"

Murov looked at him, shook his head, smiled, and said, "No. What the Washington rezident rezident would have done in similar circ.u.mstances would have been to call Frank Lammelle, and say something like, 'Frank, my friend, when I come out of Morton's tonight, have a car waiting for me. This spy's coming in from the cold.' would have done in similar circ.u.mstances would have been to call Frank Lammelle, and say something like, 'Frank, my friend, when I come out of Morton's tonight, have a car waiting for me. This spy's coming in from the cold.'

"Dmitri didn't have that option. He was in Berlin. His sister was in Copenhagen. And they were being watched by other SVR officers. They couldn't just get on a plane and come here. But what they could do, and did, was contact the CIA station chief in Vienna and tell her that they were willing to defect, and thought the best time and way to do that was to slip away from the festivities at the Kunsthistorisches Museum."

"I don't understand," Whelan confessed. "What festivities? Where?"

"There was going to be a gathering in Vienna of rezident rezidents and other SVR officers. As a gesture of international friendship, the Hermitage Museum in Saint Petersburg sent Bartolomeo Rastrelli's wax statue of Russian tsar Peter the First on a tour of the better European museums. First stop was Vienna's Kunsthistorisches Museum."

"Okay."

"The CIA station chief set things up. The CIA sent a plane to Vienna with the plan that, as soon as Dmitri and Svetlana got into it, it would take off, and eight hours later Dmitri and Svetlana would be in one of those safe houses the agency maintains not far from our dacha on the Eastern Sh.o.r.e here.

"So far as General Sirinov was concerned, the business at the Kunsthistorisches Museum was going to provide him with two things. First, an opportunity to get all his people together without attracting too much attention. Second, when everybody was gathered, and people asked the whereabouts of Colonel Dmitri Berezovsky and Lieutenant Colonel Svetlana Alekseeva, Sirinov was going to tell them they were under arrest for embezzling funds of the Russian Federation, and then put them on an Aeroflot aircraft to Moscow."

"Sirinov ... is that his name?"

Murov nodded.

"He knew these two were going to defect?"

Murov nodded.

"And here is where the plot thickens," Murov said. "There were CIA agents waiting in Vienna's Westbahnhof for Dmitri and his sister. And there were representatives of the SVR waiting for them. And they never showed up."

"What happened to them?"

"It took General Sirinov several days to find out. There were two problems. First, the officer responsible for meeting them at the railway station, the Vienna rezident, rezident, Lieutenant Colonel Kiril Demidov, was found the next morning sitting in a taxicab outside the American emba.s.sy with the calling card of Miss Eleanor Dillworth, the CIA station chief, on his chest. Poor Kiril had been garroted to death." Lieutenant Colonel Kiril Demidov, was found the next morning sitting in a taxicab outside the American emba.s.sy with the calling card of Miss Eleanor Dillworth, the CIA station chief, on his chest. Poor Kiril had been garroted to death."

"Jesus Christ!" Whelan exclaimed.

"And then, the second problem was that General Sirinov was naturally distracted by world events. You will recall that your President somehow got the idea that the Iranians were operating a biological warfare laboratory in the Congo and rather than bring his suspicions to the United Nations, as he was clearly obligated to do, instead launched a unilateral attack and brought the world dangerously close to a nuclear exchange."

Do I let him get away with that?

What good would arguing with him do?

"Are you going to tell me what happened to Colonel Whatsisname and his sister?"

"That is the real question," Murov said. "Eventually, General Sirinov learned that within hours of their scheduled arrival in Vienna, they were flown out of Schwechat on Lieutenant Colonel Carlos G. Castillo's Gulfstream airplane. That was the last time anyone has seen them."

"How did Castillo get involved?"

Murov shrugged.

"General Sirinov's intention had been to present the arrest of Dmitri and Svetlana to Putin as a fait accompli fait accompli. Now he had to report that not only were they not under arrest, but no one had any idea where they might be, although of course the CIA was presumed to be somehow involved.

"Putin-who, as I said, has known Dmitri and Svetlana for years-thought there was something fishy about the embezzlement charges and ordered Sirinov to have another look. Sirinov discovered Evgeny's little scheme. Putin was furious, both personally and professionally."

"What does that mean?" Whelan asked.

"In addition to his personal feelings about the injustice done to Colonel Berezovsky and Lieutenant Colonel Alekseeva, Putin knew that SVR officers all over the world were thinking, That could happen to me. That could happen to me."

"Including you, Sergei?"

"Well, since I'm not an SVR officer, no. But to answer what I think you're asking, 'Was the Washington rezident rezident thinking that what happened to two fine SVR officers like Berezovsky and Alekseeva could happen to him?' I happen to know he was. And Putin, knowing this, ordered that things be made right. If he could get through to Berezovsky and Alekseeva and get them to come home, and they were promoted ... If the injustice done to them ..." thinking that what happened to two fine SVR officers like Berezovsky and Alekseeva could happen to him?' I happen to know he was. And Putin, knowing this, ordered that things be made right. If he could get through to Berezovsky and Alekseeva and get them to come home, and they were promoted ... If the injustice done to them ..."

"I get the point," Whelan said.

Why am I starting to believe him?

"So Putin went to Vladlen Solomatin and told him what he wanted to do. And that letter was written. The problem then became how to get the letter to Berezovsky and his sister. The decision was made-by Putin personally-to go right to the top. So the Washington rezident rezident invited Frank Lammelle to our dacha on the Eastern Sh.o.r.e-you know where I mean?" invited Frank Lammelle to our dacha on the Eastern Sh.o.r.e-you know where I mean?"

Whelan nodded.

"And explained the situation, gave him the letter from Solomatin, and asked that he deliver it, and made it clear that his cooperation in the matter would not be forgotten.

"Lammelle, however, said he was sorry, but he didn't think he could help, as much as he would like to. Then he related an incredible story. Castillo had had no authority to take Berezovsky and Alekseeva from Vienna. Castillo had never been in the CIA, but had been in charge of a private CIA-called the Office of Organizational a.n.a.lysis, OOA-that your late President had been running. OOA was disbanded, and its members been ordered to disappear the day before the day before you bombed the Congo. Lammelle said he had no idea where Castillo or Berezovsky and Alekseeva could be." you bombed the Congo. Lammelle said he had no idea where Castillo or Berezovsky and Alekseeva could be."

"You're right. That's incredible," Whelan said.

"What's really incredible, Harry, is that the rezident rezident believed Lammelle. They had over the years developed a relationship. In other words, they might say 'No comment' to one another, but they would not lie to one another. Over time, that has worked to their mutual advantage." believed Lammelle. They had over the years developed a relationship. In other words, they might say 'No comment' to one another, but they would not lie to one another. Over time, that has worked to their mutual advantage."

Murov topped off their winegla.s.ses.

"That's why I asked you to dinner, Harry," Murov said. "To propose something I think will be mutually advantageous."

Whelan said, "'And what would that be?' Harry Whelan, suspicious journalist, asked, as he put one hand on his wallet and the other on his crotch."

Murov chuckled.

"Your wallet, maybe, Harry. But I am really not interested in your crotch. Would you like me to go on, or should we just forget we ever had this conversation?"

"I'm all ears."

"Putin wants this problem resolved. There is great pressure on the rezident rezident to solve it. He came to me and said he thought the greatest obstacle to solving it is President Clendennen ..." to solve it. He came to me and said he thought the greatest obstacle to solving it is President Clendennen ..."

"Clendennen? He's the obstacle? How's that?"

"The rezident rezident thinks the President just wants the problem to go away, and he thinks the President believes the best way to do that is to do nothing. His predecessor never told him a thing about the OOA. He has no idea what it is, or was. He's never heard of Lieutenant Colonel Castillo, and therefore knows nothing of Castillo taking two Russian defectors away from the CIA, and if he did, he has no idea why, or what Castillo has done with the defectors. Getting the idea?" thinks the President just wants the problem to go away, and he thinks the President believes the best way to do that is to do nothing. His predecessor never told him a thing about the OOA. He has no idea what it is, or was. He's never heard of Lieutenant Colonel Castillo, and therefore knows nothing of Castillo taking two Russian defectors away from the CIA, and if he did, he has no idea why, or what Castillo has done with the defectors. Getting the idea?"

"Yeah," Whelan said. "So, what am I supposed to do about it?"

"Start looking for Castillo and the OOA ... at the White House. Ask Clendennen to tell you about his his secret private CIA, and the man who runs it for him. When he tells you he knows nothing about it, ask him why you can't find Castillo. Tell him you suspect he's hiding Castillo, and that unless you can talk to Castillo and get a denial from him, that's the story you're going to write: secret private CIA, and the man who runs it for him. When he tells you he knows nothing about it, ask him why you can't find Castillo. Tell him you suspect he's hiding Castillo, and that unless you can talk to Castillo and get a denial from him, that's the story you're going to write: 'President Denies Knowledge of Secret Special Operations Organization. 'President Denies Knowledge of Secret Special Operations Organization.'"

"And he says, 'Go ahead, write it. I don't know what you're talking about.' Then what?"

"Then you tell him that after you write it, and he denies it, you're going to write another story: 'Former CIA Station Chief Confirms That Rogue Special Operator Stole Russian Defectors from CIA.' 'Former CIA Station Chief Confirms That Rogue Special Operator Stole Russian Defectors from CIA.' And that the only way you're not going to write the story is if Castillo tells you it's not true." And that the only way you're not going to write the story is if Castillo tells you it's not true."

"And who is this former CIA station chief? And why would he tell me this?"

"It's a she. Her name is Eleanor Dillworth. The day after Kiril Demidov was found in the taxicab outside the American emba.s.sy with Dillworth's calling card on his chest, she was fired. She feels she has been treated unfairly."

"Why should I believe her?"

"Roscoe J. Danton does. She went to him with this story. He's now in Buenos Aires looking for Castillo."

"How do you know that?"

"The rezident rezident there told me. He's actually very good at what he does." there told me. He's actually very good at what he does."

He wouldn't tell me that if it wasn't true.

It's too easy to check out.

"Just for the sake of argument, Sergei: Say I believe you. Say I do all this-I'd start by talking to this Dillworth woman-what's in it for me?"

"Well, Harry, it would be a h.e.l.l of a story. Especially once we get Colonel Berezovsky and his sister out in the open, if they told their story to you, and only to you. And of course I would be very grateful to you. And so would the rezident rezident. That might be very useful in the future, wouldn't you agree?"

"I can see that," Whelan said. "But I can't help but wonder why you're being so good to me."

"Because you are not only a very nice fellow, Harry, but the most important journalist I know."

"Oh, bulls.h.i.t!" Whelan said modestly.

But I probably am am the most important journalist you know. the most important journalist you know.

Murov took his cell phone from the breast pocket of his suit, opened it, punched b.u.t.tons, and then put it on the table.

"What's this?" Whelan asked.

"It's what they call a cell phone, Harry."

Whelan took a closer look, and then picked it up.

The telephone was ready to call a party identified as DILLWORTH, E.

"You said you'd want to start by talking to Miss Dillworth," Murov said.

If I push the CALL b.u.t.ton, I'll probably wind up talking to some female Russian spy.