She slipped it into the reader slot of the boat's onboard computer, hit a function button. The MFD screen flicked from the radar input to a blank blue screen and then to an MPEG. Dalton braced himself for one of Lujac's horror shows, but instead he got a color image of a large, shapeless man wearing a striped shirt, unbuttoned, baggy gray slacks, the fly undone and some of his round hairy belly showing.

The fat man was sitting back into a couch-it looked like one of the leather ones down in the salon-at his ease, smiling at someone off camera. Music was playing in the background, and the setting had an end-of-the-evening feeling about it, two people sitting around relaxing after some larger group had said their good-byes and wandered off to their homes.

He was bald and bland, and had thick wet lips, disturbingly dark against his blue-white skin. His black eyes were small and sharp, like a gull's, and his hands, folded around a glass of beer, looked like fat pink flippers, his fingers thick tubes of pink sausage.

The man seemed to be unaware of the camera, and, from the angle, it was likely the camera was hidden. He leaned forward to refill his beer glass, spreading the fly of his overstressed pants, his belly pushing out through it like a fleshy balloon. Then he sat back in the creaking, overburdened couch again, his thick legs spreading wide. When he spoke, his accent was heavy and Slavic, but the language was English.

"So, we are done, and you are ready . . . ?"

A reply, offscreen, barely heard, a younger voice, clear, French. The man listened, his small eyes glittering, and then showed his cheap yellow dentures in a broad, wet smile, stretching his thick purple lips wide.

"Good . . . What?"

He seemed to be reacting to a question the mike did not pick up, leaning forward and putting his head to one side, looking puzzled. The question was repeated, and the fat man's smile went away, revealing the cold, calculating reptile that lived inside.

"None of us know the answer to that. And you should not ask. All you know-all we we know-is that she must amend the transcript, and must do so without being in any way detected." know-is that she must amend the transcript, and must do so without being in any way detected."

Another muffled interjection, and the fat man frowned.

"She will will know . . . And she will also know what happens if she does it wrong or puts in any kind of trick." Here he sighed, and drained half his glass. "As for the old woman, she is to be an example. We have been over this. She is no longer an active member, but she is a know . . . And she will also know what happens if she does it wrong or puts in any kind of trick." Here he sighed, and drained half his glass. "As for the old woman, she is to be an example. We have been over this. She is no longer an active member, but she is a mentor mentor to them, a figure of reverence and affection. She is to them, a figure of reverence and affection. She is cherished, cherished, like a mother. What happens to her should be ambiguous, should be taken by the authorities as a natural death. That is like a mother. What happens to her should be ambiguous, should be taken by the authorities as a natural death. That is very very important, my friend, because-should you need it with your subject, to important, my friend, because-should you need it with your subject, to complete complete her motivation, you can then provide her with the visual proof that her motivation, you can then provide her with the visual proof that you you in fact were the cause of her beloved mentor's death. The shock? The fear? These will be your bona fides, so to speak. What? Of course you will be in fact were the cause of her beloved mentor's death. The shock? The fear? These will be your bona fides, so to speak. What? Of course you will be with with her. You read the personality analysis-the psychologists in Marksa Plaz confirmed this, you saw the films-her husband's betrayal hurt her deeply. She is a her. You read the personality analysis-the psychologists in Marksa Plaz confirmed this, you saw the films-her husband's betrayal hurt her deeply. She is a physical physical creature. Her husband said she was creature. Her husband said she was insatiable insatiable."

The fat man stopped to run a wet white tongue, like the head of a blind cave snake, over his lips, his face creasing into an obscene leer.

"And look at you you! How can she resist you? At any rate, one way or another, by charm or by force, you will will be with her at the vital moment. be with her at the vital moment.

"Up until then, you must be disciplined disciplined. Your very generous remuneration will depend depend upon that, my friend, and you would not want to disappoint our employer. I mean that sincerely. Hear me. You do not want to draw their disapproving attention. But upon that, my friend, and you would not want to disappoint our employer. I mean that sincerely. Hear me. You do not want to draw their disapproving attention. But afterward, afterward, of course, indulge! A of course, indulge! A bonfire bonfire of indulgences, so long as she is dead at the end of them. Yes, at the end, a bonfire, a great cleansing fire, and then you can-" of indulgences, so long as she is dead at the end of them. Yes, at the end, a bonfire, a great cleansing fire, and then you can-"

The MPEG ended abruptly, the screen pulsing blue. Mandy pulled the chip out of the reader, her face solemn. The multifunction display flicked back to radar, and the screen came up again, the sweeping yellow bar, the tiny red blip of the Shark Shark holding steady at two miles out, a few random returns at the outer limit of the arc, some high clouds far away in the west. Dalton stared at the screen, his face as solemn as Mandy's. holding steady at two miles out, a few random returns at the outer limit of the arc, some high clouds far away in the west. Dalton stared at the screen, his face as solemn as Mandy's.

"Well," he said, "that's the proof you were looking for. My compliments, Mandy. You were right all along."

"We never actually see Lujac."

"We're not trying to prove this in a court of law. The film was taken on his boat. And we got a big reaction in Santorini when we threw his name around. And nobody knows where this Marcus Todorovich guy is. I'd say it was his his body Sofouli pulled out of the Aegean. Levka seen this film yet?" body Sofouli pulled out of the Aegean. Levka seen this film yet?"

"Not yet. I'm not sure I want him-"

"I agree. Need to know. But we can take a slice, a still, of just the fat man, and show that to Levka. He has to be the Gray Man. Fits Levka's description down to the lips, the sausage fingers-"

"Yes, he does. But-"

"Look, with this film we could just break off, take this to Hank Brocius. Back it up with everything we know. He can't pass this off as more interagency bullshit. We could turn around now and go back to . . ."

He caught the look in Mandy's eye, the sardonic smile.

"Well, I guess I've kind of burned that particular bridge-"

"Along with half of that particular Istanbul-"

"There's an airfield at Yalta-"

"Micah, we don't need to take take this to the NSA." this to the NSA."

"Why the heck not?"

"God, and you a CIA agent. Because, you berk, I've already sent sent it." it."

"Sent it? What? Mailed it?" it? What? Mailed it?"

She tapped the onboard computer.

"Welcome to the age of the Internet, Micah. The Subito Subito has a satellite-linked wireless connection. I sent the MPEG to Hank Brocius's private e-mail address hours ago while you were on your way to blow up Sariyer-" has a satellite-linked wireless connection. I sent the MPEG to Hank Brocius's private e-mail address hours ago while you were on your way to blow up Sariyer-"

"Why not his office one?"

Mandy gave him a look.

"If we're looking for a mole, we have to assume that everything is compromised. Including the NSA's internal e-mail system. Brocius maintains a hardened and encrypted e-mail connection under his own code name-"

Dalton found himself staring up at her, a little slack-jawed.

"Which you you have?" have?"

"Pinky had it in his lockbox-"

He shook his head slowly.

"Along with half the state secrets of the Western powers, it seems. We're going to have to do something about Pinky's lockbox."

"You go right ahead. I'm sure Pinky would love love to have you fiddle around with his lockbox. I also sent Brocius the details about Beyoglu Trading and the Russian Inter-whatever Board thingy and their address at Dizayn Tower in Istanbul. And what happened at the warehouse in Sariyer. And the phone number too. I told him to run everything through his databases and, basically, to hold up his end." to have you fiddle around with his lockbox. I also sent Brocius the details about Beyoglu Trading and the Russian Inter-whatever Board thingy and their address at Dizayn Tower in Istanbul. And what happened at the warehouse in Sariyer. And the phone number too. I told him to run everything through his databases and, basically, to hold up his end."

Dalton gave her back her own patented raised-eyebrow look.

"The Russian Inter-whatever thingy thingy?"

"You know what I mean. Don't be such a wanker."

Dalton looked a little sheepish, and then his face hardened up.

"Did you tell him about Kerch?"

"No. I wasn't sure what we were going to do about that. And I didn't want him stepping all over our end of this investigation. He's got what he needs."

"Listen, Mandy, did you send all this to Cather too?"

Mandy's face lost its teasing glow.

"No . . . not yet."

"Because . . . you still have doubts?"

"Yes, I do. I mean, I still still don't think Deacon Cather's a KGB mole, but until we can prove it I'd like to keep this between us. It looks as if the Russians are going all out to have an intercepted decryption altered, but we don't know don't think Deacon Cather's a KGB mole, but until we can prove it I'd like to keep this between us. It looks as if the Russians are going all out to have an intercepted decryption altered, but we don't know why why. We don't know who they're trying to protect."

"We do do know that there's something in the cable they really don't want us to read. If Mariah Vale is right, it's something that might lead to a KGB mole somewhere inside the CIA-" know that there's something in the cable they really don't want us to read. If Mariah Vale is right, it's something that might lead to a KGB mole somewhere inside the CIA-"

"Inside American intelligence, anyway," said Mandy. "What we don't know is-"

"Who's on Mariah Vale's short list. Other than Deacon Cather."

"Yes."

"Which is why you haven't sent anything to Cather. Just in case he actually is is the mole. I have no problem with that. It was a good decision." the mole. I have no problem with that. It was a good decision."

"But now what should we do? I mean, here, right now, on the boat. Do we keep going, go to Kerch, or wherever this takes us?"

They were both quiet for a time, feeling the rhythm of the sea, the soothing rumble of the ship's engines, the rush and ripple of the waves curling back from the cutwater, the heavy rise and fall of the ship.

"I think we push on, Mandy. You've given Brocius enough to stop this game on his end. All he has to do is take a good look at all his Glass Cutters and see which one has Kiki Lujac under her bed. But we can still take these Russians apart from our end. We broke up whatever Keraklis was doing. We took the Subito Subito-you found that film-we torched their operation back in Istanbul, and now the survivors are on the run back to Kerch. We can follow that trawler, find the Gray Man, find out what that room in the warehouse in Sariyer was used for, maybe even blow the whole network out of the water. Hand the goddamned KGB their heads on a pike for a change. God knows, they've got it coming. We've taken it this far, Mandy. Let's finish it."

Mandy poured herself some more coffee from the thermos, offered Dalton a refill. Ursa Major, the Big Bear, was just visible above the northern horizon, and there was a violet glimmer along the curve of the earth that might have been the aurora borealis. Or perhaps the lights of Yalta bouncing off mist high in the stratosphere. Mandy put the cup down, stared out at the sea for a time, working it through.

"Yes," she said, finally, "let's finish it."

For a long time, they said nothing, since everything that could be said was already understood and what couldn't be said was better left that way.

After a while, Dalton switched the controls to Auto-Helm, an onboard computer linked to the navigation panel. Now the Subito Subito would steer itself on the course he had already set. The GPS system was still monitoring the would steer itself on the course he had already set. The GPS system was still monitoring the Shark, Shark, holding steady at two miles ahead, on a bearing directly for Kerch, the same course as theirs. He leaned back, stretching. His body felt as if it weighed three hundred pounds. His eyes were dry and burning. holding steady at two miles ahead, on a bearing directly for Kerch, the same course as theirs. He leaned back, stretching. His body felt as if it weighed three hundred pounds. His eyes were dry and burning.

"You should get some sleep," said Mandy. "There's a big, soft bed in the master stateroom. You've been up for almost thirty-six hours straight. Why don't you go have a shower, lie down for a while?"

Dalton rubbed his face with his hands, looked out at the sea. The night had come down, a black vault, and all the stars were out, a shimmering field of cold clear diamonds, behind them the pink haze of the Milky Way. The reflection of the stars scintillated on the calm water all around. On the northern horizon, the lights of a freighter floated in a void between sea and sky. Directly ahead, the running lights of the Shark Shark seemed to hang motionless in the middle of their windshield. In the northeast, looming massively along the farther shore of the Black Sea, was the invisible threat-almost the magnetic pull-of Russia itself, a rising threat in the opening years of the new century, much too close for comfort and drawing nearer with every mile under the keel. seemed to hang motionless in the middle of their windshield. In the northeast, looming massively along the farther shore of the Black Sea, was the invisible threat-almost the magnetic pull-of Russia itself, a rising threat in the opening years of the new century, much too close for comfort and drawing nearer with every mile under the keel.

He turned away from it, now very aware of Mandy, standing quite close. She smelled of spice and coffee and cigarettes. She was standing so close, he could feel the warmth of her body, hear her steady breathing. Mandy was looking out at the sea, her face calm and still, an amber glow on her from the navigation screen. She was extraordinarily beautiful-poised, elegant, sensual-and much too close.

And where was Cora?

At her father's villa on Capri, a thousand miles away, a place as closed to him as the iron gates of a convent. Mandy felt his mood changing and turned to look at him, a surprised smile opening up, her gray eyes shining: "Why, Micah, dear boy, I believe you're weakening."

part three

ISTANBUL.

SARIYER.

Nikki stayed well back from what was left of the warehouse, letting Sofouli deal with the Turkish cops. She had already gotten some sharp lessons in what the Turks expect from women. Her short skirt was offensive, she gathered, as was her blouse and her uncovered hair, and, as far as she could make out, her very presence here on the sacred soil of the homeland. Nikki, always sensitive to cultural nuance and Islamic male pride, had her BlackBerry out and was looking up the Turkish phrase for "Go fuck yourself." "Go fuck yourself."

Sofouli was standing in a circle of tan uniforms, speaking in a forceful rush of Turkish patois, with some Greek thrown in, to a tall, bent, dark-skinned man with a full white mustache and very sad brown eyes, the deep lines of his weather-beaten face seeming to melt around the cheekbones and run in channels down the side of his long, mournful countenance.

The cop's name, she gathered, was Melik Gul, and he was presented to her as the senior officer in charge of the Polis Merkezi, a team of experienced men who had jurisdiction over something the Turks were calling "Severe Crimes," which, she could see, included shooting the stuffing out of a warehouse by the side of the Bosphorus and then setting it on fire.

The firefighters were gathering up their gear now, rolling up reels of thick hose and sloshing through puddles of sooty water, some of the men staring at Nikki, their eyes white against the ash that covered the upper parts of their faces.

The warehouse smelled of hot steel and cracked earth, and something else: roasted flesh, a throat-catching reek that hung in the still air like a miasma. According to the fire chief, they had found three bodies in the ruins, all of them burned into twisted logs, hardly recognizable as human. They had been zipped into body bags and stacked in a coroner's wagon, taken away for a forensic examination in the morning. Nikki, watching the men loading up their trucks and wagons, tried to read Micah Dalton's mind in all of this.

Because she was reasonably sure that this had something to do with Dalton-leaving a trail of dead men and flaming wrecks seemed to be a Dalton trademark-and she'd listened in as a couple of young boys who had been fishing in a runabout just off the wharf described the Sariin eytan-Melik Gul translated this for Nikki, with a mournful sigh, as "Blond Satan"-who had almost shot them dead as he fired a very big gun into the back of a fishing boat. No, they hadn't got the name. Nikki thought the kids had looked a little evasive when asked for particulars, but they were quite eloquent on the physical details of the Blond Satan. If it wasn't Micah Dalton, then it was his evil twin racing up the Bosphorus like Sherman through Atlanta, leaving fear, fire, and ruin in his wake.

Sofouli hadn't missed the similarities either, and had taken Nikki aside after the boys had gone off to make a written statement, speaking softly to her but with some force, not unkindly, yet unwilling to be "handled" by the NSA.

"This Blond Satan the boys speak of, this is your man, yes?"

Nikki could hardly be evasive here, even if she wanted to, and Sofouli was her only friend in the vicinity. She had admitted that it was. For a few minutes, Sofouli pushed her hard on the man's real identity, but she held firm on that point, saying only that, whoever he was, she and the NSA would dearly love to find him and have "a frank exchange of views," as she put it.

Sofouli had given her a wry smile and gone back to Melik Gul to work out some sort of investigative compromise. In the meantime, Nikki got on her BlackBerry, dialing up Hank Brocius in Crypto City. It was after midnight local time, which would make it around six in the afternoon in Maryland. The line buzzed a few times and then a woman's voice answered: Alice Chandler's, some tension in it, obvious even to Nikki.

"Nikki, is that you?"

"Yes, Alice. Is he there?"

"No, he's gone up to New York City. Took the shuttle to La Guardia. Is everything okay? Where are you?"

"In Istanbul, Alice-"

"Istanbul? I thought you were going to Greece?"

"Yes, and now I'm in Istanbul. Should I try his cell?"

"I already have, dear. There's a huge storm in central New York State now. All the way from the Adirondacks down to Philadelphia. We're starting to get some of it here. I think it's done something to the cell service. Is there anything I can do?"

Nikki thought it over.

"Yes, there is. Can you do a corporate search for me?"

"Of course. What do you need."

Nikki looked at the notes she had taken, what little she had been able to gather from the rapid cross talk among Sofouli, Melik Gul, and the fire marshal in charge of the site.

"Okay, I'm at a place in Istanbul called Sariyer. It's a fishing village on the Bosphorus, close to the Black Sea. There's been a fire here, at a warehouse. The warehouse is leased to a company called Beyoglu Trading Consortium." She spelled out Beyoglu, emphasizing the g g since it was silent in Turkish. "The address is Suite 5500, Dizayn Tower." She read out the rest of the address in military radio code. "In Istanbul. Got that?" since it was silent in Turkish. "The address is Suite 5500, Dizayn Tower." She read out the rest of the address in military radio code. "In Istanbul. Got that?"

Alice repeated it, calm now, all business.

"I have. What do you need?"