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  "They're looking for a coup, and they're afraid we'll snatch it away from them." I lifted my mug of Kronenbourg. "Here's to Froggo-Yankee cooperation."

  Stoddard had been a French scholar for practically his entire life. He shot a reproachful look in my direction. "The problem is we don’t know what Kozlov is really up to asking you for help, and we can't be sure his wife will defect. He could denounce her and maybe escape with his skin."

  "You still think the Soviets are playing a game to even the score?"

  "I don't see where they'd go with that. I've never heard of a double honey trap. But they like dangles, and they're bellowing about the expulsions being nothing more than a provocation."

  "Only time will tell."

  "What will you tell Kozlov?"

  "Thibault is using a backstopped identity with Svetlana, one Kozlov can't penetrate. So I'll give him the cover story."

  "The DST won't like that."

  "I know," I said, "It'll be ticklish."

  "Yes, but one way or the other, we're already into it."

  The choucroute and sausage began to feel heavy in my stomach.

  *****

  The following day I went home for lunch to find Kate fuming. I mentally checked but couldn't think of anything I had done to cause it.

  "I paid a visit to the fromagerie on Place de la Madeleine this morning," she said. "Someone was following me."

  Kate had proven deft at spotting surveillance when we were in Eastern Europe. I'd learned to trust her instincts.

  "I thought we were finished with this kind of thing, but here it is again, and in Paris of all places. Do you think it's the Russians?"

  "No such luck. More likely it's the French."

  "Because of this Kozlov thing?"

  "Probably."

  "How long will this go on?"

  "Until this Kozlov thing is resolved, I suppose."

  "I don't like it."

  "Me neither."

  "You should lodge a complaint."

  "It wouldn’t do any good. They think I'm up to something. I half expected to have a tail, but not on you."

  "How should we handle it?"

  "Don't react. Just pretend you don't notice."

  Kate was in no danger, but I was worried about the meeting scheduled with Kozlov. It wouldn't do for the French to see anything out of the ordinary. The lunch meeting was coming up fast, and I had to move our contacts to another level invisible to the DST.

  Chapter 39

  When I entered the restaurant I saw two guys in cheap suits at a table with an excellent view of mine pretending to read the menu. Picard wasn't taking any chances. I half expected that my table was bugged, as well. The DST were putting on a full-court press, and they didn't mind being obvious about it.

  Kozlov was nervous when he sat down. I didn't doubt that he had spotted our watchers, as well. I knew he was eager to hear what I'd learned in the intervening week since our vodka-soaked conversation, but he wisely said nothing about it, and neither did I.

  It would do no good to complain to Picard because he would simply deny that he had set the dogs loose. Fortunately, I was prepared.

  When Kozlov pulled out his Marlboros, I shoved a matchbook across the tabletop to him before he could pull out his plastic lighter. He gave me a quizzical look and opened it. Inside I had written the address of a safehouse and a date and time.

  Kozlov was good. He didn't bat an eye as he ripped out a match and lit his cigarette. He slipped the matchbook into his pocket without a further glance, and we discussed world affairs for the rest of the meal.

  I noticed that the DST watchdogs ordered the cheapest items on the menu and a pitcher of house wine.

  This was a big step. If Kozlov accepted a clandestine meeting with a CIA officer, we were well on our way to recruitment. Given the circumstances, I doubted he would remain in place, but he possessed information of undoubted value to our counterintelligence folks.

  I'd set the meeting for mid-morning the following Sunday. First thing Saturday, Kate and I headed for our favorite inn in Compiegne. The idea was that, if the DST followed us, I would slip out in the wee hours of Sunday morning to meet a Station officer who would drive me back to Paris and get me back later to rejoin my wife. I was sure that Kozlov would take similar precautions to evade surveillance.

  I didn't like the looks of a man and woman seated across the dining room from us that evening. They were more interested in us than the food, which wasn't bad. Not enough to be certain, but enough to make me cautious.

  I slipped out of our room at four AM and made it to the waiting car with no sign that I had been seen. Kate would stay in the room until I returned, and our car in the parking lot should reassure the surveillants that we were still there.

  The safehouse was in the 17th Arrondisement, near the Parc Monceau. The officer who had driven me took up position in the park where he could observe the entrance to the building. He would warn me if he spotted anything untoward. It was a simple plan, but effective.

  Kozlov was ten minutes late, and I had begun to think he wouldn't show up. He looked nervous when I let him through the door.

  I'd bought some croissants and had a pot of coffee ready, but he wasn’t hungry. He knew the stakes as well as I.

  "How much time do you have, Nikolay?"

  "Not more than an hour before someone gets curious," he said.

  "OK, first things first. I'd like to meet you here again in a week, same time but with an alternate two days later. OK?"

  He knew the drill as well as I and lit a cigarette with slightly trembling hands before answering. "OK, but only if you have the information I requested."

  "Have some coffee." I filled our cups. I needed the caffeine. "I checked out the man you described and can tell you that he is with the press office, and he is romancing your wife. He could be working with French intelligence, or the affair could be genuine."

  If Picard discovered I had said even this much, my ass would be on a plane to Washington before I could say sacre bleu. It all depended on whether Kozlov and the KGB were playing a game as Terry Stoddard suspected.

  Kozlov's shoulders sagged under the weight of this news. "You're sure?"

  "As sure as I can be. Sorry, Nikolay."

  "It will be the end of me," he said.

  "Maybe, maybe not. Depends on what you do."

  He knew exactly what I meant, but he just stared at me. He was trying to figure out if he could trust me.

  "I need to know more," he said.

  "Why don't you confront your wife?"

  "I don't know what she would say."

  "Only one way to find out."

  "Then what?"

  The idea was to be sympathetic, to be his friend, to gain his complete trust. We'd known one another for over a year, and now I'd laid my cards on the table face up. He might risk coming over to us, but if he didn't the seed was planted, and we might get a crack at him another time even if his wife didn't leave him. You just never know, and you have to be patient.

  "Do you think French intelligence is trying to recruit my wife?"

  "Maybe."

  "But what would they do with her? She has no official function and knows nothing of my work."

  "Maybe they're really after you."

  "Then they have a strange way of going about it."

  "Maybe they think you'll defect to them, too."

  "To the French? After this? They think they'll force me into a corner?"

  He was indignant now.

  "Could be. You're stationed here. You know things that would interest them."

  I was taking a chance because he might start thinking he could come to terms with them or even that I was working him in tandem with the French. I didn't want to put any ideas in his head, but sometimes the truth can work wonders.

  He crushed his cigarette in the ashtray with unneeded force. "Never. These bastards are destroying my life."

  So far, so good.

  "Well, be that as it
may, you know you have other friends, other places you could go if it becomes necessary."

  "I never thought I would have a conversation like this."

  "I know, but we've known one another for a long time, and I can help if you like. So what are you going to do now?"

  "Maybe I should talk to Svetlana as you suggest. We might be able to work things out. She should think about how her actions will affect her father back in Moscow. She's a very selfish person."

  "Good," I said but didn't mean it. "Let's meet here again in a week and you can let me know how it turns out. I don't think we should have lunch on Thursday."

  "Yes. I noticed the watchers, too."

  As an added precaution, I gave him a phone number and protocol for emergency contact in case something should break before our next meeting.

  Two hours later the car dropped me off some distance from the hotel, and I lit a cigar and walked back through the woods. There was a lot to think about, and it was anybody's guess how things would turn out. Nikolay might somehow get his wayward wife back to Moscow, and we would never hear of him again. I was certain of only one thing: you can't play poker unless you ante up.

  Chapter 40

  Kozlov had a rough week. I knew this because he activated the emergency contact protocol the Wednesday after our meeting. This could have meant anything, but it's human nature to anticipate the worst, in this case the worst for Kozlov - his wife had defected.

  We'd heard nothing more from the DST about their honey trap, and I was dragging an unwonted pair of watchers everywhere I went. It was almost always the same two guys from the restaurant, and French discretion was not in their repertoire. They just looked bored but determined in their cheap suits. I almost felt sorry for them.

  Not really.

  I stepped out of the Embassy for a stroll along the Faubourg St. Honoré, and they were still there. I don't like small, cramped spaces, but a short time later I was in the trunk of an Embassy car rolling out of the motor pool garage. I was released from this confinement somewhere in the Bois de Boulogne, an area where unusual sightings are commonplace, especially after dark.

  I grabbed a taxi to the Park Monceau and slipped into the safehouse to wait for Kozlov. He arrived shortly after noon looking like he hadn't slept much the night before.

  "Are you clean?" I asked.

  "I've been running all night." He was disheveled and nearly gasping. "My wife didn't come home yesterday evening, and I suspected the worst. I got out of the apartment around one AM, but they followed my car. I finally lost them near Montparnasse, ditched the car, and just walked the streets until now."

  "Will you be missed at work today?"

  "Maybe not for a while yet. Nobody saw when I left the apartment."

  "Tell me what happened."

  "I did as you suggested and just asked her flat out if she was having an affair."

  I waited.

  "It was hard to find the right moment. We live in a communal apartment, you know. So I took her for a walk along the river. She denied everything, but I think she was scared."

  "What do you want to do now?" This was a pretty important question. He was teetering on the brink, and it was my job to push him over.

  "You don't think I'll go back, do you."

  "Hey, Nikolay, that's entirely up to you. But I can help if you want me to."

  "Defect?"

  "If that's what you want. I can't make that decision for you."

  Nikolay was not a happy camper, and I knew he wouldn't blame me or the CIA for his predicament. I wanted him to see us as a friendly port in a storm.

  "I've got to think about all this, try to figure something out."

  "You can stay here as long as you like. The fridge and pantry are stocked. It should be safe for you to stay here at least until tonight. You could return to the Embassy with no one the wiser. I'll be back in a few hours."

  I was taking a chance leaving him alone, but there was really nothing more I could do or say. He had a big decision to make.

  I walked a block to Boulevard Malsherbes and caught a cab that dropped me on the Rue de Rivoli a short walk from the Embassy. When I entered the front office, Eileen informed me that Jaques Picard wanted to see me. I turned on my heel and made the familiar trek to Place des Saussaies. The two bad suits were still behind me.

  Picard didn't bother with formalities. "We have a problem," he said.

  "Oh?"

  "We have Kozlov's wife."

  "Already?"

  "Her husband forced her into it."

  "How did he do that?"

  "He started asking questions, and she got scared. She called Thibault yesterday, et voila."

  "So what's the problem?"

  "She wants to go back."

  "Already?" This was an unexpected twist that could put a kink in my plans for Kozlov, as well. "What happened?"

  "I think she figured out she'd been tricked."

  "You mean Thibault didn't sweep her into his arms and propose marriage?"

  "Thibault is already married."

  "That didn't stop him from bedding her."

  Picard squinted and pursed his lips. "C'est la vie."

  "So what are you going to do?"

  He had the grace to look embarrassed. "Will you take her?"

  I really love the French. They'd screwed up royally and had a useless defector on their hands, a defector who wanted to re-defect, and they hoped Uncle Sam would bail them out.

  "She's not a code clerk, is she?"

  "Apparently you were right about that. She made it up to make the affair spicier."

  I was trying to figure out if taking the woman off Picard's hands was a good idea or a bad one. It didn't take long to decide. "What in the world would we do with an unwilling and useless Russian?"

  "It would mean a great deal to us." Those words cost Picard a lot.

  "Why do you think she would want to go to the CIA? You said she wants to go home."

  "You could offer her a lot of money."

  Why does everyone assume the CIA has money to burn?

  "I don't think that'll fly, Jacques. There's such a thing as going to the well too often."

  I thought there was a way to use this.

  "It's definitely a no-go," I continued. "You'll just have to let her go. You can't very well hold her against her will. Maybe she can slip back without anyone noticing she's been gone. How long have you had her?"

  "Since yesterday afternoon. And the Russians know. They've inquired at the Foreign Ministry to report her missing. Her husband has disappeared, as well."

  Picard must have known that I'd slipped surveillance that morning. They couldn't have missed my return to the embassy. He cocked a suspicious eyebrow. "Do you know anything about that?"

  I conjured up what I hoped was an air of innocence. "First I've heard of it, Jacques. I would have thought you guys would be after him, too, maybe try to use his wife to blackmail him into defecting along with her."

  "We know you've been in contact with him."

  "We already talked about that. I've had lunch with him a few times. He's a hard case. Maybe he's just out looking for his wife."

  I left a very unhappy Jacques Picard and beat feet back to the embassy to bring Terry Stoddard up to speed.

  "What do you think they'll do?" he asked.

  "They'll have to let her go. Not even the DST would hold her against her will."

  "And Kozlov?"

  "I think we can use this, but it'll be tricky. I'm heading back to the safehouse now."

  Stoddard grinned his agreement. "Be careful. They're probably still watching you."

  Two hours later I arrived at the safehouse hoping Kozlov was still there. A cloud of acrid smoke hit me in the face when I opened the door, which meant he was.

  Kozlov was standing at the window looking like he was considering jumping out. He scanned me with worried eyes.

  "I have news, Nikolay. But this is only between you and me - even if you return to the Embassy."


  "Tell me," he said.

  "The French do have your wife."

  His face sagged even more.

  "But we may be able to get her back."

  Hope hiked his face up a notch, but then he turned suspicious. "What do you mean? Are you in this with the French?"

  "Hell, Nikolay, if I was telling the French how to do this thing, it would be working a lot better."

  "What do you have in mind?"

  "Well, I found out that Svetlana was really disappointed when she found out her boyfriend had duped her, and now she wants to go back home. There's no way the French can hold her against her will."

  Kozlov only looked confused, so I continued. "So, if we can get you back to your embassy before she turns up, we might be able to salvage something."

  "You'd help me go back?"

  "If that's what you want to do. The other option is always open."

  "Why would you do this?"

  "Someday you may decide we can work together. Things are changing in Moscow, and you may need a friend like me."

  "What if the French won't let Svetlana go?"

  "You can probably think something up that would force their hand. She could have been kidnapped, for instance."

  Now this was really playing dirty with the French, but they'd screwed things up so badly they had it coming.

  "What will I say when I get back to the Embassy?"

  The fact that he was asking me for advice was a positive sign.

  "Tell them you've been searching for your wife. They've already reported her missing, by the way, and they're wondering where you are, too."

  Kozlov might not be able to pull it off, but he was a smart guy, and the story was plausible.

  "You know they'll send us home right away."

  "I know. I'm going to give you a signal site in Moscow. After a while, maybe six months or a year, and you're sure you're not under any suspicion, you can mark it. I'm giving you a dead drop site, too, and a week after you leave the signal, we'll load it with further instructions."

  I held my breath. Well, I held my breath figuratively. In fact, I lit a cigar and watched for his reaction as I held out the written instructions I'd prepared before leaving the station.

  He accepted the instructions. Big step.