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estigative　team　stood　still　at　first；　scanning　for　telltales；　left…behind　items　as　innocuous　as　a　human　hair　stuck　in　place　across　a　closet　door　to　show　if　someone　had　opened　it。　Suvorov's　KGB　file　was　finally　in　Provalov's　possession　now；　and　he　knew　all　the　things　the　man　had　been　trained　in…it　turned　out　that　his　training　had　been　quite　thorough；　and　Suvorov's　grades　had　been；　well；　〃C〃　class　most　of　the　time：　not　outstanding　enough　to　earn　him　the　chance　to　operate　in　the　field　as　an　〃illegal〃　officer　on　the　home　ground　of　the　〃Main　Enemy；〃　meaning　the　United　States；　but　good　enough　that　he'd　bee　a　diplomatic…intelligence　specialist；　mainly　going　over　information　brought　in　by　others；　but　spending　some　time　in　the　field；　trying　to　recruit　and　〃run〃　agents。　Along　the　way；　he'd　established　contact　with　various　foreign　diplomats；　including　three　from　China…those　three　he'd　used　to　gather　low…level　diplomatic　information；　mainly　chitchat…level　stuff；　but　it　was　all　regarded　as　useful。　Suvorov's　last　field　assignment　had　been　from　1989　to　'91　in　the　Soviet　Embassy　in　Beijing；　where　he'd　again　tried　to　gather　diplomatic　intelligence；　and；　they　saw；　with　some　success　this　time。　The　acplishments　had　not　been　questioned　at　the　time；　Provalov　saw；　probably　because　he'd　had　some　minor　victories　against　the　same　country's　diplomatic　service　while　in　Moscow。　His　file　said　that　he　could　both　speak　and　write　Chinese；　skills　learned　at　the　KGB　Academy　that　had　militated　in　favor　of　making　him　a　China　specialist。
　One　of　the　problems　with　intelligence　operations　was　that　what　looked　suspicious　was　often　innocuous；　and　what　looked　innocuous　could　well　be　suspicious。　An　intelligence　officer　was　supposed　to　establish　contact　with　foreign　nationals；　often　foreign　intelligence　officers；　and　then　the　foreign　spy　could　execute　a　maneuver　that　the　Americans　called　a　〃flip；〃　turning　an　enemy　into　an　asset。　The　KGB　had　done　the　same　thing　many　times；　and　part　of　the　price　of　doing　such　business　was　that　it　could　happen　to　your　own　people；　not　so　much　while　you　were　not　looking　as　when　you　were。　Nineteen　eighty…nine　to　'91　had　been　the　time　of　glasnost；　the　〃openness〃　that　had　destroyed　the　Soviet　Union　as　surely　as　smallpox　had　annihilated　primitive　tribesmen。　At　that　time；　KGB　was　having　problems　of　its　own；　Provalov　reminded　himself；　and　what　if　the　Chinese　had　recruited　Suvorov？　The　Chinese　economy　had　just　been　starting　to　grow　back　then；　and　so　they'd　had　the　money　to　toss　around；　not　as　much　as　the　Americans　always　seemed　to　have；　but　enough　to　entice　a　Soviet　civil　servant　looking　at　the　prospect　of　losing　his　job　soon。
　But　what　had　Suvorov　been　doing　since　then？　He　was　now　driving　a　Mercedes…Benz　automobile；　and　those　didn't　appear　in　your　mailbox。　The　truth　was　that　they　didn't　know；　and　finding　out　would　not　be　very　easy。　They　knew　that　neither　Klementi　Ivan'ch　Suvorov　nor　Ivan　Yurievich　Koniev　had　paid　his　ine　taxes；　but　that　merely　put　him　at　the　same　level　as　most　Russian　citizens；　who　didn't　want　to　be　bothered　with　such　irrelevancies。　And；　again；　they　hadn't　wanted　to　question　his　neighbors。　Those　names　were　now　being　checked　to　see　if　any　were　former　KGB；　and　perhaps；　therefore；　allies　of　their　suspect。　No；　they　didn't　want　to　alert　him　in　any　way。
　The　apartment　looked　〃clean〃　in　the　police　sense。　With　that；　they　began　looking　around。　The　bed　was　mussed　up。　Suvorov/Koniev　was　a　man　and　therefore　not　terribly　neat。　The　contents　of　the　apartment　were；　however；　expensive；　much　of　them　of　foreign　manufacture。　West　German　appliances；　a　mon　affectation　of　the　Russian　well…to…do。　The　searchers　wore　latex　surgical　gloves　as　they　opened　the　refrigerator　door　（refrigerator…freezers　are　well…regarded　hiding　places）　for　a　visual　examination。　Nothing　obvious。　Then　dresser　drawers。　The　problem　was　that　their　time　was　limited　and　any　residence　just　had　too　many　places　to　hide　things；　whether　rolled　up　in　a　pair　of　socks　or　inside　the　toilet…paper　tube。　They　didn't　really　expect　to　find　much；　but　making　the　effort　was　de　rigueur…it　was　too　hard　to　explain　to　one's　superiors　why　one　didn't　do　it　than　it　was　to　send　the　search　team　in　to　waste　their　expensively　trained　time。　Elsewhere；　people　were　tapping　the　apartment's　phone。　They'd　thought　about　installing　some　pinhole…lens　cameras。　These　were　so　easy　to　hide　that　only　a　paranoid　genius　was　likely　to　find　them；　but　putting　them　in　took　time…the　hard　part　was　running　the　wires　to　the　central　monitoring　station…and　time　was　an　asset　they　didn't　have。　As　it　was；　their　leader　had　a　cell　phone　in　his　shirt　pocket；　waiting　for　it　to　vibrate　with　the　word　that　their　quarry　was　driving　back　home；　in　which　case　they'd　tidy　up　and　leave　in　a　hurry。
　
　He　was　twelve　kilometers　away。　Behind　him；　the　trail　cars　were　switching　in　and　out　of　visual　coverage　as　deftly　as　the　Russian　national　football　team　advancing　the　soccer　ball　into　tied…game　opposition。　Provalov　was　in　the　mand　vehicle；　watching　and　listening　as　the　KGB/FSS　team　leader　used　a　radio　and　a　map　to　guide　his　people　in　and　out。　The　vehicles　were　all　dirty；　middle…aged；　nondescript　types　that　could　be　owned　by　the　Moscow　city　government　or　gypsy…cab　operators；　expected　to　dart　around；　concealing　themselves　among　the　numerous　twins　they　all　had。　In　most　cases；　the　second　vehicle　occupant　was　in　the　back　seat；　not　the　front；　to　simulate　a　taxi's　passenger；　and　they　even　had　cell　phones　to　plete　the　disguise；　which　allowed　them　to　municate　with　their　base　station　without　looking　suspicious。　That；　the　FSS　leader　remarked　to　the　cop；　was　one　advantage　of　new　technology。
　Then　came　the　call　that　the　subject　had　pulled　over；　stopped；　and　parked　his　car。　The　two　surveillance　vehicles　in　visual　contact　continued　past；　allowing　new　ones　to　close　in　and　stop。
　〃He's　getting　out'　a　Federal　Security　Service　major　reported。　〃I'm　getting　out　to　follow　on　foot。〃　The　major　was　young　for　his　rank；　usually　a　sign　of　a　precocious　and　promising　young　officer　on　the　way　up；　and　so　it　was　in　this　case。　He　was　also　handsome　with　his　twenty…eight　years；　and　dressed　in　expensive　clothing　like　one　of　the　new　crop　of　Moscovite　business　entrepreneurs。　He　was　talking　into　his　phone　in　a　highly　animated　fashion；　the　very　opposite　of　what　someone　conducting　a　surveillance　would　do。　That　enabled　him　to　get　within　thirty　meters　of　the　subject；　and　to　watch　his　every　move　with　hawk's　eyes。　Those　eyes　were　needed　to　catch　the　most　elegant　of　maneuvers。　Suvorov/Koniev　sat　on　a　bench；　his　right　hand　already　in　his　overcoat　pocket　while　his　left　fiddled　with　the　morning　paper　he'd　brought　out　from　the　car…and　that　is　what　tipped　the　FSS　major　that　he　was　up　to　no　good。　A　newspaper　was　the　main　disguise　used　by　a　spy；　something　to　cover　the　actions　of　the　working　hand；　just　as　a　stage　MAGICian　kept　one　hand　ostentatiously　busy　while　the　other　performed　the　actual　illusion。　And　so　it　was　here；　so　beautifully　done　that　had　he　been　an　untrained　man；　he　would　never　have　caught　it。　The　major　took　a　seat　on　another　bench　and　dialed　up　another　false　number　on　his　cell　phone　and　started　talking　to　a　fictitious　business　associate；　then　watched　his　surveillance　subject　stand　and　walk　with　studied　casualness　back　to　his　parked　Mercedes。
　Major　Yefremov　called　a　real　number　when　his　subject　was　a　hundred　meters　away。　〃This　is　Pavel　Georgiyevich。　I　am　staying　here　to　see　what　he　left　behind；〃　he　told　his　base　station。　He　crossed　his　legs　and　lit　a　cigarette；　watching　the　figure　get　back　into　his　car　and　drive　off。　When　he　was　well　out　of　sight；　Yefremov　walked　over　to　the　other　bench　and　reached　under。　Oh；　yes。　A　magnetic　holder。　Suvorov　had　been　using　this　one　for　some　time。　He'd　glued　a　metal　plate　to　the　bottom　of　the　green…painted　wood；　and　to　this　he　could　affix　a　magnetic　holder　。　。　。　about　a　centimeter　in　thickness；　his　hand　told　him。　Their　subject　was　a　〃player〃　after　all。　He'd　just　executed　a　dead…drop。
　On　hearing　it；　Provalov　experienced　the　thrill　of　seeing　a　crime　mitted　before　his　very　eyes。　Now　they　had　their　man　mitting　a　crime　against　the　state。　Now　he　was　theirs。　Now　they　could　arrest　him　at　any　time。　But　they　wouldn't；　of　course。　The　operation's　mander　next　to　him　ordered　Yefremov　to　retrieve　the　container　for　examination。　That　would　be　done　very　speedily；；　because　the　container　would　have　to　be　returned。　They　only　had　half　of　the　spy　team。　The　other　half　would　e　to　pick　it　up。
　
　It　was　the　puter。　It　had　to　be。　On　turning　it　on；　they　found　a　maze　of　folders；　but　one　of　them；　they　quickly　saw；　had　encrypted　contents。　The　encryption　program　was　one　they　hadn't　e　across　before。　It　was　American；　and　its　name　was　written　down。　They　could　do　no　more　now。　They　lacked　the　proper　disks　to　copy　the　covert　file。　That　they　could　fix；　and　they　could　also　copy　the　encryption　program。　Next；　they'd　have　to　plant　a　bugging　device　on　the　keyboard。　In　that　way；　they　could　use　Sovorov's　own　password　code　to　crack　the　encrypted　file。　With　that　decision　made；　the　burglary　team　left　the　premises。
　
　The　next　part　was　virtually　preordained。　They　followed　I　the　Mercedes　using　the　same　multi…car　drill；　but　the　break　came　when　a　dump　truck…still　the　dominant　form　of　life　on　the　Moscow　streets…was　closest。　The　subject　parked　the　German　sedan　and　jumped　out；　took　just　enough　time　to　affix　a　strip　of　paper　tape　to　a　lamppost；　and　hopped　back　into　his　car。　He　didn't　even　bother　to　look　around；　as　though　he'd　only　done　something　routine。
　But　he　hadn't。　He'd　just　posted　a　flag；　a　notice　to　someone　unknown　that　the　dead…drop　had　something　in　it。　That　someone　would　walk　or　drive　past　and　see　the　tape　and　know　where　to　go。　So；　they　had　to　examine　the　capsule　quickly　and　replace　it；　lest　they　warn　the　enemy　spy　that　their　little　operation　had　been　promised。　No；　you　didn't　do　that　until　you　had　to；　because　things　like　this　were　like　an　unraveling　sweater　on　a　pretty　woman。　You　didn't　stop　pulling　the　yarn　until　the　tits　were　exposed；　the　FSS　mander　told　Provalov。
　
　
　
　
　CHAPTER　24
　Infanticide
　
　〃What's　this？〃　the　President　asked　at　his　morning　intelligence　briefing。
　〃A　new　SORGE　source；　this　one's　called　WARBLER。　I'm　afraid　it's　not　as　good　from　an　intelligence　point　of　view；　thoug