39

KATHEREINE RULE LEE looked up to see her deputy director for operations standing in her doorway. “Good morning, Hugh,” she said. “Thanks for coming.” She waved him to the sofa and went to meet him there.

“What’s up, boss?” he asked. This was meant to be ironic; Hugh English had never gotten over the fact that an independent commission had recommended Kate over him for the director’s job.

“I had a conversation last night with President Majorov that I think you might like to know about.”

“Something new for the Majorov file? I’m always happy to have something new on him.”

“It’s not just about Majorov. It’s about Ed Rawls, too. You’ll need to add this to his file, as well.”

“Okay.”

“You may remember that Majorov was the KGB station head in Stockholm when Rawls was there, so he would have been running Rawls.”

“I remember, but that’s not necessarily true. He may have appointed somebody else to run Rawls.”

“He confirmed to me that he, personally, ran Rawls.”

English’s face became expressionless. “So he would have ordered the hit on Lewis and Barbara Moore.”

“That’s a reasonable conclusion, but Majorov denies it.”

“I’ll bet he does.”

“Given the kind of conversation we were having, which was well-oiled on his part, he had no real reason to deny it.”

“Rawls set up Lewis and Barbara,” English said. “It’s the only way it could have happened.”

“No, there was another way. Majorov says he had a bug in the Moores ’ apartment.”

“I don’t believe it,” English said. “Staff apartments are swept on a regular basis.”

“I want to know if this is true,” Kate said. “First, get in touch with our Stockholm station and find out if a bug was ever detected in that apartment. If one was never found, then it’s still there.”

“Our people would have found it.”

“You remember the brouhaha when we learned that the Soviets were bugging the new American embassy in Moscow, while it was being built?”

“Of course.”

“I think that shows us that the Soviets had some bugs that were very difficult, if not impossible, to detect.”

“I suppose so.”

“If there’s no record of a bug being found in the Moores ’ apartment, then I want the place taken apart, and I mean right down to ripping off the drywall and the plumbing. Move whoever is in the apartment now out and into a new place, and do this thing right.”

“I think this is a monumental waste of time, Kate.”

“If that’s so, it won’t be the first time.”

“I don’t really have the budget for that sort of tiling, and officially, those apartments belong to the State Department.”

“Charge it to a renovation of the apartment, which is what we’re going to have to do when the search is over. If you have any trouble with State, let me know, and I’ll deal with it. One more thing, Hugh. Majorov says that when they were confronted, the Moores drew weapons and started firing, and that it was self-defense on the part of his people. I want to know what weapons the Moores had drawn from the station’s arsenal and if they were ever recovered.”

English looked at her for a moment. “You’re determined to get Rawls pardoned, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not. I’m determined to know the truth about this. There’s more going on here than you know about, Hugh.”

English looked incredulous. “More than I know about? More than the fucking DDI for Operations knows about?”

“Not all the information we possess arises from your operations, Hugh. Stuff comes in from outside all the time, you know that.”

“Well, if there’s something you know, why don’t I know it?”

“Because it’s not time, yet. If we find a bug in that apartment, you’ll know everything soon. You’ll have to be content with that for the moment.”

“Right,” English said, getting to his feet and heading for the door.

“And, Hugh?”

He stopped and turned. “Yeah?”

“I want work to start on that apartment today.”

English looked at his watch. “It’s four-thirty in Stockholm now. It’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

“I want the occupants out tonight-put them in a hotel, if necessary. I want a crew in there at eight o’clock tomorrow morning, and I want them to work 'round the clock until they’re done. Clear?“

“Clear, Madame Director,” English said. He turned and stalked out of her office.

Kate swallowed her anger and went back to her desk. She was getting tired of swallowing her anger where Hugh English was concerned. Sooner or later, he was going to have to go. At his level, there was no sideways move for him; he either had to be promoted or fired, and the only job he could be promoted to was hers. She’d wait until Will was reelected, when there wouldn’t be as much political fallout.

40

BOB KINNEY STOOD on the doorstep of the house, wearing booties, latex gloves, and a hairnet. He hated wearing the hairnet, but it had to be done, if the scene was going to be preserved and protected from contamination.

“You ready?” the criminalist asked.

“Jack, this is the most important scene you’ve ever worked. The president has taken an interest, and I want everything done right, by the book.”

“That’s the only way I know how,” Jack replied. He nodded to his three assistants. “This is a full-scene sweep,” he said. “That means everything, and with maximum caution. Let’s go.” He turned the key, opened the front door, and stepped inside. “Uh-oh,” he said, looking around.

“What’s the matter?” Kinney asked from the doorway.

“Man, this is clean, and I mean clean.”

FOUR HOURS LATER, Kinney, who was sitting in a chair on the front porch, looked up to see Jack coming out of the house, stripping off his latex gloves. Kinney stood up. “You’re not done, are you?”

“Let me tell you about this house, Agent Kinney,” Jack said. “This house has been cleaned by a professional crew, maybe two or three professional crews, then it’s been wiped down by a pro.”

“You mean you found nothing?”

“No, I found the fingerprints of eight people on the doorknobs, on the refrigerator, and on the bathroom medicine cabinet-all the places you’d expect to find the prints of people who are considering buying a house. I'll run them all, but I’m telling you now there is not a fingerprint, not a hair, not a ball of fluff in this house that can be used to trace your man. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Kinney sighed. “All right, if you say so. Can I go in now?”

“Yep, but wear the gear, if you want the scene preserved.”

Kinney got dressed again and pulled on the latex gloves. He walked through the front door and stood in the middle of the living room. Everything shone with cleanliness-the hardwood floors, the trim, the kitchen beyond. Only a thin layer of dust revealed the footprints of the crime scene team, and only the black fingerprint dust here and there marred the pristine cleanliness.

He walked around the house, into the bedrooms, bathrooms, and closets, encountering yet more of the obsessive cleanliness. He opened a door, flipped on a light switch, and walked down the stairs into the cellar, which was larger than he had expected, and, of course, spotlessly clean. Every corner was brightly lit by the dozen fluorescent ceiling fixtures. He looked around with some envy. This had been one hell of a workshop, one he would have been thrilled to own himself. The worktables were fixed to the walls, and the walls of the large room were lined with pegboard, which had the outlines of tens of dozens of tools meticulously painted on them. It was possible to tell from the outlines the extent of the equipment in the shop, and it was breathtaking. Teddy Fay could fix anything, Mrs. Coulter had said. Well, he certainly had owned the tools required to fix anything or, for that matter, to build anything.